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dialovers-translations · 2 years

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DIABOLIK LOVERS DARK FATE Imajin Webshop Tokuten Drama CD ”A Heated Cooking Showdown! ~The King of Founder’s Ultimate Cooking~”

Original title: 灼熱のクッキングバトル！～始祖王の究極料

Source: Diabolik Lovers DARK FATE Imajin Webshop Tokuten Drama CD

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Katsuyuki Konishi, Takahiro Sakurai & Morikawa Toshiyuki

Translator’s note: While it is nothing new for Reiji and Ruki to get all competitive in regards to cooking, it was definitely interesting to see Carla get thrown in the mix. I always assumed that Shin is the one who does all of the household chores - including cooking - so it’s very difficult to imagine Carla behind the stove. ...And those who have listened to this CD will probably agree with me that this might be for the best. :p

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*Chop chop chop*

Reiji: The simplest dishes are often the most difficult…as well as most beautiful.

This time’s cooking shodown has been quite the hard-fought battle. However, I believe my victory is basically guaranteed. I simply cannot fathom that an uncivilized Mukami such as yourself will be able to deliver an elegant dish.

Ruki: What are you going on about, Sakamaki Reiji? I don’t want to hear that from the guy who has the nerve to be spouting nonsense all while handling such delicate ingredients.

Reiji: Wha…!? Hah…Ruki. I’d very much appreciate it if you would take back that statement.

Ruki: The answer is no. …Heh. How are you chopping your garlic? You have to make sure that each piece is equal, or else it’ll cook unevenly.

Reiji: Could you not call me out on my mistakes? …It seems like you have not even cut anything at all yet.

Ruki: Yes. My dish doesn’t require any chopping up of ingredients, hence why I haven’t. However, that does not mean I’m not skilled with a knife. Don’t assume I’m the same as you.

Reiji: Hahaha…I see. I suppose you must lower the difficulty of your dish, or else you simply have no chance against me. Heh. Well then…I suppose it is about time I show you the difference in skill between us.

Ruki: I suppose I shall do the same then. It’s on.

Reiji: …Hm? Who has dared set foot on this sacred battlefield?

Carla: …I thought this was the kitchen? When did it become a battlefield?

Ruki: Carla!?

Carla: However, now that I have heard that, I am afraid I simply cannot turn back. Very well. I shall participate as well.

Reiji: Hooh…? Then please shiver in fear as you lay your eyes upon my elegant cooking techniques.

Ruki: That’s my line. Right now you still have the chance to withdraw.

Carla: Hmph. Not a chance. Well then, who shall start?

Reiji: I will. …Well then, behold!

Reiji turns on the stove.

*Thud*

Reiji: To infuse the oil with the garlic’ fragrance, you have to simmer it on low heat for an extended period of time. Well then, let us add some chili pepper as well.

*Pshhh*

Reiji: The pasta as well…Mmh. Looks good. Now you add some of the pasta water to the infused oil and then add the pasta before mixing it all around.

Ruki: While your techniques are noteworthy, I doubt I will lose this showdown.

Reiji: Fufufu…Run your mouth all you want. …And then! Now you turn off the heat and plate it elegantly.

*Cling*

Reiji: Ah…Never before have I seen such a perfect aglio, olio e peperoncino.

*Twinkle twinkle*

Ruki: Hooh. Not bad. However, the pasta looks just slightly overcooked.

Carla: I see. While the fragrance definitely stirs up an appetite, can you guarantee the flavors are there with so little ingredients?

Reiji: Its simplicity is what makes it so difficult to get right. Although I hardly care about what you have to say when you have not even tasted it yet. Well then, why don’t you show us what you’ve got next?

Ruki: Of course. I’ll make sure to give you a good watch, so learn from it.

Ruki turns on the stove.

*Thud*

Ruki: First you thoroughly heat up your frying pan. Getting the right temperature is vital after all.

*Cling*

Ruki: Okay. Now you put it a chunk of butter.

*Pshhh*

Ruki: Next we take our mixture of eggs, fresh cream and salt and pepper. I’m afraid I cannot share the exact measurements as they’re the result of years of personal research.

Reiji: Hmph! Everyone has their own recipes, so I’m not sure what you’re trying to brag about.

Ruki: No. This is the crème de la crème. I have tried countless different ratios and this one came out as the best. I would even go as far as to call this my life’s work.

Reiji: You’ve done enough talking. Please get to cooking already.

Ruki: Heh. You must really be dying to lay your eyes upon my elegant handling of the frying pan. Very well. …Behold!

Ruki pours the egg mixture into the pan.

Ruki: You must start by quickly stirring the egg mixture around in the pan. Then you push the eggs to the back of the pan and swirl it around until you achieve the correct shape.

This is the secret to making a perfect plain, fluffy omelet.

*Cling*

*Twinkle twinkle*

Reiji: I have to give it to you. It does fit the theme of ‘a simple yet tricky dish’ perfectly.

Ruki: Oh? You are being rather vague? Could it be that you’ve realized that you stand no chance at victory after seeing this perfect omelet of mine?

Reiji: What are you saying? Perhaps you have become delusional from the fragrance of my peperoncino?

Carla: Are the two of you done?

Reiji: Exactly. …Will you participate as well?

Ruki: I assume he will offer to be the judge in this case?

Carla: No. I do not dislike a good challenge. My victory is pretty much set in stone already, so let me get to it.

Reiji: However, a Founder such as yourself should have very little experience with cooking, correct?

Carla: Believe whatever you please, but nothing is impossible for me. Well then, let me get started on my dish.

Ruki: What will you be making?

Carla: Is there a rule that says I must share the dish beforehand? Cooking is something you do based on your mood at the moment.

Reiji: While I agree that passion is a necessary component in cooking, to achieve a beautiful end result, one must first plan out the cooking procedure.

Ruki: No, there’s some logic in what Carla’s saying as well. I’m sure you’ve had times where you originally planned to make a tomato-based sauce, but then switched over to a cream sauce during the cooking process?

Reiji: Well…I suppose I have.

Carla: Heh. There you have it. The two of you are more understanding than I thought.

Ruki: However, it can also cause hesitation or doubt. I doubt you’ll be able to win against either of us with that kind of attitude.

Carla: I wonder. ....Well then, let me get started.

Carla turns on the stove.

*Thud*

Carla: I shall start by heating up some grapeseed oil. As you are surely aware, this type of oil contains double the amount of polyphenols as regular olive oil.

Reiji: Hooh…? Are you trying to test our knowledge by bringing up some miscellaneous facts?

Carla: No. This is basic knowledge. Part of cooking is showing off after all.

Ruki: Excuse me?

Carla: How come that the actual cooking process is seen as such an important factor of any culinary showdown, you think? Because the end result does not determine everything, obviously.

Reiji: Now that he mentions, I have to agree that the highlight of cooking is often what happens right before everything is put on the plate.

Ruki: Yes. I suppose we should include that as an evaluation criteria this time as well.

Carla: Well then. Let me pour in the oil. …Hoh!

*Groooowl*

Reiji: That is…!? A wolf…!?

Carla: Now go! Add in the oil from as high as you can!

*Groooowl*

*Psssh*

Ruki: …Oi. Why does it need to be poured in from a high angle?

Reiji: One second, Ruki…Could this not be part of the beauty behind cooking which Carla spoke of earlier?

Ruki: Is that why he decided to order the wolf to pour in the grapeseed oil from up high…?

Carla: Yes, exactly. What do you say? I bet you want to imitate me after witnessing that just now?

Reiji: Tsk…Now that he mentions it, I have never seen such an artistic way to pour in cooking oil before.

Ruki: So this is…Show cooking?

Carla: Heh. It’s an absolutely necessary step to ensure that you capture everyone’s full attention. One does not cook solely for themselves after all.

Ruki: Reiji…I believe this might turn into quite the showdown.

Reiji: As frustrating as it is, I cannot deny that. I cannot believe that I am increasingly more drawn in, finding myself wanting to apply the same techniques.

Carla: Heh, right? Well then, next I shall prepare five different variants of Demon World tomatoes which every household should have in their pantry.

Reiji: I will have to disagree with that statement.

Carla: How so? Demon World tomatoes are some of the best because of their perfectly bitter and tangy.

Ruki: …Their bitterness is on point? However…When they’re right in front of my eyes, they look strangely delicious to me though.

Carla: Hmph! As for the other vegetables, it does not matter which world they came from, but you should try and go for the ones with the most vigor.

Reiji: …Not ‘fresh’ but ‘vigorous’...? What exactly do you mean by that?

Carla: Take this pumpkin for example. Look at its vines.

*Woosh*

Ruki: …!? It moves!? …It’s still alive!?

Carla: Exactly. By using lively Demon World vegetables, it will enrich the flavor profile of your dish. Although those cooking at home must be utmost careful not to have their kitchen destroyed.

Reiji: …I have no idea who you are talking to but well…I suppose it makes sense that using fresh ingredients will enhance the flavor.

Ruki: That being said…Wouldn’t it be too overwhelming?

Carla: That is not an issue as long as you fry them in enough of this grapeseed oil.

*Pshhh*

Reiji: Wha…!? You’re adding even more of the oil!? The pot is filled with oil to the brim!

Ruki: Not even when making a dish fried in garlic oil do they use this large of an amount. …What on earth are you making?

Carla: Did I not tell you earlier? Cooking is all about following your intuition. You make it as you feel at the moment.

Ruki: However…It won’t come together at this rate.

Reiji: Exactly! This is just one big hodgepodge!

Carla: A hodgepodge, you say? I see. That has a very straightforward ring to it. I suppose I shall give it a try.

Carla continues his endeavors and keeps on adding more stuff to the pot.

Reiji: How noble…Could this be a new breakthrough in the world of cooking?

*Bubble bubble*

Ruki: Oi…One second. Did I just witness that guy throwing my omelet inside his pot?

Carla: Yes. Since it had both eggs and fresh cream in it, I used it.

Ruki: Excuse me…!? Oi…Give it back…! Don’t tell me…Was this your intention from the very beginning?

Reiji: Heh. How naive of you, Ruki. To ensure that nobody would get their hands on my peperoncino, I made sure to put it over heー

*Rustle*

Reiji: Wha…!?

*PSSSH*

Reiji: What are you doing to my masterpiece!?

Carla: Well, I want to use this large plate as well. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything to your dish. I’ll simply plate mine on top.

Reiji: No way! Cut it out! I achieved the perfect balance of flavors with that dish!

*Splat*

Reiji: Ah…! My aglio e olio!

Carla: There we go. Now all I need to do is put dry cured ham on top and the dish will be complete. However…I do feel as if something is still missing. …Right!

*Woosh*

*Drip drip*

Ruki: Wha…!? He’s sprinkling on even more of the grapeseed oil…!?

Carla: Yes. It will help bring out the fragrance even more. Remember that!

Reiji: Carla…You truly are unbelievable…

Ruki: We were fools to let our guards down around you for even one second.

*Cling cling*

Carla: Well then, dig in. No need to hold back.

Ruki: …Haah. I suppose I have no other choice. I doubt it tastes bad, considering my omelet which I shed blood, sweat and tears for is in there as well.

Reiji: Right…However, it gives off a very unfamiliar scent. I wonder if it’s okay to eat?

Ruki: Oi, let’s try it.

Reiji: Yes. …Well then, here goes nothing.

Reiji and Ruki try Carla’s dish.

*Cling*

*Nom nom*

Reiji: Mm…

Ruki: Hm…

Carla: What do you think? It’s sublime, isn’t it?

Reiji: Well…Even though the individual ingredients were all of the highest quality…The combination could not be any worse.

Ruki: …I can only taste oil. Why…? How did it turn out like this!? Kuh…!

Carla: Haah…This dry cured ham tastes exquisite. I suppose the two of you are simply not ready yet to appreciate it….

Reiji: …

Ruki: Wha…!? He’s only eating the dry cured ham part dipped in the oil!?

Reiji: This is a blatant insult to us! This cannot even be called a dish!

Carla: Now that is rather harsh of you. However…I do feel as if something is still missing. Ah. Right. I suppose I’ll try grilling it.

Ruki: Hah? …Wait! If you do thatーー!

Carla turns on the gas.

*Thud*

*BOOM*

Reiji: Which idiot exposes oil to an open flame…!? Aaah…! What now…!? My kitchen…!

Ruki: Calm down! We have to extinguish the fire first! ーー Oi, Carla! Do something about this!

Carla: Hm…I don’t like too much ruckus. I suppose nothing beats a piece of dry cured ham by itself. Fufufu…

ーー THE END ーー

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #reiji sakamaki #ruki mukami #carla tsukinami #diabolik lovers translation #diabolik lovers drama cd #drama cd

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ramoth13 · 2 years

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Contrasts in Live-Action Adaptions:

Jackson's Legacy and Those That Come After

Mae g'ovannen!

As time has progressed, we are well into the new series and I have yet to see a proper examination of these adaptations that discusses how they have approached the source material (outside of using either as an excuse to justify why you should or should not hate the other).

So with that said, I shall refrain from comparing them in terms of "faithfulness" or "accuracy" and instead look at what changes were made and how they compare to the stories we know. Before we begin, it is fair to point out that six movies, while extensive, simply cannot maintain the weight of story that a TV show provides. Nor can a TV show be as concise and move as quickly as a film/series. Though these comparisons are interesting, we should remember that these really are in two related, but separate, genres.

I have mentioned in another post that the orcs are truly different for many reasons, not least of which because we can actually take the time to get to know them. This is all at once, beautiful to see, terrifying to witness, and disheartening to understand. But since I have already dedicated a post to the differences between Jackson's vision and those of McKay and Payne's regarding orcs, I will move on. Suffice to say, it is fascinating to see more of orcish culture.

People tend to focus on the differences between Jackson and M&P, but I would also like to point out their similarities. First of which is the portrayal of Elven femininity.

Contrary to popular belief, it was Jackson's depiction of Arwen (the all but non-existent character in the books whose entire story was relegated to an appendix in RotK) that first popularized the sword weilding elf-maiden visual that challenged the concept of elvish passivity (at least in terms of female elves) which has had a lovely, albeit confusing effect upon viewers. It is interesting that while M&P's version of this trope featuring Galadriel is the only canon example of this (other posts go into more detail but Galadriel was canonically not only a great warrior and athlete but in many versions fights and slays Elves), theirs is the most critiqued. But in any case, this "new" trend of elven warrior maidens started (though a few others had done it first, none had popularized it to the same degree) by Jackson has become an endearing element across genre's and Elvish portrayals.

(Note on the picture choices: finding a picture of Vex from the Vox Machina show proved absurdly difficult for some reason which I cannot fathom, and the anime shown is older than Jackson's movies, but is a good illustration of female elves as passive magical powers as opposed to modern takes of physical prowess)

The female Elvish warrior is a staple in the fantasy genre, and while elvish maidens have often been central to conflict, they were, until Jackson's bold replacement of Glorfindel with Arwen, primarily reserved as magic users in battle. The interesting factor here is how these portrayals have been reintegrated into fantasy as a trope. I'm not complaining in the least. I honestly quite like it, but none the less, his legacy in this has had far reaching effects.

Another fascinating comparison to consider is the display of Elves, and here I do not mean the changes in hair length or the use of models (Jackson) as opposed to actors (M&P). Rather, their emotions. One of the reasons I believe that so many movie viewers have had such a hard time with the show is that the elves express far more emotion than in the movies. In the books, elves swing from trees, sing la-di-da songs, and annoy Gandalf to no end, to say nothing of the furious and murderous rages of the Feanorians or the countless acts of jealousy, pettiness, and cruelty. Yet, with the singular example of Thranduil in the Hobbit trilogy, Jackson's elves are almost always stoic. Some might even say, uncaring or disinterested.

M&Ps elves are far more given to emotion, displaying all of the elven pride and arrogance that we have come to associate with the Elves of the first and second age in the books. Even still, no adaptation has come close to the vine-swinging, Gandalf annoying, la-di-do singing Elves of the Hobbit. This is not shocking of course, imagine how well people would take any adaptation when some of fiercest warriors around were dancing around and singing like children. No matter how beautiful the palace, such elves would be seen as absurd by the average viewer.

Which brings another point up about these adaptations, the architecture. Notice that there are subtle differences in the vast displays of Khazad-dûm and Elvendom as a whole, but for the most part, they both utilized the same art designs that Jackson did to evoke the same awe and wonder. Yet, for Numenor, they went full on grecian/roman. I am not upset by this, but it does a lovely job of illustrating the changes in time. Jackson's Gondorian soldiers/architecture had elements of ancient Greece (think of the marble statues in Gondor's throne room) but for the most part it was very medieval and byzantine.

Armor was worn underneath draped cloaks to display sigils or else they were simply fully plated. Yet in M&Ps Numenor, they wear robes and the armor is worn in full display over the clothes, wearing armors in more of a Greco/Roman inspired look.

These are minor changes, but fit the narrative of illustrating the shifting of time and I think work very well to show two related but distant societies.

Shifting again, I briefly mentioned this before but I feel it is so incredibly cool not to bring up and make a big deal about, but notice that the Harfoots have a tradition of naming their fallen? On the outside, this makes sense. Memorizing those that were lost or left behind would only be natural, especially as a nomadic peoples. They obviously keep records of who was lost and when. But this leads into something for more meaningful when you consider that these records of people lost, are also acting as geneologies. The records of the fallen, which are sacred texts, become the very same important documents by which hobbits keep track of their family. What started off as a way to pay respect to the dead, in the show, is exactly the element of Hobbit culture that all Hobbits obsess over, including Bilbo. In portraying Harfoots as they have, M&Ps adaptations have set the stage for Jackson's Hobbits, which is just such a clever little thing.

A final little thing I've noticed is in regards to the weapons. In Jackson's films, all elven weapons are curved and one sided with the exception of one, Glamdring, which is wielded by Gandalf. Glamdring was King Turgon's personal sword in the first age. When I first saw RoP, I was shocked to see so many cross-guards on the Elvish swords, expecting the Jackson look to be continued. Yet, interestingly, we see Númenorians wield curved swords. I love this little change, and were I to comment upon it I might wonder if this was an intentional hint as to the mingling of the last alliance. Perhaps, in M&Ps story, as elves and humans reintegrate into a society together, their weapons reflect those changes of perspective. Elves come to appreciate human ingenuity and rework the design to facilitate more graceful and fluidic slashes, and humans relearn the wisdom of ageless elven forging techniques, making swords that were more sturdy and powerful. Whatever the answer is, it was a fascinating choice (I would have added pictures to illustrate, but there is a 10 picture limit).

I might make a further comparison once the season ends, til then I wish you blessed day in the descended lights of the great trees.

Êl síla erin lû e-govaded 'wîn.

~ Ramoth13

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strwberri-milk · 2 years

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Passing Hands: Chapter 10 - Your Hand in Mine

Bridgerton!AU || Diluc x Fem!Reader || Drama, Falling in Love, Slow Burn || 3 070 words

a/n - i fully didnt know working woman was a euphamism for prostitute not my friends/coworkers correcting me when i called myself that

The night of the ball cannot arrive fast enough and you find yourself in awe of the lovely dress that adorns your body. The dark fabric perfectly contrasts your skin and your hair was done up perfectly, framing your face and resting atop your head like a crown. You know that the others see it too, hopeful suitors giving you more than just a once over and offering you a polite smile when you nod at them. It is all very unlike your first arrival and it all clicks for you, why everybody loves attending these events, the thrill that comes in and commanding all of the attention.

You look around, trying to see if you can find Lady Kholer and alert her of your presence but it seems she has not yet arrived so you begin to mingle as much as you can, collecting names for your dance card happily. Soon enough, the man you wanted to see finds himself in front of you, bowing and gesturing to your dance card.

“I see you’ve been very busy haven’t you? Your card almost seems full,” he notes.

“Your Grace! I hope you’ve been doing well, and yes, it is nearing full but I have reserved a slot for you. Would you like to take it?” you reply, showing him the blank space in question.

“How thoughtful of you. I think I would like to take it if you’d be so kind as to give it to me.”

Quickly, you write down his name and show it to him.

“There you are. Now we shall be dancing a little later into the evening after things have settled a bit and everybody has arrived. There is a great number of people here already, isn’t there?” you say, trying to make small talk.

“Yes, there is a great number. I honestly cannot fathom how so many people can gather together all at once and truly have nothing to say. All you hear are mild pleasantries and attempts to make transactional relationships. If you ask me, small talk is the bane of intelligent society. What does it matter if the weather is nice?” he grumbles, seeming almost personally slighted by the fact that sometimes, people like to talk about nothing.

“That’s a very strong opinion you have there, Your Grace. Tell me, is there a particular reason as to why you feel so strongly? Surely small talk has done nothing to harm you directly has it?” you tease, making him huff and cross his arms.

“I feel it to be a waste of time. What do you gain from navigating conversations from nothing that you know are going somewhere more important, or to a request they wish for you to fulfil? If you want something I think you may as well just come out and ask me to my face. I’d be much less insulted than if I were to find out you were feigning camaraderie for my money.”

“Then I suppose that it’s a good thing my intentions have been clear from the start, isn’t it?” you reply, looking up at his slightly flustered expression.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean what I said. I believe that I’ve made my intentions to court you very clear. Of course that is if you are wanting to allow our relationship to progress in such a direction.” The words roll off your tongue easily, not giving a hint to the fact that you felt like you were going to combust at the very provocative declaration.

“Huh. I suppose you are correct in that assertion,” is all he says, nodding in agreement.

“Very true of you. With you there seems to be no guessing, no trying to unravel some secret agenda and I hope to keep it that way for both our sakes. Perhaps you could restate your intentions to me right now. Tell me,” he steps a little closer to you, eyes narrowing as he challenges you to subvert the presentation of yourself you’ve given him. Your mouth runs dry but soon enough you get your voice back, clearing your throat.

“I simply wish to get to know you more. Perhaps we will find ourselves as close friends, a couple who married for your convenience, or the dearly coveted love match. Whatever this end of ours is, I just want to be able to go home and tell myself that I did my best to make you care for me,” you say confidently, hoping that it was the right answer.

“And what of my Dukedom? Do you wish to be burdened with the social obligations of a Duchess, or are you just enamoured by the idea of having more money than you know what to do with?” he challenges.

“To be quite honest with you I have no idea what it means to be Duchess. If it were to come to that, I would most likely have to learn how to do so effectively but I am more than willing to put the effort in when needed. After all, I do take care of myself already Your Grace so it is not as though I am averse to hard work. Whatever needs to be done will be done and you can believe that,” you reassure. He backs down a little bit, playing with the cuff of his coat.

“Impressive. While all the others I talk to say the same things I find it quite difficult to believe them. You are quite confident in your own abilities and that is a good trait to have. I quite like it,” he praises, making you scream internally in joy.

“I’m glad you think so, Your Grace. If you so despise small talk then I would not mind having you keep me company or you using me as a scapegoat to get out of such detested situations. Look there, it seems someone wants to come and have that awful conversation with you right now,” you laugh, pointing at a man who is heading towards the two of you.

“Your Grace, might I have a word?” he asks once he approaches, confirming both of your suspicions.

“Why of course,” the Duke smiles, fully transitioning into the picture of a much more amicable man.

You wave him off and begin to head to the floor, wondering who will try to grab you for a dance first. As you approach you feel a tap on your shoulder.

“Hello! I’m just making my rounds and greeting everybody. I would have come earlier but you were much too busy talking to the Duke! I’m glad you could make it,” your host beams, curtsying politely.

“Oh! Lady Kholer! Thank you for the invitation. Lord Alberich.”

You greet the two of them and they return it to you, looking around a little.

“Have you found someone to dance with yet?” the Lady asks you, looking up at the Lord.

“I’m sure Lord Alberich wouldn’t mind dancing with you if not.”

“No, actually I have a full dance card now!” You show her and she gives you a pleased smile.

“I’m glad! It looks that the rough first couple of days you had has finally come to pass. That’s amazing. And you managed to get the Duke on your card too? How lucky!”

“Well, he did say that he was going to pursue only one person this season,” Lord Alberich adds.

“Did he really? A part of me thought he might just be saying it to say it and to flatter me further,” you chuckle, looking at him hopefully to which he nods.

“Diluc doesn’t lie. If he says that he’s going to do something then he’ll do it no matter how hard he has to work for it. So you can take all of his words at face value. There is rarely a further agenda with him,” he continues, grinning.

“And here he is. That was a quick discussion with the Baron. What did he want, brother?”

“What he always has,” the Duke grumbles, offering his arm to you which you take gratefully.

“I believe he has run into trouble with his gambling again. Because of how generous Father was with the man, he believed that I would be willing to bail him out. Having to watch my money go to fund someone’s bad habits before caring for their household would enrage me. I suppose I should find some way to give them a bit of money to be held in trust for his wife who actually cares about their home.”

“And there he is. The kind, caring Duke who actually minds the requests people give him by hiding it under a facade of being unable to care,” Lord Alberich chuckles, gently pulling his Lady towards the dancefloor.

“Seeing as we are all here, why don’t we head up to dance? The next set should be starting up soon. Are you feeling up to it, My Lady?” She nods and turns to you and the Duke.

“Do join us. It’ll be more fun that way. What do you say?”

“If Miss [Name] has no objections then I believe I shall also have none. It would be my honour to dance alongside the host of this lavish ball, Lady Kholer. Alongside your partner however, now that is a different issue entirely.”

All three of them laugh slightly, their ease making you wonder if you would one day find yourself in this seemingly strong friendship. When you nod the Duke takes you to the floor, following closely after his brother.

“Is that Baron truly in such a dire position, Your Grace?” you ask once the dancing begins.

“It is not dire right now but it soon will be if he refuses to change his ways. I suppose that because he has some dealings with my business I could find it helpful to remind him through lessening the amount of shipments he is allowed to buy and sell from me. Perhaps that will remind him that I am watching. His family are really upstanding citizens. He is the only one I find fault with.”

“I see. That sounds like a very difficult situation to remedy indeed. If you don’t mind my asking, could you tell me if you’ve ever paid off his debts before?” you ask, trying to keep your tone conversational and not accusational.

“I had to once, in secret. His sons were at risk of being kicked out of their school and I could not let that happen under my watch. I found his debtors and paid them off with the stipulation that they would no longer bother the family. Regardless, I think he believes that to be the work of God and now thinks himself untouchable, up to the point where he is boldly asking me for money,” he complains, an apologetic look making it onto his face.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been told I take work with me everywhere I go. You should be allowed to join the festivities of this night with a clear head, not worrying about my issues.”

“No, I find it quite fascinating really. I am partial to offering my advice when I can and I’m sure that if you give me a minute I’ll be able to give you some sort of idea of what I would do in your position. It may be quite simplistic but perhaps it will give you a new perspective?” you say shyly, not wanting to overstep a boundary.

“To be honest I think I’d appreciate that. You’ve presented yourself as a woman with a clear mind. I’ll be grateful for any opinion that differs from mine for I fear my head is just echoing my own sentiments to such a point that I no longer hear any other thoughts.”

His Grace gives you the room to think, making sure you don’t lose your step with each movement as you consider the options. Of course it’s a difficult situation but you also would like to be sure that the family will not suffer the consequences of their father.

“You mentioned he has sons, correct? Would it be possible for you to gift them an amount of money to pay for the debts and also household expenses? If some of them are old enough perhaps they can also begin working to make their own money to further care for themselves without needing their father’s money,” you suggest after a while, watching as he mulls it over.

“They are of age and have been for some time. I believe they do work but the eldest son seems to have aspirations to want to do more. A position has opened up with the winery in the area. Perhaps I could send Elzer down to appraise and see if he can offer the position to the eldest. That follows through with the latter part of your idea.”

“So it’s a good idea?” you ask excitedly, His Grace giving you a warm smile.

“It does sound feasible. But, how should I give them the money to avoid their Father taking advantage of it?” The question is clearly meant to challenge you a bit, see what you’d do with the situation.

“Would it not be safest to put it in a trust with several stipulations and harsh punishments they cannot even risk for the sons? If you’d like it to be even stricter you could split the money that you plan to gift them amongst the sons and further, not allow the sons to touch each other’s money. Essentially, you’d be giving them money in the same way a father might spare a couple shillings to let his son buy a treat while he watches him buy said treat. That way, you legally govern how the money is spent while not having to physically manage each transaction.”

“What an elegant solution,” he praises, twirling you around.

“That was exactly what I was thinking I could do. To be blunt, I was unaware you would be so quick to come up with such a solution without having dealt with similar manners before. Unless you happen to be some sort of undercover broker,” he jests, making you laugh.

“No, not a broker. I just tried to think of the best solution for the two of you. Of course you don’t want to just sit there and supervise the man and everything he does, but you also do not want the money to be wasted. It’s quite kind of you to be so concerned for their well being.”

The compliment is genuine and you look up at him, seeing that he is now averting your gaze. Before, you felt as though the gap between the two of you was too difficult to bridge but something compels you to begin bridging the gap right now.

“Your Grace, have I flustered you?” you tease, his wide eyes making it clear he didn’t expect that from you at all.

“Not at all,” he tries to deflect, continuing to avoid your eyes. “I simply have something in my eyes.”

“I had no idea that having something in your eye made one become shyer. Is that what happens to you?” you continue, feeling the way his hands and arms tighten against your body.

“And to what do I owe this sudden rush of boldness from you?” he mutters, trying to ground himself as best he can in the face of your full frontal attack.

“Well, you had me restate my intentions so does it not follow suit that I will begin to try and court you in earnest? You do not have to worry about me using underhanded tactics. As I said before, you will have the honour of falling in love with me for who I am, not who I am not. Does that sound agreeable, Your Grace?” you say insistently.

“Your tone makes it sound as though you intend to continue teasing me,” he muses, deciding to return the favour by pulling you just a little bit closer to his body.

“Perhaps you think me incapable of dealing with such flustering words but I assure you that was just a fluke. I do look forward to seeing what efforts you think will be necessary to capture my intentions. I am not an easy man by any means and will not be swayed with trivial manners, even if it is from a Diamond that the Queen chose herself.”

His voice is low in his throat and he leans in close to speak to you, breath dancing against your ear and neck. You find yourself caught between the heavy weight of his chest and arms, suddenly recognising that for this set, the dancers would be finding themselves much nearer to each other than the typical routines. There was no escaping him short of mortifying the both of you by running off the dance floor and you swallow thickly, the reaction not missing the redhead’s sharp eye.

“Are you telling me that you’re already giving up?” he whispers, the same teasing tone you’ve heard from his brother coming into his voice. He must have learned it from the other man.

“I never said I was giving up,” you barely manage to sputter, his breathing disrupting your mind as it puffs gently against your collar.

“Then where is all that gall you had earlier? Are you telling me that simply being in my presence is beginning to prove too overwhelming to you?’

You’re about to respond when you feel his warmth disappear, the dance continuing now at a much more respectable distance. He gives you an innocent smile, charming and well-mannered and if it weren’t for the fact that you were just subjected to his efforts you never would have believed that what just happened did indeed happen.

“Well? I asked you a question,” he prompts, dipping your body and bringing you back up to him.

“You are absolutely playing dirty, Your Grace,” you whisper indignantly, hands holding onto his for dear life.

“I am simply behaving the way a gentleman should. I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says innocuously, as though he wasn’t about to make you melt into a puddle at his feet.

“You are going to be the death of me,” you mutter under your breath, returning to focus on the dancing and conversation filled with laughter and kind words between the two of you.

#diluc x reader #genshin x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc ragnvindr #genshin fanfic #genshin impact #bridgerton!au #bridgerton!diluc #passing hands

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sojourner-between-worlds · 1 year

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Do tell about John Piper! I don’t know much about him other than that Calvinists like him.

OKAY SO. Yeah, he's like the chief of 5-Point Calvinist Theologians. Really the only reason I've read much from him is because a friend (who shall remain nameless unless she chooses otherwise) was having huge issues reading his stuff and was asking me about stuff he'd written and if I agreed with it. I'm, like, a solid 3.5 Calvinist, myself, but that doesn't help me like him honestly, lol.

For the record: Sometimes he says good and helpful things. Sometimes I agree with him. Sometimes. Not that long ago he answered a question about how much jewelry is appropriate for women to wear. Given the title, I was very prepared to be absolutely incensed by his answer, but after reading it...sometimes the dude just needs to work on his titles because I did actually agree with this answer. (Which, if you wondered, he said there's nothing wrong with wearing jewelry; the title came from the question that was asked, which was very misleading.)

All that being said, he also sometimes says really stupid things -- and I'm not talking about things I disagree with from a theological (tenets of Calvinism) prospective. After all, we can still learn a lot by listening to or reading things from people we don't agree with. Rather, sometimes he makes it very clear he does not understand that not all brains work the same way, aka being neurodivergent.

I made that meme quite a while ago in response to a question he received from someone wanting to know how to encourage their autistic Christian friend. One thing he said in response was that the person should not use Scriptures like Psalm 139: 13-16 (the infamous "fearfully and wonderfully made" verses). His reasoning? That applies to everyone, even the most terrible people in the world, like Hitler. Therefore, it is not encouraging to hear that.

So let me tell you a little story about why that advice makes me so upset:

Back when I had just figured out I'm autistic, for some reason or another the #actuallyautistic tag here on tumblr was -once again- talking a whole lot about a ten-year-old ad from Autism Speaks titled "I am Autism" and how horrendous it is (and how we should never let them forget about it when they tried to bury it, which I agree, but that's another rant about how terrible AS is and why no one should support them). Curiosity got the better of me and I looked it up on YouTube. I couldn't even process it the first time. I was so shocked. So I watched it a second time, and then promptly broke down sobbing. (A friend of mine could only stomach watching about the first 30 seconds of it before she turned it off. That should tell you everything right there.) I had never felt so dehumanized in my entire life, and you wanna know what brought me comfort after watching that? Reading Psalm 139, particularly the above verses.

The thing Piper doesn't understand is this: the rest of the world is busy telling us that we're "put together wrong" or that we're "broken" and no one is telling us that's not true. Sometimes when we're struggling it's nice to hear someone remind us that we were created exactly as God intended us to be. (Another good passage, fyi, is Moses and the burning bush, where Moses says he's not good at speaking and God's rebuttal is "is it not I who created the blind and the deaf the way they are?" Yeah. That's a piece of my pastor's sermon from two years ago that still sticks with me, thank-you-very-much.)

That is why it makes me angry. Because people will follow his advice and start not telling us something that we need to hear simply because it's not something he has ever taken comfort in so apparently he cannot fathom anyone else taking comfort in it either.

I'm sure there are probably other articles he's written or answers he's given that have also gotten my goat, but the other big thing that gets me is his recently published book where he asserts that if you don't feel affection towards God then you aren't saved.

On the one hand, I do get his point: having a head-knowledge that God is real and the Bible is true is NOT the same as having saving faith.

But I have two problems with Piper's take on this: 1. Many ND folks (not all, of course, but I am in this category) don't experience emotions or feelings the same way as every one else. Which means affection -- especially the way Piper seems to be describing in his book -- can be a bit of a foreign concept. Speaking solely for myself, I do not feel affection -- at least not in the way you are supposedly supposed to, according to Piper. Having a head-knowledge of the Bible does not equal having faith but here's a crazy ND concept that escapes Piper: sometimes head-knowledge IS affection. I don't spend time on things I don't care about. I don't do deep-dives into topics on things I don't care about. I don't spend time on things that don't bring me joy. The knowledge I have shows where my affections lie, even if I don't experience affection as a feeling, the way Piper says you have to. 2. Affection does not equal love, and love is more important here. As an example: I love my husband very much. I don't always like him (sometimes he drives me nuts, that's just life, and I know I drive him nuts too, haha), but I do always love him. Comparatively, according to Piper, if I don't always feel affection (aka "like") my husband then I must not actually love him. And this is simply not true. Affection is a feeling; love is an action. I don't have to feel any one certain way in order to still love someone -- and that includes God.

I've said it once and I'll willingly say it as many times I have to: we can't rely on our feelings for assurance of salvation because (say it with me now!):

Feelings are Fickle.

And with this book, Piper has made salvation about feelings. So even from a neurotypical perspective, this book is a bad take. But it's even worse for ND folks who simply don't experience feelings the way NTs do. People are going to read this book and start thinking, "well, there's no way I'm saved because I don't feel the RIGHT way, the CORRECT way, the way PIPER is telling me I have to." And I don't think I need to explain further why that's damaging.

And these are just my personal gripes. Other ND friends (specifically the first one I mentioned) have all kinds of troubles reading his stuff, because of terrible wording or answers that aren't thorough enough or conflicting information from what he's said in the past compared to now.

He is, at best, a sincere but incredibly insensitive writer. But it doesn't matter how sincere he is because someone can be very sincerely damaging to other believers.

And someday he's going to have to answer for that.

#christianity #autistic christian #john piper #i'm sorry i wrote you a novel lol #thanks for the excuse though lol

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etherealmindofyaso · 8 months

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The Unforeseen Consequences due to Paradoxical Dilemma of the Unknown

It is day 4 of being separated from my truly beloved. My heart and mind can barely fathom the fact that what was keenly feared the most, has finally happened, when it was least expected, in a moment of pure bliss & strong emotions of warmness and safety. The unending networks of the brain fire a million times, all thinking of my beloved; - What has happened of my beloved? - How is my beloved? - Has my beloved eaten, if so, stomach full? - When shall my beloved and I re-unite once again to relieve of each other's worries & unanswered worries? - Where shall my beloved or I get to go to when either of us needs to be comforted, feel joy, feel loved, feel special, or feel peace? - Why had this had to happen to my beloved, out of all the people? - If we had not been so much in love, felt so safe in each other's embrace, would we have avoided such a situation? - But, is this how it ends? These multitudes of "WHATs, HOWs, HASs, WHENs, WHEREs, WHYs, IFs, BUTs..... are what has been eating a piece of my sanity slowly away. I lie here in a state of crippling Dilemma, going through the torturous Paradox, caused by the expected-yet-unexpected Unforeseen Consequences, due to the unfairly-timed Unknown. I yearn for my beloved's voice. I yearn for my beloved's touch. I yearn for my beloved's smile. I yearn for my beloved's hands. I yearn for my beloved's messages. I yearn for my beloved's calls. I yearn for my beloved's presence in my life. I yearn for my beloved's heart-calming laugh. I yearn for my beloved's love. I yearn for MY BELOVED. ----------------- As Robert S. once wrote in a song: "Another day has gone. I am still all alone. How could this be? You're not here with me. We never said goodbye. Someone tell me why? Just the other night, I thought I heard you cry. Asking me to come, and hold you in my arms" I am unable to translate the herculean emotions & feelings of love I have for my beloved. However, a song written by Michael Jackson is able to barely scratch the surface for it, yet here it goes: "Your love is magical. That's how I feel. But I have not the words here to explain. Gone is the graceful expressions of passion. But there are worlds and worlds of ways to explain. To tell you how I feel... But I am... Speechless. That's how you make me feel. Though I am with you, I am far away. And nothing is for real. When I am with you I am lost for words, I don't know what to say. When I am with you I am in the light where I cannot be found. I would go anywhere and do anything, just to touch your face. There's no mountain high I cannot climb, I am livid in your grace." --------------------

To be as precise as one madly in love could be when once detached from their beloved, what my heart would like to say is; When I close my eyes, I see my beloved. When I open my eyes, I miss my beloved. If a single flower grew around me whenever I think of my beloved, I would end up walk in my garden forever. If I miss my beloved any harder, I fear my heart shall leave my body to come out and search for my beloved. I simply cannot help myself... I feel suffocated. Missing my beloved comes in never-ending WAVES, however tonight I am DROWNING. As I await patiently in the depths of my sorrows & woe, I have a glimmer of hope, that one day my beloved and I shall be together as one in each other's ethereal embrace. - Yaso ( 13 / 09 / 2023 ) [ 9:06 PM ]

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mysteryshoptls · 2 years

Text

SSR Jade Leech Dorm Uniform Personal Story: Part 1

"Please place your foot here."

Part 1 (Part 2) (Part 3)

[Pomefiore Dorm – Lounge]

Jade: I have lost all patience with Azul. Please allow me a place in Pomefiore.

Vil: …Jade has been repeating the same line over and over again since arriving here. We are getting nowhere with this.

Rook: I cannot fathom it, Monsieur Mastermind. To think that the words

Rook: "I wish to step down as Vice Dorm Leader of Octavinelle" …would spring forth from your lips.

Jade: Every day, I have endured the strenuous conditions of living in Octavinelle.

Jade: Azul would set upon me unreasonable demands; I would end up working like a dog for the dorm, and sometimes soil my hands with atrocious jobs…

Jade: Urrngh. I cannot take it any longer.

Vil: You were always smiling as though you were enjoying yourself.

Jade: It must be your imagination.

Vil: First of all, why is it you chose to come to us? There are many other dormitories for you to choose from.

Jade: That would be because of how your natural leadership abilities have left such a lasting impression on me, Vil-san.

Jade: Your willpower to stop at nothing for your goals, your stance of instructing your first years yourself, even with your status as Dorm Leader…

Jade: I have been thoroughly moved by your beauty inside and out, and I wish to become more like you.

Rook: Oho. You seem to understand what beauty is, Jade-kun. You indeed have an eye for it!!

Vil: In what universe? This only reeks of lies.

Rook: However, wouldn't everyone else in Octavinelle be troubled by the loss of their Vice Dorm Leader?

Rook: Are you truly alright with this?

Jade: A system that collapses when a single person has been removed from it was not long for this world.

Rook: How cold! It freezes my soul.

Jade: I am fully prepared for what may come. If you allow me to join Pomefiore, you may use me any way you wish.

Vil: Any way I wish, is it…? Rook, come here for a moment.

Rook: Of course.

Rook: …Jade-kun, can you wait here for a little while? Give me a little time to talk it over with Vil.

Jade: Not a problem. I will wait as long as it takes.

Rook: …Do you think he is telling the truth?

Vil: Absolutely not. To those in Octavinelle, scheming comes as easily as breathing does.

Vil: It is to the point where we can trust in how aggressively he is pressing us. He absolutely has a purpose coming here.

Rook: Fufufu, that is certainly the case.

Rook: So what shall we do? We could simply turn him away…

Rook: But, from taking just one glance at your glimmering eyes, Vil, it seems that you have no intention of doing so.

Vil: Heh, naturally.

Vil: Even amongst the Dorm Leaders, Jade's excellence has quite a reputation. He is quite an amazing assistant, handling all sorts of difficult requests from Azul.

Rook: Oh, you have me burning with jealousy. Could be possibly be better than your Vice Dorm Leader of Pomefiore?

Vil: You would never have taken on the role of an assistant in the first place. This is not even anything to do with your abilities.

Vil: ...I have a need to determine if Jade truly is as good as he is rumored to be, if only for the sake of dorm rivalry.

Vil: I do not know what his ulterior motive is, but he has joined us of his own accord. Let us use him for our own sake, then.

Vil: Of course, however, if he does anything that would inconvenience me, I will not tolerate it.

Rook: Oui. I thought you would say that, my strong and wise Vil.

Vil: …Jade

Jade: I am still here, have you considered my request?

Vil: Yes. We will allow you to join Pomefiore on a trial basis.

Jade: Ah, I thank you for your generous response.

Vil: However, you shall not have a formal position here. As our newest member, you will be lower than even the first years, responsible for our menial tasks.

Jade: Yes, I understand.

Vil: We will thoroughly put you to work. Are you still up for that?

Jade: Absolutely, please use me as you see fit.

Epel: Vil… -san. I have finished my lessons for today…

Jade: Oya, Epel-san.

Epel: Jade-san. Why are you here?

Vil: What good timing, Epel. Jade will work under you from today on.

Epel: Eeh!?

Vil: Do not hesitate to thoroughly hammer into him everything you know about Pomefiore.

Epel: Into Jade-senpai!?

Epel: Even if yer tellin' me ta…!! …Don't you think it would be impossible, maybe?

Jade: I will be under the care of Pomefiore starting today. Please be gentle, Epel-senpai.

Epel: Eek! His smile is so scary…!

Part 1 (Part 2) (Part 3)

Requested by Anonymous.

#twisted wonderland #twst #jade leech #vil schoenheit #rook hunt #epel felmier #twst jade #twst vil #twst rook #twst epel #twst translation #mention: azul

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magnetic-rose · 3 years

Text

Why Spones is a top-tier ship

AKA “the inherent homoeroticism of annoying the shit out of your co-worker.”

Spock and McCoy have a complicated relationship. A lot of their bickering and ideological differences lead fans to believe that they hate each other, but that’s an over-simplification of the truth. The reality is that Spock and McCoy are extremely close friends who care about each other deeply. Though sometimes their bickering turns serious during stressful situations, for the most time they seem to enjoy the banter. A common mischaracterization of their relationship seems to put McCoy as the bully and Spock as the victim. In truth, there are many times where Spock will say something specifically to get a rise out of McCoy. They fight. That’s how they show affection, not disdain. In fact, one could argue that some of their bantering have a flirtatious tone to it.

Kirk: Mister Spock, regaining eyesight would be an emotional experience for most. You, I assume, felt nothing.

Spock: On the contrary Captain. I had a very strong reaction. My first sight was the face of Doctor McCoy bending over me.

McCoy: ‘Tis a pity brief blindness didn’t increase your appreciation for beauty, Spock. (Operation -- Annihilate!)

Spock is a half-Vulcan, half-Human who has mostly chosen to follow his Vulcan heritage. As such, he is a being of almost pure logic. The truth about Vulcans are that they are secretly beings who feel things very deeply and intensely, and they feel the need to keep a tight lid on their emotions as to not succumb to them. McCoy, on the other hand, is a regular human. He’s a deeply emotional man who cares about others. One could argue that McCoy is almost too empathetic, as he lets his emotions rule him. Spock and McCoy are polar opposites; the brain and the heart, the logic and the emotion, the super-ego and the id.

Despite these differences, the two men are similar in a lot of ways. They’re both men of science, men of peace, and they both care very deeply for their Captain. They’re both self-sacrificing morons, to the chagrin of the other. Spock will prioritize McCoy’s life even when both of them know it’s not the logical choice to do so. Likewise, McCoy will take a hit for Spock even when they both know the Vulcan is stronger and better equipped to deal with pain than the doctor.

Spock: (In the middle of a blizzard) In this severe cold, we cannot survive much longer.

McCoy: Leave me here, Spock.

Spock: We go together or not at all.

McCoy: Don’t be a fool. My hands and face are frostbitten. I can’t feel my feet. Alone, you have a chance. Now do what I say. Go try to find Jim.

Spock: We go together! (All of Yesterdays)

In the episode, “The Empath,” Kirk, Spock and McCoy have to choose someone to be offered as sacrifice to be tortured by a group of aliens. Kirk obviously volunteers, but gets put to sleep by McCoy with a tranquilizer. Spock then states that he’ll offer himself up, as he has the higher chance of surviving the torture. McCoy then proceeds to sedate Spock as well, and sacrifices himself to be tortured by the aliens.

Spock: While the captain is asleep, I am in command. When the Vians return, I shall go with them.

McCoy: You mean, if I hadn't given him that shot

Spock: Precisely. The choice would have been the captain's. Now it is mine.

(McCoy turns away. Spock sits to carry on working. Gem puts her hand on Spock's shoulder, and smiles. McCoy comes up behind him and gives him an injection.)

Spock: Your action is highly unethical. My decision stands. (Spock falls asleep next to Kirk.)

McCoy: Not this time, Spock.

Underneath all the fighting and disagreements, there is a deep caring between Spock and McCoy that manifests itself into protectiveness towards each other. In “All of Yesterdays,” Spock is constantly showing concern for McCoy after he almost died of hypothermia. In aftermath of McCoy’s torture in “The Empath,” Spock is seen hovering over his body and caressing his face, worry written into his features. On the other hand, while McCoy constantly makes fun of Spock for his lack of emotions, he’s also highly aware of the Vulcan’s mental state and protective of it when others threaten to shatter his resilience.

McCoy: He's a Vulcan. You can't force emotion out of him.

Philana: You must be joking, Doctor.

McCoy: You'll destroy him.

Parmen: We can't let him die laughing, can we?

McCoy: (Watching as Spock starts to cry) I beg you! (Plato’s Stepchildren)

The episode “Amok Time” also demonstrates McCoy’s perceptiveness of Spock and Spock’s true feelings of friendship towards McCoy. McCoy is in fact the first person to notice that something is wrong with Spock:

McCoy: Oh, captain. Got a minute? It's Spock. Have you noticed anything strange about him?

Kirk: No, nothing in particular. Why ?

McCoy: Well, it's nothing I can pinpoint without an examination, but he's become increasingly restive. If he were not a Vulcan, I'd almost say nervous. And for another thing, he's avoiding food. I checked and he hasn't eaten at all in three days.

Kirk: That just sounds like Mister Spock in one of his contemplative phases.

Kirk doesn’t notice anything wrong with Spock, and initially dismisses McCoy’s concern, but McCoy immediately picked up on Spock’s mental turmoil. Despite his cantankerousness, McCoy not only cares about Spock but goes out of his way to look out for his mental state. Part of it might be because he’s his doctor, but how many doctors go so far as to monitor someone’s eating habits because they notice that person’s suddenly being fidgety? On Spock’s end, when it comes time for him to beam down to Vulcan to complete his marriage ceremony, he specifically asks for McCoy to be there:

Spock: By tradition, the male is accompanied by his closest friends.

Kirk: Thank you, Mister Spock.

Spock: I also request McCoy accompany me.

McCoy: I shall be honoured, sir.

One episode I find extremely fascinating in terms of McCoy/Spock moments is “Mirror, Mirror.” In this famous episode, half of the Enterprise crew get transported into an alternate universe dubbed The Mirror Verse, in which evil versions of the characters exist and terrorize space as a fearsome military force. McCoy is part of the team that gets transported in the Mirror Verse, while Spock stays in their regular universe. Mirror Spock immediately realizes that half of the crew, including Kirk and McCoy, are acting strangely. When he corners Kirk to question him, he does so by threatening McCoy: “I shall not waste time with you. You’re too inflexible, too disciplined, once you’ve made up your mind. But Doctor McCoy has a plenitude of human weaknesses, sentimental, soft. You may not tell me what I want to know, but he will.” This Spock seems to have a intimate knowledge of McCoy’s mind. When the party decides to attack Mirror Spock, he fights all of them except for Uhura and McCoy, who he simply pushes out of harm’s way.

When Mirror Spock gets hurt as the crew is trying to escape back to their own universe, McCoy is suddenly unable to leave his side. Kirk allows him to stay to nurse Spock back to health, and McCoy risks almost staying in the Mirror Verse forever for him. When Mirror Spock awakes, he backs McCoy into a wall and initiates a forced mind meld onto the doctor. The next scene has Mirror Spock holding a disoriented McCoy up and bringing him back to his crew; he now understands what is happening and he wants his regular crew back, and thus he allows Kirk and company to make the switch back to their own universe.

Other Star Trek properties have gone more in depth on how a forced mind meld can be extremely traumatizing on the person receiving it. Star Trek: Enterprise has an entire story arc dedicated to the Vulcan T’Pol trying to heal from a forced mind meld. Unfortunately, because the nature of TOS episodes were episodic, we never got the chance to explore the emotional fallout of McCoy’s forced mind meld and how that might have affected his relationship with Spock. The franchise also never went in depth on Mirror McCoy outside of what Mirror Spock speaks of him, since Mirror McCoy died of xenopolycythemia in 2269.

Closing the list of evidence of Spock and McCoy’s affections towards each other are the Star Trek movies “The Wrath of Khan” and “The Search for Spock.” Towards the end of Wrath of Khan, Spock sacrifices himself to save The Enterprise in one of the franchises most heart-wrenching scenes. Moments before his sacrifice, he knocks McCoy unconscious, touches his face and whispers “remember.” What happened in this scene was that Spock, knowing he was about to die, transferred his Katra to McCoy. The katra being the Vulcan equivalent of a soul. This speaks to the amount of trust that Spock has in McCoy. For someone who keeps most of his emotions under a tight lid, it’s a huge gesture to entrust another with the essence of their entire being. The next movie, The Search for Spock, is a journey as the Enterprise crew fight to return to Vulcan so they can reunite Spock with his body. When they finally arrive, the Vulcans warn McCoy that the process is extremely dangerous and could even result in his death. McCoy calmly replies that he “chooses the danger.” He cannot fathom living his life without Spock.

McCoy: (Speaking to Spock) I'm going to tell you something that I... I never thought I'd hear myself say...But it seems I've missed you. I don't know if I could stand to lose you again.

So in conclusion, Spock and McCoy have a rich and complex relationship that is much more than simply just “they dislike each other because they bicker a lot.” Their bickering is more akin to that of an old married couple. There are plenty of examples not even included in this post of how deeply they care for each other. Despite their ideological differences, they balance each other out quite nicely. McCoy is finely attuned to Spock’s emotions, arguably better than anyone else on the ship. Spock in turn is protective and gentle with McCoy. Once you stop looking at their interactions solely on the surface level, you’ll be able to see the tenderness and years of love and friendship between them. This is why I think Spock/McCoy is one of the most underrated and misunderstood relationships of TOS. Don’t let the constant arguing fool you into believing these two dummies don’t adore each other.

Shout-out to Tempest for their extremely lengthy ship manifesto on Spones called “Spiced Peaches,” which goes even more in depth on why Spones is a great couple. Using their manifesto as a reference was key to remembering Spock/McCoy moments. Also shout-out to the site chakoteya for having full transcripts of TOS episodes, so I could easily find quotes for this. If you’ve come this far, thanks for reading!

#star trek #tos #leonard mccoy #spock #spones #this was... a lot

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cookie-run-kingdom-story · 3 years

Text

Finding the Legendary Dragon

Milk Cookie: Huh… Where am I? The ocean…? Milk Cookie: Whew…! Looks like we’re all in one piece! Milk Cookie: If it wasn’t for my shield, we would have become all soggy! Milk Cookie: I wonder if the others are okay… Hey! Dino-Sour Cookie! Are you listening? Dino-Sour Cookie: BLEAGH! It’s so salty! ...Where are we? Milk Cookie: I’m afraid I don’t know… I opened my eyes and… All I could see was water. Dino-Sour Cookie: Where’s Purple Yam and Mala Sauce Cookie? *Urp!* Eugh! I’m gettin sea sick... Milk Cookie: Look! It’s an island! ???: Huh? You’re…? Are you…!? Welcome! Welcome!

Mango Cookie: I’m the one-and-only guide, Mango Cookie! Are you here to explore our islands? Dino-Sour Cookie: Do you really think we’re here to explore the islands… in our state? Mango Cookie: Ah! My mistake! I thought you were visitors. Why don’t you hop in onto my canoe? I’ll take you ashore! Milk Cookie: ...And that’s how we ended up here! Mango Cookie: It’s ok if you aren’t visiting! I’m still very glad to meet you! Mango Cookie: These days… the waves are getting rough and we don’t get that many visitors anymore... Milk Cookie: So the Dragon’s Valley isn’t the only place that’s changing…? What’s going on? Dino-Sour Cookie: *Urp!* This canoe sure shakes a lot… Eugh... Mango Cookie: Not to worry! It happens all the time. The currents are always changing here. Mango Cookie: There’s a deep, deep spot in the ocean that’s surrounded by our islands, the Tropical Soda Archipelago! Mango Cookie: Because the islands look like the Dragons, legends say this is where they were born! Dino-Sour Cookie: RAD! Dragons were born here!? Dino-Sour Cookie: *Urp...* So dizzy... Mango Cookie: There used to be a volcano there! That’s where Dragons were born. Mango Cookie: Legends say the Dragons are slumbering in the highest peaks and the deepest caves. Milk Cookie: Amazing! You’re quite the expert on these legends! Mango Cookie: I love our islands! And I love telling our stories to everyone, too! Milk Cookie: These islands are quite beautiful. There’re flowers and fruit growing everywhere! Mango Cookie: Good eye! There’s so much natural beauty here. It’s our pride and joy! Mango Cookie: There’re many types of fruit growing here, from dragonfruit to pineapples and more. The small island I grew up on has mangoes! Dino-Sour Cookie: *Urp!* Can… can we please just land anywhere? ...Huh? Milk Cookie: What’s wrong, Dino-Sour Cookie? Oh! Look at all the fish and rays! Mango Cookie: Oh, a school of Ba-Dum Rays! It’s said they came into the world after dragon scales dropped into the sea! Dino-Sour Cookie: Dragon scales? EPIC! I have GOT to see these up close! Milk Cookie: The closer we get to shore, the more of them seem to show up! It looks like they’re… entranced? Dino-Sour Cookie: Hey, do you hear something? Milk Cookie: It sounds like… drums! Dino-Sour Cookie: This beat! This rhythm! It’s… I… feel like bursting into dance!? Milk Cookie: So do I! The sudden urge to dance is uncontrollable! Dino-Sour Cookie: It’s not just us. My Jellysaur is dancing, too! Milk Cookie: These Ba-Dum Rays aren’t just swimming, are they? They are dancing! Mango Cookie: Ding-ding-ding! Correct! Mango Cookie: Alrighty then, let’s go find out the mystery of these drums!

Dino-Sour Cookie: WHOA! That Cookie is ROCKIN the drums! Mango Cookie: How about we wait a bit? It’s not nice to disturb Artichoke Cookie during a performance! Dino-Sour Cookie: The drums have stopped! Milk Cookie: That was an exciting performance. I could not help but move with the beat! Artichoke Cookie: It was a piece to express the sound of waves with drums! Dino-Sour Cookie: Huh? You’re starting to play the drums again? And it’s more upbeat than before! Artichoke Cookie: It is a piece to express how happy I am to meet all of you! Mango Cookie: Artichoke Cookie can express anything with the drums! Dino-Sour Cookie: Whoa, that’s so awesome! And look, the rays are gathering around! Mango Cookie: It’s quite rare to see so many. They live in the deepest depths of the ocean. Mango Cookie: But once they hear Artichoke Cookie’s drums, they rise up to the surface! Milk Cookie: Thank you for helping us see such a rare sight, Artichoke Cookie! Artichoke Cookie: It was short, but it was so much fun! (Dumm dumm rat-a-tat-tat dumm) Mango Cookie: Well now! Shall we head over to the next island? Dino-Sour Cookie: We… we weren’t getting off here…? Mango Cookie: Welcome to Pineapple Isle! Dino-Sour Cookie: Oh, land! LAND! And it’s an island with Dragons! Milk Cookie: So is that Pineapple Mountain in the middle? It really does look like a pineapple! Dino-Sour Cookie: That looks like the tallest mountain here. Is that where the Golden Dragon lives? Milk Cookie: Didn’t Pitaya Dragon Cookie mention that the other Dragons might know what’s going on? Milk Cookie: I’m sure Mala Sauce Cookie is searching for the Dragons to help her tribe. And Purple Yam Cookie isn’t the type to just leave her by herself. Milk Cookie: Let’s go meet this Dragon and ask where the others are! Dino-Sour Cookie: Good idea! Finally! We get to meet a REAL DRAGON! Milk Cookie: Let’s head over and start digging into that mountain! Dino-Sour Cookie: Good thinking!

Mango Cookie: !? Wh-what are you doing!? Milk Cookie: Don’t worry, I’ll get my shield at the ready when we meet the Dragon. Milk Cookie: It’s so much easier to dig with my shield! Dino-Sour Cookie: What a pro move, Milk Cookie! I’m not gonna lose! Mango Cookie: Dino-Sour Cookie, not you too!? And the Jellysaur as well? No no!

Dino-Sour Cookie: C’mon! We gotta go meet this Dragon! Dino-Sour Cookie: We’ve dug quite deep so far! Great work, Jellysaur! Mango Cookie: Oh… oh no! Milk Cookie: We’ve dug quite a bit… And still no sign of the Dragon. Dino-Sour Cookie: Maybe we should try digging this way?

Mango Cookie: No, wait! The Dragon might get angry! They love this island’s beauty and legends say ruining the island will bring destruction! Dino-Sour Cookie: Psssh! A Dragon isn’t gonna get angry at us for digging a few holes. Milk Cookie: Wait! Something’s happening!?

Milk Cookie: D… D.... D… DRAGON! Dino-Sour Cookie: A real Dragon!? A REAL DRAGON! Mango Cookie: The legends… They’re true! All of them! Ananas Dragon: You darrre to defile my island… Your trrransgressions will not be forgiven. Milk Cookie: Please wait! We didn’t dig to ruin anything. We just wanted to find and meet you! Ananas Dragon: Hrrrmph… No excuses arrre worth hearrrring. Dino-Sour Cookie: GAH! The Dragon’s taking us somewhere!? Dino-Sour Cookie: This is so RAD! No wait! No NO, let us down! Milk Cookie: Where are you taking us!? Dino-Sour Cookie: *Ooof!* What a rough landing… You didn’t have to throw us onto the ground! Hey, where exactly are we? Mango Cookie: Look at all these pineapple decorations… Maybe we’re in the Dragon’s nest within Pineapple Mountain?

Ananas Dragon Cookie: Well, well, well. It seems you’re smarter than you look, little Cookies. Dino-Sour Cookie: Eh? Waaait… Are you… Were you…? Where’d the Dragon go!? Ananas Dragon Cookie: Kneel before me, tiny Cookies. For you are in the presence of the noblest of Dragonkind. Dino-Sour Cookie: But you’re just a Cookie... Ananas Dragon Cookie: You dare to call me a mere Cookie!? I have simply adopted this worthless form to save my strength. Milk Cookie: So you’re a Dragon, just like a Pitaya Dragon Cookie! Ananas Dragon Cookie: Hrrmph! Do not even think to compare me with that failure of a Dragon! Ananas Dragon Cookie: For your transgressions, you shall be imprisoned. FOREVER. Mango Cookie: Um… Have you been living in this mountain all this time…? Ananas Dragon Cookie: Of course. For times longer than mere Cookies can ever fathom. Mango Cookie: Then, does that mean… Oh! The legend of five Dragons coming into the world is true! Ananas Dragon Cookie: Intriguing… You are not as incompetent as the other Cookies. Mango Cookie: But please wait, these two know that the islands are beautiful and serene! Mango Cookie: The digging only started because they wanted to meet you, the great Dragon, and to find their friends! Ananas Dragon Cookie: Enough! Whatever your reasons, the island has been desecrated. There is no mercy for such a crime. Milk Cookie: No, please! We must find our friends! PLEASE!

Dino-Sour Cookie: Look out! Rocks are falling down on us! A cave-in!? Milk Cookie: An earthquake!? Ananas Dragon Cookie: My nest…! How is this possible! Ananas Dragon Cookie: HRRRMPH! This is nothing…! Dino-Sour Cookie: Wow, really? You could have lent us some help and not just yourself... Ananas Dragon Cookie: I have no reason to help Cookies. Mango Cookie: Is everyone ok? Mango Cookie: Wait… there’s something in that corner! Ananas Dragon Cookie: Pineapplemur!? Mango Cookie: Don’t worry! I’ll save you! Milk Cookie: Wait, look out! There’s too many rocks falling!

Milk Cookie: Are you ok!? Are the two of you in one piece? Mango Cookie: I’m fine! But this Pet’s tail has been scratched by some rocks... Milk Cookie: Leave it to me! Healing Milk Mace, hear my plea! Mango Cookie: Its tail is coming back to normal! Milk Cookie: Don’t worry, little one! The pain has gone away! Mango Cookie: The earthquake… has it stopped? Ananas Dragon Cookie: Intriguing. I stand corrected. Not all Cookies are worthless and weak, are they? Dino-Sour Cookie: Dude… seriously… You’re a Cookie, too. Ananas Dragon Cookie: Your desecration of my island cannot be forgiven. But for saving my Pet, I shall let you go… this time. Milk Cookie: Please, if we could ask just one question? Mango Cookie: Please, oh great Dragon! Ananas Dragon Cookie: I am a generous Dragon. Present your request. Milk Cookie: Do you know where the other Dragons are? Our friends are definitely looking for them! Ananas Dragon Cookie: Dragons tend to stay where their strength can remain pure. Dino-Sour Cookie: Just how many Dragons are out there!? Ananas Dragon Cookie: I leave it to your little heads to understand my words. Ananas Dragon Cookie: Now, away with you. Heed caution should you ever decide to return before me.

Dino-Sour Cookie: Whew… what a hike! Would’ve been faster if the Dragon just flew us down the mountain... Milk Cookie: Hmm, where could the other Dragons be? Mango Cookie, got any ideas? Mango Cookie: According to legend, there’s a Red Dragon that controlled fire and brimstone, and a Golden Dragon that controlled the earth. Mango Cookie: A Blue Dragon that granted wishes, a Violet Dragon that manipulated darkness, and the all-knowing Ivory Dragon. Milk Cookie: Maybe the Blue Dragon can grant a wish! A wish to be reunited with Mala Sauce Cookie and Purple Yam Cookie!

Dino-Sour Cookie: Thanks for the canoe! Travelling is going to be so much easier now! Mango Cookie: Don’t mention it! Glad to help! Milk Cookie: It’ll be easy since we learned how to paddle from an expert! Shall we get going? Dino-Sour Cookie: Hey… Uh… Do the waves seem a bit rough…? *Urp…!* Milk Cookie: Indeed… We’ve paddled so much, but we’re still in the same spot! Mango Cookie: I’ve never been on the ocean in rough waters like this… I’m afraid I’m not much help. Milk Cookie: We need to get going… We must hurry! Dino-Sour Cookie: Huh!? The waves… They’ve calmed down! Milk Cookie: Now’s our chance! We need to hurry! We should say our goodbyes to Mango Cookie before we lea- Milk Cookie: You! Ananas Dragon Cookie: I merely disliked how the waters were moving around my islands. In the end, it seems to have helped your futile paddling. Milk Cookie: Thank you for assisting us! Mango Cookie: I knew it! The legends about the Dragons’ powers are true, too! Mango Cookie: Come back and visit with your friends! I’ll be sure to show you all of our islands’ beauty! Dino-Sour Cookie: And we’re off! Let’s GO!

#mango cookie #dinosour cookie #milk cookie #ananas dragon cookie #COOKIE RUN #cr dialogue #artichoke cookie

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hellomynameisbisexual · 3 years

Text

“QUEER”

First of all, let’s clear up a common misconception. Queer does not just mean gay. It’s an umbrella term for an identity which deviates from society’s perceived norm: heterosexual, or straight. Queer can refer to sexualities — gay, bisexual, pansexual, — or it can refer to being gender-queer; i.e, any label that deviates from the perceived gender norm: the binaries, male and female.

“Queer” is a reclaimed slur.

If you do not fall under the umbrella of queerness, it is safe to assume that you cannot use it. At all.

I am bisexual.

This means I experience attraction to plural genders. Pansexual also works fine. For the difference between bisexual and pansexual — see here:

Being bisexual isn’t easy. I went through similar hardships to gay women: I experienced attraction to women and was scared of what this meant for me, in such an oppressively homophobic society.

I am not saying being bisexual is harder than being gay, nor the inverse. But my experiences are distinctly bisexual, not gay.

Without further ado, here are the 3 things I’ve found to be the hardest about being queer, but not gay (enough).

#1: Finding My Place

Or, not being queer enough

I always knew I wasn’t straight, but I didn’t know what I was. Up until recently, I was still questioning. This didn’t feel enough to join groups or conversations with LGBT+ folk, let alone go to pride. Was I even LGBT if I was never L, G, B, or T?

I am still yet to attend a pride, even though I identify (fairly confidently) as bisexual. I am in a relationship with a man. This is (problematically) known as a “straight-passing relationship” and makes me feel even more undeserving of a place at pride.

This has been upsetting to me at times. But for others, it can be outright devastating. Growing up and needing support, but feeling like you’re ‘not gay enough’ to ask for it? So many young people are being left alone and afraid. Finding others like you is vital to figuring out who you are. Likewise, finding spaces which are safe and inclusive is vital for anyone, regardless of their sexuality or gender identity. A friend of mine happens to be a transgender man, and he summed up the issue perfectly:

“One thing that I keep noticing is how all hangout spots are “gay bars”, or (far less common) “lesbian bars”. I’m a straight man, so I don’t feel like I’m supposed to be there, but hanging out at regular bars is still too much of a gamble, so I don’t really have anywhere to go.”

It goes without saying that gay folk aren’t always safe in these spaces, as seen by the homophobic attack on the Pulse nightclub in Orlando, in 2016. Bigotry hurts the entire LGBT+ community. Bigotry doesn’t stop to ask whether you identify as gay or otherwise queer before it pulls the trigger.

But the LGBT+ community itself is much more welcoming to those who “pick a side” and just come out as gay, already. The infighting is inexplicable when one looks to attacks such as that in Orlando: bigots don’t care which letter you are in the acronym. So why does gatekeeping exist when we need to be strong in the face of intolerance when fragmentation only makes us weaker? Who are we helping by continuing to exclude identities from the discussion?

#2: Myths and Misconceptions

Well, it stands to reason that if bisexuals are what they seem in TV and movies, why would anyone want to make them feel included? They’re “greedy” and inauthentic. They’re attention-seeking, not to mention their propensity for threesomes. Now, I haven’t been in a wild orgy yet, but it seems like it will only be a matter of time before I follow my natural path.

Straight men, in particular, need to own up to their assumption that bisexual women are down for a threesome. The thing is, we are. But not with you, you big ASSUMER.

Infidelity

All jokes aside, the stereotyping of bisexuals is not only hurtful, but leads to difficulties finding and maintaining relationships.

As I came to terms with my bisexuality, I also had to accept that I might never be fully trusted by my partner, regardless of their gender or sexuality. I was shocked when my partner reacted to my coming out with the equivalent of a shrug — so much so, that I burst into tears of gratitude that my soul-bearing moment hadn’t been met with slut-shaming or assumptions of disloyalty. Nothing has changed. If anything, our bond is even stronger for me having been more authentic after coming out.

But cruelty came from elsewhere: when I came out, I was told that my partner was to be pitied, either because I’m gay and in denial, or bound to cheat on him. The main consequence of such attitudes has been the crippling fear of coming out to my partner. It saddens me that I felt so relieved when he accepted me for being who I am, and loving him just the same as I always have.

This outcome is not the case for many couples, with straight folk worried that their bisexual partner will realise they’re gay and just leave them. This fear of abandonment comes from a place of ignorance. When the media presents bisexuality as a steppingstone on the way to “picking a team”, it’s no wonder that people struggle to trust their queer partners.

Other Queer Myths

The myth that all trans folk medically transition invalidates those who choose not to do so, and let’s not forget the ignorant jeers that it's all just a mental illness. Asexual folk battle the stereotype that they can never have a relationship and shall forever remain a virgin (because what an awful thing that would be, right?) And pansexuals… well, at the lighter end, they’re asked if they have sex with cooking utensils. But often, they’re erased as irrelevant because “we already have the label bisexual”.

This brings us onto the third and final difficulty that comes with queer folk who aren’t easily categorizable as gay: erasure.

#3: Erasure

Erasure refers to the denial of an identity’s existence or its validity as a label.

Non-binary folk face ongoing and loud claims that they simply do not exist. This is despite the historical and scientific evidence to the contrary. Plus, the most important evidence — them, existing. Asexual folk are told they simply have not found the right person yet, or that they are just afraid of sex. Demi-sexual folk are told “everyone feels like that, unless they’re just sleeping around!”. And bisexuals are dismissed as simply being in denial that they’re gay.

Monosexuality & The Gender Binary

Our culture is so built on monosexuality (being solely attracted to one gender — for instance, gay or straight). Monosexuality is reinforced through everything from marriage to dating apps, the media to what we teach in schools. People cannot fathom that someone might want to experience more than one gender in their lifetime.

The binary models of sex and gender are also deeply ingrained. These rigid belief systems combined are to blame for our inability to accept that bisexuals do not need to “pick a side”. I was paralysed by fear for 17 years because I found girls attractive and that might mean I’m gay, because bisexuals are just gays who haven’t realised they’re gay yet.

Bierasure

Bierasure is dangerous, firstly because it leads a child to have to internalise both biphobia and homophobia. For instance, I had to work through being taught to hate gayness, whilst being taught that any attraction to non-male genders made me gay.

Women were cute, and so I was gay, and this meant I was disgusting.

My own mother told me this. She also told me that something has “gone wrong in the womb” for a child to be gay. (Well, Mum, I’ve got some bad news about your womb!)And she, like any bigot, extended this theory to anyone who experiences same-sex attractions — anyone queer. This is another reason why bi-erasure is perilous. Whether you’re a gay, cis-male or a demi-bisexual, trans woman… if your parents will kick you out for being gay, they will likely kick you out for being any sort of queer.

If we deny the bigotry that bisexuals undergo, we will continue to suffer. It won’t just go away. It will fester, with bisexuals having no one they can go to who believes them. And thus:

Erasure Kills

Bullying and suicide rates of queer-but-not-gay people continue to sky-rocket. We must direct funding, support and compassion to every queer individual, as they are all vulnerable to discrimination and bullying. The problem is being left to fester. This is in part because bigots treat all queer labels as just ‘gay’, deeming them equally unworthy. This is how far erasure can go.

Conclusion

Earlier on, I stated that my experiences are distinctly bisexual. The same applies to any queer identity.

Emphasising our differing paths and struggles is important to avoid the aforementioned erasure of already less visible groups. But this does not mean that the LGBT+ community should be fragmented by these differences.

If we can unite in our hope to live authentically and love freely, we will be stronger against bigotry. We are fighting enough intolerance from without: there is no need to create more from within.

So out of everything, what’s the hardest part about being bisexual?

It’s the fact that nobody knows it’s this hard.

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fictionadventurer · 3 years

Text

More Than All the Gems On Earth: A Retelling of Diamonds and Toads

My mother beats me black and blue while I cast diamonds at her feet. The gems fall from my lips with every apology and plea for mercy, and they scatter across the rough-hewn floor like bits of broken glass. My mother would crush them if she could, and she hates them all the more because she cannot destroy them. The vipers from my sister’s lips slither among the diamonds, cold-blooded creatures born of poison words.

“You did this!” Mother screams, twisting my arm in her iron grip. “You spiteful little wretch! You’ll pay for this!”

It has always been this way--my sister makes the mistakes and I am punished for them. Olive’s task had not been difficult. She had only to walk to the well and give a drink to the old woman who asked. A mere moment of kindness. Yet Olive failed to give even that, and received toads and vipers as her reward.

"I’m sorry!” I cry, and I am. It’s a frightening punishment, even for someone as cruel as my sister. I pity her more than I ever have.

Olive has never felt pity. She slaps my face with the back of her hand. “Witch!” she spits. The word turns into leopard snake as long as my arm; it falls to the floor and twines itself around my leg. “You said she was a beggar, not a princess!”

I try to avoid the toads created by Olive's words as I struggle to escape from Mother. She is pulling me toward the cellar, the place of my most feared punishments. Why is it my fault that the fairy chose another shape? Should it not have been easier for Olive to show kindness to a grand lady?

“No, please!” I scream. A desperate plea for mercy. For understanding. For love.

I had thought that my jewels would make Mother love me, but not even my diamonds were good enough for her. They had to come from Olive. Her hatred of me has destroyed them both, and as always, I am the one to blame.

The thought hardens in my heart like the sapphire that forms in my mouth. They will never love me. They despise the very diamonds I give them simply because they fall from my lips. There is nothing for me here but hatred and misery.

As she strides toward the cellar, Mother steps on a bulbous toad. Her shriek of horror splits my ears, but her grip on my arm loosens. I pull away and sprint out the open cottage door. I flee into the forest with nothing but the clothes on my back and the gems that fall from my lips.

Standing by the stream, my words turn into pearls. Milky white, blushing pink, and one as large as my thumbnail that’s as warm and black as a soft summer night. I let them fall into the soft mud of the bank, smiling as I watch the pile grow. Though gems are now common as sand to me, I haven’t tired of their beauty. I speak poems to the sunrise just so I can watch them fall.

I pick out the purest ones from the pile, leaving behind the very small and very large, the ones that are more difficult to use as payment. I brush the rest into the stream, hoping the current will carry them on adventures. Perhaps they’ll be a windfall to a widow in need. A surprise catch for a fisherman. The prize a prince needs to win the heart of his true love.

I put the rest into my pocket, preparing for another day of silence. Which village shall I travel to today? My legend has spread to most of the countryside. Most believe me an eccentric princess. Others accuse me of thievery. I stay where people will accept me and not question my muteness or my money too closely. I’ve paid for nights at an inn with an emerald that could buy a lord’s palace. I buy dresses with pure pink rubies, groceries with chips of diamonds. Most people can’t fathom the value of the gems I give them, but people are starting to suspect, and I’ve become more wary of strangers.

Perhaps it’s time to settle down. Speak myself a fortune that will buy me an estate and servants. Walls to hide behind and people to protect me. For a price, of course.

It’s a cold, uncomforting thought. Would I really be safe among people whose loyalty was bought by my jewels?

The sky darkens with my mood as I travel along the forest path. Is this the best I can hope for? A wandering, lonely life with only as much security as money can buy?

My tears fall with the first raindrops. The cold rain drips down the neck of my gown. Chills run up my spine. I remember the cottage of my childhood. The snug roof. The warm kitchen fire. So long as I avoided Mother’s wrath, it wasn’t a bad life. At least I had a place. A purpose. Sometimes I find myself longing for a hearth to clean or a kettle to scrub.

When thunder rumbles, I remember the cellar. The slam of the door blocking out all light. Long, cold nights with bruises forming on my arms and legs. Mother’s red face as she slapped me that last day. Olive’s snakes winding along the floor.

The memories are too much, and I curl up beneath a tree to weep. I have no past that isn’t tainted by pain. No future that isn’t fraught with fear. I have only myself, and she’s a pitiful comfort in this rain-filled forest. The fairy called me beautiful and good. What use is either to a girl forever alone?

A voice from above, warm and deep, cuts through the cold rain. “Are you hurt?”

I look up to see a young man on a horse. His clothes are finer than my ruby-bought dress, though he’s rain-soaked and roughened with forest dirt. He carries a gun, and three red and white spaniels stand beside his horse, but he’s no huntsman. I cannot mistake the ring on his hand.

Curled up as I am, I require only the slightest shift to fall prostrate. “Your highness,” I say. Two amethysts fall, hidden beneath my down-turned face.

I hear him jump from his horse. His footsteps are soft in the damp earth and stop mere inches from my ear. “Are you hurt?” he asks again, voice full of concern.

I shake my head in denial.

“Then there’s no sense laying in the mud,” he says. He offers a hand and helps me to my feet. He examines my mud-stained silk dress, my rain-soaked hair, the pack over my shoulder. He meets my eyes and says softly, “You’ve been crying.”

I nod and wipe away a tear, or perhaps a raindrop.

“Why?”

I cannot refuse a question from my prince. After months of silence, it almost feels good to have the choice taken from me. I give him the simplest explanation I can. “My mother has driven me from my home.”

Two roses, a lily, three sapphires, and an emerald the size of a blackberry fall into the mud. The prince watches them fall in astonishment. He picks up the lily, running a reverent finger along a pure white petal. He looks at me. His eyes are like a child’s, wide and innocent and bluer than the sapphires at my feet.

“Why?” he asks again, the question barely more than a whisper.

I don’t know if he’s asking why the flowers fell or why my mother cast me out. Since both questions have the same answer, I tell him my story, beginning with the old woman at the well and ending with my flight from the snake-infested house. Gems and flowers pile at my feet, one for every word I speak--diamonds and daisies, pearls and pansies, rubies and roses. When I finish the story, he takes in the bounty through eyes as wide as dinner plates.

The prince closes his eyes and shakes his head like a man snapping free from the effects of a spell. Then he gives me a sympathetic gaze. “You’ve been alone ever since?”

The sorrow in his voice steals my breath. I haven’t heard such sympathy since my father died. My mother certainly had no concern for my emotions.

Struck speechless, I can only nod.

“Here in the woods?”

I shake my head. “I’ve stayed in inns. Traveled town to town.”

Four more flowers. Four more gems. He watches them in wonder.

“With a fortune falling from your lips?”

“I never speak around people.” I catch five pearls and put them with the bounty in my pocket.

He notices the action and his eyebrows rise. “Yet you carry gems with you. It’s a wonder you haven’t been robbed.”

I can only nod in agreement. Nobles with far less wealth than I have been waylaid on these roads. Now that my story is spreading, I’m not sure how long I can safely travel alone.

He holds out a hand. “Come home with me,” he urges.

I step beneath the sheltering trees, shaking my head. “I don’t know you, sir.” Four carnations and one perfect diamond disappear into the undergrowth.

He sweeps into a courtly bow. “His Royal Highness, Prince Simon Everill.”

Propriety demands I curtsy in return, but I do not speak.

Softly, the prince says, “It’s not in my nature to abandon young women in the woods to fend for themselves. The castle often takes in travelers. You can stay for as long as you like.”

I’m not sure if it’s me he’s inviting or the pile of gems at my feet. But what other option do I have? Miles of walking in the rain, to a town I’m not certain will accept pearls as payment? Days upon days of looking over my shoulder and waiting for highwaymen to find me? This prince, stranger though he is, may be my best chance for safety.

I dip a deeper curtsy. “Thank you, sir.” I catch the three seed-sized diamonds that fall and place them into his palm.

He brushes them away. “No payment,” he says. “Not for hospitality.”

But for other things, perhaps? What plans does he have for my future?

He helps me onto his horse, then mounts behind me. What is your name, my lady?” He asks.

“Agnes,” I say. The word drops to the ground as a flawless ruby.

Simon and I sit on the hillside, the castle wall a comforting guardian behind us. We laugh as a spaniel chases away a flock of sparrows. Another spaniel, less zealous in our protection, sits with her curly-eared head in my lap. I run my fingers through her fur and feel a warm thrill in my chest. I have food, clothes, comfort, companionship. I have never been so rich, and it has little to do with the store of gems beneath my mattress.

Simon has kept my secret during these weeks. At least he says he has. I’ve gotten strange stares from the servants lately, like they don’t know what to make of me, and during a few sleepless nights I’ve wondered if the story I told Simon has been making the rounds. It’s more likely that they wonder about my extended stay, but I can't quite silence the doubts.

Simon tells me a story of his last visit to the River Kingdom, and I pepper him with questions. When we are alone, I don’t guard my tongue. My words blow away as buttercups on the breeze, and we let pearls scatter on the hillside like seeds for the sparrows. Even if someone were watching from a distance, I doubt they could make out the miracle among the waving grasses.

When Simon’s story is done, I am breathless with laughter. I’ve never met anyone as gifted with words as he is--high praise from the girl whose voice creates jewels.

Simon smiles at me as I wipe tears of mirth from my eyes. “Agnes,” he says, “You are the most charming girl I’ve ever met.”

“Because I laugh at your stories?” I ask, my tone teasing. Daisies dance away from us.

He takes my hands between his. “Because you’re beautiful, and kind, and gentle and generous and you have more patience than I could show in ten lifetimes.”

The praise surprises me. I’ve long known I’m pretty--I do have a mirror--but I’ve never received compliments on my personality. Mother and Olive made it clear that I was a weak, stupid, spineless thing, and given how long it took me to escape their clutches, I’ve never had reason to disagree.

I feel a blush burning on my cheeks. “You don’t need to flatter me.” The words fall as dull, uncut shards of brown topaz.

“Agnes.” His eyes burn like sapphires in the sun, his voice desperate as a man reaching for a lifeline at sea. “I hadn’t known you three hours before I knew there was no woman in the world who could compare to you. Please, marry me.”

He pulls a golden ring out of his pocket. Within it sits the perfectly-cut ruby that fell when I first told him my name.

I pull away, heart racing. I wonder if it’s possible for my eyeballs to fall out of their sockets from behind my too-open lids. “Simon,” I gasp. His name is a diamond that blinds me with its brilliance. “I can’t. I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

The whole universe has been built upon such things being impossible. I can’t explain reality in a few simple words. I settle for saying, “I can’t marry a prince. I have no title. No family.”

“What does that matter? My father would never forbid it. The gift you have is worth more than any dowry.”

My heart hardens like the sapphire that I spit at his feet. My weeks of happiness here fade away like the childish dream they were. This has been his plan from the beginning. The invitation, the conversations, even his silly little story as we played with the spaniels. All given in hope that I would let my guard down and let him claim every word I speak for the rest of my life.

The ruby in his hands now gleams like a drop of blood from my beating heart. He had gone back to retrieve it, without a word to me. Has he hoarded all the other gems I’ve dropped during our conversations? Have I ever seen the real Simon? Or has this all been an act to get me to the altar? I think of Mother in a million moments of my childhood. After her worst outbursts of temper, she would sigh and beg forgiveness, saying such sweet things that I rushed to her open arms, desperate for long-withheld affection. The moment I came within her reach, she would hit me so hard that my ears rang. I am suddenly certain that Simon’s real face will emerge the moment we marry. I will be his precious trained pet, speaking only to fill his coffers.

I would rather live in Mother’s house again. And I would rather die than do either.

I leap to my feet, gathering my skirts.

“Agnes!” Simon leaps up, alarmed.

I back away from his outstretched hand, tears flying. “No!” I gasp. The word is a dead daffodil. “No, never!” The last word is an opal, and I fling it at his chest. Then I clamp my lips shut. I will give him no more of my treasures.

I race down the open hillside. Though Simon is taller, he cannot catch me. Years of living in terror have given me speed. The spaniels race after me, barking in alarm, but I soon outpace even them.

I disappear into the forest, trailing silent, worthless tears.

It’s an apple blossom morning. My orchard is full of the fragrant blooms, branches weighed down with millions of pale pink and cream flowers. Matching blossoms fall from my lips as I speak my morning prayers. The flowers land lightly on the rain-dampened earth, a carpet of silk for the would-be queen.

I haven’t seen Simon since last summer, and I’m glad of it. I’m proud of the life I’ve built outside of his palace prison. I spent the first weeks in terror, certain he would send soldiers to scour the country and bring me back to the palace in chains. When my first whispers of courage appeared, I traveled on foot to a northern city, one large enough to hold several jewelers. I sold off a month’s worth of words for a small fortune. I bought a modest house on the outskirts where the city kissed the open countryside. I hired servants from agencies, then replaced them until I found people I believed I could trust. My housekeeper has a moral spine of steel. I speak freely in her presence, and she does nothing more than lift a disapproving eyebrow toward the gems that cover her clean floor. She believes my habit to be extravagance bordering on indecency. My butler is a sweet old man, half-blind and half-deaf. I don’t believe he notices my flowers or gems. I sometimes slip him one as a present, spinning some tale of a grandmother’s jewels that I’m giving away.

The garden I care for myself. I’ve planted some of my word-flowers as cuttings, and I hope they will grow. I think the roses have the best chance of taking root. I spend hours out here whenever the weather’s warm, letting the silence and sunshine and blessed hard labor wash every thought and emotion from me. It is only on mornings like this that I let myself feel anything at all.

Something rustles the tree behind me. In the corner of my eye, I see a million apple blossoms rain down. I turn, expecting to see a bird or a particularly heavy squirrel.

It’s Simon. He stands beneath my apple tree in all his palace finery. He is still pale from the winter, but his eyes are bright as ever. He bends at the waist, an apologetic bow. “Your housekeeper let me in.”

Of course she did. Greta can’t refuse entry to a prince. I’m reminded again of how powerless I am before him.

I stand in silence, waiting for the renewal of last summer’s offer. I steel myself in advance against his declarations of love, his flimsy praises of my person, the lies upon lies upon lies he will spin to snare my heart in his web. I scan for movement along the garden walls. Has he brought servants? Soldiers? If he has, there’s nothing I can do, but I won’t give him victory by showing him how frightened I am.

He doesn’t speak. He barely moves. He could be a new statue I bought for the garden. Finally, he asks, “Are you well?”

I nod.

“It’s a lovely house,” he says. “These trees are exquisite.”

Another nod.

Simon’s eyes stay on the blossoms. “The neighbors say you never have visitors.”

Of course I don’t. My gems can buy a house, but they make a social life impossible. How could I attend card parties and balls with diamonds falling with my every word? A mute heiress is a curiosity, but never a friend.

Simon runs a hand along a branch. A dozen petals fall. “Are you lonely?” he asks.

I am, but I hate him for asking. It makes me sound pitiful. I want to be alone. Loneliness is safe.

A falling tear betrays me. The eyes that can spot a partridge across a field watch it fall to the petal-strewn ground. “I thought so,” Simon murmurs. “That’s why I brought this.”

He reaches behind a tree and slides out a basket. Something inside rustles and whines. I step toward it, too curious for caution.

Simon lifts up a squirming puppy. Russet patches blaze on its white fur. I gasp and run my fingers through the silky curls of its ears. It’s so young and warm and alive. I gather it into my arms and let it lick the salt water from my face.

Puppies don’t care about dowries. Diamonds are nothing more than pretty stones for them to chase. They care about food and fresh air and the sheer joy of being alive. I could have no better companion.

I bury my face in the puppy’s fur. “Thank you,” I breathe, crowning the puppy with apple blossoms.

Simon’s grin makes me think of a summer sky. “She’s fine hunting stock, and I think she’ll make an excellent guard dog someday.”

I don’t care about the future. She’s mine now, and I cry from the sheer joy of having a friend.

Two friends, a tiny voice in my mind insists. Even if this is only a ploy to capture my heart, it’s a very kind stratagem. “Thank you,” I say again.

Simon nods and gathers up his basket. “You can write me if you wish. Tell me how she’s doing.”

My heart shies away from the idea, from another strand that could tie me closer to the crown. But I know what Simon’s dogs mean to him. Refusal would be pointless cruelty. “I will,” I say.

The words fall as a perfect pink pearl. The puppy treats it as a toy.

Leaves fall in clumps of color, crimson and orange and gold. Lady wrestles with them while I read my letter; my dog knows better than to disturb me while I read on this bench. It overlooks the orchard and seems the only fitting place to read letters from Simon.

We’ve exchanged more than twenty in the past six months, starting with mere updates about Lady’s health, and slowly expanding to include tales of our days, stories of our childhoods, discussions of philosophy and our feelings about the world. It’s a relief to use as many words as I want without worrying about the flowers and jewels that fall, and I filled five whole pages, front and back, with crossed writing in my last letter. Simon’s reply is nearly as long and I devour every neatly scrawled word, delighting in the sentences that seem to carry the sound of his voice.

His stories are as engaging in writing as they are in person, and before I realize it, I’ve reached the last page. These words have not been crossed; only one set of neat sentences covers the half-sheet.

Darling Agnes, he writes. The endearment shocks me like a thorn among roses. My heart is more yours than it has ever been. I wish with everything I am that those diamonds would dissolve to dust, if it would help you believe that I love you despite your jewels. I repeat my offer from two summers past, and I hope you know me well enough to rightly judge my sincerity. I can only pray you will pity a foolish prince who has done nothing to deserve a wife so far superior to himself.

The pages of the letter fall like flakes of snow, and I tremble like the leaves that cling so precariously to the apple trees. The last months dissolve like a dream and I’m back on that hill outside the palace, back in the cellar with my blossoming bruises. Love is real, I know, but it is never given to me. Simon cannot be offering it, not truly. These months of friendship have been glorious, but a few heartfelt letters are not the same as agreeing to be a man’s wife, giving him my heart to treasure or cast off at will. He will cast it off, I know it. In a day or a week or ten years, it will be thrown into my face as a weapon, my heart aching all the more because I gave it so freely to someone who despised me.

I race into my writing room, pull out a paper, and dip a quill in the ink. My hand shakes violently, but it doesn’t matter. The page only needs one word.

No.

Snow covers the garden like diamond dust. The jewels I speak disappear into the drifts behind the house. I cast them out for Lady to chase, and my words of praise provide gems for the next game.

When Lady tires, we walk to the front garden. Two of my yellow roses took root last summer and have become tiny spindles of bushes. I brush the snow from their branches to keep them from being crushed. Dogs and roses--the only things I can safely love.

“Such kindness,” says a voice from outside the gate. I look up to see a gray-haired crone in a ragged cloak. She smiles with crooked teeth. “Do you have any for an old woman?”

I hurry to the gate, reaching under my cloak and pulling coins from my purse. I regularly exchange my jewels for coins now, and I always keep a supply for the poor. I place five of the largest in the beggar’s hands, enough for a month of meals and a comfortable room.

The woman gives it a satisfied smile. “Bless you.” She tucks the coins into her glove. “You’re seen as something of a ministering angel among our kind, lady,” she says. “Beautiful and kind and as mysterious as the holy mountain.”

I laugh. I’ve gotten better at holding back my jewels when I need to, so I feel safe saying, “I’ve been very blessed.”

"Then why are you so sad?” the woman asks.

Her gray eyes pierce me, making it seem pointless to hide my secrets. I give her the least dangerous part of the truth. “I have no family.”

“Girls with that problem usually try make one of their own. A lady like you must have a hundred beaus to pick from.”

I pretend to cough into my hand, and I slide eight tourmalines into my purse. “Only one,” I say.

“And what a one,” the woman says, leaning over a fence as if to share a secret. “The prince himself pining away for you in that great palace.”

I gasp and forget to stop the daisies from falling. “How did you...?”

“Half the town knows about the royal seals on those letters,” the woman says, “and knows the postman hasn’t seen one for four months, about the same time that the prince stopped attending social functions.”

My blush burns so hot that the beggar could warm her hands by it.

The woman places a comforting hand over my trembling one on the rail of the fence. “You’re being very unkind to that poor boy. Do you think you’re the only one in the world with a good heart?”

It’s like she sees into my soul, and I suddenly remember a gap-toothed woman by a faraway well who knew my history just by looking at me. This woman is shorter and darker-skinned, but those gray eyes hold similar secrets.

So I speak to her like I’ve spoken to no one else--pitiful, pathetic words. I sound like a frightened child as I reply, “It’s the only heart I can be sure is good.”

“Nonsense. Ain’t you talked to him? Seen him? What has he said, promised, done? Has he ever been cruel? Angry? Wicked?”

No, no, and no. He gave me shelter, friendship, love. He let me run away from him. He brought me Lady. If he wanted my jewels he could have sent a hundred men to drag me back to his palace in chains, but aside from the ruby for my ring, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him touch one of my precious words. The only monstrous things he’s done have been inventions of my own terrified imagination.

But my imagination won’t give up so easily. “He could be one day.”

“So could you,” the woman counters.

“I couldn’t throw him in the dungeon.”

The woman closes her eyes and sighs. “Love is a risk. Trust is a great gift. Will you hoard it all for yourself or find the courage to give it away?”

I let out my breath in one long, weary sigh. “I don’t know if I can,” I say. The first words are daisies and chips of diamonds. The last one falls as a perfect ruby in my gloved hand.

The woman presses both her hands around the hand with the ruby. When she pulls them away, the jewel is set in a ring of pure gold.

“Try,” she says.

Simon steps into my writing room, looking disheveled and a little bewildered. He brushes snowflakes out of his hair and steps toward my desk. He holds up a hastily scrawled letter. “You called?”

I step toward him and place the ruby ring in his outstretched hand. “I would like,” I say, the words creating a bouquet of roses in my arms, “to make a proposal.”

Simon and I kneel before the priest. The pearls from a thousand grateful prayers are draped in long chains across our shoulders and arms. Simon is radiant, a million silent words speaking of his love. He makes his vows with unhesitating enthusiasm, then the priest places the same questions to me, asking me to take Simon as my husband, whatever may come, to the very end of our days.

“I do,” I say.

The sapphires that fall from beneath my veil gleam like tears of joy.

#adventures in writing #fairy tale retellings #diamonds and toads #so i've been wanting to retell diamonds and toads for forever #specifically focusing on a happy ending for the kind sister because retellings tend to take the cynical view #and/or focus on the snake girl as if she got the better end of the bargain #and yesterday i reread the tale and this story attacked me and wouldn't let me go until i wrote it #i spent a long time on it today #the ending is rushed #but it's what i got #so enjoy

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ghostwise · 3 years

Text

In the days following his final encounter with Danarius, Fenris seeks no company or conversation, yet both seem to find him regardless.

One by one his friends stop by unprompted, bringing food as well as their sympathy. He’s beginning to suspect they’ve devised a schedule for this, making sure someone comes around at least once a day to check on him. So when another knock comes at the door, and he is too tired to even feel anger, Fenris just curls further into his chair, deciding to ignore it.

The fireplace casts long shadows across the hall. The knock comes again, more urgent than before, and he groans, pressing his palms over his eyes. Today is not the day for this.

The truth is, he doesn’t have it in him to feign gratitude or play the part others are expecting of him. He doesn’t need to talk, as talking won’t change anything (contrary to what Renata thinks). He doesn’t need to get away, as his circumstances will be the same anywhere he goes (and Aveline’s voice rings clear in his mind, reminding him that her intervention is the only thing standing between him and a speedy eviction).

When did so much of himself become tied up in other people? It mortifies him. He cannot simply be.

He’s in a poor state, he knows that much. And again that blasted knocking—

Fenris rises abruptly, and finds that he’s shaking. He’ll tell whoever it is to come again another day. A man needs peace and quiet after what he’s been through. Surely they’ll understand that.

He opens the door, not knowing what he’ll say, just hoping it won’t be too unkind—and stops, seeing Leandra at the threshold.

Fenris sighs, and the fight goes out of him. The one person he could never turn away.

“I see my girls were right to be concerned,” Leandra says, looking him up and down. “Well. Won’t you give me a hand with this? It’s awfully heavy—and careful, it’s hot.”

He glances down to see a basket containing a stoneware pot, steaming, on the ground beside her. Wordlessly, he picks it up, and the scent of garlic and spices reaches him. It makes him a bit queasy. He hasn’t had much of an appetite, but he nods politely, stepping aside to let the older woman in.

“Thank you, my dear,” Leandra says. She lifts a hand towards him, then, thinking better of it, lets it fall at her side.

If he had known Leandra was coming, he would have tidied. She follows him quietly into the parlor, where he sets the basket down, and gestures to one of the seats beside the fire.

Leandra sits, and tucks a curl behind her ear. The movement draws Fenris’ eyes to the scar left there four years prior, that night in the foundry. They had come so close to losing her then, and the memory still makes him angry. Yet another thing magic nearly tore from him.

But she does not waste time. Hands folded neatly in her lap, she speaks.

“Renata told me what happened.”

“I see.”

Fenris sits down and laces his fingers together, looking at the unswept floor.

“I understand that you value your privacy,” Leandra continues, “But she’s worried about you. We all are. After all you’ve done for us… As far as I’m concerned, you’re family. That means you don’t have to go through anything alone.”

Fenris looks up at her, brow furrowed, not knowing what to say. This conversation is far beyond his means right now. Her words seem to float at a distance. He can’t grasp them, or relate to them, though he comprehends them on a surface level. He is beginning to wish he had turned her away at the door.

“Shall we eat?” he asks, feeling her eyes on him. He is not hungry, but at least his way he’ll have an excuse for not speaking.

Leandra has prepared a stew of spiced meat and tender potatoes. Little porcelain plates quickly produce themselves from the basket, and she readily fills two of these with the hot homemade food. She pours blackberry and anise cordial for them, and Fenris quietly thanks her, accepting his meal.

They eat in silence for a time. Long enough that the tension settles, and things almost seem normal. Except, of course, they never were normal to begin with.

“I love blackberries,” Leandra says, breaking the quiet. “I remember climbing the ivy-covered trellises of my neighbor’s house as a girl, just to pick the largest ones out of their garden.”

“They must have been tall,” Fenris says, staring squarely into his plate.

“No,” Leandra says, smiling. “I was just rather small. You may have guessed already, but my children definitely take after their father in their height.” She chuckles, as if proud of them, a small woman surrounded by a family of giants.

Fenris doesn’t smile, but he does think about ghosts.

Malcolm Hawke’s ghost has been a presence in his life ever since he met the man’s family, years ago. Sometimes he swears he could picture Malcolm in his mind’s eye, just from how often his family spoke of him. In fact, Leandra once insisted that Malcolm would have loved Fenris just as much as she did. But how could she know that for certain?

Fenris feels haunted. His life is full of ghosts now, including his own. Malcolm and Leto tormenting him.

He sets his plate aside, doubting his ability to keep the food down.

“Can I ask you something personal?” Fenris asks.

“Certainly.”

“Why did you leave your home for him?”

Fenris risks a glance upwards, and expects to see surprise on Leandra’s face, but she just looks at him thoughtfully. There’s no judgment in that face. He can ask her about such things without hurting her or being hurt, so he feels a surge of certainty, and continues.

“Why did you leave your family, your country, everything you’ve known—for a mage? Love is one thing, but his mere existence as an apostate meant he was endangering you by virtue of knowing you. I just need to understand. What form of love is that?”

Leandra sips at her cordial.

“The kind that stands in defiance of every other force in the universe.”

Fenris looks away, dissatisfied by the answer. Now it is Leandra’s turn to speak her mind.

“Love is just sunlight, Fenris; it cannot help that it shines. What we do with it—there’s the tricky part. Too much sunlight burns. Too little, and we wither. No warmth. No blackberry bushes. Of course there’s danger. Danger lurks in all things. That’s life. But the berry is still sweet.”

She punctuates this with another sip of cordial. This time, she’s stalling, carefully deliberating what she’s about to say.

“... But listen to me, please, just a moment longer: You need to find peace, for your own sake. You need not forgive your family. You need not even forgive mages. But find a way to move forward, while giving the pain the attention it needs—and no more. You are the one that matters. You are the one that deserves to know peace.”

Fenris is very quiet, and Leandra peers down into her drink, feeling that perhaps she has said too much.

The truth is, her heart is deeply broken for this boy.

She cannot fathom the things he has endured. She wishes desperately she could reach through time and pluck him away before any of his suffering occurred. Four little children could have been in that home, with her and Malcolm. It would have been just fine.

She thinks about all those years in Lothering. She considers that if Fenris ever has children, they could very well be mages themselves. She remembers washing Carver’s dresses when he was a child, and wonders what he’s doing now, out there in the frightening world. She prays he is not alone.

Suddenly Fenris is kneeling in front of her, handing her a clean handkerchief.

“I am sorry,” he says, genuinely concerned. “I should not have pried.”

Leandra hadn’t even realized she was crying. Embarrassed, she wipes away her tears, before surprising him by pulling him into a hug.

“Nonsense!” she says, feeling him hesitate, then lean into the embrace. “You have nothing to apologize for, my dear, sweet, brave boy.”

#and THEN leandra buys the mansion and just gives it to fenris #rinnywrites #dragon age #fenris #leandra hawke #idk why my brain decided they are best friends but 🥺#i've had this scene kicking around in my brain for years

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zodiyack · 3 years

Text

Love Reunited (Love On The Run - Part Two)

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, angst reader has a bad bitch moment, fluff, threats + mentions of murder, no proofreading

Words: 2,114

Summary: In the heat of the moment, Y/n says something that pissed Klaus off. Elijah does the only thing he can and tells his wife to run for her life. | The only thing standing between Klaus and forgiveness from his older brother is Y/n and her freedom.

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @dpaccione, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @simonsbluee

Masterlist | The Originals Masterlist

Part One.

Ever since Klaus’ resentment for Y/n, and the sworn death sentence he’d given her, chased her out of New Orleans and into constant relocation just to be safe in hiding from her husband’s brother, Elijah had developed a new feeling. He began to loathe his little brother. Though he’d claimed to have detested his brother many times before, this time was different. Even so, that wasn’t the only thing different about this time.

This time, Klaus knew he was fucked.

He’d cried for forgiveness over the past few years, yet Elijah ignored him every single time. One of the, scarcely occurring, times he actually spoke to Klaus about his apology, he’d brought up the situation with Y/n, quoting the hybrid word for word.

“You did say, ‘live with Elijah’s hate,’ did you not? So, why can you not just live with the burden of the reality that I in fact do, and will always, abhor you, Niklaus? Or are you just so diabolical, so selfish. that you merely cannot fathom losing the one person whom has vowed to stay by your side, always and forever? The one person who can tolerate you.”

“Elijah- ple-”

“So long as my wife is on the run from you, running quite literally for her life, you will never be reprieved.” Everyone who knew Elijah knew that he always kept his word. “I give you my word on that.” Always.

“Please, brother! I’ll do anything for your forgiveness-” He was genuine. As Klaus begged, practically on his knees with tears stinging his eyes, he was a hundred percent genuine.

Elijah turned his head, finally facing his brother with full attention and interest for the first time in a painful handful of years. “Free Y/n.”

“W-what?”

“Free my lover from this condemnation you have unjustly sentenced her to and allow her to walk away from your grudge without harm and without the risk of you creating blackmail material of her actions that you have unreasonably deemed intolerable.”

“Anything else?” He was only kidding, but Elijah wasn’t.

“You’ll have to collect her from whatever location she’s at currently. And please Niklaus, do so without any violence on your behalf.”

He chuckled for a second. Then his smug, carefree, expression morphed into one of uneasy guilt. “You’re...serious?” Elijah held his stern manner. Klaus took his lack of response as a yes and sighed, “Alright. Consider her free.” then he turned to go hunt for Y/n and earn his brother’s pardon.

“If you lay a hand on her,” Klaus halted in his tracks, eyes darting to the side as though he could see his brother clearly despite Elijah being directly behind him, “be it a hair pulled from her head or even a tiny meaningless spiteful threat, there will be splinters for you to pull out of your skin for years. And though it will not permanently kill you, I shall drive stake upon stake through your chest and never feel remorse for any part of it.”

Klaus almost wanted to scoff, laugh it off and tell Elijah he’d never actually do that but a part of him wondered if he really would. If his own brother would end his life for anything done to Y/n. Deep down, he knew Elijah would have a rage that would overflow and cause terror and destruction in it’s wake.

He knew the wood couldn’t kill him. He’d do it over and over again, for the next centuries to come, and the centuries after those have passed, the cycle never ending. A never ending cycle of a living hell. And a hell that he knew would be well deserved for it would only come to such a punishment if he did anything to hurt the love of his brother’s life. An easy mistake to avoid ...if your name wasn’t Niklaus.

“Understand?”

Klaus wondered what happened to the old him; the merciless, blood thirsty, cruel and sinister hybrid, the one true immortal being, now showing mercy to, and retrieving, someone who’d crossed multiple lines in his eyes. Whilst she did have a point, he chose never to say so. He chose to ignore all attempts to draw the light in him into the world. He chose to ignore all pleas for his goodness in fear of his softness- his weakness getting the people he loved hurt.

But it was time to push past that, for if he didn’t, there wouldn’t be any people for him to love.

He swallowed and redirected his narrowed eyes to the door. His jaw clenched and his breathing became uneven. “Understood, brother.”

Niklaus was a stubborn man, and he knew it. But he would do anything, very close to literally anything, to gain his family back. To atone for his mistakes over hundreds of decades. To plea for redemption from their bad sides. And although Elijah would forgive him with simply letting Y/n return to his arms once more, Niklaus new his pleading wasn’t quite over yet.

Y/n wouldn’t just forgive him so easily. She wouldn’t, and because he knew that, he wasn’t surprised when she narrowed her eyes at him and furrowed her brows before releasing an avalanche of years, years of which felt horribly elongated, of pent up rage upon him instantaneously without any form of hesitation.

He found her with the help of witches, and quite easily seeing as moving from place to place as quickly as possible would require avoiding any type of relationships with everyone. She didn’t have anyone to preform a cloaking spell, but she did have great strength as a back-up strategy.

A note, placed by the barkeep, was subtly dropped in front of her, the words written in blue by the pen he’d snatched from a barmaid’s apron as she walked past. Two little words sparked her curiosity almost immediately. Her head snapped up and turned left and right, looking for who the mysterious messenger, whom she hoped was Elijah. Much to her disappointment, the person who suddenly placed a hand on her shoulder was a different Mikaelson.

Y/n grabbed his hand and flung it off of herself harshly. “You?”

“Don’t sound so disgruntled, love, I am here to collect you after all.”

“No. I won’t be going anywhere with you.” Venom entwined her words as she referenced him. She clenched her jaw and swiftly turned to face the bar again. The scrunched up napkin was thrown over her shoulder. He opened it, “come home” sprawled messily across the soft material.

Klaus felt the anger wash over him but promptly remembered Elijah’s words. He calmed himself with a few deep breaths before clearing his throat and trying again. “I’m afraid I can’t take no as an answer.”

“And I’m afraid I would rather stake myself than go literally any place on this green fucking earth with you.” Y/n spat through her teeth.

Her blatantly obvious execrating feelings for him amused Klaus, a small grin appearing on his lips as he tilted his head. “Do you even know where I’m taking you?”

“To hell, most likely.”

Klaus, unsurprisingly, had a snarky retort ready on his tongue, but she was already out the door and taking a sneaky head start for her run to the farthest place from Niklaus possible. He was on her tail within seconds and cornered her in the woods. A smug leer, not uncommon to see upon his features, promptly slid onto his face.

“What the hell do you want, besides to kill me?”

“You to come with me.”

Y/n paused, as if she were considering his demand, then rolled her eyes. She tried to step around him, “Like that’ll do me any good-”

“It will.” Klaus stepped in front of her, blocking her way once more. “C’mon. From here on out, your sentence is over, you can return to New Orleans-”

“And how do I know you mean the words you speak? How do I know you shall stay true to whatever comes from your mouth?”

“You know me, I-”

“You’re quite correct, Klaus. I know you. I know that you are not infamous for nothing. You lie, deceive, torture, humiliate and do so many other things to people underserving of your cruelty! How should I forgive you when you have yet to adhere for the hurt you’ve infected innocents with?”

His gaze dropped, guilt creeping over his face. He knew what he did to those people.

“Do you even feel bad for what you’ve done?”

Not really. Not all the time. Hardly ever at all if he were to be honest.

“Do you feel the need to morn those you have wrongfully sentenced to death? Those you have sent to the deepest pits of hell based on erroneous judgement?”

She came for his throat, each fact that was spat from her mouth verbatim.

“You are callous and you are heinous! You wonder why your siblings hate you, and yet you constantly do vile things to people! You have erroneously punished people over and over again. You swear you will change, many times, and they believe you but then the next thing they know, they’re in a box for a couple decades. And you think they need to plead for absolution?”

Hundreds of years spent seething in hostility for her brother in law, all ranted in this one moment hit Klaus like a bus, taking the air from his lungs and sending a feeling deep into his gut like someone had just swung a baseball bat into his stomach a dozen times. But she wasn’t finished yet.

“You want to ask for my exoneration? Well you have years, and I mean fucking years, to make up for.” She laughed sarcastically. “To absolve you from everything you’ve put me through, everything you’ve taken from me, everything I’ve fucking missed because of you- to absolve you from all of that would take many years of penitence and work to fix what you have done. Are you really prepared to do that? Are you, Niklaus fucking Mikaelson, ready to take a lengthy withdrawal from your wicked and corruptive reign of evil to earn my remission?”

He hated the fact that she teased him for it, rubbed it in his face, but he knew he deserved it. Klaus knew he deserved every harsh and bitter word she spat at him. He had a thousand of years of blood on his hands, the true number of all the lives he’d snuffed out still paling in comparison to the amount of power that radiated from Y/n, the amount of guilt and remorse she’d forced onto his shoulders with simple words.

“You are no fucking king,” she sneered, “at least, not compared to me.”

Silence made the air heavy with tension as the minutes passed by. Then, she sighed heavily and spoke, slicing the thick tension with an imaginary blade. “I will go with you,” he looked to her with relief, “but I meant every word I said. You will have to work to ensure your vindication. And it will not be an easy task.”

“I understand.” Klaus bowed his head, submitting to her and trading in his crown to prove his worthiness of her forgiveness.

She happily accepted it.

“Y/n?” He couldn’t believe his eyes. Last he’d checked, he hadn’t been bitten by a werewolf or hybrid, nor had he inhaled or consumed any witchy substances that would make him hallucinate. He didn’t pray much, but in his head, his thoughts muttered over and over, “please be real.”

“Elijah!” Her eyes lit up the second they met his form. She surged forward, lips colliding with Elijah’s for the first time in years. He wrapped his arms around her and twirled her round.

The world faded to an irrelevant blur. It felt amazing to be home, to be in his arms once more, to be free of Klaus’ ridiculous furry, free of the ill intentions previously directed towards her. Minutes had went by and yet, neither of the two noticed a single thing.

Years that had passed by soon drifted away, like they weren’t apart for any of it. Like time had hit pause when she’d left his arms and resumed when she returned to them. It felt as though time froze whilst the two embraced. The moment could’ve lasted an eternity had Klaus not cleared his throat to announce his presence.

“So uh...brother...have I earned your forgiveness?”

“I suppose you have.”

“And Y/n? Have I made progress on clearing my name with you?”

She made eye contact with Elijah, exchanging a small grin before returning her eyes to Klaus and nodding slightly. “You’ve got a ways to go, but you’re off to a great start. Thank you, Klaus.”

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dialovers-translations · 3 years

Text

DIABOLIK LOVERS BLOODY BOUQUET Vol.6 Sakamaki Reiji [Track 4]

Original title: 「私」という存在

Source: Diabolik Lovers Bloody Bouquet Vol. 6 Sakamaki Reiji [CD not owned by me]

Audio: Here (30:15~49:00)

Seiyuu: Katsuyuki Konishi

Translator’s note: Usually track 4 is when the suffering ends and the curse is broken but not this time, it seems. It hurts my heart seeing Reiji be in this much pain because it’s clear the cares about the MC a lot by this point so he really doesn’t deserve this. T _ T Hopefully there will be some cute fluff in the next track to make up for all this suffering.

Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5

→ LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

Track 4: My Existence

*Rustle*

*Thud*

Reiji’s muffled voice can be heard from behind the door once more.

“I’m out of luck. There’s nothing about it written in this book either!”

*Rustle rustle*

“Ugh...Haah, haah...The writings here are barely of any help...Even after attempting to do research on the curse, this body is...Arghー!”

*Knock knock*

“...!!”

*Knock knock knock*

“Haah, haah...Go ahead.”

You step inside.

“What brings you here at this hour? I figured you had already gone to bed.”

You offer him a cup of tea.

*Cling*

“Hm? Ah...You made us some tea, it seems? In that case, let me take a small break.”

Reiji tries to step forward but loses his balance.

“...Ah! ...Ugh...”

*Rustle*

“Ah...Ahー My bad...I just felt a little dizzy. Everything is alright.”

You seem worried.

“Did you not hear me when I said I’m fine!? ...!! ...More importantly, let us taste the tea you set. There is nothing worse than a cup of cold tea after all.”

*Cling*

*Rustle rustle*

You start looking through all the stuff in the room, noticing it is quite messy.

“...Aah, I was just re-organizing the stuff on the bookshelf a little. That is how it ended up looking like a mess.”

*Cling*

“Mm...”

Reiji has a sip of tea.

“...Haah. And? Why do you seem so worried?”

You explain.

“...! I did not fathom you would one day have to worry about my health...Ugh...!”

*Rustle*

“Cough, cough, cough...! No, I am fine! This is nothing! My sincere apologies but...Please allow me to step away for a few seconds...Ugh!”

He gets up from his chair, falling down in the progress.

*Thud*

*SHATTER*

“Haah, haah...My body’s...Argh...”

You rush to Reiji’s side.

“Haah, haah...Like I said...This is...nothing serious...You have no business being here any longer so...return to your room at once...Cough, cough...!!”

You shake your head in protest.

“...The curse? This is different. It is by no means...!”

You refuse to believe him.

“If you want to know the truth...Haah, haah...I’ve been telling it to you this whole time...This isn’t...a curse or anything...Ugh...! Ah...Haah, haah...You were the last person I wanted to find out but...Argh...I suppose that like this...I cannot make any more excuses, can I?”

You blame yourself for Reiji’s suffering.

“...! No! You have done nothing wrong at all!”

You get up and try to run away.

“...Hold up! ...Haah, haah...Wait right there. Where are you going? Do not even think about...Cough...Disappearing on me of your own accord...”

You tell Reiji that you’ll only make him suffer.

“...Are you implying that you can no longer stay by my side? Why...Why do you think I tried this hard to hide the truth from you!?”

*Thud*

“Haah, haah...! Ugh...”

*Rustle*

“Haah...Because I knew that I would lose you, the second you found out...”

Reiji bites you.

“Mmh...Nn...”

*Gulp*

“Haah, haah...Ugh!”

You beg him to stop.

“Haah, haah...That’s why...I continued feeding off you like this...Trying to suck out the poison...Wondering that perhaps the curse would lift...If I ensured you stayed alive...”

You try and escape his grip.

*Rustle rustle*

“Therefore! I shall not allow you to fight back...Keep still! Mmh...”

*Gulp gulp*

“Haah, haah...”

*Rustle*

“How could I possibly stop!? Nn...If you won’t listen to me...I suppose I will have no other choice but to discipline you once more...Ugh! Mmh...”

*Gulp gulp*

“Mmh...Nn...”

*Gulp gulp*

“Haah...! Haah, haah, haah...Fufu...Fufufu...This position fits you very well...Being forcefully oppressed like this...You get to once again realize just how powerless you truly are, no? Exactly...Mmh...”

*Gulp gulp*

“You are powerless...All you can do is submit to me...”

*Rustle*

“Haahn...Mmh...”

*Gulp gulp*

“Mmh...Hah...Fufu...When you pointed out how frequently I’ve been sucking your blood the other day, I panicked just a tad bit. I believed that by continuously doing this, I would be able to get rid of the poison flowing inside your body, but in the end...Things did not work out as I hoped...”

*Gulp gulp*

“Mmphー!? Ugh...Haah, haah, haah...!”

You struggle again.

*Rustle rustle*

“Ugh...! Haah...Fufu...Resistance is futile! All you need to do is focus on my fangs. Without thinking about a single other thing...!”

*Gulp*

“Mmh...Nn...”

*Gulp gulp*

“Mmh...”

*Gulp gulp gulp*

“Haah, haah...Fufufu...Was I little too forceful? However, I’d argue that this amount of pain is ideal for you right now, no?”

*Rustle*

“Well then...Shall we continue?”

Reiji continues sucking your blood.

*Gulp gulp gulp*

“Mmh..Nn, nn...Kuh...!! Haah, haah...Mmh...”

*Gulp gulp*

“Hah...! I won’t stop...Did I not tell you, there is nothing for you to worry about?”

*Gulp gulp*

“Haah, haah...”

*Rustle*

“Haah, haah, haah...No matter how painfully your heart aches...Watch closely...Understood? Mmh...”

*Gulp*

“Nn...”

*Gulp gulp*

“...Hah! Haah, haah...”

*Gulp*

“Cough, cough...!! If begging me to ‘stop’ actually worked, I would have done so a long time ago. But this is all for your sake...And for mine as well...! Mmph...”

*Gulp gulp*

“Nn...”

*Gulp gulp*

“Haah, haah...! ...Hm?”

*Rustle*

“Are you...crying?”

You nod, explaining how you hate seeing him suffer like this.

“Haah...My bad. Even if I had no other choice, it was highly inappropriate of me to be this coercive with you.”

*Rustle rustle*

“Listen carefully. I do not want to lose you. Therefore, I am begging you...Do not push me away.”

You look up at Reiji.

“Do you not realize which is more painful to me...between suffering from this curse, or losing you...? Try and imagine...What you would do if you were in my shoes.”

You answer.

“...Hah. ...Yes. Right? There is nothing more painful...than losing the person you love. You accepted my fangs. That proved just how important of an existence I am within your heart. ...I don’t know how the curse made that possible, but even so, I...!”

*Rustle*

“I...won’t allow you to deny me at this point. Accept me...Mmh...”

Reiji bites you once more.

“Gulp*

“Mmh...Nn...”

*Gulp gulp*

“...Haah...Fufu...Exactly. You’re a good girl, aren’t you? Just as I thought...You are the most beautiful...When being toyed around with by fangs like that...”

*Rustle*

“I shall suck from your neck as well, okay?”

*Gulp gulp*

“Hah...Mmh...Haah...Oh dear? Those are some rather lovely cries. Do you feel it in your bones (1) when I suck from here, providing a better sensation, perhaps? Fufu...If there is any place you want my fangs, please do not hold back and tell me...”

He continues biting you.

“Haahn...Mmh...Nn...Give me...more...more of your blood...”

*Gulp*

“Ah...Haah, haah...Ugh...Haah...Your body...and your blood...all of it belongs to me. I simply cannot fathom having to deprive myself of such...because of some trivial little curse...”

*Gulp gulp*

“Ugh...Haah, haah...! You are...mine. Am I wrong? Come on...You should make a vowー and swear that you belong to Sakamaki Reiji. Mmh...Nn...”

You make the promise.

“...Fufu...Haah...Heh.”

*Rustle*

“Just as I thought...I expect no less from the woman I set my eyes on...Haah...I love...you...”

Reiji collapses.

*Thud*

I fell unconsciousness right there. I must have pushed myself to the very limit. Amidst my fading consciousness, her voice calling out for me was the only thing I could hear. A single fear lingered in my chest at hearing those sorrowful cries. What if when I open my eyes again...She will be gone? I want to confirm her presence right now. Feel with my own body that she is indeed still in my arms. With said thought, I began to struggle back. However, I did not get to find out what happened afterwards.

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) Reiji says 骨に響く or ‘hone ni hibiku’ which means ‘to echo/to ring in your bones’ which sounds kind of odd so I wasn’t exactly sure how to translate this part. ^^;;

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #reiji sakamaki #diabolik lovers bloody bouquet #diabolik lovers translation #diabolik lovers drama cd #drama cd

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fatedtime · 3 years

Text

hello i wrote this at 2am in a feral haze. the premise: confessing to Servants who would be Difficult About It until their master starts breaking down in the Lostbelts.

I'd like to do more but for now here's Bedivere and the Phantom of the Opera.

Bedivere

Oh, he breathes, and his face reddens from the effort of restraining tears because he is so, so very unworthy.

He knows it is neither dream nor trick, because the air is too sweet for a nightmare and you are far too sincere for those sorts of childish pranks. He cannot fathom what must have possessed you to say something like that to him - I love you, Bedivere in a voice that drowns in honey - and he plays dumb because Bedivere is such a very well-practiced liar.

How wretched that he wants you, he numbly thinks as you stutter and stammer before him. How horrible it is that he is such a greedy man.

(As if he is worth even kissing his Master's feet. He is a steward. A servant. A knight. How dare he let such desires bloom within him? How dare he feel as such for his lord?)

It is art, the way he avoids your confession. It's such a fine line to balance - he must not refuse you, because to do so would break your heart, but he must not accept you, for to do so would invoke upon you only shame. He hides in the shadows of plausible deniability, of being the dense, airheaded, gentle and pure Bedivere whose humbleness blinds him to the feelings of others.

He feels no pride when he brushes the topic away with an offer of tea and chocolates and ever more servitude, and you let the subject drop.

When had it happened, he wonders? What had he done? Bedivere is not an audacious enough man to think that he had seduced you, but he knew what a burden you held on your shoulders, and he knew that sometimes feelings of reliance and gratitude could be mistaken for... other things, feelings with a similar palatable sweetness.

That had to be it, he was certain. A mistaken, misallocation of emotion. Because if not, because if otherwise --

(His most important and sacred duty was keeping you safe and how could he do that if he shattered you to pieces? And of course he would, how could a man like him not end up doing so, it was his failure that had turned the King of Knights into the Lion King, his selfishness, and if you let him into your heart like that he knew he would do the same to you, he knew it he knew it and that could not be he would never let it be.)

These boundaries were necessary. He was supposed to protect you, among all other things. If you loved him, he could not protect you with everything he had, because the wounds sustained during that protection would wound you as well.

...He may not even be able to give up what was necessary, at the end, just like with the king he never wished to die, because the idea of a future with you would be too tantalizing to ignore.

And that is why he would lie to you, and suffocate this wretched flower blooming in his heart. Thorns pierced him as he smiled and bowed his head before you. You had lead him to a victory he had sought for over a thousand years, and in his cowardice, he would wield his sword for you forevermore.

***

You were breaking down, and he was watching it happen.

He wondered if this meant that he had learned from his prior failures with King Arthur, that he had even noticed it, or if you simply were too honest of a person to conceal your grief. Neither thought comforted him.

He did what he could to ease your burdens as you tore reality after reality between your fingers, condemning them while fighting for your own version of history. For all of his flaws, he was an astoundingly loyal man, and his trust in you never wavered once.

But still, he kept his distance. Though those words you'd said that day haunted him daily (and sometimes, nightly as well) he always asked himself this: what use was that sort of love under the weight of all your sorrows? You had far more important matters on your mind than pining after a ridiculous fool like him, he was sure and he told himself that his rejection had meant nothing.

Changed nothing.

Even though there were ever so many things he wanted to do, so many moments when he had to practice such restraint. He did not take your hand when the two of you walked side by side, even though - unoccupied - your nails drew blood from your palms. When you stood in the snow-fields of the Kingdom of Beasts, he waited behind you, watching as the wind stung your cheeks and never broaching that gap. How would a hug from him then change anything?

Would it have kept the warmth in you from slipping away?

One day, you looked up at the sky, and began to muse about the relationship between gods and men.

That back then, it had felt so easy to be defiantly human, but more and more you wondered about the righteousness of your cause. Did it even matter? Did this suffering, this agony even matter, or was it something that you long ago should have thrown away? You felt so far removed from other people now, so distant, and you wondered if this is what gods were like - deciding who would live and who would die.

"What separates me from the Lion King?" You cried, slamming your fist against the wall with your teeth bared into a pained snarl. "Preserving my desired humanity at the detriment of everything else in the world? Perhaps, back then, I was nothing but a hypocritical fool."

It was at that moment that Bedivere snapped.

Everything you were saying - he rejected it down to his very core. You were nothing like the Lion King, you could never be anything like the Lion King because you were so wonderfully, beautifully, terribly infuriatingly human and the things you fought for were flawed, broken, illogical, and human just the same. He wanted to scream at you that because you worried about these things proved you were nothing about that imperial woman, that your feelings mattered simply because they existed - that even if feeling was shitty it was also right - but he found that things got a little twisted when it came from the 'putting thoughts out of the mouth' department and, instead, got a little more direct.

More specifically, his mouth on yours.

When his brain finally caught up to his body, he had his teeth on your neck and his hands in some very unknightly places. He would have shoved himself away, apologized, gotten on his knees and begged that you behead him for his impropriety, but the parched soil of your spirit greedily drank in any affection he had to offer and, at this point, you could hardly let him go.

The partitions of distance had worn you away, left you chilled and frozen, and so fervently did you seek touch, warmth, honesty, especially from your trusted ally and the foolish man you happened to love. After tasting it, there was no turning back for you, and quite honestly, none for him either. Barriers had been torn, and in his arms, you cried for how vehemently you felt human once more.

Your mutual search for 'something perfect that will cause no pain' was a doomed one from the start, and wiping frozen tears away, he murmured, "Once more, I fear that I have kept you waiting."

Still, at the end, he faced his own cowardice, and it was enough to hold together a fractured heart for just a little longer.

Oh, there is joy, yes. There is such impossible warm joy, a radiant magma spilling through the ugly, malformed rot of his insides. It's the sort of rabid delight that drives a man to madness, and he sings to choke it down, sings of your beauty and your purity and your praises to the sun and moon and stars alike. It is how he disguises the disgusting urge within him to take you into the dark so he may envelope himself utterly in your light.

Phantom of the Opera

I'd say that you're going to destroy this entire man's career, but the truth of it is this: you are this man's entire career, and that is why the melodious lilt of those words devastates him so utterly.

...It’s not that he mistakes you for her -- Christine, that is, the songstress that he did such terrible things in his desire to claim. He knows you are the Master of Chaldea, and that the entirety of human history is the stage for your song of salvation. The power of your voice - your existence, and your ability to enforce your will upon the world - shall transcend time and space to stand against the Incineration of Humanity.

It’s more accurate to say that you are his Christine, the thing that defines his existence, because what would the Phantom of the Opera be without a Christine to love?

Oh, he knows his love is a terrible thing. Oh, he knows he is ugly because of it, and so wretchedly he wishes that he could be unrepentant like Kiyohime, could be unabashed like Serenity, could be fanatical in his desires like Minamoto no Raiko. But he knows what will happen if he does that, doesn’t he? He knows what will happen at the climax of this performance if he does not stretch the first and second acts into eternity.

You confess to him, this man that wishes he was truly a monster and not a monster of a man, and he wants to weep from the agony of it, of how much he wants to TAKE.

But he cannot do that. This is why he sings. For if the performance is still ongoing, he can stave off its terrible end, for he does not want to do harm to you, his light, his love, his foolish, glorious master. In the wake of your confession, he takes your hands with hands not meant for it, balancing your fingers on those delicate blades, and responds to it with an aria of how much he adores you in turn.

He may not be able to accept your love, because to do so would lead to him drowning you in the depths of his monstrosity, but the Phantom of the Opera will pour his soul into ensuring that you know that he loves you, he loves you, always and forever it is you, it is you, it is you --

(Even if that mental corruption twists it, and all he can say is Christine, Christine, Christine -- )

And so, he keeps the mask of monstrosity on. This is the part he has been summoned to play.

***

The distance torments him, the dance destroys him, and he recreates the illusions of his existence in a thousand new phantoms as he simply tries to survive as ‘another performance’ in your glory.

He loves you but will not be with you, this man who must admire you from afar. He has his role and you have yours, and the two of you are not lovers, even though the love you each bear for each other is aching in its desperation. Distance defines him, like the negative space in a photograph, and he cannot broach that barrier without the ruination of everything he so rigidly clings to.

This is how things are until the Lostbelts.

What is the difference between singing and screaming, he wonders, as he watches you condemning another world to its fate? What separates those distinctly raw vocalizations of agony? Because it still sounds like music to him, your wretched sobs as he watches you cry, and he can already see the ending to this tragedy, so crisp and clear like a stanza written in blood.

“Why do I have to be so human?” You had asked him, fingers tightening in his cloak. “It seems all I am destined for is the folly of human mistakes.”

It almost breaks him again, when you grab hold of him and nearly beg him to take you away, because he must be wrong, he has to be wrong, for you are not angelic or glorious or a light that will rise boldly forth to protect the world. If he still wants a thing as wretched as you, then he should lock you up so you can incinerate no more worlds underneath the force of your conviction.

“It might even make you a hero,” you breathe into his neck and - no, it does not almost break him, it does break him, but not in a way he ever could have hoped to expect.

The Phantom of the Opera knows that to keep you would be one of the greatest joys he could ever know. He would find some way to do it, and in that prison, he is certain he could return you to a state of glory untainted by the monstrous guilt weighing on your own heart.

But that is the one thing that he must not do.

Taking his mask off, he removes with it his false monstrosity. He is human as he kisses you. He is a human who kisses you to know and be known, to love and be loved, and in the tide of his want, he will let you drown all of your sorrows within him.

You are not Christine, because Christine does not actually exist. But because you are lovely and righteous and kind, he will give his everything to you, for you are the thing he shall love till the end of every world and then his own.

“Know me now, both in body and in soul,” he asks of you in turn, for if the actor who plays the Phantom of the Opera wants any other sort of role, this is the price he must pay. He can no longer maintain his perfect devotion, that perfect idealized love held at an appropriate length, because only a human - a human born with the gift of possibility - could ever change his role as he wishes to do, change his story and with it, your own.

“I will recast myself in a role that can be by your side,” he whispers into the darkness, and he closes the curtain around you with a blanket that blocks out the light. "For you, I shall be a pillar in your grief."

{Your saga will not end in tragedy; this, to you, he swears.}

#fgo headcanon #fate grand order #fgo #phantom #bedivere #me: its christmas what do i want to write?#hurt/comfort that's what #how far i have fallen that i have been sucked back into the fate rabbit hole to want to blog and write about it but #quarantine sucks so i'm allowed some measure of madness i suppose #fgo headcanons

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tessiete · 3 years

Note

Prompt request where crechemates Obi Wan, Quinlan, and Luminara catch up after Obi Wan’s year on Mandalore. They’re Jedi but they’re also lifelong friends and Obi Wan is sad...

ANON!!! I’m so sorry this has taken ages, but you know - we did it! Thank you so much for the prompt. It was an absolute joy to write Luminara, and try to meld together my Legends peeps with canon. ❤️❤️❤️

THIS TOO SHALL PASS

He comes back changed, so different that in that first brief moment between arrival and recognition, Luminara thinks she’s never known him at all. There’s a stiffness to his spine that speaks of something deeper than injury, and a weariness to his eyes that comes not from fatigue, but wisdom. His master’s hand lingers on his shoulder, and Obi-Wan leans into the touch, his frame trailing like the tail of a comet in Qui-Gon’s wake. But then he sees her, and he smiles, and he looks like he always has.

“Senior Padawan Luminara,” he says, stepping close and bowing deep. “I heard the good news on the platform as soon as we touched down. Congratulations.”

She bows back, neither as deeply, nor as grave, his impish humour undeserving of too much indulgence.

“And you as well, padawan,” she says. “Only you would manage to find a Council-sanctioned reason for skipping an entire year of Astronav.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” he says, eyes alight with mirth. “It was a matter of utmost political delicacy, and I am honoured that the Council, as well as the Chancellor himself saw fit to trust my master and I with such a task.”

“Ah, yes,” she says. “You are well known for your love of politicians. Tell me, is the Duchess of Mandalore very pretty?”

He falters then, a furrow forming between his brows, his lashes fluttering and eyes sliding away from hers in search of something that isn’t there. Ah. She raises her hand, and with a slender forefinger, smoothes away the crease.

“Hush, Obi-Wan,” she says. “This too will pass in time.”

He takes her hand in his, and holds tight. A smile, just as tight, flits bravely across his face, and he inhales sharp, and bright.

“It’s nothing,” he says. Then, as though for proof he adds, “And she was very pretty.”

But Luminara isn’t fooled at all.

She watches him at meals, and in classes - though with a year between them now, their schedules don’t quite match as neatly as they once had. Still, she sees. There are the usual things that linger in any padawan, or knight, after more difficult missions, of course. He keeps his back to the wall. He looks for exits. He always is the last to leave a room, and tries to be the first to enter one, but there is more than that.

There is a softness now. It’s...it’s nearly unnoticeable, and even more undefinable, but there is something soft about him that wasn’t there before. He listens more attentively. He watches more carefully. He frowns and thinks before he speaks, and the little furrow between his brows is remembered by his skin. He leans close when she whispers to him, so near that his hair grazes gently over her lips, and he doesn’t stare at Siri anymore. Not like he used to. But he laughs, and he offers her his hand instinctively, when they take an aircar to the lower districts one evening.

He has learned intimacy.

“Must’ve been some kind of girl!” Quinlan shouts, as they reminisce over drinks in a seedy little club in CocoTown. Obi-Wan grimaces as Quin lands a jocund punch on his bicep. He’s in high spirits tonight, having managed to scrape his way through Theoretical Basic with Obi-Wan’s help. “I know you’d never leave me to suffer as I did for just anyone.”

“Cut it out, Quin,” says Siri, knocking back a shot of something thick and glowing. “Can’t you see he’s distraught?”

“I’m not distraught,” Obi-Wan protests. “I’m just embarrassed to be out in public with you lot.”

“Aw, Obi-Bi,” says Quinlan. “You missed us. Admit it. There’s no duchess in this entire Force-forsaken galaxy that can hold a candle to the pleasure of my company.”

“Oh, please,” scoffs Siri, her mouth grimacing at the sour twist of liquor and Quinlan’s own peculiar arrogance. “You make Gardulla the Hutt look like Alderaanian royalty.”

“Hey Tachi,” says Quinlan, “Aren’t you too young to be out without your master?”

“Hey Vos,” she retorts, “Aren’t you too old to still have one?”

He flicks a protato wedge across the table, which Siri dodges easily, snatching it out of the air with a deft application of the Force, and eating it while he protests her theft.

“I paid for that!”

Garen laughs, while Reeft is too busy scarfing down half a nerf to offer his opinion one way or another. But Luminara watches. Obi-Wan smiles, and smiles but it never lasts for longer than he is observed. It falls away quickly when he drops his eyes, or ducks his head as though the weight of it is pulling his whole being down. His presence in the Force isn’t dimmed. He is as cool, and clear as he has ever been, but she cannot sound him. Like the ocean, he is fathoms deep.

She nudges his foot beneath the table, and he looks at her, attentive to whatever she might need, for surely there is something he might do, something he might say that would fulfill her want and distract him from his own. But she only cocks her head, and studies him, mouthing “Are you okay?” over empty drek and ale bottles.

He blinks. Confusion springs up like a keen defensive blade and he nods as though she were a fool for asking. She presses her lips until they are thin as flimsi, and takes a sip of drek.

“Here, Obi,” says Quin, shoving a shot into his hand. “You and me are gonna drink Tachi under the table.”

“And no purging,” Siri adds. She raises her own glass in salute. “Last woman standing wins!”

And with a cry, and an encouraging hand guiding his own, Obi-Wan joins in the competition, drinking until Quinlan winds up half-conscious in the fresher, and Siri is slapped with a lifetime ban. Reeft, and Garen stagger off to Dex’s, while as penance, Siri vows to see Quinlan safely to the Halls of Healing. Hopefully Bant is on duty and will take pity on them.

“If I really grovel, she might even hook us up with one of those Corellian selamine drips!” Siri slurs, Quinlan draped over her shoulders and drowsing.

Luminara seriously doubts that is a possibility, but says nothing. She only nods encouragingly, and adjusts her hold on her own unstable burden. Obi-Wan has fared better than Quinlan, knowing better than to challenge Siri to a bet, and having learned, somewhere along the way, that some battles are better left unfought, but still he struggles to keep his feet, and Luminara braces herself to steady him.

They squeeze into the aircar together, but are forced to walk the last few blocks to the Temple, when Quinlan unceremoniously vomits out the back window. Most of it is whipped away by the wind, but their driver is furious, and refuses to go any further. And while guiding the steps of three drunken beings is more tedious than simply shoving them in a taxi had been, there is some fortune in this outcome as they manage to make it past Temple security with far less notice than if they’d had to be cleared at the private docks.

Still, Siri and Quinlan make no secret of their passage, laughing and giggling at every missed step or absent whim. At the crossroads between quarters and the Halls, she waits until they stagger out of sight before turning her charge towards his master’s rooms. He’s quiet, pliant, and easily led - a state that she cannot attribute to anything except the quantity of drink in his system, since his stubborn willfulness is something which was left quite unchanged.

“Come on, Obi-Wan,” she whispers, as they approach his chamber door. “Help me out, here.”

She nudges him in the ribs, and lifts his arm while his head lolls sideways to tuck under her chin. She feels his lips against her neck, his breath hot. He smells of sweat, and stale cigarra, and brittle nighttime wind.

“Rejorhaa'ir ni meg gar copad, Sat’ika.”

The words are soft, reverent, hardly more than a kiss upon her skin, and Luminara knows they are not for her. She shakes him harder. Hard enough to dislodge him from his perch atop her collarbone, and drop him into wakefulness.

“Satine?” he mumbles, blinking in the dark. He speaks the name like an orison, and Luminara feels her heart ache with the weight of his prayer.

“I’m not Satine,” she says. “You’re home now. You have to open the door and go in.”

“What?”

“The door, Obi-Wan.” She nudges him further ahead, forcing his feet to accept the responsibility of gravity.

He stumbles, but catches himself, and lets out a sigh.

“Master Qui-Gon is never going to let me hear the end of this,” he says, pressing his palm flat beside the door, and staggering through as it slides away with a hiss.

She follows him in, catching him at the waist as he makes an aborted attempt to collapse across the couch in the common room. His hand hits a clay pot, sending it spinning, and his foot strikes a hollow note against the little wooden table at his side.

“Careful,” she scolds, righting the plant, and listening for the sound of a wakeful master. “We’re going to go to your room.”

“Ah, Padawan Unduli, you’re trying to sed-”

“Padawan Kenobi, keep quiet, lest you wake your master.”

“Right,” he says. And that is sufficient threat, for he keeps any further jibes and jokes to himself as they pick their way down the hall to his room.

This time, she opens the door, her hand firmly in the middle of his back as she escorts him in. The room is still musty from his time away, and though it is no bigger than any standard issue room in any other double suite, it still feels empty and cavernous around them. Obi-Wan hasn’t lived here in a very long time. The walls themselves have forgotten him.

“Thanks for helping me home,” he says. He drops upon his bed, shrugging off his cloak and pulling at the clasps upon his boots. His fingers are wild and clumsy. She watches him struggle for a moment, before pity takes hold, and she kneels down to assist. She brushes his hands aside, and he falls back against the wall, his breaths rasping loudly in the dark.

“If you’re going to be sick let me know,” she says, with a brow raised in barest concern. “I don’t want you to aspirate on your own.”

“I’m not going to be sick,” he insists, voice thick.

“Or if you’re going to cry,” she adds.

“I’m not,” he says. “I’m not. I missed you.””

She shucks the boots, and lifts his legs onto the bed, pulling a blanket across him. He closes his eyes but his jaw is tight, and that furrow in his brow remains. She reaches out to smooth it.

“I missed you, too. Sleep now,” she says. “And dream of lovely things.”

“I’d rather dream of nothing,” he whispers. “I’d rather not dream at all, if all I’ll see is her.”

His hand clenches over the edge of the sheets. She sits, and folds his hand beneath her own. In the stillness of this empty room, and the comfort of his childhood bed, he fights. He bites his lip, until the blood has fled, and the tender flesh turns white. He turns his head, and swallows hard, again and again to drown that anguish, to bridle that emotion, and master himself, just as a Jedi ought. At the corner of one eye, sorrow beads and slips across his cheek. She soothes that injury, too, and murmurs to him sweetly.

“Hush, Obi-Wan, you’re home, now. You’re safe. You’re here. I’m here. Be here, with me.”

“But I will never be there again,” he says, choking on the words as they break free. “She’s gone. She’s gone, and I’ll miss her forever. It’s all over, now.”

“It is,” she sighs, stroking his hair. It has grown long in a year, and his braid is nearly hidden. “It’s over, but it happened. You loved her. And she loved you.”

“I could have stayed,” he cries. “I would have left for her.”

“But you didn’t. You came back. Do you now regret it?”

He gasps. A wretched sob breaks loose, and he surges up, panic, and despair, and overwhelming loss sending him reeling into her arms. He weeps against her chest until he is exhausted, and her robes are crystalised with salt.

“You can still go back,” she whispers, a secret in his ear. “If you wanted. The choice is yours to make.”

He shakes his head, and tightens his grip.

“I made my choice,” he says, tongue thick and slow. But his tone is clear. His heart resolved. He knows what it is he speaks. “I am a Jedi. This is where I’m meant to be.”

“Then trust the Force,” she tells him, gently. “And trust yourself. This, too, shall pass in time.”

#My fic #prompt fill #luminara unduli #obi wan kenobi #sw fic #Star wars

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