#you alone cannot fix the world great though your skills may be

[cerastes]

May I request a review of general coolness and awesome of the horses we saw during the event?

Right, Maria Nearl event!

I liked the event quite a lot, though I do feel like it dropped the ball at the end. That aside, I had a lot of fun the entire time!

First of all, the cast was wonderful. Maria is explicitly not a powerful or skilled fighter to any degree that matters in the frame of strength the story takes place in, being definitely more skilled than the average person and even the average nameless knight, but being woefully outclassed by practically anyone that has a name in the Major. A humble mechanic with a heart drenched in justice, Maria doesn’t even like to fight, and adheres to a knightly ideal and a duty she must fulfill instead to justify her participation in these commercialized bloodsports, which carries the narrative. She is joined by a lovable cast of rambunctious family and family friends, who serve as her mentors and support: Her aunt, who is more akin to an older sister-slash-maternal figure, Zofia, who we are immediately shown is so close to Maria that the moment Maria made a big decision (the participation in the Major) without confirming with Zofia first, she immediately chastised her, wondering why she did not consult with her beforehand. Aunt Zofia is her aunt only due to technicality, as she’s a lady-in-waiting (or, in other words, belongs to a branch family of the Nearl clan, and is actually only 5 years older than Maria) and, more importantly, a decorated, retired competition knight who earned enough in her career that she can live comfortably for the rest of her life, ironically far outstripping the main Nearl house in terms of wealth. There’s also Kowal, an old Ursus mechanic, engineer and smith who mentors Maria in the ways of the wrench, willing to pass his workshop to Maria with her as his successor any day of the week, who himself also used to be a squire to V, an old, retired knight of old who served as Grandpa Nearl’s peerless sharpshooter and who trained Zofia back in the day. Finally, we have Old Marcin, owner of the cast’s favorite hangout, a little bar where he and Maria mediate the infinite squabbles, fights, and arguments that Kowal, V, and occasionally Zofia spark between one another. The event does a great work of introducing the dynamic between these five characters as something extremely domestic and comfortable: You can tell these five are tight and that they have spent a long time together. It’s just another day in their low profile lives when, suddenly, Maria dons Margaret’s old armor and decides to take arms for the main Nearl house, which is currently on the brink of ruin and about to lose its knighthood and nobility titles.

And this decision, and everything this decision means, informs everything that happens afterwards: Zofia tells Maria that if she’s worried about being left homeless, then that’s just foolishness, since Zofia is absolutely 100% ok with Maria moving in with her. She’s loaded. They can live comfortably for the rest of their lives without a concern. Kowal, likewise, insists that Maria is a good enough mechanic that she can earn a living by doing that. But, see, it’s not about a livelihood for Maria, it’s about preserving that for which Margaret and Grandpa Nearl fought and stood for, it’s never about the wealth, it’s about the name, the principle, not the glory, the weight of ideals that blood was shed to nourish and maintain. Maria is not even sure if she’s doing the right thing, but she’s got to do something. Why? Look no further than Uncle Mlynar. A bitter man, a corporate slave, spitting bile at her niece and apologies at his bosses. And the fact that it is very clear that this guy can kick some serious ass -- we never see him without his trusty blade hanging on his hip and, at the end, tells Margaret to square the hell up -- makes it all the sadder: In any other context, Mlynar might be a knight’s knight, hell, Margaret herself says she respects him still, but the Mlynar we see now is an unimportant cog in the capitalist system, just another grunt apologizing to his phone every time his lips part, who gets in hot water just by making small talk because, whoops, your workload accumulated again, better get chop chopping. Mlynar is a very telling character, because he represents everything Maria resents about the current state of the Nearl family: Disgraced, meaningless, existing as an extension of other bigger conglomerates. He is what she wishes to never become, and what the Nearl house cannot be any longer, if she has any saying on the matter.

Maria is not a good fighter. This is important and delightful, because she wins not due to aptitude, strength, or experience, she instead uses her knowledge as a mechanic, her “pegasian sight” (what Grandpa uses to refer to Maria’s incredibly powerful investigative faculties, being able to analyze situations and catch even the smallest details quickly) and the sheer heft of her brass pair of metaphorical horse balls to pull through with clutch victory after clutch victory. Zofia trying to cram as much fundamentals as she can on Maria in as little time as possible so she can survive also helps a lot.

Maria’s victories earn her the possibility of sponsorships, which would, superficially, fix her problems: The main Nearl house would retain status, she’d get a Title, and she would not have to fight anymore. But, see, this is not the point of Maria’s fight. One might say “Maria should’ve just taken the sponsorships”, but that’s not the point of Maria’s fight. She is pushing back against this highly commercialized view on “knighthood”, just like Margaret before her did. Margaret had a clear intent and her passions made her act mostly in anger, as she makes no secret: She hates Kazimierz for what it has become. Maria’s intent is less clear, even to herself, but she’s very much aiming for the same thing, but instead of Margaret’s anger, Maria has her determination. To have taken any sponsorship would have superficially kept the Nearl house afloat, but Maria is not looking to keep the house alone afloat, she’s looking to keep the house and the ideals in which it was built afloat. It goes beyond mere status.

In a world as bleak as Arknights’ and specially Kazimierz, Maria is no doubt naive to the point of frustration... But it is that which we call naive that makes a knight’s knight: Chivalry forged from ideals, sacrifice’s blunt borne from beliefs. The easy way out would’ve ultimately doomed her story, hence why she did not just move in with Zofia, hence why she did not just succeed Kowal and accept his workshop, hence why did not accept a sponsorship: It never was about that.

The very first event of the game, Grani’s Treasure, takes place in Kazimierz as well, but in the isolated outskirts, and we see hard-working, honest people, inhabitants of a nice little scenic hamlet. Now, we see what Kazimierz really looks like: A sprawling megalopolis of neon and concrete where the system shamelessly feeds on whoever sticks out their neck. The contrast couldn’t be harsher, and any hell is upheld by its demons: Czarny was a fascinating character, in that he very clearly held a lot of influence and power... And was extremely replaceable. The moment he messed up badly enough, he was instantly replaced by just whoever the hell picked up the phone next. It’s chilling. One puppet performed poorly? Irrelevant, there’s an endless supply who’ll take his place, provided enough fear and funds. Fear and money. The two currencies of Kazimierz. When a shadow council can just appoint you as the next Spokesman just on basis of you having picked up a phone without any real background check beyond “the previous Spokesman likely intended for this next sack of meat to pick up his phone in case he messed up”, well, congratulations, you’ve crafted a terrifying capitalist hellscape. No wonder Margaret hates Kazimierz so much, given the rot brewing in its underbelly and upper echelons.

And to all this, I have to say: It’s lovely. I loved the world building, implicit and explicit, I loved the cast, I love the themes explored and how characters were used to juxtapose these.

I feel it kinda drops the ball at the end by just... Not having a conclusion? It just sort of ends, which is very weird because events tend to be good at concluding themselves. I assumed we’d get some post-Challenge stages cutscenes to tie everything up like in the past but... No, not really, it didn’t happen. Margaret swoops in, the sisters perform the Ultimate Kamehameha on the Sarkazian Knights, and then it sort of ends one brief talk later. It needed a bigger epilogue, for sure. But this doesn’t ruin the event or anything, just a bit of a weak ending, everything else is still delightful and I loved it very much.

So yeah! The horses sure were wonderful!

#whiskas does stuff #arknights #maria nearl #arknights lore post

[itsclydebitches]

Vine’s death/sacrifice really kinda messes with the “themes” of this volume, the idea of not sacrificing anyone to save others. I guess self-sacrifice is considered ok because of Hazel and Penny, but I just think about their conversation with JRY, with their talk of doing everything possible to save a beloved teammate.

Yeah, self-sacrifices are a whole different ballgame in RWBY. It’s framed as heroic to do everything possible to save an individual, or for an individual to sacrifice themselves for everyone else. However, it’s not framed as heroic for others to sacrifice an individual to save the whole. So the idea of saving Oscar at any cost is presented as the unambiguously good thing to do... with the show largely ignoring the reverse question of, “So it’s okay to sacrifice hundreds or thousands of people--and the safety of an entire city housing the majority of the city below--for one?” 

There are admittedly differences in terms of the presumed fatality of each situation. Meaning, Hazel, Vine, and Penny are framed as having to die or lots more people will definitely die: Salem will get JRYOE, the Ace Ops + Qrow will perish, Cinder will get the power and do horrific things with it (even if this supposed inevitability isn’t executed well. Example: there apparently just isn’t time to heal Penny). In contrast, Oscar is presented as a case where they can still save him and keep others alive. Obviously it all turned out the best it could--because these are the heroes and the plot ensures things go well--but the show doesn’t grapple with that risk, despite RWBY naming an episode after it. We don’t engage with the fact that JYR were 100% willing to let an entire city perish to save their teammate. It’s a heartwarming characterization from one perspective, absolutely, but the flipside is that they’re licensed huntsmen in a position of authority and their willingness to abandon the vast majority of a nation for one guy is... arguably horrifying. These issue is only exacerbated by this decision not being a one-off thing. Ruby’s desire for a perfect solution led her to trapping most of the Atlas/Mantle citizens there and then prioritizing two other teammates--Nora and Penny--over helping the people, despite her inability to do anything to assist those teammates. She isn’t defending them from anything (prior to the Hound’s arrival), doesn’t have the skills to heal them, they’re not even conscious to ask her to stay with them... she just decided that sitting at her friends’ bedside, doing nothing, was more important than helping the people who were currently in life threatening danger. Oscar was in life threatening danger too, but JYR were still in the same position of being official protectors of the people who said, “No. Our friend is more important than the whole nation. We’ll let it burn for the chance to save him.” 

Since I just started Voyager (side note: I WOULD DIE FOR JANEWAY) I’m reminded of how often Star Trek as a franchise emphasizes these moral questions. Not just in the classic “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,” but also when it comes to any position of authority. Captains and Commanders have to grapple with whether they’re able to send an individual--likely a friend--into a deadly situation to help the rest of the ship, like ordering your Chief Engineer into dangerous territory to fix something. They also have to grapple with whether they’re able to leave people behind for the sake of the ship and how much danger it’s ethical to put the whole crew in to continue trying to save the few (something that takes center stage in numerous episodes). Star Trek, though far from perfect as a franchise, largely achieves a great balance between having characters be hopeful, pushing the odds, upholding the importance of every life... but also recognizing that, as the authority here, they cannot put the life of one individual over the entirety of the ship (not unless the entire ship agrees to take that risk. Hence, The Search for Spock). They cannot prioritize their personal desires and needs over that of their crew... but that’s precisely where the RWBY group has ended up. Frankly, this wouldn’t be as much of a problem if the show had just made them into rogue entities, rather than licensed huntsmen who are very much using their authority to gain power over the people they’re not prioritizing (Ruby starts her video by telling the world she’s a huntress, Jaune uses his credentials to get people to follow him). It’s the authority that’s the problem. If a civilian that happens to have a talent for fighting decides to defend their friends instead of helping the people, fine. We may not personally agree with that decision, but it’s theirs to make. The problem is our heroes are huntsmen. They have a duty and they are continually ignoring that duty despite reaping the benefits of their position. Someone with the authority of a huntsmen can sacrifice themselves to save the people, or to save a friend. They cannot, however, willingly sacrifice the people for themselves, or a friend. And yes “sacrifice” includes not just active harm (keeping Atlas trapped), but also increasing the risk of harm (not wanting the whale to be bombed) and passiveness (sitting in a mansion) when it’s their responsibility to protect others. 

What was it Weiss said at Mountain Glenn? 

“It's a job. We all had this romanticized vision of being a Huntress in our heads! But at the end of the day, it's a job to protect the people and whatever we want, will have to come second.”

The characters have completely forgotten that... and the writers have too. Now, “whatever we want” is framed as the heroic thing to do. Ruby wants a miracle despite all evidence to the contrary, so all the people they’ve successful evacuated have to remain in danger until she gets one. The JRY group want their teammate back, so the army will just have to keep dying until they get him. (The fact that they eventually agree to the bomb going off whether they’re still in there or not--something I quite like--doesn’t erase that they initially wanted the Ace Ops to not drop the bomb at all.) Ruby doesn’t want to have to choose between Mantle and Atlas, so both cities just have to lose out on three of the very few people who exist to protect them while they’re torn apart by monsters. “Both houses deserve to be saved!” says the firefighter, standing there and refusing to help either. Inevitably, both burn down. 

The willingness to leave behind an individual for the whole--something which, I should point out, exists in the “Are you willing to leave the few in Mantle for all of Atlas + a large number of refugees?” question-- isn’t just the sacrifice of the individual, it’s also a sacrifice of the authority. Are you willing to live with the guilt of this decision? Are you willing to sit with that choice and accept any consequences that might come your way, including others’ hatred of you for failing to achieve perfection? Ironwood was. He knew he was hurting Mantle, knew no one had been able to come up with a perfect solution, and decided that helping the whole world was worth it. Others despising him was worth getting communications back up and (he thought) defeating Salem. That’s a sacrifice, one that makes Winter’s “You sacrificed nothing!” line sound particularly ridiculous. What has the group sacrificed lately? I don’t mean what they’ve lost--what’s been taken from them--but what they’ve willingly given up to help others. I can’t think of much, especially not in Volume 8. Ruby never even made the choice at all, let alone accepted the drawbacks of it. 

RWBY wants to be a complex, morally gray show, but you cannot write that and have heroes who insist on that fairy tale ending. Something has to give and, inevitably, RWBY keeps supplying that ending instead of forcing the characters to grow. If they want a dark, imperfect world then they need protagonists like Ironwood. No, not crazy, murderous, keep-him-away-from-me Ironwood, but the Ironwood of early Volume 7 who was willing to acknowledge that sometimes perfection is impossible. Sometimes it’s your duty to just get the best outcome possible, not the best you’d hoped for. Sometimes you have to make incredibly hard decisions and shoulder the weight of that because you accepted this responsibility when you took on the role of leader. The group hasn’t accepted a thing and Ruby absolutely didn’t accept the responsibility of seizing power and presenting herself as the world’s leader. Instead, they’ve reverted to their characterizations at the beginning of Mountain Glenn. What do you mean I can’t make the world perfect by wishing it was so? Fine, if I can’t have perfection than I won’t accept anything at all. 

#rwby #mymetas #flawartist

[matoroshika]

I decided to take the personality tests for some Black Clover characters to see what they get, here are the results!

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⚖️🔹Marx: Logistician ISTJ-T (Practical and fact-minded individuals, who’s reliability cannot be doubted)🔹⚖️

“My observation is that whenever one person is found adequate to the discharge of a duty... it is worse executed by two persons, and scarcely done at all if three or more are employed therein.”

Logisticians don’t make many assumptions, preferring instead to analyze their surroundings, check their facts and arrive at practical courses of action. Logistician personalities are no-nonsense, and when they’ve made a decision, they will relay the facts necessary to achieve their goal, expecting others to grasp the situation immediately and take action. Logisticians have little tolerance for indecisiveness, but lose patience even more quickly if their chosen course is challenged with impractical theories, especially if they ignore key details – if challenges becomes time-consuming debates, Logisticians can become noticeably angry as deadlines tick nearer.

Logisticians have sharp, fact-based minds, and prefer autonomy and self-sufficiency to reliance on someone or something. Dependency on others is often seen by Logisticians as a weakness, and their passion for duty, dependability and impeccable personal integrity forbid falling into such a trap. When Logisticians say they are going to get something done, they do it, meeting their obligations no matter the personal cost, and they are baffled by people who don’t hold their own word in the same respect. Combining laziness and dishonesty is the quickest way to get on Logisticians’ bad side. Consequently, people with the Logistician personality type often prefer to work alone, or at least have their authority clearly established by hierarchy, where they can set and achieve their goals without debate or worry over other’s reliability.

Their defining characteristics of integrity, practical logic and tireless dedication to duty make Logisticians a vital core to many families, as well as organizations that uphold traditions, rules and standards, such as law offices, regulatory bodies and military. People with the Logistician personality type enjoy taking responsibility for their actions, and take pride in the work they do – when working towards a goal, Logisticians hold back none of their time and energy completing each relevant task with accuracy and patience.

Logisticians need to remember to take care of themselves – their stubborn dedication to stability and efficiency can compromise those goals in the long term as others lean ever-harder on them, creating an emotional strain that can go unexpressed for years, only finally coming out after it’s too late to fix. If they can find coworkers and spouses who genuinely appreciate and complement their qualities, who enjoy the brightness, clarity and dependability that they offer, Logisticians will find that their stabilizing role is a tremendously satisfying one, knowing that they are part of a system that works.

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👑🟡Julius: ENFP-A Campaigner (Enthusiastic, creative and sociable free spirits, who can always find a reason to smile.) 🟡👑

“It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for – and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.”

Campaigners are true free spirits – outgoing, openhearted, and open-minded. With their lively, upbeat approach to life, they stand out in any crowd. But even though they can be the life of the party, Campaigners don’t just care about having a good time. These personality types run deep – as does their longing for meaningful, emotional connections with other people.

Even in moments of fun, Campaigners want to connect emotionally with others. Few things matter more to these personality types than having genuine, heartfelt conversations with the people they cherish. Campaigners believe that everyone deserves to express their feelings, and their empathy and warmth create spaces where even the most timid spirits can feel comfortable opening up.

Friendly and outgoing, Campaigners are devoted to enriching their relationships and their social lives. But beneath their sociable, easygoing exteriors, they have rich, vibrant inner lives as well. Without a healthy dose of imagination, creativity, and curiosity, a Campaigner simply wouldn’t be a Campaigner. In their unique way, Campaigners can be quite introspective. They can’t help but ponder the deeper meaning and significance of life – even when they should be paying attention to something else. These personalities believe that everything – and everyone – is connected, and they live for the glimmers of insight that they can gain into these connections.

When something sparks their imagination, Campaigners can show an enthusiasm that is nothing short of infectious. These personalities radiate a positive energy that draws in other people, and Campaigners may find themselves being held up by their peers as a leader or guru. But once the initial bloom of inspiration wears off, Campaigners can struggle with self-discipline and consistency, losing steam on projects

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🌱⚪️William: Advocate INFJ-T (Quiet and mystical, yet very inspiring and tireless idealists.)⚪️🌱

“Treat people as if they were what they ought to be and you help them to become what they are capable of being.”

Advocates’ unique combination of personality traits makes them complex and quite versatile. For example, Advocates can speak with great passion and conviction, especially when standing up for their ideals. At other times, however, they may choose to be soft-spoken and understated, preferring to keep the peace rather than challenge others.

Advocates might find themselves feeling especially stressed in the face of conflict and criticism. These personalities tend to act with the best of intentions, and it can frustrate them when others don’t appreciate this. At times, even constructive criticism may feel deeply personal or hurtful to Advocates.

Advocates may be reserved, but they communicate in a way that is warm and sensitive. This emotional honesty and insight can make a powerful impression on the people around them. Advocates value deep, authentic relationships with others, and they tend to take great care with other people’s feelings. That said, these personalities also need to prioritize reconnecting with themselves. Advocates need to take some time alone now and then to decompress, recharge, and process their thoughts and feelings.

Advocates may see helping others as their purpose in life. They are troubled by injustice, and they typically care more about altruism than personal gain. As a result, Advocates tend to step in when they see someone facing unfairness or hardship. Many people with this personality type also aspire to fix society’s deeper problems, in the hope that unfairness and hardship can become things of the past.

Many Advocates feel compelled to find a mission for their lives. When they encounter inequity or unfairness, they tend to think, “How can I fix this?” They are well-suited to support a movement to right a wrong, no matter how big or small. Advocates just need to remember that while they’re busy taking care of the world, they need to take care of themselves too.

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🍺⚫️Yami: Entrepreneur ESTP-A (Smart, enthusiastic and very perceptive people, who truly enjoy living on the edge.)⚫️🍺

“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.”

Entrepreneurs are the likeliest personality type to make a lifestyle of risky behavior. They live in the moment and dive into the action – they are the eye of the storm. They are forced to make critical decisions based on factual, immediate reality in a process of rapid-fire rational stimulus response. This makes school and other highly organized environments a challenge for Entrepreneurs. It certainly isn’t because they aren’t smart, and they can do well, but the regimented, lecturing approach of formal education is just so far from the hands-on learning that Entrepreneurs enjoy. It takes a great deal of maturity to see this process as a necessary means to an end, something that creates more exciting opportunities.

Also challenging is that to Entrepreneurs, it makes more sense to use their own moral compass than someone else’s. Rules were made to be broken. This is a sentiment few high school instructors or corporate supervisors are likely to share, and can earn Entrepreneur personalities a certain reputation. But if they minimize the trouble-making, harness their energy, and focus through the boring stuff, Entrepreneurs are a force to be reckoned with.

With perhaps the most perceptive, unfiltered view of any type, Entrepreneurs have a unique skill in noticing small changes. Whether a shift in facial expression, a new clothing style, or a broken habit, people with this personality type pick up on hidden thoughts and motives where most types would be lucky to pick up anything specific at all. Entrepreneurs use these observations immediately, calling out the change and asking questions, often with little regard for sensitivity. Entrepreneurs should remember that not everyone wants their secrets and decisions broadcast.

Entrepreneurs are full of passion and energy, complemented by a rational, if sometimes distracted, mind. Inspiring, convincing and colorful, they are natural group leaders, pulling everyone along the path less traveled, bringing life and excitement everywhere they go. Putting these qualities to a constructive and rewarding end is Entrepreneurs’ true challenge.

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If you want to read more about their personality types, or other personality types- the website is 16personalities.com ! I find it very amazing at how accurate these are!

#black clover #william vangeance #yami sukehiro #marx francois #julius novachrono

[k7l4d4]

A New Perspective: Owl House AU Story Part 2

Hello all, this is the second part of the collaboration between myself and the talented Flamestar50, give em a hand folks!! To note, I’ve cleaned up and proofread the work they provided, but this is definitely the result of Flame’s hard work and skill. Everybody Clap Your Hands!!!

Eda and Luz stood stunned at the group of people that had managed to crush Lilith.

“Stay back Luz,” Eda warned, but as Luz continued to approach the group, Eda rolled her eyes at the brush-off to her warning.

“Oh god what the hell happened.” One of the people groaned.

“Are you guys okay?” Luz said, leaning closer to the group. As she took in the appearance of them, her eyes widened. “Gus, Willow, Amity? What are you guys doing here? And who are these other people? She asked, gazing at the unfamiliar faces. Suddenly, another face in the pile caught her attention. Wait, that couldn’t be, i-it was-

“IMPOSTOR!!!” Luz yelled, pointing a finger at, well, herself.

“Who are you!?” The impostor Luz yelled back.

“I’m you! Wait, no, I’m me, and you’re PRETENDING to be me. What are you doing, pretending to be me with my friends you, you POSER!” Luz spat.

“I’m not the poser, you are!!” The “impostor” spat back.

“Um, someone better explain what’s going on here, and soon,” Eda asked, completely ignoring Lilith’s muffled protests and complaints over being sat on.

“Alright, there’s only one way to see who the real Luz is!” King announced from the floor. “What is Luz’s favorite... BOOK SERIES!”

“The Good Witch Azura.” Both Luz’s answered confidently, and in perfect sync to boot.

“Okay, this is gonna be tougher than I thought.” King sighed.

“Um, hello.” A soft voice called from the door. All faces turned to it, and saw Amity entering the house, Gus and Willow following closely behind.

“Hi Luz, I came over hear for the study session, and- Oh my Titan...” Amity gasped as she saw a group of familiar and unfamiliar faces sprawled across the floor, and two Luz’s aggressively pointing at one another.

“OH MY GOD THERE’S AN IMPOSTOR AMITY TOO!?” Luz gasped. “How will I know who the real Amity is?”

“What are you doing to my Luz?” Amity glared at her second self.

“I didn’t do anything! It was your Luz who brought us here!” The other Amity shot back.

“*GASP*! Luz! Are you trying to make clones of me!?” Amity whirled towards Luz, a blush blooming across her face.

“What? NO, of course not, at least, I don’t think so... Wait, did I just clone everyone!?” Luz gasped.

“I’M A CLONE!?” “Impostor” Gus shrieked.

“Wait, if you all are clones, than who are you?” Luz asked, pointing to the scary older girl glowering at them beneath her beanie, a metal bat slung over her shoulder.

“What do you mean, that’s my, I mean your, actually our older sister, Victoria.” Alter Luz said, sidling up closer to Luz, a look of slight confusion on her face.

But, I don’t have a sister.” Luz stated.

“Yes you do, you have two.” Alter Luz countered.

“No, I’m an only child.” The two stared in blatant bewilderment at each other, before they started screaming in confusion, provoking a commotion of panicked yelling among the groups.

“Um, shouldn’t you do something?” King asked, looking up towards Eda, who was currently sipping her Apple Blood, snickering at the scene before her.

“Nah, this is kinda entertaining.” She snorted.

“EDALYN!” Lilith managed to shout over the ruckus.

Eda wryly blinked in her sister’s direction. “Oh, I forgot you were there. Alright, calm down kids, could you all get off my sister, you’re currently squishing her to death.” The group awkwardly shuffled away as Eda helped her sister to her feet. Lilith quietly mumbled out a thanks before muttering to herself as she fixed her messed-up hair.

Putting her hands on her chin, with a sly grin, Eda continued. “Okay, let’s start over. What exactly happened here?”

------------------------------------------------

Vela sat hunched on the couch, fidgeting nervously. After this world’s Luz explained about the Potion, and the shard, and her group explained about the portal that appeared and sucked them in, Lilith had retreated, muttering about needing to research, before excusing herself to find some books and do just that. In the mean time, everybody had split up into their individual groups.

Both Luz’s were currently talking to Victoria, who was smugly showing off her glyph inscribed metal bat. Both Willows and Guses were having a pleasant chat, while Sallix, their Willow’s older sister, was... asleep. Yeah, only Sallix Park could be the type of person capable of falling asleep while being sucked into a portal leading to another dimension.

Vela’s little sister, Amity, was having a conversation with her counterpart as well. Vela honestly couldn’t understand her younger sister could stay so calm in a situation like this. Speaking of calm, Amaryllis, Vela’s older sister, was currently chatting pleasantly with the Owl Lady. It was strange to see her smiling, as she usually had this cold demeanor that stopped anyone from approaching her.

But, back in their world, Amaryllis admired the Owl Lady, A LOT. Perhaps it was the same here? Most likely. Other than that, all that was left was Luz’s other older sister, Mari, who was... wait a minute, where was Mari!? Vela began frantically scanning the room in a panic. Mari was nowhere in sight.

“Oh no.” Vela whispered. Mari was a great person at heart, she really was. But, she was also insanely curious, to the point that she would gladly break into people’s lockers and sneak into their houses. Leaving her alone was probably the worst thing you could do. Vela quickly got to her feet, scampering over to Amaryllis, who was standing alone while Eda went to get some more drinks.

“Amaryllis, do you know where Mari is?” Vela whimpered.

“Why do you care?” The older girl responded with an annoyed glance, as though Vela was wasting her time.

“I-I just n-need to find her.” She stuttered. Amaryllis rolled her eyes.

“I think she went upstairs,” She said, jerking a thumb in the direction of the stairs, before turning and walking away. Vela breathed out shakily. She felt kind of dumb being scared of her own sister, but how could she not be? The only reason she asked Amaryllis is because she is ALWAYS watching her surroundings. She knows everything. Vela hurriedly padded up the stairs.

“Mari?” Vela called quietly. There was a slight shuffling coming from one of the rooms. Vela quietly cracked one of the doors open, only to find Mari going through the Owl Lady’s Nest!!

“Mari! What are you Doing!?” Vela exclaimed quietly.

“Huh?” Mari turned, spotting Vela. “Oh, Hi Vela. I’m looking through the Owl Lady’s stuff to see how different she is from the one back home.”

“Mari, we just talked about this last night, you can’t just do stuff like that.” Vela whimpered, grabbing the other girl’s arm and pulling her away.

“But Vela, it’s for the sake of research.” Mari pouted. As Vela and Mari exited the room, a figure before them made them both freeze.

“Hey, what are you guys doing up here?” Luz asked. As she didn’t appear to be mad, it was probably Counter Luz.

“We, um, were looking for the... bathroom.” Vela said quickly.

“Oh, it’s at the end of the hall.” Luz smiled, pointing towards the bathroom.

“Okay, thank you,” Vela said, pulling Mari with her, who was waving goodbye.

“No problem!” Luz said happily. Finally, once the two were inside, Vela locked the door.

“Mari!” Vela said, whirling towards the girl. “Are you crazy?”

“Vela, your overreacting. It was a simple scanning, nothing bad.”

“You broke into the room of a woman from another dimension!”

“Vela, calm down.”

“Calm down!? How can I stay calm at a time like this? We’re in a new world with your sisters, my sisters, Willow and her sister, not to mention Gus, and we don’t know how, or even if we can get back home!! Oh Titan, this is going to be horrible for my studies!” Vela started pacing, her breath growing more frantic. “ I CANNOT get another low grade. If I get just one more, Mom is going to kill me! She’s already so...”

“Vela!” Mari exclaimed, taking the girl’s shaking hand. “I need you to breathe, just breathe. Listen, we’re going to be okay! We have each other, and together, we’ll make it through!” Vela nodded, her breathing having evened out, as Mari placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Hey, I know, let’s go talk to Lilith. I’m sure she’ll have found something in her research that’ll make you feel less worried!” Vela smiled.

“Alright, but you have to promise you won’t go snooping around the house.”

“Fine. I’ll try.” Mari sighed. Vela nodded in content.

“Ready?” Mari asked, taking her hand.

“Ready.” Vela nodded as they stepped out of the bathroom.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Victoria lay sprawled on the couch, watching as her youngest sister and her counterpart chatted away about magic, and Azura Book Clubs. It was honestly amazing how those two could fawn over a fictional book series, despite being from different dimensions. Even Amaryllis was making the most of the situation, chatting away with the Owl Lady. God, she is such a fangirl.

Victoria, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to get back home. As much fun as this unexpected visit turned out to be, she had her own life to get back to. Suddenly, Lilith, followed by Mari and Vela, walked into the room. At the sight of Lilith’s uncertain expression, all Victoria could think was,

“Oh no, what’s the bad news?”

“Ahem, if I may have everyone’s attention?” The whole room turned to look at Lilith.

“What’s up sis?” Eda asked.

“Well, after carefully studying the potion, along with a bit of research, I believe I have figured out how the portal occurred. You see, Luz’s Potion was designed to generate a portal between two points depending upon where the bottle was thrown. The door used to travel between the Demon Realm and the Human Realm contained a material known as Titan’s Blood, which opens rifts between worlds. The two interacting resulted in the portal opening to alternate worlds manifesting. The problem is, I have no idea what occurred to bring the children’s alternates and their alternate’s siblings here.” Lilith finished, looking slightly concerned.

“And what does that mean for us?” Victoria spoke up.

“Until I figure out exactly what occurred to bring you all here, I’m afraid I cannot guarantee you all a way home.” There it was, the news they had all been dreading. Vela let out a little hiss, while Amity and Willow exchanged concerned glances.

“So, what’s gonna happen now,” Luz asked.

“Well, you kids are gonna need a place to crash,” Eda stated. ”And I think its best if you kids split up.”

“Split up!” Mari exclaimed.

“Look kid, I like all of you, I really do, but there’s no way in hell I’m having everyone plus some total strangers crash at my place, and even if I wanted to, I don’t have enough space for everyone!” She said, throwing up her arms.

“I believe the most logical option is for everyone to take their counterparts and others home with them.” Lilith added.

“But, what about our parents?” Willow asked.

“Don’t you worry, I’ll help talk to them.” Eda assured her. After a bit more arranging, it was time for everyone to leave. Mr. and Mrs. Blight were out of town on business, which came as a relief to everyone. Eda and Lilith went to escort Willow and Gus home, giving them a chance to work things out with their parents.

“Alright Luz, take care of our guests, and don’t break anything while I’m gone. I’m trusting you!” Eda called from the door.

“Don’t worry Eda, you can count on me!” Luz yelled back.

“See ya in a bit kid,” Eda waved, before slamming the door shut, ignoring Hooty’s muffled shout.

“Well, it’s just us now.” Luz said, feeling awkward. She had been left with her counterpart Luz, along with her two sisters, Mari and Victoria. There was an uncomfortable silence between the group.

“Sorry about this whole mess, guys.” She said quietly, kicking her feet.

“Yeah, you should be.” Victoria snapped gruffly.

“Victoria!” Counter Luz scolded.

“What? It’s her fault we’re stuck in this mess. You think I wanted to spend my day like this!?” Victoria spat back. Luz’s expression fell, and Victoria instantly felt guilty.

“I’m gonna go downstairs,” She sighed, excusing herself. Once she was out of sight, Luz let out a small whimper.

“Hey, don’t worry about her. She just gets a bit snappy when she’s stressed.” Mari reassured, gently rubbing Luz’s back.

“I know, I just feel so guilty for dragging you all into this mess!”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Counter Luz chided. “We’re just going to have to make the most of this.”

“Yeah, we can do this, Lilith will find a way back for you guys soon, I’m sure of it!” Luz nodded. Now, if only she could convince herself she was right.

#the owl house #owl house au #A New Perspective AU #owl house beta #owl house pilot #lilith clawthorne #eda clawthorne #luz noceda #amity blight #willow park #king the owl house #gus porter #vela blight #mari noceda #amaryllis blight #victoria noceda #sallix park

[warrioreowynofrohan]

The Leithian Reread - Canto XI (The Departure for Angband)

This chapter contains - at the reunion of Beren and Lúthien - my favourite passage in the Leithian, and one of my favourites that Tolkien has ever written, and I think part of my reason for delaying is that I wasn’t sure how to do it justice. But that’s a little farther on.

The chapter opens with a brief account of the Siege of Angband and the Dagor Bragollach. It’s a very strong section of the poem, to the point where it’s hard to know which specific portions to quote; the rhyme and cadence and imagery is all excellent, and is enhanced by a kind of triptych structure from beauty to fire to ruin:

Once wide and smooth a plain was spread,

where King Fingolfin proudly led

his silver armies on the green,

his horses white, his lances keen;

his helmets tall of steel were hewn,

his shields were shining as the moon.

...

Rivers of fire at dead of night

in winter lying cold and white

upon the plain burst forth, and high

the red was mirrored in the sky.

...

Dor-na-Fauglith, Land of Thirst,

they after named it, waste accurst,

the raven-haunted roofless grave

of many fair and many brave.

The description of the dark forest of Taur-nu-Fuin is also wonderfully evocative: sombre pines with pinions vast, / black-plumed and drear, as many a mast / of sable-shrouded shops of death / slow wafted on a ghostly breath.

One of the great recurring themes in Tolkien is the way that all evil, whatever its initial motive and impetus, falls in the end to ruin for ruin’s sake, to the destruction and defilement of all things as a end rather than a means. The image of the Anfauglith is repeated with the desolation before Mordor (gasping pools choked with ash and crawling muds, sickly white and grey, as if the mountains had vomited the filth of their entrails upon the lands about...great cones of earth fire-blasted and poison-stained) and the ruin that Saruman makes of Isengard (trees hewn down and replaced with pillars of metal and stone, joined by heavy chains; meadows paved over; underground furnaces with vents emitting steams, like a graveyard of the unquiet dead), and even Lotho and Saruman’s harm to the Shire (from knocking down Sandyman’s mill to make a bigger one that wasn’t needed, to the mill under Saruman not grinding grain at all but only making smoke and stench and fouling the water).

It’s not as if there is a fundamental benefit to Sauron in making the ruin in front of the Black Gate, or to Saruman in his attempts to destroy the Shire; both start out at one point with the aim of “fixing” the world and putting it in order, and this degenerates into control and rule for its own sake, and then into purposeless malice against not only people but the land itself, with misery and destruction as the only aim. We see small echoes of it elsewhere, as at Losgar.

This theme provides a strong contrast to Beren’s song before his departure across the Anfauglith, which is centred on celebration of nature and creation for its own sake, in and of itself, without any thought of control or ownership. The song fits with Beren’s demonstrated love of nature in earlier chapters, where during his lone guerilla war against Sauron he eats only plants, and is friend and allues with the animals of Dorthonion and with nature-spirits (minor Maiar?) as well: and many spirits, that in stone / in mountains old and wastes alone / do dwell and wander, were his friends. (It also has some echoes in Sam’s song in the Tower of Cirith Ungol.)

The song is given here in longer form than in The Silmarillion:

Farewell now here, ye leaves of trees,

your music in the morning-breeze!

Farewell now blade and bloom and grass

that see the changing seasons pass;

ye waters murmuring over stone,

and meres that silent stand alone!

The song also evokes a lot of the themes that came up in my discussion of CS Lewis’ The Four Loves, particularly the part on eros. Beren has virtually no expectation of coming back alive; he expect to die at best, or be captured and tortured at worst. But making the attempt is, to him, better than willfully choosing a life separated from Lúthien, and better than risking her coming to harm because of him. (The latter, as she will soon point out, is no longer something he has any choice about!) Both of them prefer the very high probability of torment or death over being parted from each other.

Additionally, Beten’s song is one of the purest expressions within Tolkien’s works of the element of admiration in love: delight in the beloved in their own right, above and beyond anything that has happened or will happen or any connection to you personally:

Though all to ruin fell the world / and were dissolved and backward hurled / unmade into the old abyss / yet were its making good, for this / the dawn, the dusk, the earth, the sea / that Lúthien for a time should be!

This feels, also, like it is getting at something deep within the mood of Tolkien’s works, where so much is destroyed or fades or is lost: the existence of beauty and goodness continues to be good, to be meaningful, even when the good and beautiful things have themselves passed away. They were, and that is better than if they had never been.

And here we come to my favourite part of the entire Leithian:

“Ah, Beren, Beren!” came a sound,

“almost too late have I thee found!

O proud and fearless hand and heart,

not yet farewell, not yet we part!

Not thus do those of elven race

forsake the love that they embrace.

A love is mine, as great a power

as thine to shake the gate and tower

of death with challenge weak and frail

that yet endures, and will not fail

nor yield, unvanquished were it hurled

beneath the foundations of the world.

Beloved fool! escape to seek

from such pursuit; in might so weak

to trust not, thinking it well to save

from love thy loved, who welcomes grave

and torment sooner than in guard

of kind intent to languish, barred,

wingless and helpless him to aid

for whose support her love was made!”

Thus back to him came Lúthien:

they met beyond the ways of Men;

upon the brink of terror stood

between the desert and the wood.

This returns to the previously-stated theme around eros: for Lúthien, being captured and tirmented in Angband is a better fate than willingly parting from him, or allowing him to leave her behind for her protection. And this, I think, is why Beren and Lúthien succeed in gaining the Silmaril: be ause their goal is not the Silmaril, their goal is each other.

But there’s more to it than that. I love the passage for Lúthien’s assertion that it is not Beren’s chouce whether she can risk danger and death for his sake. He does not have either the power or the right to protect her from her love of him. (I do think it’s something of a wonder that he still decides to go ahead with the Quest after this rather the the alternative of “let’s elope and be nature-hobos together”, but a lifetime of looking over your shoulders for the forces of Angband and the Fëanorians [yes, I think C&C would’ve gone after them out of spite even without the Quest, given their behaviour in the previous chapter] and Doriathrim sent to kidnap Lúthien back home is daunting in its own way; at least this way, if they succeed it will be over.)

This also goes for friendship (philia): in The Lord of the Rings hobbits express the same sentiment in more commonplace terms, in Merry’s, “You cannot trust us to let you face trouble alone, and go off without a word. We are your friends, Frodo,” and Sam’s “I’m coming too, or neither of us isn’t going. I’ll knock holes in all the boats first.” Or, even more so, in another line of Sam’s during the Breaking of the Fellowship:

“All alone and without me to help you? I couldn’t have a borne it, it’d have been the death of me.”

“It would be the death of you to come with me, Sam,” said Frodo, “and I could not have borne that.”

“Not as certain as being left behind,” said Sam.

Returning to the Leithian: Beren is still reluctant to have Lúthien accompany him into danger. And has a line here whose sentiment always seems to show up in my thoughts about Maedhros and Fingon (“Thrice now mine oath I curse,” he said, “that under shadow thee hath led!”)

Huan, returning with disguises for Beren and Lúthien, uses his second of three lifetime chances of speech to back up Lúthien’s point, and to advise them to disguise themselves as Draugluin and Thuringwethil. This includes one of the more amusing lines in the Leithian, with Huan’s Lo! good was Felagund’s device, but may be bettered. Hi, Finrod, you’re being patronized by a dog. :D He thinks you get, maybe, a B+ on the tactics planning. (Beren gets an F, quite bluntly: Hopeless the quest, but not yet mad, unless thou, Beren, run thus clad in mortal raiment, mortal hue, witless and redeless, death to woo.)

Lúthien uses magic to disguise them effectively, and to prevent the terrible disguises from affecting their minds; it’s difficult, skillful, and lengthy work: With elvish magic Lúthien wrought / lest raiment foul with evil fraught / to a dreadful madness drive their hearts / and there she wrought with elvish arts / a strong defence, a binding power / singing until the mdnight hour.

It is a few days’ journey across the Anfauglith to the gates of Angband and, again, reminiscent of Frodo and Sam’s journey through Mordor; briefer, but also worse in some respects, as they have neither food nor water.

#tolkien #the silmarillion #the lay of leithian #leithian reread #lúthien #beren #beren and luthien #huan #the lord of the rings #frodo baggins #sam gamgee

[purple-possibilities]

Like Father, Like Son

Rating: Teen

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of prostitution, like slightly dark? Gritty maybe is a better descriptor, Naruto world taken seriously.

Length: 1888 words

Pairing: MinaKushi, Minato’s Canonical Dad x Minato’s Canonical Mom

Genre: romance, drama, slight angst (we know how these two ended up), crack taken seriously

Summary: the story of Minato’s parents, and how that influenced Minato’s decisions, and his courtship of Kushina. Inspired by this post about Minato being extra.

Like many children in ninja villages—and truly, just children in general, since the Warring States Era and the formation of the Ninja Villages—Namikaze Minato is an orphan. His father was a self-taught ninja from a small village on the boarder of Kaze no Kuni, while his mother was a kunoichi from Tsuchi.

Though Minato's parents had died when he was young, he was old enough to remember them. He was old enough to understand why his parents were forced to hide away from their home countries, old enough to know when and why he had to hide and lie.

He was old enough to understand why tousan had to escape in the night while he and kaachan had to flee in the cover of tousan's sacrifice distraction.

He was old enough to understand why he and kaachan had to lie about their ninja training when they immigrated into Konoha with forged papers so realistic that not even Konoha's infamous T&I, or their renowned Yamanaka clan could tell the difference.

He was old enough to understand why kaachan was forced to work in the way she did, why strange people would spend an hour or two, or sometimes even the whole night behind the door to his mother's room, why she made him leave when some specific visitors stopped by, why he eventually came home to find her laying in bed, blooms of red and shocks of shiny white against her cold, still skin.

He was old enough to remember it all—to want to change it all, one day—but his mind would always take him back to one specific memory.

His most precious memory of all.

The love in his parents' eyes.

Minato could recite the story word for word, with how much his kaachan told it—how much more she would cling to the words after tousan was gone.

Kaachan was from Iwagakure, having sworn her life to the Tsuchikage and the Tsuchi no Kuni daimyou as a kunoichi of the Rock. Touchan truly had no allegiance—his skills had come from a talent with chakra and a necessity for self-defense.

So when touchan had seen a group of Suna-nin abducting a woman, he did what any good man would do.

He saved her.

Touchan had followed after the Suna-nin in secret, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Touchan was not sure he could defeat the two Suna-nin on his own, but he knew that with the help of the right environment and a few tricks, he could come out victorious.

With his wind chakra aiding him in both speed and his strikes, touchan caught the first nin completely off guard. As the second nin—the one holding kaachan—noticed his partner listing to the right—before the dead body could hit the ground—touchan had just as swiftly eliminated the other, catching kaachan in his arms.

Unwilling to linger at the scene, touchan carried kaachan away, until it was safe for them to stop. When touchan untied kaachan's binds, she couldn't help herself.

Kaachan pulled touchan into a kiss.

It was in that moment that kaachan fell in love with touchan. Both were alone in this cruel ninja world. The shinobi nations were in the midst of the second Great Ninja War. People were dying left and right, hundreds every day.

Who would miss one kunoichi? Who would recognise one self-taught man from the edges of Kaze no Kuni?

Who would give up on the chance of happiness, love, and family, when the world had taken so much from them?

He remembers asking his parents how they knew they were in love after just one meeting.

His mother always answered, “A selfless act of kindness in a cruel world is a rare thing to be treasured. When you find that, especially when you're alone and hopeless, it's easier to leave behind the entirety of your harsh, unfriendly life for even just a single moment with such a person."

When Minato asked his touchan, his father always answered, "There is not much kindness in this world, not much any single person alone can do to fix that. We work hard, we may try to help others, but that's not going to get any one man very far. Kaachan has a fire in her, a toughness, a resilliance which cannot be crushed. She is fierce in her mind, body, and soul. As a man forced to grow and survive on his own, I know just how valuable, and how rare those traits are. I had desperately craved for companionship, for a family, and your mother has the strength and resilliance to ensure our story will be longer than most."

At the time, Minato didn't truly understand what either of his parents meant. But as an orphan, as a boy all alone, who had witnessed the worst of the world and wanted to make it better, who had his world stripped from him in a place that should have been safe, with the weight of his parents sacrifices on his mind and the desperate urge for a family once more...

Minato fell in love.

All he knew about love was what he'd seen from his parents. With no advice, no one to turn to, Minato did the only thing he could:

He emulated the fond, much told memory of how his parents fell in love with the percotions, strong-willed, resilliant Uzumaki Kushina.

And like a blessing from beyond, like a gift from his absent parents, Uzumaki Kushina—who had only ever glared and grumbled at Minato before then—had fallen in love with him.

It hadn't been hard to use the shadow-clone jutsu and then henge them into Kumo-nin. It wasn't hard to find Kushina all alone, after tricking the ANBU who followed her with a genjutsu laid out by Uchiha Fugaku's sharingan.

It wasn't hard for Minato to gently disable (but not disperse!) his own clones, to catch Kushina in his arms, to take her to "safety" (as if she were in any danger at all).

It wasn't hard to attract her heart and capture it—not with his boyish good looks, his patience, and most damning of all—

Kushina's lonliness and desire for connection.

With her home village destroyed and Mito-sama recently deceased, there wasn't a better time for him to put his ploy in motion. Maybe to a civilian that might seem callous, but to a ninja, that was just smart planning.

What did it matter if he was using her grief and loneliness to his advantage? His company would heal that for her anyways.

(Besides, it was his grief and lonliness which drove him to do it).

Minato would grow up to be a lot of things: a hero and a curse, a soldier and a leader, a husband and—just briefly—a father.

Minato would not go on to share the story of how he got Kushina to love him with his son. Minato would instead go on to emulate his father, sacrificing himself in the hopes of giving his child a shot at a better life.

But that was for later. In this moment, in the shoddy comfort of the bachelor apartment allotted to orphaned ninja-in-training, Minato put the pieces of his plan together.

Minato was old enough to retain memories of his life before Konoha, before his parents were taken from him, but only one memory stood out.

And so he remembered.

And so he took the past and made it his present with dreams of the future on his mind.

Fun Facts!

I imagine Minato's mom to be blonde like he, Naruto, and Deidara are, while his dad has red hair similar to Kushina and Gaara. His mother's hair was smooth and straight while his father's was spikes like Minato and Naruto.

The ninja who killed Minato's father were sent after his mother for desertion. Another Iwa-nin had caught sight of her and reported back to the Tsuchikage. The nin were sent to kill Minato's parents but were instructed to bring Minato back alive in case he was useful. I kind of puts Minato's massacre of those thousand Iwa-nin during the Third War into a new light...

Fugaku only agreed to help Minato because when he initially refused, Minato accused Fugaku of not being able to do it. Fugaku, like a certain other Uchiha we know, was desperate to prove himself. Minato didn't tell Fugaku about his plan, he just dared Fugaku to trick the ANBU.

Minato had to practice with his clones for weeks to be able to fight them without them "popping." He ended up having to use a seal on them to make them more resilliant. It was his first time working with fuinjutsu, and what sparked his love for it. Kushina's interest only heightened his own.

Yes, Minato's dad only went along with kaachan's feelings because he was lonely and she was strong. Relationships have been built on less. He was a very pragmatic man. He did genuinely fall in love with her though.

When Minato and his mom immigrated to Konoha, she had to pretend to be a civilian with no ninja training to avoid suspicion, and be offered asylum as a Hi no Kuni refugee. As a foreigner (even one posing as a Fire Country citizen) and with the growing number of refugees, it was hard for her to find a job, so she became a prostitute. She was killed by a nin who was triggered and experienced a panic attack/flashback. He fled the scene after, and ended up letting himself get killed during his next mission. The case of her murder remains unsolved—not that the police did much investigating. There were more pressing issues to deal with at the time.

The harsh life Minato lived—as a fugitive and then a refugee and orphan—is what led him to want to be Hokage. He wanted to save people from the pain he and his parents suffered.

Kushina's spirit (and declaration to be Hokage) is what attracted Minato to her. His father's words of finding someone strong and stubborn enough to survive in this cruel ninja world is what made him decide she was the one for him.

Kushina is dumb. So dumb. Didn't catch on even once. Fell for the plot hook, line, and sinker. Even when, years later, Minato shared the story of how his parents met with her, Kushina did not piece his plan together.

Due to Minato using "Kumo"-nin to carry out the abduction, he made their already poor reputation in Konoha worse. This was further exasterbated when real Kumo-nin actually tried to kidnap Hinata.

Minato sacrafied himself that night when Kurama was unleashed on the village, because all he could think of in that moment was the way his father sacrificed himself to save Minato and his mom. It clouded his judgement from more logical options, like, I don't know, not casting a suicide jutsu to trap half a tailed beast in his minutes old son and his soon to be dead body.

Kushina was delirious from pain meds, having an tailed beast extracted from her, and her own hotheadedness. It was a bad mix.

In the end, Naruto learnt that rescuing a girl is the way to her heart, following the Namikaze family tradition of courtship.

AN: So, uh... This got darker than I thought. The post that inspired this was so cute too. I wrote this a few weeks ago on a night I was too busy for this bs and yet it would not let me rest until it was released. I wrote this after being challenged prompted by @books-n-guns, as crack is my apparent specialty (we been knew, I know. After the LeeKaguya fic I think I solidified my place in this fandom). I hope you enjoyed it!

#namikaze minato #uzumaki kushina #minakushi #naruto #just a little piece i wrote #sibi writes

[ladylouoflothlorien]

For your touch I am yearning

Pairing: Haldir x Reader (Gender not specified) Words: 2291 Summary: You are an elf who is skilled at helping other elves figure out their emotions, but you are not necessarily so skilled at figuring out your own. Haldir comes across you trying to figure out why you’re feeling so down, and offers to help in whatever way he can. Warnings: This gets very STEAMY towards the ends. No smut, but lots of steam. It’s kind of like a Kettle.

AN: Can I just say, I’m kind of shocked that it’s taken two years for me to write something set in Lothlorien, when Lothlorien is literally in my name? Anyway! This is based on a prompt submitted to me by the lovely @saviorsong​.

Caras Galadhon, the heart of Elvendom on Earth, chief and central city of Lothlorien. Many Elves of the Golden Wood lived there, as did you.

The Elves, immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings. Their immortality gave them a sense of living outside time. Unlike humans, who must daily strive to understand themselves, their emotions, their place in the world, the Elves may take as long as they wish to discover such things about themselves.

Except, of course, when they can’t. Is it not the way of this world to contrive difficult situations for all? When faced with a distinct lack of time to mull things over, many Elves will find themselves struck with a rather uncomfortable lack of understanding of themselves and their emotions. When such circumstances occurred, many of the Elves of Lothlorien would turn to you.

You were an elf who’d been blessed with three younger siblings – a rare occurrence in a society where children were already uncommon, and when they could be found they often had no siblings to speak of. You had been born early enough that when your siblings had started to arrive, you’d been heavily involved in the upbringing of all three.

For the sake of peace within the family, you had quickly developed a deeper understanding of the emotions of others. This emotional intelligence had been invaluable in ending the feuds between your young siblings, and it was an emotional intelligence that few Elves, despite their general wisdom, shared. Therefore, if any elf was having trouble deciphering their own emotions, you were more than happy to help. Unfortunately, this was not a skill that extended to the understanding of your own emotions.

You all but sank into the bed in your Talan. You were absolutely exhausted, for all Elves are supposed to be tireless beings. There were many things that you had been intending to get done that day, and you had accomplished precisely none of them. It was not necessarily annoying, for the tasks could always be completed the next day, but the Elves around you seemed to be having more trouble than usual. You wondered if it had anything to do with the upcoming festival.

Still, there was something else bothering you other than physical exhaustion, and it was something that you could not quite place. You frowned slightly, wondering what exactly it was that you were feeling, but then there came a gentle knock at the door.

“Come in.” You called politely as you eased yourself back off the bed and into standing position to receive your guest.

The door opened slowly, and in walked Haldir, March warden of Lorien. You were surprised, but managed to bow your head lightly in respect.

“March warden.”

Haldir smiled a little and took a step towards you.

“We are friends, are we not? I have told you before that the use of my title between us is unnecessary.”

You smiled in return and raised your head, though in your exhaustion your smile did not reach your eyes, and Haldir noticed this.

“What brings you to my Talan at this hour, Haldir?”

Though you were always glad to see him – for you had long harboured feelings for the march warden – the visit was certainly unusual.

Haldir made a gesture for you to sit, and so you both settled on top of your bed, sitting a respectable distance apart and not touching, for physical touch is not a thing often practiced among Elves.

“I admit I noticed you on your way up here. You seemed out of sorts, so I thought to check on you. Please forgive the intrusion if it is unwanted.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, for there was something a little off with Haldir. He seemed to be almost nervous, though you were hardly in a fit state to discover why, not with your own emotional problem to deal with.

“Do not trouble yourself my friend, an intrusion though this may be, it is not unwelcome.”

You glanced sideways at the other elf, who’s eyes widened a little at first in surprise, but then narrowed.

“You are teasing me.”

“I might be. You’re so formal with me – it is no wonder I still call you march warden.”

Haldir had opened his mouth to respond, no doubt with something teasing of his own, but then he paused and seemed to think better of it.

“Come now, do not distract me. I came to see of you are alright. Answer me truly, does something ail you?”

You looked down at your hands, which were resting on your lap.

“I would not burden you, Haldir.”

Haldir frowned at that, and seemed to lean a little closer, though he still kept distance between you.

“You could never be a burden. It is plan that you are troubled. Speak to me so that I might be able to help you.”

There was something in his tone of voice so earnest that you could not deny him.

“Very well. I confess I am troubled, though I hardly know what by. It came upon me earlier today, and I cannot seem to shift it.”

Your hands wrung together lightly as you spoke, clearly uncomfortable. Your mood had dropped rather dramatically, and Haldir quickly sought to lift it again.

“What’s this? The great emotional decipherer stumped by their own emotions? This would be quite the scandal if it got out.”

You tried to fix him with a glare, but your efforts in that department were fruitless, as you could not keep your mouth from twitching upwards. Haldir proceeded then, satisfied that you did not look so disheartened.

“I know your methods – I have seen you work your magic. I may not possess your skill but do remember I have two brothers of my own. Let us work through this, together. We will surely understand what is wrong soon enough.”

The corners of your eyes wrinkled as your smile widened. It was not difficult to consider yourself genuinely lucky to have Haldir as a friend, even if you secretly desired more than that from him.

“You know my methods? Go ahead then, I should like to see you apply them.”

You turned their body to sit cross-legged on the bed and watched as Haldir did the same.

“Think carefully – what’s different than usual that could have made you feel this way?”

Well, that was certainly a question you had asked many a time, and yet now that it was directed at you, you realised what a difficult question it was to answer. After a slightly drawn-out pause, you finally came upon your answer.

“I suppose… with my parents having sailed a few months ago and my brothers and sister now grown and visiting other lands… I have not had as much familial attention as I am used to.”

Internally, Haldir breathed a sigh of relief, for here was a problem he understood well, it was also something that wasn’t too serious. He had been dreading that you might somehow have heard the call of the sea, for if you had you would surely have decided to leave the shores of middle earth. Haldir did not think he could have borne it. It seemed, however, that you were not quite done with your explanation, and Haldir was more than willing to keep listening. Your cheeks had turned slightly pink, and Haldir was certainly curious as to why.

“My family… we are more physically affectionate than most… I must miss being held and touched, as I already missed them before today.”

At that, Haldir’s own face went rather red, for the solution to your problem was rather obvious and he had promised to help, still, it was a little taboo. Haldir swallowed, for it would surely wound his pride as march warden to back out now, but he could not help feeling rather nervous.

“Our solution is clear, then.”

Your eyes snapped up to look at him, wondering if Haldir was really offering himself as the elf for the job, or if he was simply stating that someone was needed.

“H-Haldir, I truly do not wish to impose… I do not wish to embarrass you.”

Haldir swallowed before speaking, though you did not notice this. Part of him felt guilt, for taking advantage of the situation in order to get close to you, but he would not, could not, back out now.

“You are my… friend, and we are alone. There is no imposition, and nothing to feel embarrassed about.”

He paused, holding his arms open slightly.

“Come here.”

You rather slowly and more than a little awkwardly manoeuvred closer to Haldir until you were close enough to him that Haldir could wrap his arms around you. You were stiff at first, but soon melted into the embrace with a soft sound. However, you soon felt better and as soon as you did, you felt that it would only be appropriate to end the embrace. Haldir had done so much for you. It would be wrong to take advantage of him.

“I’m feeling… much better now thank you.”

You said quietly, starting to lean back so as to move away from him. Suddenly Haldir’s arms tightened around you so that you could not get away, and he moved his head to hide it against your neck.

“Haldir, what are you doing?!”

“Do not ask me to let you go just yet, I cannot do it.”

His voice was a little muffled against your skin, but it was loud enough to hear clearly, so there was no possibility of mistake. You felt your pulse quicken and your throat dry as you rapidly tried to go through all the reasons he would say such a thing, and Eru help you, there weren’t many. Still, you could not jump to conclusions.

“M-my friend.” You began. “Do not let me mistake your intentions-”

Haldir looked up then, suddenly, his eyes looking straight into yours with pupils so blown it made his eyes seem black.

“Friends. Must we be friends?” He asked, earnestly, his fingers fisting at the back of your tunic where he held you. You merely gaped at him.

“For centuries I have buried my feelings but now that I have you in my arms I find I can do so no longer.” Haldir’s seeking gaze never left yours, and you could feel the heat of his hands through the thin fabric of your clothing.

“Tell me you do not feel the same and I will walk back out that door behind me.”

Haldir leant in and pressed his forehead against yours. You could feel his breath on your lips, and said absolutely nothing, for you were in such a state of shock that your feelings were returned that you were speechless.

“You say nothing!” He exclaimed, breathless and delighted, one hand leaving its place at the back of your tunic to tenderly – albeit shakily – caress the side of your neck. His voice dropped low, and finally his eyes left yours only to flick down to your lips.

“And yet now you must tell me that you do feel the same, or I can proceed no further.”

You finally snapped out of the dreamlike state you had been in since the first hint of Haldir’s true feelings. You flung your arms around his neck, fingers burying greedily into his thick golden hair, as you brought your lips to his so suddenly he jolted in surprise. Haldir righted himself almost instantly, kissing ardently back as he pushed you down onto the bed. When your back hit the mattress you gasped against his lips, and the march warden – ever ready to seize an advantageous opportunity – bit down on your bottom lip.

Your fingers moved in his hair and found his pointed ears, and you ran the pads of them fingers over the sensitive tips. Haldir’s hips jerked forward at the touch and he let out such a moan into the kiss that your legs seemed to wind around his trim waist all by themselves.

One of Haldir’s hands moved down your body to grasp your thigh. He squeezed firmly as he aligned your hips together, and you could not help but whimper against his lips at the hardness you felt there.

“Such pretty sounds you make.” Haldir’s voice was breathless and deeper than you had ever heard it before, and you writhed beneath him as he finally broke the kiss so that his lips could explore the sliver of exposed skin that your tunic afforded him.

“Have you truly yearned for me as I have for you?”

You were beyond words at that point, but could readily show him with your body, and so you rocked your hips up into his. Haldir’s grip on your thigh tightened deliciously and with a barely stifled groan he pressed his hips down to meet yours once, twice, and then suddenly his body went tense and he stopped all motion. You whined again beneath him, but this time from disappointment.

“Why did you stop?” You asked, panting so heavily the words were more puffs of breath than proper sounds.

He pulled his head up a little so he could look fondly down at his love, a sweet smile on his lips for all they were swollen from kissing. The sweet smile could not detract, however, from the near feral gleam in his eyes.

“I do not think your brothers, nor your sister indeed, would be pleased with me if I were to wed you here and now without any proper courting.”

Haldir leaned closer again, pressing his lips to your ear as he spoke softly.

“For if we had continued any further we certainly would have been married before the hour was up.” Forever Tags: @sweeticedtea @cd1242 @strongandfreedc @pixierox101​ @jotink78​ @luna-xial @underthemoon-imagines​

#haldir #haldir x reader #march warden #lothlorien fic #lorien #lotr #lord of the rings #haldir fic #haldir x you

[crazyyanderefangirlfan]

Bring on the Mania Pt 7

"I can't believe you're a designer."

"I can't believe you've been living under a rock."

After their encounter with Vil and Rook, the pair made their way back to Ramshackle. But not without Amane playfully scolding the girl.

The girl flushed at his response. "W-Well, I don't really watch fashion shows or anything related to it. But after coming here, I do now." She confessed.

He quirked a brow. "Only now?"

"Well, yeah." She said, re-adjusting the crate on her arms.

"I don't really pay attention or follow the trends, too much of a hassle. But, I am beginning to watch them after meeting Vil. Just want to support him, even if I can't understand everything."

Amane blinked at her answer, felt the corners of his mouth twitch to a smile. Despite admitting her lack of knowledge of the subject, she still made an effort to understand it for his sake. She's so sweet.

Though; that begs the question...

"So, you don't have a preferred style?" He asked.

"Not really. I just wear what makes me feel comfortable. My mom doesn't care as long as I'm happy, and my grandparents just remind me to wear shorts under my skirts."

Wow.

What felt like an hour, they finally spotted the gates of Ramshackle. Beyond the gate, Valerie could vaguely make out Gerald's ghostly form watering the flowers he planted last month.

"Hey, Gerald."

Her loud voice made the ghost pause and lookup. Upon recognizing her, Gerald placed the watering can down and flew over to open the gate. When his eyes landed on their items, he smirked.

"Ya, feeding an army, kid." He joked.

"Nah, just a chubby and over-indulgent trash cat." She retorted. The ghost chuckled.

Gerald flew overhead and opened the front door. He even offered to carry the two other bags for Amane, but the demon declined, saying it was good exercise. The ghost went back to watering.

When they entered Ramshackle, they found Grim on the couch. Taking a nap with an empty tuna can next to him. When they entered the kitchen, they found Lisha picking on some stray beetles on the counter. When the little strix noticed them, she grabbed a piece of paper next to her and flew over to Valerie. Dangling it for her to read. What it said made her bit her bottom lip.

Crowley may be the closest thing she had for a father, but sometimes she wants to shove a transformation down his throat. Turning him into a real crow, and breaking a wing, so Grim can hunt better,

She shook her head from those morbid thoughts, not the time.

"Sorry, Amane, but I have to do something. I'll come back as soon as I can to help you." She said, putting the crate down.

"Oh? What happened?" He inquired, placing the bags on the counter. She sighed.

"Crowley asked me to clean his office; while he has something to attend to."

"The fuck? Why would he do that?" Above all things crow shit makes her do...

"It's okay. In fact, I was first a handywoman and cleaning lady, along with Grim. But after a certain incident, we became students." She explained, running her fingers through her ponytail.

"Okay, let's go." He announced. The girl sputtered.

"I-I'm sorry, w-what?"

"Let's go to Crow shit's office. I wanted to see more of this school again. It's been ages." He answered, taking her hand and leading her to the door.

"W-Wait! Amane, I have frozens!"

"Don't worry, we'll handle it." As if on cue, Bennett and Wilbur floated down and began arranging.

"Well, you heard your ghostly guardians. Let's go!"

"Alright, I'll be quick, don't cause any trouble." The opal-eyed girl begged. Standing in front of the office.

"No promises, Sugar tits." The hetero-eyed male winked playfully. The brunette rolled her eyes and went inside.

With the two monsters back in Ramshackle, the demon was alone. Free to flirt with any one of these gorgeous boys without Lisha clawing his eyes out; or having her turned into her original form and trying to eat him.

He smirked.

"Get ready boys, this demon is on a hunt."

For the past hour, Amane happily flirted with several students; some even try to give him their numbers or ask for his. But he turned them down, he may love good-looking guys, but he ain't touching that.

"Oh baby, maybe if you and your dick grow a few inches, then I'll see." The incubi playfully boop a pouting student's nose before happily running away.

He turned to the corner to catch his breath, but the grin never left his face. This was too much fun!

In the corner of his eye, he found something glinting under the sun. Curious, he walked over. It was a blue tablet; it looked like it was charging. Intrigued, he pressed the power button. What he didn't expect was a voice on the other end.

"W-What a-are y-you d-doing?"

Idia felt the world finally turned against him. First, he forgot to charge his tablet last night, making him replenish it in solar mode. Next, he missed a rare event that won't come back in six months. To top it all off. A normie found his tablet.

Joy.

"Oh fuck, it talks." The person on the other side of the screen said in surprise.

'Ugh, go away. Talking to people like you drains all my health.'

"Hon, if you don't reply. I'm just gonna grab this thing and drop it somewhere-"

"No!"

Idia could feel their smirk from the screen. He wants a restart.

"The name's Amane Mania, you?"

The flame-haired male wanted to deny but decided he should if he tried anything.

"I-Idia S-S-Shroud."

"Idia, huh? What dorm are you from?" Amane questioned.

"I-Ignihyde." Idia could feel a severe drain of his energy.

"Ah, Ignihyde. A bunch of shut-ins, but high in sex drive." Amane sighed blissfully.

"What!?" The man barked in laughter.

"When I was still here, I had an occasional fuck with guys. What they lack in skill, they make up for enthusiasm."

There was silence from Amane's end; before purring his following sentence.

"Let's test that with you~" Idia's hair flared up. But, he didn't stop.

"Would you like me to call you daddy or master?"

Great seven's he cannot handle this. Please, Lord of the underworld, save him.

Fortunately, his prayer was answered.

"Excuse me!"

Startled by the loud voice, the incubus turned around and faced a...Kid?

Huh?

"That's my brother's tablet. May I have it back, please?" Innocent amber eyes stared at him.

"Umm, sure. Give me a moment." Though still confused on why a child was here, he was not going without the last word.

He whispered to the tablet, making sure the kid didn't hear him.

"Until next time, Dom switch."

Amane could have sworn something exploded on the other end, but he paid no mind. Instead, he gave the tablet to the young cyborg.

"Here ya go, Kid."

The child beamed. "Thank you!" Then zoomed off.

_______________________________________________

"Anything interesting happened when I was gone?" Valerie asked.

Just as she said, the girl didn't take too long and now walking back to Ramshackle.

"Well." He began his retelling his meeting Idia and a short cyborg.

"Oh, that's Ortho. He and Idia are considered one student. Like, me and Grim."

"Except, the little guy had a better personality than the gremlin." Amane retorted, earning a playful slap on the shoulder.

"Hey! Cut Grim some slack. Yes, he can be too much sometimes, but he has his moments." She defended. Amane just pulled her hood to her face.

"My~ Is this the infamous Amane I've been hearing so much about?"

"Fucking crack whore hell!"

The suddenness of the interruption causes the incubus to cling to the girl like a frightened cat.

Hanging upside down in mid-air was Diasomnia's playful vice-dorm leader, Lilia Vanrouge. The vampire had an amused smile on his face when he perceived Amane's shocked expression.

"Fufufufu, forgive my sudden appearance. I was merely interested to know the demon who cooked that delectable food Sebek brought."

The shock quickly wore off his body, replacing it with a familiar smugness Valerie knew.

"So, my cooking became legendary already? I'm flattered." The incubus fluffed up his hair and shot Lillia a sensual look. The ex-soldier chuckled.

"I believe we haven't been properly acquainted." Lilia landed in front of them, took Amane's hand, and kissed his knuckles. Flustering the demon and surprising the girl.

"My name is Lilia Vanrouge, a pleasure to meet you." His eyes were half-lidded, his smile fanged and filled with flirtatious mischief. For the first time Valerie has met him, Amane was blushing.

"Amane?" She called out hesitantly.

That seemed to snap him out of it; the poor man tried to laugh it off.

"Well, aren't you a gentleman? But I welcome change of pace." Amane smirked.

"Lilia!"

Recognizing the voice. The young brunette peered behind the senior. Jogging his way over was Silver.

"Finally found you, old man." The young knight huffed, relieved that his search is over.

"Good morning, Silver!" The girl beamed up at him.

The aurora-eyed male smiled softly in her direction; he took her hand and placed a lingering kiss.

"Good morning to you too, Valerie."

Lilia let out a small gasp as if realizing something.

"Oh, Dove. I forgot to greet you as well. Let me fix that."

Coming near her face, he gave her cheek a sweet kiss. The girl smiled, especially feeling the strands of his hair on her face.

"Lilia, your hair is on my face." She giggled.

Standing on the side, Amane could only freeze and stare with wide eyes and raised brows. A man was kissing her cheek, which lasted longer than necessary, and not even the slightest bit affected.

Just how dense is she?

"Okay, old man. That's enough."

Silver forcefully removed the shorter male off the girl. Jealousy bubbled in the pit of his stomach. But he tried his best to ignore it.

Lilia pouted. "Your no fun, Silver."

"Remember why we needed to find Valerie, and it's not just to thank Amane for the food." The silver-haired male sternly reminded.

"Yes, yes, I know." Lilia waved him off. Reaching to his coat pocket, he drew a small velvet pouch with a yellow rope. The sound of coins jingling can be heard within it.

Valerie groaned.

"You two know how I feel about this." She complained, rubbing her temples.

"I know, Valerie. But please, accept it just this once." Silver coaxed the girl, giving her a reassuring smile. However, she shook her head.

"Tell him, I appreciate that he's trying to help me. But like all the other times, my answer will still be no." The vampiric fae sighed at her declaration.

"You are absolutely stubborn, Dove." He said, pocketing the pouch.

"But then again. It is one of your charming points." The raspberry-eyed male flashed her a fanged smile.

"We'll be going now. We at least completed one thing needed. Though once we inform him that you refused again..."

"I'll deal with him once he comes to Ramshackle." She can already picture his pouting face in her mind.

Lilia nodded and gestured Silver to follow, giving the girl one last kiss on the cheek (Lilia) and hand (Silver). They walked away.

"Hold on." Amane broke in. "Someone wanted to be your sugar daddy?"

"My, what?"

A hoard of bats attacked the poor demon.

_______________________________________________

"H-Hey! Be gentle." Amane hissed as the cotton swab touched his face.

It took a while to get the bats off him. Thankfully, they left on their own accord, and an injured Amane too. Bite marks littered across his body, more so on his body; the skin on his arms was punctured and bleeding. Some even left small scars on his legs and stomach.

The midnight-haired male never felt so relieved for the girl's abnormal strength, carrying him bridal style and dashing all the way to Ramshackle. Without breaking a sweat or looking remotely tired.

Currently, the man was having his face nursed by Wilbur. His arms, legs, and stomach were neatly wrapped in bandages. Meanwhile, the girl was in the kitchen preparing lunch.

"I am being gentle. You keep fidgeting." The ghost remarked, dabbing Amane's face.

"What did you even do?" Grim chimed in.

On the coffee table, Grim and Lisha were waiting for his answer. Concern shone in the little Strix's eyes while Grim looked bored.

"I...Might have said something wrong." He confessed.

"Not surprising." The feline snorted.

"Hey-Ouch!"

"I told you to stay still." Wilbur chided.

"I dearly hope you won't influence Valerie too much."

Speaking of which.

"Hey, Grim. I need to ask ya something." Amane gritted his teeth, feeling another sting of pain on his face.

"Oh? So you require my wisdom? The great Grim will happily provide, what is it?" A smirk formed on the monster's face. Lisha rolled her eyes at his cockiness, and Wilbur chuckled under his breath.

"Where does Valerie get her money? I know Crow shit gives her allowance, but I'm not convinced."

"Mmm? that's it?" Amane nodded. "Alright, I'll tell ya."

"Yeah, bird brain gives her money. But we do random jobs to earn extra; she even works part-time in the Monstro Lounge sometimes." Grim explained.

Amane carefully regarded this new information and came to one conclusion.

"So, in other words. Valerie is deadass close to being broke."

"Pretty much."

Amane grimaced. This girl seriously needs help.

Loud knocking brought their conversation to a halt. Amane tilted his head, brows furrowed. Please don't tell him it's crow shit.

"I'll get it!" Bennet's voice rang through the air. There was a thick wave of silence; before a sound of footsteps and Bennet's uneasy voice were coming to the lounge.

"H-Hey, now wait for a second"

"Where is the child of man?" A deep voice interrupted the ghost.

Entering the lounge was a tall male with black hair, lime green eyes, and horns on his head. Behind him was Bennet, who shifted his eyes to Amane.

Lime green eyes fell to the demon, raising a brow.

"And who might you be?"

Amane had to seal his mouth shut to keep himself from drooling. This male before him is positively gorgeous! Tall, dark, and cool air of mystery, piercing green eyes stared into his very being, made him chew his inner cheek. Damn, he wanted to see those in the bedroom, and judging by his size, he has to be packing under his pants.

"The name's Amane Mania. I'm pretty famous here for my notorious good looks."

The demon flashed him a flirtatious smirk but cringed when he felt something stick to his face. Weakly glaring at Wilbur, who held a pack of band-aids. The ghost gave him a warning glare, but Amane stuck his tongue out at him.

"Ah." Realization dawned on the tall male.

"The demon currently living with the child of man and the one who cooked that exquisite meal."

"Damn straight. Now, I would like to know your name, handsome."

Everyone, save for Lisha, stared at Amane like he actually said, something prude.

"A-Amane." Wilbur stammered.

"You...Don't know who he is?" Bennet questioned, just as stunned. Amane shook his head.

"Even you, Lisha!?" Grim shouted in surprise. The little strix shrugged her wings, just as confused as the incubus.

"Interesting." Mused the ebony-haired male.

"Oh! Malleus, you're here."

The lime-eyed male, Malleus, straightened his posture when he heard her voice. Valerie peeked through the door with messed-up hair.

"Child of man, may I have a word with you?" He inquired.

The tone of his voice made the girl fidget in place. His stare prompted her to clutch her apron.

Looks like he's upset with her rejection.

"Fine, but let talk outside." She answered. She took off her apron and gave it to Bennett. She followed the tall male out, leaving the rest of the inhabitants to process what they witness.

The pair walked a safe distance away from the dorm; and sat on a bench underneath a tree large enough to shade them.

"Why did you reject my gifts? You need the money, correct? So, why?"

As soon as they sat down, the fae prince wasted no time questioning her. Confusion and hurt shone in his eyes, completed with a pout.

Valerie sighed.

"Malleus." She began. "I know you want to help me, and I'm grateful for it. But please understand, you giving me money so freely? It makes me...Um, well." She paused to find the right words.

"I feel like I'm leeching off you-"

"You're not." He firmly objected. Taking hold of her hands. Eyeing down at her in all seriousness.

"Even so, accepting money; I didn't earn leaves a bitter taste in my mouth."

Silence befell the two students. Malleus seemed to contemplate on her words, rubbing the back of her hand in small circles. After a few tense seconds, he sighed in defeat.

"Very well." He conceded, reluctantly pulling her hands away.

"However. If I ever find you struggling even more as it is, please don't refuse what I give you."

His tone made it clear that he was not giving her a choice, but there was a tinge of desperation.

"Okay, fine." The fae smiled in relief.

"Although. If you want to properly earn the money I give you, you can always come and cook for Diasomnia. I cannot count how many times Sebek has eaten Lilia's cooking for my sake."

The smile faded from his face to a tired frown upon remembering the times Lilia made those horrendous concoctions and insisting for the entire dorm to try. Out of everyone, Sebek suffered the most.

That earned a sympathetic smile from her. "I'll think about it."

She stood up, re-arranged her hair into a neat ponytail again, and faced him.

"Would you like to join me for lunch, Tsunotaro?" Her smile radiated warmth like a fireplace.

Ah, that nickname such fond memories. Enough to muster a small smile and a response.

"I would be delighted."

_______________________________________________

"So...He's a prince."

"Yes."

"And one of the top five powerful wizards."

"Yes. I'm surprised you didn't know about this."

"Eh, not into that sort of stuff."

Meanwhile, the residents of Ramshackle were busily explaining who Malleus was to the two ignorant demons.

"You could at least know he was royalty. Doesn't your family branch over Twisted Wonderland?" Gerald asked. He got back from the kitchen, and here he was.

"I honestly have no fucking interest that shit." Amane's heated reply stunned the ghosts. This is the first time they saw him this angry.

Those who had witnessed it reacted in their own way. Lisha had an understanding look in her eyes. Grim, however, yelped in fear and accidentally shot a fireball at him. Who immediately dodged.

"Gah!"

"Grim!"

"What the fuck, you little shit!"

"Screee!"

"You were about to go on demon mode!" Grim argued, swatting the flames with his tail.

"No, I wasn't!" Amane protested. He grabbed the bowl of water Wilbur used to clean his face and splashed it on the burning couch. It worked, but now they were left with a charred piece of furniture.

"Oh, boy." Gerald muttered under his breath; as he scanned the mess.

Valerie won't be happy with this.

"I'm back!" Speak of the devil.

"I hope you won't mind that Malleus will join-" Valerie blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Yeah, this is real.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply; before letting it all out.

"Alright." She finally said. Opening her eyes, she surveyed their tenses expressions.

"Grim, what did you do?"

"Why me!?" The monster complained.

"You're the only one who does fire magic." She deadpanned.

"I thought he was going on demon mode, that's why." The cat explained, pointing an accusatory paw at the incubus.

"No, I wasn't, ya little shit!" The midnight-haired male furiously retorted.

"You were!"

"Why I oughta-"

"Okay! That's enough." Valerie interrupted, stepping between the demon and monster. Both looked more than eager to fight.

"Since this is clearly an accident, and Grim just went on instinct. So Grim, please apologize to Amane." She calmly instructed the monster, who looked offended.

"What? Why should I-"

"Do it, or I'll make you go on an all broccoli and spinach diet for two weeks." Her smiling face did not match the threatening tone in her voice.

If Grim was human, he would have paled at the thought only to eat those for two weeks straight.

"Sorry, Amane." The monster mumbled, but it was audible enough to hear. Valerie smiled at her accomplishment.

She turned to face everyone and clapped her hands.

"So...Ready to eat?"

Lunch had been thankfully more tamed. Even Grim didn't give his (loud) compliments on her cooking. Looks like her threat left him silent. She did well on lunch.

Kung pao shrimp, roasted salmon with green beans, and tomatoes. A chicken and radish salad, followed by pink lemonade.

"You're an excellent cook, Valerie." Malleus complimented. Taking another bite of his salmon.

"Thank you." Valerie smiled.

"Yeah, not bad. You're almost better than me. Almost." Amane emphasized the last part with a teasing grin. To which the girl rolled her eyes.

After lunch Amane's phone went off, taking it to the lounge with Lisha on top of his head. Leaving Grim and Valerie to do the dishes, Malleus decided to stay and talk to his favorite human more.

Once that was done, she scooped Grim onto her arms, walking out the kitchen with the fae prince in tow. Making their way to the lounge, they paused when they heard Amane's voice. There was slight aggravation in his voice.

"I see. In that case, please forward it to my assistant."

Valerie peered from the entrance. The man sat on the couch, running his fingers through his hair. He finally turned his head, nearly jumping out of his skin when he saw her head.

"Lover of cow tiddies!- Don't do that!" He cursed. Amane slumped on the burned couch, mentally drained from the call.

"Is something troubling you, Mania?" The fae prince questioned. Taking a seat on a nearby chair, and the girl sat next to the demon.

"Nothing to sweat about. But it looks like I have to cut my time short." The incubus confessed, tiredly rubbing his face. Lisha rub his cheek in comfort.

"Huh, why?" Valerie's face wrinkled in concern. But the demon chose to ignore what she said.

Amane got up and dragged his feet out of the room. Disregarding the concern or curious gazes of the others.

The girl wordlessly watched the man walked out. As much as she wanted to help him, she knew it wasn't her business and might anger him.

"You care for him quite a lot." A deep voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

Malleus has been observing her reactions ever since they came back to the dorm. Safe to say, he was a bit jealous of the demon. The fae prince had been vying for her attention since the VDC. Even more when she saved him from his overblot.

The girl rubbed her arms. "Y-Yeah, he opened his heart towards me the last time he stayed here. So I have to be worried for him."

The lime-eyed male stayed silent.

"You didn't forget anything, right?"

"Nope, and don't worry about cleaning the room. I already did that."

The pair stood in front of the entrance door. Amane carried a small bag filled with the items be brought and bought. In the background was Malleus, who was holding Grim at the moment. Lisha was on top of the incubus' head.

"Really? How sweet." Valerie gave him a small smile. Appreciating the gesture.

"You suffered enough bullshit from this school. It the least I could do." The hetero-eyed male playfully pinched her cheek, earning a whine from her. Making him snicker.

"See ya next time, Sugar tits, and you too ya, fat gremlin."

"Quit calling me that!" The monster fumed. Long and slender fingers scratched under his chin, causing him to purr in content. Malleus let out a mirthful chuckle at the action.

Retrieving his hand, Amane gave the girl a mock salute and stepped.

_______________________________________________

Valerie hummed as she fixed her hair into her signature style, albeit replacing her pink ribbon with a black one.

It was getting dark, which meant it was time for her shift in the Monstro Lounge. Malleus left hours ago after watching some historical movie, knowing fully well Sebek and Silver would go out and bring him back to the dorm. Meanwhile, her little monster was sleeping peacefully on her bed.

Valerie checked herself on the mirror for the final time. She was currently wearing a female version of octavinelle's dorm uniform. Except, she replaced it with a black mini pencil skirt, lavender stockings with garters, and black kitten heels.

Once she deemed herself presentable, she grabbed her phone from the bed to check the time. However, when she opened it, there was a text. Her eye twitched when she noticed it was from the headmaster.

"Please don't let this be another errand." The poor girl prayed before reading it.

'Ms. Kemonohito, I'm happy to inform you that all your student debts have been by none other than Mr. Mania. He will also pay for your schooling and accommodations from now on. Ahh, it brings my heart such joy that Night Raven alumni can be as kind as their headmaster.'

Valerie had to re-read the text five times to make sure her eyes weren't playing tricks. She stood there, frozen in shock.

Just why?

A loud knocking brought her out of her dilemma.

"Come in."

Opening the door was Gerald, who held a folded piece of paper.

"I accidentally phased in Amane's room and found this on the bed. It had your name on it." The ghost informed before heading out.

Valerie eyed the piece of paper in her hands; it felt hard. Carefully unfolding it, she let out a small gasp.

Credit cards. Amane's credit cards, there were about five of them in her hands. Quickly, she read the note, desperate for an explanation.

'Hey, Sugar tits.

I hope ya like the gift I left ya. I know what you're thinking, 'I can't accept this!' But I really want you to have it, you deserved it. You've been thrown into an unknown world; and placed in the care of an arguably competent man. Which I know by experience can be utterly useless in some situations.

I also took the liberty of paying for your academics and housing of that dorm of yours too. Don't worry about paying back; it's alright, really. You worked your ass since you got here. You are tired, I can see it. Lorelei is good at hiding it too.

Also; If you are worried about earning money, I think I can arrange something, but it's a surprise.'

-Love your new reliable (and gorgeous) guardian, Amane.

A smile threatened to form her face when she finished reading it. This man, whom she known for a short while, was going above and beyond to help her. This feels like those found family tropes in media.

As thoughtful as it was, Valerie recalled a certain fae making a similar promise, and it made her stomach churned. She wasn't sure how to break the news to him. She already made him upset with her rejection, and she raised his hopes up with her promise.

The opal-eyed girl just hopes he'll take it well.

Taking a deep breath, she texted Azul that she's unable to work tonight due to feeling unwell and needed time to rest. Once she has his confirmation, Valerie flopped on her bed.

"Oi! Henchwoman! What the heck and aren't you supposed to go to work!?"

Grim growled, obviously not happy from being woken up.

The girl simply just pulled her little monster close; and buried her face on Grim's fur.

"Not tonight. Actually, I'm going to tell Azul I won't be working in the Monstro Lounge anymore unless he needs a favor." Her reply was kinda muffled. But audible. This confused them.

"Eh? Really? Then where will you get the money?" The cat monster implored. The girl merely raised her head and smiled at him.

"Let's just say; we got a certain weirdo taking care of us now."

Bonus:

"..."

"..."

"U-Uhhh, Malleus?"

"..."

"Listen, I really value your generosity and concern for me. Trust me, I was just surprised. Please believe me-"

"I do."

"Really!? Your not mad?"

"I am disappointed that I won't be able to help you, but I am thankful to him and his ability to provide for you."

"I'm not."

"No need to be jealous, Azul."

"Be quiet, Jade."

A/N: Finally done with this chapter! Sorry for the long wait, I know this long over due but I hope you like it.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #valerie kemonohito #amane mania #idia shroud #ortho shroud #twst grim #lillia vanrouge #twst silver #malleus draconia #azul ashengrotto #jade leech

[blankdblank]

Ash Pt 4

*

Three days. It was odd, since you had gotten that letter it did not go unnoticed the clear avoidance of the King or others surrounding him that only one of the guards on watch in the Throne Room had clarified it was the letter that the King was requested to read. Most commonly taken as hurt feelings for receiving such words from Lord Girion that opened up a can of worms on feelings from your deceased husband. The stubborn few however had taken the reclusive habit as the fact that it was King Thranduil who had read those words to you and had himself grown agitated by them that caused imaginations to run wild. He had been noticed to stare after the newest arrival unlike with others before.

Far from uncommon the King would cut his routes to his wing by passing through the public areas but since that letter he was deliberately going out of his way to pass through them with obvious glances to where you most commonly sat. As he did with any other new arrival until they seemed to have settled, which could take up to years on rare occasion. Even paths to the library and the stables came up empty and had him zig zagging through his kingdom to the point his own feet were getting sore. His frustration was evident and it wasn’t until his huffs echoed those of another he would freeze to find himself in front of another abandoned wing with dust and dirt coated sheets flying off of hidden treasures to be rearranged.

These rooms hadn’t been touched since their arrival here, not since the destruction of Amon Lanc and those treasures by someone who did not bear the painful memories to prevent moving them each item was shifted, cleaned and re-housed to a location beyond the heap that it all was assembled in. Three days. Each room better than the last with those who explored them afterwards awed and oddly at peace for these treasures to be on full display for all again as if they were brand new again. Tiny things to you that meant the world to these similarly displaced Elves who were forced to this last keep from their former oasis.

Still from his father’s former games room you had fixed the day prior he turned to the throb of his feet and back from the tense hours of tries to discover you and relented a nice long soak would aid in his recovery better than anything else and then he could return refreshed to the tracking game you had initiated. Clothes and boots covered the floor on the way to the hot spring that steadily the King lowered into with a relieved grimace from the heat melting away his aches right away. To a deep sigh his eyes eased shut in his recline against the built in bench steps and remained so while the water worked its magic on his tension until the crack of his front door open then shut again not long after. Hushed giggles and tiny footsteps had him smile knowing just who had snuck into his apartment and rather loudly he groaned and stretched his arms over his head with smile split wide to Prince Estel now frozen post gasp. The giggles continued however in his relax back into the water with quick steps to his bed that with quiet grunts and huffs the boy gave away his hiding place for the again close eyed King.

He meant to get out soon to join the boy in his game however those questions had begun their loop again. His new citizen again flooded his mind. Usually there was little issue compared to yours, imprisoned for over a thousand years by the man who had given his word to protect and cherish you now had clearly left still bleeding wounds. One of which he worried that letter may have tripped across. It was unbelievable how Lord Girion had written to you and treated his wife in the process of flattering you to what ends Thranduil didn’t know. Just widowed even as a prisoner there was little reason for anyone to rush ever broaching the topic of wooing you, it was almost enough to make him ride to Dale and throttle the Man who dared to threaten your healing so selfishly. True some of those lines were quite accurate, though paled in comparison to the prose his own skilled poets could and had been drafting for sharing upon a much later date and all in a respectfully platonic way out of respect for the new Queen.

Queen. The word kept repeating in his head. Since the first time he’d seen you, that was the one word he would have chosen to describe your status. He had seen that regality before, he had served Kings and Queens orders from his family shop and had seen them downcast when overthrown. He almost had stared and had been caught staring since to the sight of a Queen on her knees, battered and bloody prepared to breathe and regain it all on their own the best they could. You were a Queen, even without experience on ruling he knew by your kind ease alone and bolstering courage that there would be a great many willing to risk it all to follow you anywhere. And if he had to a second keep could be formulated to be built for your own rule, or at the worst a reclamation of Amon Lanc, as futile as that might seem had you wished him to gift it to you.

Sharply he shook his head and dunked fully under the water to drown out the thoughts that circled back to those rings and necklace he loathed on you. He had caught himself, nightly inspecting his treasury and gems available, stops that had drawn the recently revived Celebrimbor, another acquaintance from his youth who was the last person to wash ashore, to his side with parchment in hand to think up a design more befitting someone of your heart. Those rings weren’t gifted out of love and the telling lack of shimmer or shine from the clear stones on that necklace left much to be desired. They could do better. You deserved better. Something fit for a Queen.

Up he rose from the water when his lungs ached to expand and in a turn he climbed from the spring chuckling internally to the sight of his missing clothes he took as part of the game Estel was playing at the time he had been forced to wait. The towel snatched up was lifted to ruffle his hair in a pause to the confusing sight of the boy clearly asleep on his bed where he had gone to hide. Something that moved however turned his head and there he saw a hoisted up bin on the shoulder of an Elleth with the other propped on her hip. No one remained in his rooms when he bathed, it was unspoken respect amongst their people unless a Healer had been sent for or Legolas required council from him, even then few aside from Lord Glorfindel or Lord Celeborn would care to intrude on his soaking time. The latter however knew that was how they could trap him to force his audience on a topic he had drug his heels on.

A glint of light off the beaded top to the one of a kind gown had in the lower of his towel to his chest had him remain silent in hopes that it had been the water you had heard to have sent you scurrying. Unable to help it he felt himself smirk at the latest of what would have been odd circumstance to meet in his manner of undress, though past the bed he strode curious of what you had been tasked here to do. His study was where you had come from and seemed to be little changed except for his books that he bit his lip to keep from chuckling in wonder at what languages you could read or if his collection had stumped you as Dalion had. To his closet he went with recollection of your fluent Common tongue and Silvan with even bits of Gondolin’s tongue from a few who had once lived there that refused to learn the common Silvan here he had caught echoes of in passing that had him wonder as to how you knew their tongues but not their lands.

Stunned a moment he froze just to stare at all of his things now re-organized out of his usual way that somehow made more sense than his former layout. A knock on his front door turned his head and inside he moved easing the door shut nearly all the way to the sound of the door opening to finish drying and pull on a fresh selection of clothes. “Ada?” Legolas’ voice sounded then was followed by Glorfindel’s who said in a relieved sigh, “Here he is.” That had him turn and call off the search the twins were embarking upon to the Prince going to stretch out across the bed near to his young friend he would gladly steal a nap with while his father carried on dressing to continue his day.

“I take it our little one has been scaring up a storm through the Palace in his nap here?” Thranduil asked from the closet halfway dressed with towel raised to exit the closet tussling his hair in the towel to find the chuckle worthy sight of his own son asleep next to the boy on the bed he turned from to continue dressing now that he felt his hair was suitably dry.

By the time he had his new robe on over his tunic Glorfindel had rejoined them and asked, “Off hunting again?”

“I will find the Queen and will see how she is handling the letter. We have yet to have received a response.”

Glorfindel chuckled, “My guess would be something abundant with furs or woven goods and food once he sees how his gift had been taken. The response was quite honorable he surely cannot hold a grudge even if his intent was innocent.”

Thranduil stated, “He will adjust and any gift uneven with the slight will be sent back by myself.”

 *

Shakily a breath left you in the pass of another pillar on your way to the usual hiding spot, the pastures by the stables. “How long was he in there?” You asked yourself in a murmur to the feel of bending grass under your beaded slippers with arms rising to cross over your chest in the warmth of the sunlight that fell over you.

A brush however tossed at you snapped your mind from the memory of the wet naked body of the King strolling out of the hot spring. With hands around the wooden body of the brush you eyed the mare in a smirk and a question of, “This your way of saying to make myself useful?” in her move closer and abrupt scoffing turn in front of you. Softly to yourself you lifted the brush to begin the demanded pampering session for the mare that aloofly waited until you were through then trotted off. Once you put the brush up from where they had clearly taken it from inside you strolled through the palace very aware of the clench of your belly towards the kitchens.

Inside the sea of heavenly scents you stepped and looked around to the Elves at work who started to take notice of your entrance. Two of the Elves who had hoped to get try outs approached you with hopeful glints in their eyes asking, “May we help you, Your Highness?”

From a large pot of corn being boiled your eyes shifted to a bag of flour being brought out to the bread station, “I, um, I know it’s close to dinner,”

The taller of the two assured you, “Our services are free to your request at any time. How may we help you?”

When your eyes shifted to them you asked, “Could you show me how to make those rolls, with the honey butter on them?” They both smiled and motioned you to the sinks to wash up with them, leaving your rings on the designated stand there everyone left their rings and bracelets in colored pegs and cubbies to be taken to the counter where they showed you everything you would need. Carefully you rolled up the sleeves on your gown and couldn’t help but smile through the process that the duo grinned as they guided you through each step as you shared that your history with trying for bread either ended up raw or burned in the three times you had tried it as a kid. Inside the orb you stuck mainly to potatoes and sturdy vegetables as they were the easiest to not ruin. Every step more joyful than the next up to the giggle worthy task of kneading the dough.

 *

“Kitchens,” the word had been echoed from the King to Lord Celebrimbor who had been huffing about not having achieved a moment to size you for gifts yet. Though a hands on activity had the returned Lord smiling from ear to ear from the chance that you had been separated from those guilt ridden rings. In the shadows at one door the King stood in wait with a lean against the doorway with eyes fixed on your giggling self with view of Celebrimbor who crept to the jewelry stand shushing those along the way. His path was far from unnoticed and was almost announced by one cook in the lift of your engagement ring only to see the ring sizer in his free hand that once the expanding set of rings he twisted until it fit snugly inside the ring he slipped off. Then got a closer look at the clearly flawed techniques used to craft it or the thin wedding band coated in the same dim excuses for diamonds far beneath what you were worthy of.

Only the emerald could be worth something as even the metal would never have been chosen for any person to court and would only be taken as an insult and even the stone was laced with a sort of enchantment that had the Lord concerned for how it was effecting you. Right away he put it back and turned to head for his workshop to get started on a replacement to hurl that pitiful thing into the fires of the forges to get that enchantment far away from you. Alone still the King stood in watch of the lesson, from the rest of the dough to let it rise where you were taken over to help with making the noodles for tonight’s supper that once flattened out were shaped into butterfly shapes you filled trays that were set aside to dry before being cooked.

The first round of rolls that you had rolled into balls and slid into the oven and coated with the topping another Elleth who had agreed to teach you revealed the ratio of honey and butter and showed you how to brush it on with a smile to the widening of yours. Just proud of actually pulling the task off once the topping had melted perfectly across the tops of the rolls you glanced at the Elf who said, “This dozen is for you,” that parted your lips and the other nodded saying, “Always tradition, first dozen go to the baker. Give it a taste, enjoy the fruits of lesson.”

Off the wooden tray you lifted the one on the edge you raised to sniff the marvel in the bubble of bliss of this moment every Elf around you had felt before on a successful first round of bread making which can make even the most skilled baker get stuck or agitated from a deflating singed bun or loaf. From the wall however the King stole the chance to come over to the move of the other rolls into a basket for you. His sudden approach had him and others grin at your toss of the roll in your hand at his face out of shock that he caught. “Thank you,” he said ignoring the slight others might take of having something thrown at their face to the offer of the basket you timidly accepted another roll from in the curl of the basket into your stomach. “Would you care for a stroll, Queen Jaqi?”

The encouraging grins on the faces of the duo had you nod and turn to fetch your rings that in the walk back to his side you slid them back onto your finger for the quiet walk to the open garden pathway that he was certain you had yet to see. All the while taking small bits off the roll he was nibbling on, once on the cobbled opening he said, “This roll is sublime, thank you. I was out for a snack truly.”

“Oh, yes, well, I suppose being naked can be rather strenuous on the appetite.” That had his head turn in a glance at you through your glance at a tree to hide your moment of internal screams from his attention only to divert the conversation, “Do you make bread?”

“Not often,” he replied in your glance up at him where to the faint blush on your cheeks he realized he might not have gone unnoticed as he had previously assumed.

“I’ve only tried a few times myself. Always raw in the middle or scorched and when I try to give it a few minutes they turn black as soon as I turn my back somehow. Quite puzzling.”

“Did you see me? After my bath? I noticed you had taken the shift to tidy my rooms, thank you for that. I have not quite seen it arranged so before.”

“I thought it was the boy, the water, I came out of the study, thought it was him, not, you or I’d have stayed in the study.”

“I apologize,” he said and you turned your head to catch his gaze, “Had I known anyone other than the sleeping Prince Estel was there I should have made my presence known and covered myself. I had no intentions of making you uncomfortable.”

“Well you were the one who was naked when I stormed in,” The corner of his mouth quirked up at your eyes darting to his again from the path, “How did you get it?” His brow ticked up and you pointed to his side, “You, have a scar, almost looked like a chain.”

“It was,” he answered rather coldly then retracted in your glance away to answer in a more understanding tone that perhaps you were concerned he had been taken prisoner one before like you had. Others knew not to ask, where you had no knowledge who all he had lost and the weight added in the gain of that scar and the others he bore. “Our people fought in a decades long battle where we tried to break the walls and Black Gates of Mordor. A last stand of good against the evil spreading in our world. There was a dragon, others had tried to cast it in iron nets woven from chains. It broke and I was thrown from my people and then watched them vanish in the flames that beast let loose before it was brought down.”

“Oh,” you said in another glance up at him to find his puzzling gaze still on you in a try to hide his pain.

“Many within these walls know the source of my scars, the day I became King, fear not you have not troubled me in asking. Merely a wound that is painful to name.”

“I have the feeling I may upset a great deal of people with obvious questions.”

“Ask any questions you desire. We will do our best to educate you in all matters of interest to you. Our people and histories while rife with pain have many a fine tale we enjoy sharing once those grim reminders are named.”

One more bite and you finished off your roll to his stolen glance over your jeweled ear cover that had him ask, “Do your people often adorn their ears?”

That turned your head and after you swallowed you said, “Sort of, depends on the person. For me these are for records that were in my bag that were spoken or sung in other languages and these are enchanted to help me understand other languages and be able to speak them.” His lips parted, “I sort of soak the languages in as I speak them and eventually I can understand and speak it without them.”

“That does explain quite a bit, to find those who are able to speak Gondolin within these lands outside of a select few is quite an ordeal and you have mastered it flawlessly. It is no wonder that Ringwe has been in a brighter mood of late. I presume they do not aid in written word?”

“No, that magic is beyond my strengths at the moment.”

“Ma-,” the familiar whip of air around the head of an arrow turned his head in the direction of the word, “Ada!”

Wide eyed the King in two steps was around you and placed himself between you and the arrow with a clear flashback to when his son was first learning archery and had accidentally shot him before in a stroll through this same garden others rarely used. His eyes fixed on his wide eyed son who had been helping Prince Estel with his tiny bow he had dropped to cover his mouth as for who had walked in the way of the target landing area the arrow was meant to slide to a stop after its fall on the cobbled walkway. The sudden glimmer of a barrier of mist, that seemed like if you were under the water and peered up at the surface, reflections of light and darker waves that lapped across the dome that covered from above his head to his waist.

Open mouthed the King eyed the barrier that held the arrow in place until its sudden vanish that let the arrow fall to the ground, his eyes however shifted to his son with finger and arm extended behind him, with wide eyes as he called out, “Ada!”

Thranduil turned his head to catch your glowing eyes roll backwards in the buckle of your knees and with an outstretched arm he scooped your limp torso into his side careful to take hold of your basket and guided with a shift of his bicep your head rolled into his chest and not away to prevent strain on your neck. Right away the Princes raced over and Legolas took hold of the basket to let his father guide your legs up onto his other arm to the appearance of Lord Glorfindel seemingly out of nowhere.

Estel, “Do we need a healer? I can run fast!”

Thranduil said in a glance over your face as he felt the clear pulse of energy within yourself resettling to calm. “No, it would appear Queen Jaqiearae is merely in need to rest a time.”

To your apartment he carried you with attention shifting to the hand against his stomach for a drowsy shift of fingers against the buttons there. He hadn’t been there since the tour and did hope that you wouldn’t take this as in intrusion upon your privacy to let themselves in. The doors opened with Legolas and Glorfindel leading the way, past the empty rooms with a pause at a lace weaving loom that was working a lengthy piece together on its own. After a moment he moved onwards to the bedroom where a glance over the additions had him grin at the curious fur pattern on the blanket you had added to it and the pillows. Estel from the bench at the foot of your bed he climbed onto then from rushed to the pillows to help ease the top blanket back his focus shifted from the other blankets to the stuffed animals he smiled in lifting to inspect.

“Green leaf,” he said turning to show the trio off to Legolas who smirked in accepting one for a closer look. Thranduil to your waist ensured you were covered and took the basket he settled on the bedside table on his path to your closet curious of what else you had tucked away to wear. Without touch he got a good look at all that he could see and then made his way to your other rooms to see what else you may have added to the apartment already. The study was where he found additions aside from the self weaving lace loom now with a panel that floated up to a body model that pinned itself up to join the second piece that would one day be a vest of top to another stunning dress. Just the number of books had his head swiveling to take in the various appearances and runes down the spines he couldn’t read.

A forest green book was eased off the shelf and with a grin he admired the forest scene etched into the front cover that he opened and began to flip through a few pages until he found an image then began to flip ahead to the next image. A pattern he continued ignorant of the glowing letters on the spine of the book that upon a picture of a tiger he slammed the book shut to the roar the moving creature gave off. The noise had his head turn to Glorfindel and Legolas who entered the doorway and he said in a show of the book, “Magic book, apparently.” Gently he eased the book back into its place and the trio got to choosing their own books they admired the covers of and stole a few glimpses inside.

Legolas, “Ada, what tongue is this?”

Thranduil answered turning over his own book in hand, “I do not know. Queen Jaqiearae was just informing me of her enchanted ear covers that allow her to understand and speak any tongue heard by her. Though written word is not affected the same. There must be several languages here, some of these runes are quite opposing in composition and overall shape.”

Word had most certainly gotten around and while others ate in the public kitchens supplies for a helping all your own were being gathered to be brought to you in your rooms to be prepped there and ready hopefully when you had woken. The sitting room was made use of with the only available seating other than your own bed that they spoke on ways to make you feel more comfortable now that the kingdom knew you were also at least part Maiar. Radagast’s name was mentioned as far as an invitation to the celebration at the end of the month to have a friend with magic in common nearby as Mithrandir was hard to locate a majority of the time and Saruman was harder to get out of his tower than a badger from its den.

.

A tap on your nose was what had woken you. And into focus came the boy who knelt open mouthed at the opal like swirl of colors in you eyes that darkened back to their normal silver flecked purple eyes. “I shot you,” he said and you couldn’t help but grin at him.

“Not really.”

“I like your dogs and goat,” he said scooping all three up in his palms to show you as if he’d been afraid to be caught with them.

“Thank you, my grandparents gave me them.”

“Are you better? Supper is almost done.” He pointed to your left, “I didn’t eat your rolls.”

In a reach over you grabbed one of the still warm rolls you lifted and offered to him. With a wide smile he set down your stuffies and accepted the roll he took a big bite out of it as you managed to prop yourself up to test your strength and then wiggled yourself upright. Groggily you managed to push the covers down and exhaled in the effort just that took and in a turn you reached for a roll that you took a lazy bite from. The slowed movements of your body had the boy ask, “Are you tired?”

Slowly a half blink with one eyelid moving slower than the other your head eased to the side in an awkward tilt through a hard swallow to empty your mouth to say, “I need my bag.” Right away his head turned and on his knees he swiveled until he spotted the bag that was on the bench at the foot of the bed he scrambled to grab and bring back to you only to find your body had collapsed to its side.

“Here,” he said opening the bag he settled on the bed in front of your trembling empty hand barely able to rise off the bed that dipped into the bag and retracted from it with a silver tin with gems around a painted mural in the center of the lid and around the sides of the oval marvel. A small latch was undone with a press of your thumb that lifted the lid to reveal a tin of what looked to be candies inside. In a sloppy pinch one of the caramel colored ones that in a blur of the room and muffle of a shout from the boy who was more than alarmed by your behavior. That shout had brought with it all three of the Lords who encircled you with a bodiless hand that helped to scoop the candy between your lips. That once upon your tongue melted into an elixir that dripped down your throat to the struggling groan that had hands cup your cheeks in wide eyed panic to the sight of a trail of black ooze from the corner of your mouth. Sharp inhales came in the snap of your eyes, now dark grey with golden veins that receded in four deep chested coughs held back behind what seemed to be your lips glued shut.

Around you their faces came into focus and in the split of your lips they saw the dark receding of ooze source of the trail one of the hands had wiped away they watched you seemed to inhale back down your throat and say, “Sorry, got up too fast.”

Glorfindel said with narrowed eyes, “That was no moment of feeling faint.”

“No,” you said to a tear that escaped from the corner of your eye, “Since I was taken, my magic, I cannot use above an amount of magic. Or I pass out and stay asleep for however long it takes to wear off the sleep.”

Thranduil asked, “These candies? This is the antidote of this sleep?”

“Partly.” You said and wet your lips and in the sign that you were trying to get up their hands helped you to do so and hold you upright, “Still tired, but I can perk up with something to eat. Probably will sleep in tomorrow, can’t help it. The candies are a hardened tonic to reverse the body binding part of my sleep.”

Thranduil asked in a pained voice, “Is there no cure?”

Unsteadily you shook your head and lifted your roll again, now slightly squished that you took another bite from after saying, “Haven’t found a curse like it. He did it.”

The trio simply watched you gradually work back to some semblance of normal in finishing off that roll and a second Legolas handed to you in hopes to quicken the healing along to Estel closing the tin he returned to your bag. Upon news of the supper being ready they helped you to the meal, through which Thranduil assured you Radagast was on his way to meet you and could assist you or call upon Mithrandir or Saruman if necessary to find a way to heal you of this illness.

Ample thanks were given to the cook who gladly shared they would add this recipe to the list of dishes to teach you upon a later date then left with a wide smile at the hopes they had impressed a few points upon their favor to be your personal cook. Afterwards however Legolas had led the rush to get you to call it an early night and joined the others with Estel on his hip upon their victorious exit to your choice of sleeping clothes to do just that.

.

Two days each time you were seen in passing their eyes traveled over you as if to take in any signs of weariness. Signs that after a late breakfast prepped by a second undercook who helped to see you off to a series of task in the Palace as you had missed the ride to Dale that day. Tasks were minimal in subtle agreements through the Palace to not exert you ended by evening strolls through the forest the speckled mare who even seemed to be against urging you to run or so much as speed walk, even going so far as to physically stop you by standing sideways in front of you to keep you from strain. Huffs and groans from you were common until a third day when you were able to sneak onto the first wagon to Dale the next day for a chance to be taken as healthy once again.

An early day however was called at the market having to close for a family celebration that had you with hold of your coin purse to check on what goodies you might be able to afford with each of your few paydays. A bundle of juicy grapes and exactly four pears you strolled to the front gates of the city where one of the guards eyed the cloth bag you held open in the bend of your arm with a smile and a grape between your fingers giving it an amused squeeze. Right up at noticing the audience you flashed him a grin and said, “We could never afford grapes as a child.”

Amusedly he chuckled to himself and watched the second guard who now was on the ground at your side to help you back onto the wagon turned around at the roll in of clouds to give off a slight drizzle soon enough that had brought the available Elves in Dale to head back before the rains could grow if they would at all. The grape was added back to the sack and you lifted a pear that the woman at the stall helped you to choose the best ones that you gave a curious sniff to it. The action had the friendly Elleth who was visiting a friend that worked in the Elvish markets who agreed to help you assemble an ample helping of fruit upon your return and would gladly show you just how to prepare each for snacking and the best way to keep them fresh to enjoy them to their fullest and not have to eat them at once.

Full tours of the markets were given in Greenwood where you were assured that King Thranduil had settled an account for your leisure upon declaration of your title named upon Lord Glorfindel’s arrival at your side in one of their daily trips along your paths. A lesson on jams had come next in the gathering of a full supply of food to be used for the lunch cooking lesson from another undercook to grant the cook time to ready the supplies in your kitchen. The twin Lords however upon realizing you had made a heaping amount had invited themselves as the others were busy in aligning themselves with the incoming arrival of Lords and family members from both Rivendell and Lothlorien.

Pt 5

All –

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess​, @aspiringtranslator​, @thegreyberet​, @patanghill17​, @jesgisborne​, @curvestrology​, @alishlieb​, @jogregor​, @armitageadoration​, @fizzyxcustard​, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost​, @catthefearless​, @imjusthereforthereads​, @c-s-stars​, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​, @mariannetora​, @shes-a-killer-kween​, @ggbbhehe4455

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim​, @jotink78​, @pastelhexmaniac

X Thranduil - @evyiione​, @sweetlytenacious25, @tigereyesf​, @pastelhexmaniac, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​

x Ash - @fandomsstolemylife00​, @lilith15000,  @devilishminx328

#Thranduil #Celebrimbor #Legolas #Estel #Elladan and Elohrir #Arrows and Consequences #The Curse #Marketplace

[thepandapopo]

A Step Through Time Ch 5: Promises

Synopsis:

The one where Felix is done with his younger self being a stubborn asshole and Sophie is determined to treat her fathers equally.

OR

In which Felix confronts his younger self and have a much needed chat while Sophie, who really should never be left alone, makes a not-so-great choice. Pairing: Sylvix

Chapter Index

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

If you had asked Ingrid a month ago if Felix would ever willingly allow someone, anyone, to touch him in even the most casual of ways, she would have laughed first, then immediately sent for Manuela because no one in their right mind would ever think such a thing.

So understandably, to say Ingrid is extremely shocked as she watches the older versions of Felix and Sylvain interact with each other is the understatement of the century.

“They’re disgustingly adorable in their own way,” Dorothea snickers from her seat on the dining hall bench beside her. “I don’t know whether I want to coo or puke.”

Ingrid wholeheartedly agrees.

Clearly fatherhood and marriage, or maybe it was being married to Sylvain of all people, has changed Felix – has made him more… domestic. The Felix and Sylvain of her timeline are already joined at the hip, regardless of how much they deny it, but married Felix and Sylvain are in a league of their own.

Everywhere Felix goes, Sylvain is always there beside him with the shorter man’s battle scarred hand tucked neatly into the crook of his right elbow, his left hand gently securing Felix’s own while also proudly showing off the glittery silver ring adoring his ring finger (his engagement ring, Ingrid reminds herself, as Sylvain had made very clear when he decided that the dining hall was a perfect place to scandalize the entire army with a borderline inappropriate kiss). And if little Sophie is with them, it is like an invisible thread ties them together, ensuring that he is standing no further than a hairs breadth apart from his husband with his daughter in his arms, or placing a hand on Felix’s lower back while he carries their little spitfire.

“I know that couples inevitably begin to adopt some of their partner’s characteristics and habits, but this is almost too much.” Ingrid frowns, finally bringing her forkful of food to her mouth after being frozen in place as she blatantly stares at the happy family. “It’s like Felix isn’t even Felix anymore.”

Across from her, Annette hums her assent. “It’s a bit unsettling, but it’s still really nice to see how happy they are. If you ask me, the really creepy thing is Sylvain’s stare. Have you seen it, yet? It’s like an exact copy of Felix.” Bits of buttery crust go flying from her fork as she waves it around to emphasize her point leaving Mercedes to pull out a handkerchief and mop up the stray crumbs that have found their way onto their once pristine table.

It’s true. Although Ingrid has not been on the receiving end of Felix’s (or Sylvain’s now, for that matter) deadpan glare for a long time, she has seen it directed at others – especially when it comes to anything regarding Sophie who is, clearly, extremely doted upon by her two fathers, even while they try to cajole her into finishing the rest of her vegetables.

“Sweetheart, you know you have to finish your meal first before you get your dessert.” Sylvain’s tone is low and chiding, but the softness of his expression very nearly undermines the authority of his words.

“I don’t wanna,” comes the sad whimper complete with puppy eyes and a wobbling lower lip. “It tastes yucky.”

“Aww, cut her some slack, guys!” Whatever else Balthus is about to say from across the table next to theirs is immediately swallowed back down when not only Felix, but Sylvain as well, levels him with a look so equally unamused that even Ingrid can feel the shiver run down her spine.

“Sophia Gabriella Fraldarius-Gautier. You know you cannot leave your seat until you’ve finished your plate.” Felix says, more stern than his husband sitting on the other side of Sophie, but still bordering the line of fond exasperation. With a grimace himself, Felix spears a few of the sprouts on his own fork and shovels them into his mouth.

“Papa is also eating them too, see? You can be a good girl and finish your food too, right, Princess?” Sylvain smiles affectionately but his voice is strained. It’s been the better part of an hour now that he has tried bargaining with his daughter and even the most patient of fathers has a limit. His eyes meets Felix’s briefly as an unspoken message flits between them before Felix nods stiffly and chimes in again.

“If you promise to be good and finish your vegetables for the rest of this month, we will think about letting you go see the market that is passing through town.”

Clearly, it is an effective bait and Sophie’s eyes light up like it’s Yule and her birthday all rolled into one.

“Really?!”

This is news to Ingrid. The last time Annette and Mercedes had mentioned it in passing to future Felix and Sylvain, testing the waters to see if they would be amenable to allowing them to take Sophie, it had resulted in a resounding ‘no’ and one teary child.

“This is war, Annie.” Felix had said in a no nonsense tone after a sniffling Sophia had been carted off to check out the pastries fresh from the kitchen. “She has only known a time of peace. Sophie doesn’t understand how dangerous it can be going out somewhere even as simple as a market in times of unrest.”

“But it’s not like we’d let her go by herself!” Annette argued. “We would be with her the whole time!”

“It’s not your babysitting skills that we’re worried about, Annie.” Sylvain said. His lips quirked upwards in a small smile that did little to lessen the gravity of his expression. “Sophie has a tendency to be ah, a bit of a curious child.”

Felix snorted. “Like someone I know,” he muttered under his breath.

“And so,” Sylvain continued, completely ignoring the barb from his husband even though he knows that later on in the privacy of their own room, he’ll get into how the curiosity may have come from him, but the utter fearlessness and stubborn will to do her own thing one hundred percent came from Felix. “Sophie has a bad habit of wandering off. Goddess knows she’s done it loads of times whenever Felix or I take her down to our local market. The only difference is that everyone there knows who she is and at the end of the day, nothing bad ever happens to her and she comes home with a treat or two and a pat on the head.”

“Well then, we can just hold her hand!” Mercedes says like it is the simplest solution in the world.

“We’ve tried that. We’ve tried literally everything under the sun short of actually tying her to us physically with a rope.”

“But what about-“

“No means no, Annette. We will not argue with you about this. It’s not safe.”

“But Feeelix-!”

And that was the end of that conversation. At least, until now.

But then again, Felix willingly reopening a topic he had previously considered closed is probably one of the lesser odd things that have been happening recently.

“Nuh uh, little missy. All your vegetables means all of them.” Sylvain scrapes the larger bits and pieces of vegetables dotting Sophie’s plate to the center, much to her dismay. The scraps amount to a decent pile of greens and not for the first time, Ingrid realizes just how wily and intelligent Sophie really is.

Raising a daughter with the will of Felix and the looks and intelligence of Sylvain will surely be a trial in itself, but that’s not a problem for Ingrid to worry about. Right now, she just has to worry about making herself scarce when Sylvain and Felix approach Mercie and Annie before she gets dragged into it as well.

----

“Why can’t Daddy come with us?” Sophie asks. Her eyes are wide and sad and Felix will never get used to how it makes his heart wrench. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, baby. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Sylvain crouches so that he’s eye level with his teary daughter. “Daddy has to go to an important meeting with Uncle Dima, Uncle Claude, and Auntie By. But I’ll come find you and Papa if we finish early.” Sylvain smooths back the unruly crimson curls that are already starting to come out of the half updo that Felix had put in this morning. After years of doing his daughter’s hair, Felix has resigned himself to always fixing it halfway through the day lest it becomes a true bird’s nest at night after the wild adventures to be had.

“Promise?” Her lower lip is wobbling and Felix is starting to think that perhaps Sophie is a lot more aware of her influence on others than they think she is.

“I promise, sweetheart.” Sylvain smiles at his daughter before turning his eyes to Felix, a mischievous glint shining through. “Your Papa can vouch that I never break a promise.”

The wink Sylvain throws at him is met with an eyeroll and scoff, but Felix cannot stop the small quirk of his lips. Sylvain has always come through with his promises, both to him and to their daughter. It’s one of the things that Felix loves so dearly about Sylvain after all – there is nothing in the world that he values more than the trust of his family and friends.

“Sophie, go check to make sure you’ve packed your coin purse and a snack. I need to speak with your father for a bit. I’ll meet you at the gates with Auntie Annie and Mercie, okay?”

Sophie doesn’t need to be told twice. She is already vibrating off the walls, eager to get going and visit the market that she has been dying to see. “Yes, Papa. Daddy, I hope you come soon! I’ll buy you a present, so make sure you hurry, okay?”

Felix and Sylvain both watch as their daughter scurries away, red hair flying behind her as she weaves through the mid morning crowd to join Annette and Mercedes standing at the foot of the stairs leading to the Entrance Hall. When she arrives with a hop and skip, Felix finally feels the knot that has been building in chest since that morning abate slightly.

“Hey.”

Felix jolts at the warm hand that cups his elbow. “It’s okay, Fe. She’ll be safe with you. We’re not going to lose her.”

“I know.” Felix huffs, taking a step forward so he can rest his forehead in the dip of Sylvain’s collar. “It’s just... I can’t help but worry.”

Sylvain chuckles, “I get it, Fe. She’s certainly got enough mischief in her to always keep us on our toes. I don’t think she’ll ever grow out of it, to be honest. Goddess knows I dread the day when I’m going to have to beat back suitors and stop her from sneaking out to gallivant with stable boys.”

“There will be no gallivanting with anyone. Period. I would prefer not to stab someone less than half my age.”

“Oh, but baby you look so hot when you’re all riled up and murderous.” The shiver that runs down Felix’s spine is undeniable and after a lifetime together, Sylvain would know the effect he has on his husband even if it weren’t for the hand sliding to wrap around his waist and the other reaching up to cup a smooth, pale cheek.

“Fuck you.” There’s no venom behind his words. Only the breathy whisper of comfort borne from unshakeable trust and love.

“Gladly, but alas I have a meeting to get to.” The red head lets out a full belly laugh and ignores the half-hearted smack from Felix (which still smarts, because Felix at half strength is still stupidly strong with his damn training regimen).  “Are you going to talk to your younger self today?”

The atmosphere takes on a decidedly more sombre note, but it’s a necessary topic.

Felix nods. “Yeah. Annie convinced him to come with us to the market to check out the blacksmith.”

“I’m sorry I can’t come. It would be easier if I were the one to talk to him, but…”

“It’s fine,” Felix shakes his head. “The next battle at Fort Merceus is important and you were a big part of the strategizing. You need to be there to make sure they make the right decisions.”

“Even still. Talking to your younger self about feelings is going to be like pulling teeth. I should know. I’m your very own Felix-whisperer after all.” Sylvain closes his eyes and lets his forehead drop to rest against Felix’s; his soft breath tickling the midnight bangs framing his husband’s visage. “Our younger selves need all the help they can get. Sothis… I don’t remember us being such a disaster.”

“Neither do I, and yet here we are stuck trying to convince our younger counterparts that the other is very much interested.”

“For the record,” Sylvain smirks. The hand that was previously wrapped around Felix’s waist is now slowly drifting lower. “I’d like to say that I’m still very much interested.”

“Pinch my ass in public and you’ll lose your hand.”

“Aw, Fe. You’re no fun!”

It’s the twitch of Felix’s cheek that betrays his amusement. “Tch. Insatiable.”

----

Awkward.

That’s the only way that Felix can even begin to describe the odd, tense energy that weighs down their group as they walk leisurely down the long winding roads descending from Garreg Mach.

To be fair, most of the awkwardness is in part due to Felix’s refusal to speak to his younger self, instead choosing to contentedly watch Sophie hop and skip around the flowers dotting their path. Ever since Sylvain’s decision to completely disregard time travel etiquette, the younger Felix had made himself scarce, pointedly avoiding him and his husband as if afraid that he would catch feelings simply by being around them.

Ha. That fucker was already head over heels in love no matter how much he denied it.

“Sophie, when we get to the market, will you go with Annie and Mercie while I visit the blacksmith please?” Felix says it quiet enough that it sounds like it is a private conversation, but in the silence of the forest around them, it easily carries.

Sophie blinks, confused, but acquiesces. “Okay.”

Felix smiles and pats her head. He can practically feel the suspicion and irritation rolling off his younger self in waves, but he can’t really bring himself to care.

He needs to address this issue now because Felix knows better than anyone else just how obstinate he can be, and if he’s right, there’s a very good chance that this younger version of himself will take his feeling for Sylvain with him to the grave out of pure stubbornness.

So when they finally arrive to the market, Felix doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he wants to talk to his counterpart – alone. He kneels and gives Sophie a quick hug after he makes her promise again to not wander off by herself before standing off to the side in the direction of the blacksmith, his arms crossed and waiting patiently while he watches young Felix scowl at the sheer number of people around.

A brusque nod from young Felix and suddenly they are face to face, and there is no denying the discomfort starting to roil in his gut.

Maybe he should have waited for Sylvain to talk to him after all.

“Well? Spit it out.” Despite asking Felix to talk, his younger self pushes past him roughly and begins stalking towards their destination.

“Stop being so stubborn.” Young Felix whirls around at him with a look of incredulity.

“Being ‘stubborn’?” He glowers. “I’m not being stubborn. I’m not being anything except for a pawn of fate apparently because my whole damn future has already been decided for me!”

Ah. So that is the core of the problem. “Your future hasn’t been decided. That’s the whole point of me being here – so that we can make sure that things do happen as they originally went.”

“Oh, so I’m just supposed to accept the fact that my life becomes sickeningly domestic –“ he all but spits the word out like poison, “- and I’m trapped in a life that I never wanted?”

Felix narrows his eyes. “So you’re saying you don’t want this life? You don’t want peace for Fodlan? You don’t want to actually feel happy for the first time your goddamn life since Glenn died?”

“Who the fuck are you to say whether I’m happy or not? I’m happy when I have a blade in my hand, not when I’m being carted around like a… like a stupid trophy wife!”

“First of all,” Felix is proud of how level his voice comes out despite his urge to throttle the man in front of him, “I’m you, so of course I know what you want. I lived that life already.”

He pauses for a bit and then decides to go for a different angle – one that he knows has always worked with him when Sylvain tries to talk him down from stabbing some of the more pompous nobles during trade talks.

He takes a deep breath to ground himself. “But you’re still you. I can’t say I know exactly what you’re feeling, but I can imagine because at the core of everything, I know what I used to be like back then. And I also know that no matter what timeline I exist in, there will always be one thing that remains constant.”

It’s true. There is one truth that Felix knows will span the test of time and space no matter what version of himself he is dealing with.

“…Are you ever going to tell me what it is?” Young Felix mutters angrily, breaking their brief standstill.

Marriage really has made him soft, Felix thinks as he feels the corners of his mouth curl up in a smile. He can practically hear Sylvain in his head telling him about how he probably has his ‘dopey love face’ on right now and his eyes are all ‘melted amber’. What a sentimental fool.

“I think you know.”

“Ugh,” Young Felix scowls and turns away to glare at the bucket of swords in front of the blacksmith’s stall. It’s an admission if Felix has ever heard one, and he knows that his younger self does know.

Despite what the majority of Fodlan thinks, Felix is quite capable at reading people’s emotions. He knows when people feel uncomfortable or when they might need a kind word, but for the most part, he just doesn’t care enough to coddle them because he knows it will only do them more harm than good. Which is exactly why he decides to jump straight to the truth.

“It’s okay to love him, you know.”

Young Felix freezes. The stiff set of his shoulders hunch up almost protectively and he stubbornly stays facing away from him.

“I know…” Felix swallows the lump in his throat, “I know that it’s hard to even think about letting anyone in after Glenn – how hard it is to trust someone enough and believe that they won’t just leave you like everyone else inevitably does.”

Felix touches the obsidian ring on his left hand. He spins it absently and the smooth slide of the black band against his hand grounds him.

“Mother… Glenn… and then Father…” Felix has long made his peace with his father’s death, but there is still the faintest of stings in his heart when he thinks about it. “They all left us. But Sylvain has always been there. He was there when Mother died. He stayed with us for weeks after Glenn died. And he never pitied or babied us when Father died. He was just there.”

It’s a bit hazy, most memories from the war blur together honestly, but Felix does remember the days after the battle at Gronder with crystal clarity – those few painful days after his father’s sacrifice. No matter how many times he told Sylvain to leave, no matter how he yelled at him or tried to chase him away, Sylvain stood by him, steadfast and most importantly, without judgement.

He simply let Felix be.

And that was exactly what he needed.

“He’s the biggest idiot in Fodlan, but you and I both know that Sylvain does everything in his power to care for his friends and family.” Felix says it like it like he’s stating the obvious. “He’s also irresponsible and completely reckless, and Goddess knows that moron wouldn’t sustain half of his injuries if he just trained more, but he does remember our promise. And he’s doing his best to keep it while also making sure we stay alive.”

Felix steps forward so that he’s now standing side by side with his younger self. From his peripheral vision, he can see the furrowed brow and tightly pursed lips that he knows only happens when he begrudgingly agrees.

“I know you don’t believe in a fated future. Honestly, neither do I. But if there’s one thing I can tell you for certain, it is that loving Sylvain, and being loved in return, is the best thing that will ever happen to you.” Felix allows the warmth in his chest to bloom. While that feeling may have scared him once upon a time, he’s learned to become fond of it because he knows that the only reason he can feel this way is because he has come so far and conquered all his demons along the way.

“You’re disgustingly sentimental.”

“Maybe so, but I can still kick your ass.”

Young Felix snorts, “maybe then I’d actually have a good spar for once that isn’t against the professor.”

Felix laughs quietly, the heavy weight on his chest lifting just as the tension eases out of Young Felix’s stance. The truth is out there, and at least his younger self isn’t denying things anymore, but ultimately it will be up to Young Felix to decide the path he wants to take.

Felix Fraldarius is many things, but most importantly he is not a coward, which is why despite not having verbally settled the matter with his younger self, he knows with absolute certainty that Young Felix will never turn away from Sylvain, especially not when he’s been given permission to chase that happiness that he’s longed for.

----

Sophie decides very quickly that the market is her new favourite place. Forget the kitchens and all their yummy baked treats, the marketplace has all that and more.

Everywhere she looks, there is something new to see. Stalls upon stalls are lined with various treasures and fancy looking things that no amount of tears would help escape the wrath of her fathers if, by some stroke of bad luck, she is unfortunate enough to break them.

“Auntie Mercie! Look, Balloons!”

Sophie tugs on the healer’s hands eagerly, careful not to let go and wander off though there is a tiny whisper in her heart that tempts her so. The large inflated animals sway merrily in the breeze, and with the hustle and bustle of the environment around them, it almost looks as if they are dancing with excitement.

“Oh, aren’t they adorable? Would you like one, Sophie?” Mercedes claps her hands together, looking just as delighted as Sophie feels and soon, the trio of females is making their way through the surprisingly large crowd that has gathered for this lively gathering as a reprieve from the war.

“The fox,” Sophie pulls on Mercedes’ hand even more urgently the closer they get. “I want the fox, please, Auntie Mercie!”

“What about the cat, Sophie? That’s one is pretty cute.” Annette giggles. The red headed mage ducks and peers left and right at the variety of floating animals attached to the belt of the balloon vendor. There is already a gaggle of children forming around the man as he hands ribbons off to parents in exchange for gold, and although Sophie feels like she might burst if she has to wait any longer, she knows to wait her turn for the man to address her.

“Hello there, young miss. And what can I get for you today?” When the man finally turns his kind face towards her, Sophie cannot tear her eyes away from her goal. “Perhaps a bird? Or maybe a puppy?”

Sophie’s voice comes out breathy and excited. Reaching a hand up, she points eagerly, “the fox please. Can I have the fox?”

“Of course! Why don’t you reach out your hand for me and I’ll tie it to your wrist?”

Obediently, Sophie sticks out her left arm and watches, enraptured as the white ribbon loops delicately around her wrist, loose enough that she can slip her hand out if she really wanted to, but tight enough that the balloon will not fly away. Reaching into the small coin purse attached to her hip, Sophie carefully counts out the appropriate amount and hands them over.

“Thank you!” Sophie calls out after the vendor as Annette and Mercedes begin leading her away from the throng. It’s much too crowded now, but the little Fraldarius-Gautier cannot help but feel comforted by her floating guardian. Papa did always say that her Daddy was ‘sly as a fox’ after all, and it feels like her father is there with her when she sees it.

“Do you think Daddy will like it?” Sophie mumbles shyly when they’ve walked far enough that the screams of delighted children are nothing more than a whisper in the distance.

“I’m sure Sylvain will love it!” Mercedes says sweetly. The healer looks at Sophie with a mixed expression, almost like she is trying to solve a puzzle that she can’t quite figure out, before Annette interrupts her with a gasp.

“Mercie, there’s the sweets vendor that we’ve been looking for!”

Sweets? Sweets are good. That sounds like something Sophie is definitely interested in.

“Come on,” Annette urges. She grabs Mercedes by the hand and by extension, also Sophie, who is clutching onto her other one, and she drags them with haste towards a brightly colored stall laden with pastries and sweet treats of all kinds.

The saccharine smell wafting from the baked goods makes Sophie’s mouth water, but her eyes dart from one flamboyantly decorated cupcake to another, helplessly unable to pick a favourite.

“Hey! I remember you two!” The friendly looking lady behind the counter smiles as they approach. “You ladies came by my stall the last time I was in town, didn’t you?”

Annette flushes and nods. “The sweets were so good, we just had to make a return visit and pick up some more!” Despite her embarrassment, she is already reaching out to grab a fluffy looking cream pastry that looks more like a cloud than anything else.

“I’m so glad you like them, miss. Business has slowed down recently because of the war. Not much extra money to go towards frivolous things like sweets anymore, you know?” Sophie frowns. War? What war?  “Regular patrons like you are always appreciated.”

“Oh, and look at you, you sweet little thing,” Suddenly the attention is turned towards Sophie and any lingering confusion flies out the window. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Sophie!” With her fathers’ voices in the back of her head telling her to mind her manners, Sophie flashes her brightest smile and bobs gracefully into a quick curtsey. “It’s very nice to meet you. Your sweets look so yummy!”

“They’re the best in all of Fodlan, that’s for sure!” The kind looking lady proudly puffs her chest. “Have you ever tried some, little miss? Since it’s your first time, why don’t you go pick one and I’ll let you try it on the house.”

“Really?” Sophie’s eyes round with excitement. Daddy was right – being well mannered really does bring good things!

There are so many choices to choose from that it feels a little bit overwhelming, but eventually a beautiful deep red velvet cupcake topped with a mountain of chocolate frosting and a small candied cherry catches Sophie’s eye.

She likes cherries. She likes cupcakes. That’s two in one, isn’t it? It’s a perfect deal.

“Good choice, little miss. That’s our red velvet cupcake with black forest icing. It’s one of our more popular cakes; especially with the ladies.” The sweets lady holds out the cupcake to her and Sophie quickly lets go of Mercedes’ hand to receive it.

The monstrosity of a cupcake is so large that it takes Sophie both hands to hold it, taking great pains to not drop it nor smear any icing on her dress. She still remembers the scolding Papa had given her over the grass and mud stains in her dress a couple of weeks ago and is not eager to repeat that experience.

Above, her red fox sways gently to and fro, moving every time Sophie maneuvers her hands to nibble away at equal parts frosting and icing. She has long since tuned out from the conversation between the nice sweets lady and Mercedes and Annette, instead choosing to savor and enjoy her treat while it lasts.

Sophie is halfway done her cupcake when a raucous of children shrieking with delight steals her attention back in the direction of the balloon man. There, in the middle of a cluster of children stands a rather short and odd-looking man carting around a small trolley packed with stuffed animals, and at the very bottom, shoved against a dopey looking tiger and a rather ferocious lion is a black cat stuffy, complete with slitted golden eyes stitched painstakingly above some wiry whiskers and a kitten pout.

It’s the most wonderful stuffed kitty Sophie has ever seen. She has a present for Daddy, but what about Papa? Surely Papa would also like a gift – it’s only fair since Daddy gets one, right? Right. Her fathers had always taught her to treat everyone equally, and Sophie feels like that must include her family as well.

Annette and Mercedes are still engrossed in conversation with the Sweets Lady, but now their arms are full of bags laden with goodies they are no doubt brining back to the monastery. An itch like no other claws its way up Sophie’s chest and she really, really wants to ask for permission to go see the toy merchant, but she doesn’t want to interrupt what looks to be a very lively conversation.

One quick glance back makes the anxiousness double as the man begins to move towards an intersection across the courtyard from them. If he goes any further, he will turn the corner and Sophie will lose sight of him.

The gleeful squealing of laughter is getting farther and farther away now. She really should tell Mercedes and Annette where she is going, but she’s running out of time and Sophie will be absolutely heartbroken if her Papa is sad that he did not get a gift from her as well.

It will only be for a quick minute. She isn’t going very far. All she will do is go up to the merchant and buy the cat stuffy and return back to the sweets stall in no time at all.

Right?

.

.

.

In that split second, Sophie makes a decision.

She turns back towards the bustling market square and runs.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

I'm so sorry for the delay with this chapter! I wanted to post it during my xmas holidays but I got so caught up with other things (read: sleeping) that I didn't get any writing done at all. I hope you all enjoy the chapter. Thank you again for being so patient with me and reading up until now. Things are about to get rocky so I hope you're all prepared.

The SylVix PDA thing was actually inspired by art from @emilyliuwho on twitter. You can see the post here.

If you would like to be added to a tag list, please PM me!!

Tag list: @pato-social

#sylvix #felix x sylvain #sylvain x felix #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #SOFT FELIX #domesticity #alternate universe #sophia gabriella fraldarius gautier #a step through time #popo writes #fire emblem #Fire Emblem Three Houses #fire emblem 3 houses #fanfiction #fire emblem fanfiction #ongoing fic

[themaninthegreenshirt]

Evelyn Waugh's guide to wine [1948] 

The first and essential thing to be borne in mind about wine is that it is something made to be enjoyed. The pleasure it gives is the only ultimate test of any vintage. The corollary of this is that, like all the good works of man, its pleasure is enormously enhanced by knowledge and experience...

The titles of connoisseur and epicure are by no means synonymous. An epicure seeks pleasure for its own sake, not knowledge... A connoisseur is a scholar and a specialist. He requires an abnormally sensitive palate which is capable of causing him as much pain as pleasure. Indeed, of recent years it has caused much more pain than pleasure…

Let us give all honour to the connoisseurs, as to pre-eminent athletes. If we have not their peculiar gifts, it is a mistake to simulate them. There are those who drink their wine so anxiously, in fear of being caught out in a bad judgement, that they fail to enjoy it... Let us rejoice, rather, in the fermented juice of the grape in all its vast variety. After all it is the wine merchant's function to know all the niceties of his trade. His service is to find his customers the wines they enjoy and having studied their idiosyncrasies, gently lead them towards something better in the direction they have taken. It would be a poor librarian who was always seeking to press Virgil and Dante upon readers in search of a novel...

The reputations of certain vineyards have not been capriciously or arbitrarily fixed. They rest on the considered judgement of generations. In general it will be found that the more wine becomes a part of one's life the more one's tastes gravitate towards the famous vintages. But do not set out with any preconceived snobbery. Drink copiously of what you enjoy, because you enjoy it: keep your curiosity alive to find if there is anything you enjoy more...

Champagne

Whatever purpose is served by cocktails is more nobly served by champagne in its naked beauty... Its uses are limitless from launching ships to reviving the moribund. It is acceptable at every hour of the day and night; it can be drunk with every variety of food. Drunk in excess it has the least direful consequences. If I were confronted with the appalling decision of having to choose one from all the fermented liquors of the world to be my sole companion and stay for the rest of my life, I should choose champagne.

Bordeaux

The wine of the whole area is good and eminently suited to day-to-day drinking. To find the finest wines we must particularise and choose from the châteaux of the Médoc which in 1855 were judged and put into various legal categories. There have been slight changes in quality since due to the relative care that has been bestowed on certain properties, but the 1855 categories still stand as a very fair judgement. Three châteaux alone - Lafite, Margaux and Latour-were placed in the first class. There are many connoisseurs who would now give equal eminence to several wines that were then classed as 'second growths,' but what must be borne in mind, and is sometimes not realised, is that to be classed at all is the mark of wine that stands among the finest the world produces. A wine in the third class is not a 'third-rate' wine. It is rather as though a committee had decided that Virgil, Dante and Shakespeare alone among writers, stood in a class apart. They would not thus make Milton and Tolstoy second rate writers...

White Bordeaux… are strangely neglected in England and America. Many dubious liquids appear under the name of 'Sauternes' and many wine drinkers are inclined to dismiss them all with a single perfunctory nod of recognition towards Château d'Yquem. By false analogy with champagne, their sweetness, all their own, natural and deeply scented as the rose, is held against them. There are four or five château bottled Sauternes which can stand slightly behind, perhaps, but in the same first rank as Youem. The taste for them, once acquired, is immensely gratifying and personally I find them incomparably delicious after champagne, to drink very slowly when the thirst is entirely quenched.

Burgundy

The system of land tenure in Burgundy greatly complicates the problem of recognizing its fine wines from the outside of the bottle. Wines greatly dissimilar are entitled to the same communal title... The Château Margaux of a given year is a definite, invariable wine; two bottles of authentic Chambertin of the same year, blended by different merchants, may be very different indeed. Again, the only security for the amateur wine buyer lies in dealing with a wine merchant of the highest reputation who studies his customers' tastes.

Sherry

Sherry is a name much misused and even in the strictest sense applicable to a great diversity of wine from Manzanilla, as pale and dry as old paper, to the heavy, sweet, brown wine sold under a variety of names, often as 'East India' or Solera… I do not, myself, find that the richer and sweeter sherries serve any purpose that is not more perfectly fulfilled by port, but this is purely an individual judgment. Nothing can be more delicious than a glass of pale, very dry fino, chilled at noon in the height of summer. It makes an admirable apéritif before and at the beginning of dinner. Like all good wine it is best enjoyed in tranquillity; the 'sherry party' of recent growth is an abomination to me. As long, however, as people continue to entertain between six and eight in the evening, they will find Amontillados and Amorosos a useful knock-about stand-by, less deleterious and less expensive than cocktails.

Port

Port is the wine proper to the heavy drinker, and it may be admitted that whereas champagne, claret, burgundy and hock are all entirely beneficial and indeed, in a Well-ordered constitution, essential to the digestion of food, port, and the very finest port at that, can be slightly deleterious. Its charm insidiously invites excess, and excess of port, though not in itself harmful, sometimes discloses latent infirmities. The heavy port drinker must be prepared to make some sacrifice of personal beauty and agility. Its martyrs are usually well content with the bargain and in consolation it may be remarked that a red nose never lost a friend worth holding and that by universal testimony the sharpest attacks of gout are preceded by a period of peculiar mental lucidity.... No one, I think, ever contracted gout by port-drinking. What can be said is that those who are naturally gouty may find their weakness aggravated by port. Port is not for the very young, the vain and the active. It is the comfort of age and the companion of the scholar and philosopher. The particular qualities of British university scholarship - its alternations of mellow appreciation and acid criticism -may be plausibly derived from the habits of our Senior Common-rooms...

Port is, of course, designed to be drunk after dinner. It should be drunk at the table; only so in the masculine calm which follows the retirement of the women, when the decanter travels from hand to hand round the bare mahogany, can it be enjoyed at its best. The best of all tables for wine-drinking on winter evenings are those excessively rare eighteenth-century pieces made the shape of a semi-circular arc which fit across the fireplace; some of them have brass tram-lines and a little wheeled carriage to carry the decanters. He is a fortunate host who possesses such a piece of furniture; he must, however, confine himself strictly to male company, for no body of men once established there can be persuaded to leave for the chintz and chatter of the drawing-room...

Hock

Shall we ever, I wonder, drink good hock again?... No one can say what the future of these wines will be. Perhaps they will survive only in memory. They were the product of centuries of devoted skills directed against the hostile forces of nature; if these forces are reinforced by the malice of man there is little hope.

A word may not be out of place here about wine which is 'corked or, more correctly, 'corky' or bouchonné. I have heard people complain their wine was 'corked' when they found a fragment of broken cork floating in the glass. When wine is truly corky the cork is diseased and foul-smelling, and the wine is more or less tainted. It should never be drunk in this condition. Any respectable restaurant or hotel will immediately exchange a bottle found affected...

Wine is a bride who brings a great dowry to the man who woos her persistently and gracefully; she turns her back on a rough approach. For the sot or neurotic who drinks merely for the kick.' 'kick" is the mot juste. Wine has attracted as many false suitors as the art of painting. Do not let impatience with the charlatans lead you into thinking all discrimination affected. Even the matter of dress is important. It is difficult to enjoy a good wine in a bad glass. A good glass is large and thin and clear; the best are slightly tulip-shaped. I have drunk a lot of claret out of an army mug and enjoyed it, but only half as much as I should have done in gentler circumstances…

All that I have written may seem to some readers to apply to an Arcadian age which can never return. Leisurely entertaining, profuse expenditure, a worldwide choice in the market - all these may seem the condition of a past age. We are all poorer and likely to remain so…

If we cannot afford to drink fermented liquor more than once a day, let us drink with our dinner. A half-bottle of sound, unambitious red wine nightly does not cost more than the accumulated short drinks which the average man consumes in the course of the day. If you cannot afford even that, emigrate to a wine-growing country or become ascetic. Do not become that pitiable type of modern life - the man who never keeps anything 'in the house' but likes stopping for 'quick ones' at public houses. If you can afford, sometimes or often, more than this minimum, build round the central fact of the dinner wine - add a glass of port after or a glass of sherry before the meal; choose a slightly more interesting main wine. Choose your friends from people of similar tastes and when you entertain them, build more ambitiously. Ensure that the food, however sparse and simple, shall be what will enhance the wine and not destroy it. These are the foundations on which the restoration of good living can be built, until perhaps we shall one day see the return of days of plenty, and wine fully honoured in all its splendour.

#Evelyn Waugh #writers #literature #booze #champagne #drinking #wine #alcohol

[ketsuyuki-hibana-typed]

It may be strange request, but...Could you make headcanons about Kyoujuro and his "future wife" when they were children. When Ruka was still alive, when Shinjurou was a Pillar?

Rengoku Kyoujurou x FutureWife!Reader

When Shinjurou came back with other human that hide behind him, little 10 years old Rengoku Kyoujurou become curious.

He jumped around that tiny human, you, who gripped Shinjurou's haori, timidly peeked up from where you stood.

"Father, who is that?"

"Ah, I haven't introduce you yet. I saved her when I was in mission."

Kyoujurou became more excited, he suddenly grabbed your hand and said, "I'm Kyoujurou! And you?"

"Hey, it's not polite to ask her out of blue like that." His father sighed. "She has been live for a long time inside the forest. She has minimum wordings. Right, (y/n)?"

You nodded, but then open your mouth

"I'm (y/n)."

Kyoujurou's face brightened. The thought of he now has sister was flooding on his head.

Kyoujurou learned that you're once was originally planned to be a sacrifice of the demons. These demons were said that they will not devour the villagers unless they give children as sacrifices every month.

The place where you born was like a camp, basically human farm. You only given with name and birthdate, not knowing who your parents is.

Until you somehow, managed to escape into the forest when they accidentally loosened the door when they're about to deliver you and the other children to the demons.

You learned human language from a rich family that live near the forest, but you quietly heard them talking without showing yourself.

And the rest of the story is survival. Hunting, making traps, stealing swords, making house. All of them was made by yourself.

Until one day, the trap you set was failed to capture the demon. Shinjurou saved you, and brought you here.

Well, actually Shinjurou was amazed by your skill, considering you're the same age as Kyoujurou and thought that potential will be a waste if he left you there (Also, a reminder that a little girl was alone inside the forest all this long time)

Ruka accepted you here, so does Shinjurou. Kyoujurou and Senjurou didn't mind either.

That's where your real life started.

You learned how to speak and act properly from Ruka. Both you and Kyoujurou were practicing together on the swordsmanship.

You learned how to feel from this family

Kyoujurou loved to take evening stroll while holding your hand after practices. He said that your hands are so warm, he thinks he could hold onto them forever.

"You know, (y/n). I think you have this- uh- this-! I don't know how to tell it, but you have this kind of aura, but I cannot describe it."

"Charm?"

"Yes, that's what Mother told me, charm!"

"No, I don't have any."

"You have! And only me who could feel them!"

Lived in the middle of upper class family probably the real definition of real wealth. But apparently not you as an Rengoku outsider. The boys and girls that has same age as you often bully or tattling you.

Kyoujurou becomes furious when he found out, and fight them, even though you always ended up saving him.

"I told you that I'm fine, I didn't take their talks with my heart." You pressed compress onto Kyoujurou's temple. He groaned in pain. "What will Ruka-sama say if she saw you like this? I should be the one who protected you."

"I- I should be the one who protect you! I'm the big bro!"

"Yes." You finished with the treatment. "And I'm indebted because Rengoku family has taken care of me, and I shall pay them back to guard their descendants."

"Wha- That's nonsense! You're our part of family!!"

You didn't listen to him anymore and walked away.

After that incident, Kyoujurou still considered you as his sister, but he never talked about your obligations to protect Rengoku.

Shinjurou always brought you gifts after missions even though he's kind of sucks on it.

"You bought her... sculpture."

"Yeah, any human being in this world like sculpture." Ruka looked at Shinjurou in disbelief.

"(y/n), I will buy you hairpin tomorrow, ok? You could threw that into trash pile or burn it down along with the leaves at he yard."

"Okaa-sama, it- it's okay! Otou-sama was right, no one in this world didn't like sculpture."

"You don't need to cheer him up."

"Ruka, you're so cold."

When Ruka was sick, you took the lead of house chores.

"I'm sorry that I burdened the tasks to you."

You helped Ruka sat down on her futon. Senjurou was peacefully sleeping on her side while Kyoujurou sat with folded feet, listened to his mother.

"Okaa-sama." You bowed. "I've pledged to serve Rengoku family. I will not disappoint you."

"You are one of my children." She let the most tender smile you ever saw in your life. "I never considered you as our guard, so does Shinjurou. You are our daughter. Come here."

You came closer to her. She hugged you into her chest, caressed your hair slowly.

This is what mother's kindness felt like, dissipates into your every well-being. It's warm and soft.

You really wished that Ruka could have longer age.

But everything was changed with quick pace when Ruka finally left this world.

On that day, you felt what sadness is, how it felt like when you holding Ruka's board name in front of the house, seeing people saying 'I'm so sorry for your lost' for many times until you became a little qualm.

But none of nags were spat out from your mouth, not even tears sheds out. You just felt sad, that's it.

Senjurou never stopped crying and Kyoujurou tried to calm his little brother. You had to step out.

"Kyoujurou, let me handle this." You told someone to hold the board, replacing you. You brought Senjurou onto your embrace, cradling him into your arms.

"Senjurou, it's okay. I'm here, Ruka-sama always been here too. She goes to yomi but her heart will always be inside us." You closed your eyes, patted Senjurou's back, wiped his tears until he fell asleep because of exhaustion.

You noticed that Kyoujurou looked at his little brother with empty eyes. You smiled towards him, opening one of your arms.

"Come here, Kyoujurou."

He trembled, slowly moved towards you.

Until he breaks down and cries his heart content out on your shoulder. You don't know how many hours you've spent, sat down there while soothing both of them simultaneously.

On that day, you swore that you will fully protect this family with your soul and body.

After that day, Shinjurou never let anyone, even his children stepped onto his room

Except you, because you managed to 'forced unconsciously" onto his guard. He only let you sat on his engawa room, talking light conversation while drinking tea and snacking.

Both you and Kyoujurou took Final Test together and become demon slayer. It didn't took him so long to be a Pillar while you're still a Kinoe.

You knew how Shinjurou reacted to Kyoujurou for being a Pillar. It really hurts you when you realized how much he changed towards this family.

But you're trying, you never give up to make this family whole again, even though it might not be the same as Ruka did.

So, that day, you asked if he could spare his time for evening stroll like you always did when you were still children.

He happily accepted your request.

Both of you stopped at grilled sweet potatoes booth, taking rest.

"Congratulations on being a Pillar." You gave him flame-motive cape. "This was Otou-sama cape, but it worn out. So i fixed it first."

He looked surprised and freeze.

"Um, it's okay of you don't like it. I know it looked-"

"NO! I WILL USE THIS!"

He wore it on his back, spinned like children testing their new clothes.

"Umu! This is great!"

"It's good to hear." You let out relieved sigh. "And-"

He sat down again, ready to hear your next words.

"Otou-sama.... Didn't mean it when he said he didn't care about you. I know that he's happy."

"It's okay! Father is always like that after all! I just had to-"

"I really mean it." You looked at him straight at his eyes with tender gaze. You reached your hand to his head, patting it. "Thank you for your hard work, Kyoujurou."

He stunned again.

It was like something snapping from inside his mind. His tears suddenly flows without warning.

You grabbed him onto your embrace, letting him cry.

You knew it's hard. It's hard for being cheerful 24/7 because he didn't want to make anyone worry.

After that, he became really close more than ever. He didn't like being called with Flame Pillar. Just call him with usual name.

Uzui realized your talent as trap maker and took you as his tsuguko, even though your breathing traits are Flame.

Kyoujurou wasn't so happy with this decision.

"I became a Pillar because I wanted to make her as my tsuguko."

"You've just BECOME a Pillar." Uzui snickered. "Don't be so cocky."

He didn't talk to Uzui until you scolded him for doing so.

Everyone was wondering why are you still not 'chasing' Kyoujurou. You made your own breath, and talented on almost everything but people just wondering why you couldn't caught up to Kyoujurou.

You never interested to become one, you only focused on rescuing orphaned children, took them into your care. The corps made orphanage for children who lost their family, and you're the one who trusted by Oyakata-sama to lead it because you could handle kids.

You're the one who brought him when he injured on demon train mission. You're the one who took care of him when he's still in comma.

When he woke up and found you holding his hand, that's when the feelings towards you changed, from a sister, to someone that should have Rengoku name as their family name.

"If you really love her, then when will you confess to her, headass. You've retired like me, but she hasn't. Who knows who she paired with while she's in mission?"

"..."

"She didn't want to be Flame Pillar even though Oyakata-sama asked her to be one after your retirement. And you know what she answered? 'I'm not a Rengoku, so I don't have obligation to take that role.' Damn, man, stubborn girl as always.

"Shut up for awhile, will you?"

"Or you wanted someone to propose to her first? Don't you know that she's popular amongst the Kinoes, even other demon slayers? She's caring, kind, good with children and strong too."

"I'll kill the-"

"Wow, keep that killing intention to yourself. The only reason why people who put their heart onto her weren't confessed yet because they knew you will rampage, knowing you as her closest related person."

Kyoujurou crosses his arms, his mind was a mess, thinking on how he could propose to you without being awkward and to avoid the dense inside your head, because you only believe that all you had to do until the rest of your life is serve and protect the Rengokus.

LIKE, LET ME LOVE YOU, LET ME FUCKING LOVE YOU WITHOUT THINKING BEING MY BODYGUARD 25/8

That's what he wanted to scream.

But he just played it cool.

Until he can't take it, or couldn't find better way to propose, so he just screamed from his top of the lung, "(y/n), PLEASE BE MY WIFE! I DON'T WANT YOU TO BE MY BODYGUARD OR CARETAKER, I WANT YOU TO BE MY WIFE! I LOVE YOU! I! LOVE! YOU!"

...he screams from outside the orphanage while you're still taking care the children.

They were giggling, teasing you when you flushed with red. His message was loud and clear this time.

And, that's how you got married.

"It's unfair because you almost knew all of me." Both of you sat down at engawa, looking at your 5 children playing around.

"We've been together for years, what are you expecting?" You let small giggle. His heart was thumped once before quickly averting his gaze to another direction. "Hm? What's wrong?"

He sighed, turning his head again and looking at your bloated stomach, ready for 6th child. He caressed it, hoping that everything going smoothly this time too. He flashed a quick smile, before kissed your temple

"It's been years and I still can't resist your charm."

#kimetsu no yaiba imagines #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kimetsu anime #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu manga #kny x reader #kny imagines #kny imagine #kny scenarios #kny fanfiction #kny fanfic #kyoujurou rengoku x reader #kyoujuro rengoku x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #rengoku x reader #rengoku kyoujurou #kyoujurou x reader #kyoujurou rengoku #rengoku kyoujurou x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kyojuro x reader #rengoku kyojurou x reader #kny kyojuro #kyojuro rengoku #rengoku kyojurou #kyojurou rengoku x reader

[kpopfanfictrash]

The Supers and the Not

Member: Jimin (BTS)

Prompt: Okay. The original request was for Cyborg!Jimin, but I made a few tweaks. I’ve been recently intrigued by this Stephen Hawking excerpt, where he warns about the future of designer genetics v. humanity. So.... Jimin is not a cyborg, but a genetically engineered superhuman. AND, GO. (OH, + this dialogue: “Are you warm enough?”)

Rating: PG-13

WC: 3,637

↳ part of my 30K milestone drabble game

The term superhuman has held many meanings throughout history.

In comic books, superhumans are superheroes. They are beings who use their powers for good, who protect society from unnatural adversaries. The term has changed greatly since then. When science grew bolder and human curiosity surged, the word superhuman began to transform. It became a label; one which separated a new category of human from old.

The supers from the not.

Back in the old days, designer babies (as they were called) were edited merely for defects. Scientists easily identified potential genetic diseases like sickle-cell or Huntington’s, sending in nanotech to modify and fix the code. Obviously, there was debate around this and obviously, humans were wary – but the benefits were proven to outweigh the cost.

Scientists did not stop there. No longer did they research disease, but the human psyche itself. As the map of human DNA filled in its corners, their research became riskier, more complicated and far more exciting. Once all human defects were eliminated, what else remained but the good traits?

Good traits – which could become great.

The first superhumans were not called super. Super was a nickname generated by an overenthusiastic media before they grasped what their existence truly meant. The supers were a class of human beings all on their own – able to see further, hear better, run faster. They were taller, more beautiful and far more intelligent. This was the real kicker – humans have survived extinction based on their wit alone. The appearance of supers meant regular humans could no longer compete.

The so-called supers were turned against the not.

You are not super. Your parents could not afford you to be. While many your age were conceived in a tube; their embryos tested, operated on and perfected; you were conceived the old-fashioned way, with a virtual roll of the dice.

Still, you have always done well for yourself. In a world where you were born at a natural disadvantage, you have always managed to survive. Survival is truly the best-case scenario given your circumstances. Always, you have harbored the unique ability to assess a situation, determine its risks and choose the right outcome. Some call it luck, others skill, but you know it for what it truly is – the only option.

Take now, for instance.

Currently you sit in a white, pristine lobby on a white, pristine couch in front of a white, pristine receptionist. She keeps glancing your way, wrinkling her nose as though you have a strange smell. Warily, you shift in your seat and wonder if somehow you do. Maybe her sense of smell is so acute she can pick up on an aroma you cannot.

Or maybe she is only an ass. This option seems more likely to you.

When the door to the waiting room swings open, you look up. A woman holds it ajar with her hip, checking the hologram hovering above her wrist. 

“Y/N?” she asks, sounding utterly bored.

“That’s me,” you say, rising to your feet.

Swiftly, she looks your way and wrinkles her nose. “Follow me.”

She turns, the door nearly falling shut behind her. You are forced to run in order to catch it, barely grasping its edge before it closes on your hand. From behind you, the receptionist snickers and, glowering, you step through the door. The hallway beyond it is equally pristine and white.

The assistant is already halfway down the hall.

“So,” you pant, practically jogging to keep up with her stride. “The ad didn’t mention what specifically I would be doing. Do you have an overview?”

For the first time since meeting, the woman smiles. Paused in the middle of the hall, she looks at you as though you are something to be pitied and you repress the urge to slap the look from her face.

“And yet you still answered the ad. Most peculiar.”

Drawing yourself to your full height – which is still several centimeters below hers – you glare. “As though I have a choice,” you say coldly. “There aren’t many jobs left which accept normals.”

“Pity.”

She walks past you, opening a doorway you had not yet noticed. The seams of it blend into the wall, barely even noticeable unless you have super vision. The room beyond seems darker than the hall. Finally, the walls surrounding you are not white – it takes you a second to adjust to the lighting.

“He’s waiting,” the assistant says, as though you are a gigantic waste of her time. Maybe you are.

Walking forward, you hear the door fall shut behind you. The new room is utterly silent, nothing to be heard but the sound of your breathing – and his. Your potential employer stands behind a large desk, as though this were a formal gathering of businessmen, and not a rather sketchy job interview.

Fuck, supers are beautiful. 

It is hard not to be dazzled by his outward appearance. A sculpted jawline, bright gaze and sharp nose – standing before him, you feel rather meek in comparison. Before you can speak, the man clears his throat.

“Sit,” he says, waving at the chair opposite. “Please, Y/N, sit. Are you warm enough? Sometimes the temperature of this room is far too cold.”

Of course, he would need confirmation of this. Most supers can sustain greater temperature fluctuations than normals. It is one of their many improvements.

Warily, you take a step closer. “You know my name.”

He smiles politely. “You did fill out an application, you know.”

“I know.” Stiffly, you pull the chair back to sit.

Silence stretches between you, both of you staring and trying not break first. Finally, he speaks. 

“How silly of me.” Chuckling good-naturedly, the man ducks his head. “I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Park Jimin, but you may call me Jimin.”

“Most supers prefer to be addressed by their surname.”

Jimin’s smile falters. “Yes, well… Ah. All the same, I prefer to be called Jimin.”

“Alright.” You say this as though it is neither here nor there. “Jimin, it is.”

“Wonderful.” Jimin flicks a hand over his desk. A blue hologram appears. “Down to business, then. You’re probably wondering why my ad was so cryptic.”

Uncaring, you shrug. “Not really.”

“Why not?” Jimin pauses. “That would have been my first question.”

He seems genuinely curious and in response, your gaze narrows. The underlying implication is obvious – you normals do not think things through before acting. Not in the same way they do. Normal thought is somehow ages behind that of the supers.

Gritting your teeth, you lean forward. “The ad didn’t surprise me because, based on prior experience, supers tend to be vague about illegal requests.”

Jimin’s cheeks color. Slowly, he lowers his hand and the blue hologram fades. “I see.” Quickly, he glances at the door you entered from. “You’ve answered this kind of ad often, then.”

“Not a question.”

“No, merely an observation.” His gaze becomes shrewd. “I can see you don’t trust me.”

Not wishing to implicate yourself any further, you remain silent.

Jimin arches a brow. “Well, do you?”

“No,” you say simply. “I do not.”

“I can hardly blame you for that. My kind can be… well, cruel to yours.”

Again, you say nothing. Part of survival is knowing when to hold your tongue. Part of survival is knowing when to play the part of the lower, sub-species and when to let them know you understand.

“I need you to trust me, though,” Jimin says quietly. “I need you to trust me, since I’m going to be very, very honest with you.”

Despite your best interest, his words pique your curiosity. Supers do not often care about honesty. 

“It will be difficult to undo years of training,” you note.

Jimin laughs. The noise escapes before he can help it. “Yes,” he muses, leaning back in his chair. “I suppose so. Perhaps it would be good, then to tell you who I am.”

“You’re Park Jimin. You’re a super.”

His eyes are dark brown with flecks of gold at the center. The effect inspires warmness, emotion and you trust absolutely none of it. Everything about this man is designed to draw people in. Idly, you wonder how much his father paid for it.

“True,” Jimin says. “But I am also Park Jimin, of Park Enterprises.” Launching into what can only be assumed to be his Wikipedia biography, he continues, “My father is Park Jiwoo, researcher and entrepreneur. I have no siblings. I am 169 cm tall, which is considered below average for a super and I –”

“Okay, none of that matters to me,” you interrupt, waving your hand. Jimin ceases talking immediately, blinking owlishly and you wonder if this is the first time he has been interrupted. “God,” you groan, slouching low in your seat. “You supers are all the same, aren’t you? Listing facts and figures like that’s all people care about.”

Jimin bristles. “That is what most people care about.”

“Not normals,” you say, softening a tad. “Not humans, really. Tell me something different. Tell me something personal.”

The blue light from his desk makes him seem almost haunted. Likely, the lights in his room are intelligent; designed to reflect his mood and adjust appropriately. You wonder what they glean from him now, since he seems stressed in your gaze. Dark circles shadow his eyes, his grip tense on the table before him. Uneasily, you wonder what a super could have to be worried about.

“I don’t really know what you mean.” His brow puckers. “Do you want my government ID number, or something? That’s personal.”

“God, no,” you choke out, trying hard not to laugh. “If you gave me that, they’d just think I stole it.”

His lips lift in a ghost of a smile. “You’re right, they would.”

“I know I’m right. I want something different. I want to hear about…” Glancing around, you wonder what could possibly make you trust this man. What could possibly make you relate to this super. There are photographs on his desk – a family photo, which is interesting. Looking up, you meet Jimin’s gaze. “Tell me the last time you cried.”

“The last time I… cried?”

“Or, can you not?” Politely, you cross one knee over the other. “Are you supers so far removed from humanity that you no longer feel? Were your tear ducts removed along with your defects?”

“I can still cry,” Jimin mutters, gaze heated.

“Then, prove it. Tell me.”

Slowly, he leans back in his seat. “Last Thursday. 10:12 AM.”

“And what happened to make you cry?”

“I learned information which scared me.”

His honesty catches you off guard. Either Park Jimin is a very good actor, or he is telling the truth. He truly does look fearful, which does not bode well for you. Fearful people tend to make bad decisions – and fearful supers tend to make cataclysmic ones.

“What information?”

Jimin shakes his head slowly. “I can’t tell you that. Not without you trusting me. Not without me trusting you.”

“Then, trust me.”

“You say that like it’s so simple.” Jimin slowly exhales. “Meeting you like this goes against everything I stand for. There are so many things which could go wrong... I have done the probability calculations over and over – twice while we were sitting here – and it is ludicrous to think I might find the solution, when –”

“Jimin.” Quietly, you interrupt.

He pauses before he looks up.

You meet his gaze. “Why am I here?”

Jimin’s expression morphs from stoic to helpless. “Because... you’re normal.”

“And?”

“And,” Jimin says, closing his eyes. “That means you are immune to the problem.”

The way he says problem sends a chill down your spine. He speaks as though he has exhausted every option and this is his last resort – and likely, you are. That is what tends to come from meetings like this.

This is not your first meeting from an unlisted number. This is not your first interaction where a person has disguised their voice while answering the phone. It isn’t your first time meeting someone in an unknown location and receiving details of a task said person needed performed. 

You do what you must. You receive payment. You survive.

This seems different, though – Jimin seems different.

With his eyes closed, Jimin looks almost human. You suppose that he is, but not in the same way you are. His skin is flawless, the milk of it dusted with blue veins and dark lashes. When he opens his eyes, you expect the illusion of his beauty to fade. It does not.

“What’s the problem?” you say, pushing these distracting thoughts aside.

“It’s easier… if I show you.” Reluctantly, Jimin reaches out to pull up a hologram. Blue strands of DNA twist before you in mid-air. “There have been many accepted edits of the human genome. Some are more progressive than others. The ampliointelligens procedure, for example, is the most widely known. It is where –”

“A person’s intelligence is increased,” you interrupt, bored. “I know. It’s Latin.”

Jimin quickly covers his surprise. “Of course. Anyways, the procedure was considered the first of the… super procedures. The ones which diverted from genetic correction to genetic improvement. And, as with any new field… there were errors.”

“Errors?”

This fact is news to you – nothing about mistakes was reported to the public, which explains Jimin’s trepidation on the matter. In the entire history of the supers, there has never once been any admittance of error. Their strength is their narrative, after all. The supers deserve their positions, their wealth and their influence because they are better. Because they can foresee things normal humans cannot. All of this fails to be relevant if they are proven to be imperfect.

“The concept of intelligence.” Jimin uses air quotes on the word. “Is hard to understand and even harder to change. Gene editing is simple. Take something like Huntington’s disease – we know the genetic defect which causes it. We can simply screen the DNA, cut out the harmful bit and replace it. That’s an over-simplification of the procedure of course, but – there’s low risk of something going wrong.”

“If you say so.”

“However, with something like intelligence… there’s still debate about which portions of the human genome are the most impactful. There are several accepted versions of the ampliointelligens procedure because of this disagreement.”

Hearing him say this, you blink. Again, this is news not known to the general public and you wonder why Jimin is telling you this – any one of these tidbits would be worth a fortune if the supers have covered them up for so long.

The surprise on your face must be obvious, because Jimin then sighs. “The variables increase with intelligence. There isn’t one DNA strand to consider, but millions. Trillions. Each tweak a surgeon makes has far-reaching repercussions; ones which geneticists admitted were impossible to know definitively at the time. And yet…”

“And yet, people underwent the procedure.”

“People were greedy. They are greedy,” Jimin corrects with a tick to his jaw. “Once a reasonable procedure was created, people wanted it – no matter the cost, no matter the risk. If there was a chance their children could be super, they took it.”

You notice Jimin says the word super with a bitterness usually reserved by your kind. This surprises you, if nothing else. He doesn’t seem to enjoy what he is any more than you do.

“So.” You tap your fingers against your knee. “Back to the problem you mentioned.”

You assume this problem is why you’ve been asked here. There’s something Jimin needs and the sooner he asks it of you, the sooner you can leave. The sooner you can cease sitting before him, becoming oddly charmed by a man you despise.

He nods. “We’ve known about a mutation for years, but it has recently transformed into something insidious. One of the ampliointelligens procedures is the cause of this mutation. The DNA edit takes over, it spirals out of control and overpowers the human ability to empathize. This leads to rash decision-making, high levels of narcissism and the inability to relate to others. It can be… crippling.”

“Narcissistic and unable to relate?” Pressing your lips together, you keep them from twitching. “However will you separate them from the rest of the supers?”

“It isn’t the same,” Jimin says, a bit heated. “Supers can empathize, even if they place less value upon emotion than normals do. Supers still factor in an emotional response.”

“How noble.”

“You don’t understand.” Jimin leans forward. “Those afflicted by the mutation are incapable of decision-making – and what’s worse, they control every major resource in the country. Yes,” he says, spotting the look on your face. “The problem is bigger than just supers versus normals. If this disease spirals out of control, there won’t be a world left to save.”

“Is that what you intend to do?” you ask, unable to help yourself. “Save the world?”

“I intend to try,” Jimin says quietly.

Maybe it’s this that convinces to you how serious this is. Jimin stares, brow furrowed, and you get the idea he doesn’t lie very often. Slowly, you tilt your head and observe him.

“How many?”

His brow furrows. “I’m sorry?”

“How many supers are afflicted?”

Staring at you, Jimin seems to sag in his seat. If he had a glass of alcohol in his hand, you imagine he would drink it. 

“About half the existing supers underwent the affected procedure,” he admits. “And it does not seem to be a question of if, but of when.”

“Oh.”

“Take my father, for instance,” Jimin continues, not looking away. “He began to exhibit symptoms last Thursday morning. I, on the other hand, have yet to show any.”

“How…” You pause, licking your lips. “If the procedure is as certain as you say, how does the public not yet know? How has it been kept quiet so far?”

“Those in power have methods of silencing.”

Not wanting to know more than that, you glance away. “I take it you think these methods will not remain effective for much longer?”

“I do not.”

“So, then why am I…” Glancing sharply upwards, understanding dawns. “You want me to be your guinea pig. You want to perform experiments on me because I’m immune. Because I’m normal.”

“Lord, no.” Jimin winces. “At least – not in the manner you speak of. I would like to compare samples of our DNA, yes. I’d like intelligence testing, brain scans – all of that would be on the table, but what I need you for most is observation.”

“Observation. Like, me in a glass room and a strait jacket?”

“It’s the other way around, I’m afraid. I need you to observe me.”

“You?” 

“Like I said.” A sliver of desperation seeps into his tone. “I have no idea when my mind won’t be… my own. I’m seeing firsthand how my father has changed. I need someone neutral – someone not prone to the problem themselves – to weigh in.”

“And that person… is me?”

“Based on this meeting, I think so.” Jimin meets your gaze. “Y/N, has your intelligence ever been tested?”

“Are you serious? Intelligence testing is reserved for supers. Surely, you know that. Normals have no need to be tested.”

“And yet,” Jimin says calmly. “Since you entered this room, you’ve corrected me multiple times, synthesized complicated arguments and even translated Latin to English. Whatever you are,” he says, leaning forward. “It is more than what you let on.”

He sounds so self-assured in this statement, you almost believe him. Pushing the idea away, you glance at the door and gather your thoughts. No matter what choice you make, there’s no good way out. You were stuck from the moment you agreed to this meeting. Jimin has revealed too much to you – and yes, information is power, but not the kind that you hold.

Knowing weaknesses about the supers places a target on your back. Slowly, you return to him. 

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” you say softly. “If I don’t agree to your terms, you’ll just send people after me when I leave.”

“No. I won’t.”

“Why not? I would, if I were you.”

“Because.” There’s something hard, something unreadable to his gaze. “I really need you to trust me.”

Variables flash through your mind, a fight or flight instinct warring in your bones. Eventually, you ignore all of it and instead, listen to the voice which whispers in the back of your mind. 

“Find,” you say slowly. “I’ll do it.”

Jimin sags into his chair. “Thank the fucking gods.” He sighs. “I didn’t really have a Plan B.”

“You didn’t?”

“No,” Jimin says. “I’m afraid this is my final resort.”

“Then, why –”

“I think that’s enough chit-chat for today.” Pushing back his chair, Jimin stands from his desk. Pressing a button on the side, a noise buzzes in the hall. “I think it’s time you reviewed the terms of the contract. One of my assistants will show you to your rooms.”

“Rooms?” 

Without thinking, you stand as well.

“Of course,” Jimin shrugs. “You’ll be staying with me for the duration of the work period. Everything is outlined in the contract – which you will have until the end of this week to make amendments to. Will that be that satisfactory?”

“I…” Blinking at him, your mind reels. “Yes.”

“Good.” 

Clasping both hands before him, Jimin morphs back into the image of super. Banished is the distressed man you saw briefly but still, he lingers around the edges. 

“I look forward to working with you, Y/N,” he says quietly.

The door opens to reveal the tall assistant from earlier. She glances in surprise from you to Jimin, as though she did not expect you to stay.

Seeing her reaction, your smile broadens. “I look forward to working with you, too, Jimin,” you announce, walking towards the door.

It is mainly for the benefit of the assistant, but you cannot help but realize there is some truth to the words. Despite all you have said, that voice still exists deep within you. The one which usually warns you of danger is unusually silent in his presence. This unsettles you for a moment and then you walk past, stepping into the hall.

  © kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission.

#bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin drabble #bts drabble #bts scifi au #jimin scifi au

[hedgiwithapen]

Orpheus Triumphant

(I’m bored and wrote a thing and want interaction with people so like. hope you like it? pls to comment.)

“I have heard all the Dead that sing and story,” the Queen says from her gleaming black throne. “There is little to do here but listen. Before you go on your way, musician, would you share a song? Grant it freely or not at all. Consider only the request, and not the one who asks it.” Now there is foolishness, to not mind the request of a Queen, of a Goddess, of one whose mother could strike down everything that lived and whose husband would reap that harvest.  But something in the way she looks at him from her throne, with the crown of rubies tilted back and eyes bright, like any eager child in a market square, makes him want to obey her words. He pauses. A part of him wants to refuse, wants to deny her the way he was denied--such a small thing, a few years out of eternity-- but he finds himself nodding.  “ A song,” he repeats, speaking for the first time since he made his own request, and listened to the refusal. His fingers touch the lute strings, player’s callouses catching at them. A song to impress the king and queen of the dead, who have heard more than any mortal could dream. What can he offer to them, who have listened to everything the dead could offer, and everything the gods have known? The muses themselves have attended to them, what exactly does she expect of him? What song can fill this massive hall? What song  can make perfect use of the acoustics here--and as he wonders, it is as though every song slips from his head, unreachable. He has played for kings before, surely there must be something, but he cannot think. As he searches for a tune and words, his fingers  pull another chord from the strings to hang in the air, soft and intimate. The Queen leans forward, the jeweled pomegranate blooms catching in the light. The King remains as impassive as the earth spread over a grave. The musician finds another note, and another, beating back fear of failure (they will like it or they will not, and that is all there is) even as his heart sinks, if possible, lower. It is too late to stop now. The song that comes is not new, not fashioned here, in this place, not made for grandeur and splendidness. It will never reach, never fill up this place as great music is meant to, it can not display the talent and skill of the musician, nor impress the figures on the dais. They will have heard it before, it is an old song, worn and known, the last thing he should be offering up here, but it is all that will come. A moment later, his hands more sure, he finds the words. Even in this, he cannot  do much. It is too simple, and yet feels like a betrayal to embellish. He sings as he has always known it to be, a song from mother to child, husband to wife, lover to grave.

It is not his best performance. His voice breaks twice, and by the time the last note fades, so quickly, with hardly an echo, his throat is nearly closed by sorrow. Still, he manages,  holding the lute in one hand, warm from his own body heat, and dares to look up. He does not move to brush away the tears. He remains in his place of supplication, unmoving, and waits for some sign or signal that he might move, or speak, or breathe. This palace in the Land of the Dead, empty but for these two who never die, a few scattered spirits long dead, and one man, heart beating so hard within his chest he can no longer feel it. In this moment, the song haunts the hall, not the expressionless shades. Though the Queen’s eyes are shining, it is the King who inclines his head. “You ask for something I do not give,” he says, his voice like the chill of marble on an empty morning. “But your offering is curious. There is devotion in your words that even my Brothers and Sisters do not possess, despite their...declarations. Do you claim to understand it fully?” The musician knows the songs, the musician knows the stories, and he knows that he has closed the trap of hubris around himself, as surely as he knows this is a command for an answer. Two lay before him, one a death warrant, one a betrayal. How can he, with mortal heart and flesh, claim to know  better than the gods? But how can he say that the music from his very being is not true to the last note? “If mortals cannot understand such things,” he says, slowly,” then I will only claim the fraction that we have taken hold of, and that my heart so desperately loves that it has reached beyond even what I may know, that those with clearer sight see truth. Please, if you will not let her return with me, allow me to stay with her.” He cannot bear that empty tunnel, the sun filled sky, the flowers of spring when the Queen visits her mother, his lonesome house. Again the King inclines his head,deep in thought, and the Queen’s eyes linger as she leans in to speak to her Beloved. “Life is not a thing to be given freely,” she says. “Nothing lives without effort. But if effort is given...” she trails off, knowing the King will complete her thought.

“Your song and words show more than perhaps you are aware. We will see if you do know the whole of what you offer, or if it is merely a veneer. Do you accept this, Musician?”

There is only one answer his heart will let him give. “Yes, my lord.” “Then we shall test your devotion. If your devotion is as strong as your song claims, if you are as faithful, if you truly trust that your love exceeds any failing, your request shall be granted. If not, you will return to the mortal world until your time, and she will remain. I am King of the Dead, not of Death. Your life is not yet mine, as hers was. Accept these terms, or forfeit now.” Carefully, still kneeling, the musician puts away his lyre. He has come too far to turn back now, and even if he had not, he could not bear too. “I accept your test, though I do not know what it will entail.”  He bites his tongue against what might be judged impudence, to slight a god, but the words slip out all the same. “Very well,” the King says, but he turns to his wife rather than pronounce the conditions himself. She stands, her skirts sweeping the glossy floor, descending the dais until she stands before him. “You may rise, Musician,” she says, and he obeys. “You know the pathway out of this world. My uncle escorted you to its doorway, did he not?” She does not wait for an answer, impatient as a child ready for spring’s first blooms. “He has always escorted me, though I know it well by now. It is not an easy path, but such is any worthy journey.” The musician finds himself nodding, without leave, but the Queen does not seem to notice, as she extends a hand, and two of the many doors lining the hall open. Through one, the musician can see the cavern by which he came to this kingdom, stretching upwards into the dark. Somehow, the entrance has bypassed the guard dog, the river, the judgment place. He supposes this is the power of the gods, and cannot spare another thought for that door as the other emits a grey figure he knows too well. He longs to run for her, to pull her up into his arms and hold tight, like the moss clings to worn trees.  He strains to remain where he is, and he can feel her doing the same, even from so many feet away. Even here, as a shadow of her living self, wisp-like and faint, his soulmate is beautiful in his eyes, and he knows that he will follow whatever instructions he must to prove that truth. So he simply holds on hand out, as if he can feel her hand within it. Across the room, her own hand holds to empty air. “You will ascend the pathway first, Musician,” the Queen says, as her husband nods his assent to the rules she lays out.  “As this is your test. I am not heartless, and I know the loneliness of that tunnel. I will not insist you go alone. This is a matter of your trust in love, not in our word.” As she speaks, the King nods again, rising  from his own throne to stand beside her.  He is the one to continue. “You will return to the mortal world, and we shall not interfere. Your steps, and then hers. And here is where you prove your words. You must trust in only your devotion. What you claim is beyond mortal understanding, so it is that you will trust, and not your mortal senses. You will travel without conversation. Should you turn back to her once your journey starts, she returns to her place in my kingdom, and you to your own.” The musician thinks about the tunnel, the dark chill of it, and turns the words over in his mind. He knows the songs. He knows the stories, Pandora and Psyche. He looks to his bride, and shade or not, her eyes are still as bright and alive as the birds that lit in the tree above their marriage-grove. This is not a test a mortal can pass, he knows, and she knows it as well. She offers him a smile, the same from their courting days, and in the air, her hand squeezes. He can almost feel it on his own skin. The musician understands, as clear as the summer sky. Like finding just the right note to the ending of a piece, the final word in a poem, he realizes what the answer has to be. “If you both understand what we require of you, there is no reason to delay.” the King says, though he stays by his Queen’s side, watching, rather than returning to his gold and gem encrusted seat. The musician is careful as he bows, and from where his eyes still watch his lover’s figure, he sees her shade bow as well. Her eyes are fixed upon him, and she does not look away. With great care, he makes his way to the entrance of the passage, standing before the grand doorway, and waits. His fingers itch, his eyes water. But he does not move as he drinks in the sight he has traveled so far to see: his love, his bride, his heart, stepping so lightly across the tiles, grey but for the green in her eyes, the flush touching her cheeks. She stands just before him, only just beyond his reach, and smiles so wide he can feel the expression on his own face. He does not take his eyes off her as he steps backwards through the doorway. He does not take his eyes off her as she steps forward after him, one ghostly step and then another. He does not take his eyes off her as he slowly feels behind himself with his foot, hoping it will find stable ground. To look back, one must look away to begin with. She reaches out her hands, the grave-clothes hanging from her elbows and shoulders like draping wings. When his foot slides backwards to a place she can see will crumble, she draws back a hand, shaking her head, and he inclines his head in understanding. They take another step, together into the dark. Slowly the color spreads, the dark of her curls, the cedar-wood of her skin and he knows if he reached out, his hands would touch them. He does not need to touch her skin to feel her with him. Following her gestures, he takes the winding path, leading the way as she guides his steps. Each time the musician pauses, he waits for her to nod her head, or tilt her hand, and show him where to go, trusting her to bring them both back to the sunlight.

#my writing #original fiction #orpheus and eurydice #did I base this whhole thing on a line from a poem I once wrote about masks characters? yes #Greek myth with a twist #because I do what I want #please love me #day 6 of this quarantine stuff

[revlyncox]

The Wisdom of Love (2021)

Love as presence, embodiment, and interdependence from the perspectives of Black humanists and freethinkers. 

This talk was revised and expanded for the Washington Ethical Society, February 14, 2021. 

There is an annual occurrence that I look forward to at this time of year: leftover Valentine’s chocolate is about to be on sale. I hope this turn of events brings comfort and joy to many. I do wonder, though, if there ought to be more to this season of commitment than a box of candy. Love is wild, powerful, wise, just, and compassionate. We don’t need to be romantically partnered to pay attention to love.

Knowing what I know of this community, even though it feels like I just arrived, I admire so many of you for your efforts to repair the world. I see healers of the mind and body, teachers, people devoted to caring for family members, scientists, activists, and artists. At the root of each person’s quest, I hear the voice of love: love for family and friends, love for the earth, love for humanity, love of beauty, love of the dizzying possibilities for discovery in our universe. Our minds can provide the analysis and our hands can provide the skills, yet the longings of our hearts keep us engaged and refreshed along the pathways of hope. We need our whole selves—rational, embodied, spiritual, and emotional—to make manifest the dream of a better world.

In this community, there are several labels that circulate, though I also know there are those in our community who prefer not to carry any label at all. We might call ourselves Ethical Culturists or Humanists or Free Thinkers. A few of us might call ourselves Unitarian Universalists. These movements all have a tinge of intellectualism to them, even as we insist that our values must be demonstrated in our actions. We prize reason, and we also need to remember that reason alone, without love, is incomplete.

Egbert Ethelred Brown, who was a Unitarian minister in Harlem in the early twentieth century, saw the wisdom in bringing our whole selves into community. Though early twentieth century Unitarianism and early twentieth century Ethical Culture were different movements, I think what he said can also apply in a place that Adler said is a religion for those who want it and a philosophy for those who don’t. Rev. Brown wrote, “Religion is ethics touched by emotion. If the intellect dominates and there is no hint of emotion, a cold and barren matter-of-factness results. Conversely, if emotion leads, unguided by intellect, we are doomed to a wild sea of fanaticism. Yet mind and soul united create one music, grander than before.” (Quote from “Cold Services,” p. 33 in the anthology Been in the Storm So Long, edited by Mark Morrison-Reed and Jacqui James; see also, Darkening the Doorways by Mark Morrison-Reed; more resources here, here, and here.)

I believe that emotions bring us a great deal of wisdom. We need to consult our feelings and gut instincts to make the best decisions. In particular, I think love in the broader sense offers three lessons that will help us live out our faith: groundedness, embodiment, and interdependence. Love keeps us here, rooted in the world as it is. Love is active, practical, and at one with our physical selves. Love remembers data and frameworks that our intellect may have forgotten, and revels in the unpredictable dance of change and growth. The wisdom of love teaches groundedness, embodiment, and interdependence.

Love Keeps Us Here

To be a community that brings out the best in each other and helps create a society where everyone can grow into being their best selves, we must be rooted in the world as it is, flinching neither from the pain nor the joy that is possible in the here and now. Each of the senses available to us helps us to understand the universe and our place in it. We think, touch, taste, and feel our way into making sense of the world. Love is the capacity that helps us to keep the doors of our perception open rather than escaping into abstraction or obsession. When we are able to truly love the world and the lives it holds, trying to hide is a less attractive option because escaping would separate us from love.

The power of love to draw us into the here and now, to embrace our souls with gentle, cupped hands and breathe fire into the embers, is a spiritual perspective. Lewis Latimer shared it. Latimer was an African American engineer in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He was also a poet, as demonstrated in this piece, “Love is All.”

“What is there in this world, beside our loves,

To keep us here?

Ambition's course is paved with hopes deferred,

With doubt and fear.

Wealth brings no joy,

And brazen-throated fame

Leaves us at last

Nought but an empty name.

Oh soul, receive the truth,

E'er heaven sends thy recall:

Nought here deserves our thought but love,

For love is all.”

(“Love is All” by Lewis Latimer, p. 39 in the anthology Been in the Storm So Long, edited by Mark Morrison-Reed and Jacqui James; see also biographies here and here.)

Latimer suggests that our loves, plural, collectively form the strongest force that keeps us “here.” I can imagine several meanings to where “here” might be. It is not a fixed point. “Here” moves with life and time. Here is where we put one foot in front of the other. Here is the present moment, this time and place and plane of existence. Here we are, gathered in strength, rooted in the world as it is. Love keeps us connected with the ground of our being.

Love is Embodied

The second piece of wisdom is that love is embodied. Love inhabits physical form and manifests in the real actions of human beings. This is true at the personal level and at the societal level. When we are able to fall in love with the world, to keep faith with humanity while fully recognizing the human capacity for causing harm, affection becomes action. Similarly, when tangible actions and their effects lead to suffering, we know there is something is amiss. Love needs mindfulness and compassion to bear the best fruit.

Humanism, to me, is a movement of people who believe in people. We value human creations like art and literature, we seek human solutions to our shared challenges, and we value dignity and equality as humanitarian goals. Love is an irreplaceable ingredient in this tradition. People can do (have done, are doing) terrible things, individually and collectively. Love helps us to be humanists anyway, to believe that positive change is possible, that society still has something to celebrate, and that creating an environment for healing is worth the effort. We are sometimes disappointed and often heartbroken, yet we persist in the spirit of love.

Within the Humanist movement, there are those who say that it should be exclusively atheist, those who don’t think belief or non-belief is relevant or needs discussion, and those who find room in Humanism for theists who don’t mind saying so out loud as well as atheist and agnostic humanists. In all three cases, Humanism is rooted in human experience and human responsibility to create the world we long for, as well as an insistence on the worth of every person.  

Wade McCree, Jr., was the third kind of Humanist. He was a vice moderator of the Unitarian Universalist Association in the late sixties. He was also the first African American to serve as the United States Solicitor General, and so had plenty of opportunities to see the best and the worst in people. He supported the idea of love as a force that helps us to be humanists anyway, even when the evidence challenges the idea of human goodness. He wrote:

“To me, one's religion is expressed in the manner in which one relates to other human beings. If one fights relentlessly against injustice, want, hate, and every form of exploitation, then one is a religious person. The love of God is not expressed by ritual or ceremony, but by loving.” ("By Loving" by Wade H. McCree, Jr, p. 18 in the anthology Been in the Storm So Long, edited by Mark Morrison-Reed and Jacqui James; obituary here)

Across the decades, leaders agree that fierce, open-hearted, actual-feet-on-the-ground love is an expression of their deepest commitments. People are worth caring for. Love longs for the well-being and abundant life of the beloved.

Love for people in general is embodied, and so is love for individual people in particular. For anyone who has ever cared for a child or an elder or a loved one who needs direct physical care, the earthiness of love is undeniable. Lifting, holding, and carrying are physically exhausting. Sleep deprivation depletes people mentally and spiritually. Yet people care for others, often without expectation of return. Within the wisdom of love, a person doesn’t have to produce anything or contribute to the GDP in order to matter.

Advocacy is also embodied. When it’s safe to do so again, people will be walking the halls of legislatures to demand policies that help people stay alive, and this is an act of love. Marching is embodied love. Vigils are embodied love. Using your voice and your dialing fingers for phone banking is an act of love.

Audre Lorde spoke about the intersections of poetry, dreams, care and advocacy - and about how this is different from a purely intellectual project - in her 1984 book, Sister Outsider. She wrote:

The white father told us: I think, therefore I am. The Black mother within each of us — the poet — whispers in our dreams: I feel, therefore I can be free. Poetry coins the language to express and charter this revolutionary demand, the implementation of that freedom.

However, experience has taught us that action in the now is also necessary, always. Our children cannot dream unless they live, they cannot live unless they are nourished, and who else will feed them the real food without which their dreams will be no different from ours. “If you want us to change the world someday, we at least have to live long enough to grow up!” shouts the child.

From Fannie Barrier Williams (who was featured in the Time for All Ages story earlier in the Platform) to Audre Lorde, it is clear that the wisdom of love is concrete, it is not a theoretical exercise. For over a century, Black freethinkers have been saying, with love, that all people deserve equality of access to health care, housing, and public services. Love feeds our commitment to abundant life. Wisdom knows that embodied care and advocacy are aspects of love.

We value people of all ages, races, levels of economic activity, genders, sexual orientations, and abilities. The force of our conviction is made real with concrete actions. Love is embodied.

Love Remembers Interdependence

We can fool ourselves into thinking we are logical all the time. I can appreciate the attraction of making moral choices through what seems like a coldly rational framework. I don’t believe that any of us are as rational as we think we are, but even if we could be, love brings us some of the data we actually need to make good decisions. Furthermore, sometimes data gives an illusion of permanence that doesn’t match the experience of being fully human.

If we only look at short-term consequences, we may fail to take into account the expense of disaster cleanup when we are figuring the cost of energy. Without love, we might not realize that it is against our long-term interests to cause species extinction as we scrape up the Great Barrier Reef. Without love, humans appear to be statistics. When humans become statistics, the result can be disastrous policymaking. Statistics might obscure the fact that Black lives matter, and that justice for immigrants makes us healthier as a nation, and that we have a choice about whether people go hungry and get evicted during a pandemic. Love is what reminds us of the fierce importance of looking out for each other.

Ethical arguments for environmental and social justice might be dismissed as mere sentimentality, because love is made out to be less reliable than money. But of course that’s not true. Our gut instincts are sometimes on to something. When we love without apology, we come to our senses. We remember that the potential results of our actions go beyond the predictive models. We remember the interdependence of all life. We remember our connection with the earth. We remember that community can be life-giving, in all the ways that community is defined. And we remember that the essence of life is change.

Alain Locke is another history-making Black freethinker whose ideas are relevant here. WES members have heard about Dr. Locke before, especially in the work of my Ethical Culture colleague Jé Exodus Hooper. Dr. Locke lived from 1885 to 1954. He was a philosopher, patron of the arts, and a professor at Howard University. Dr. Locke didn’t use the word “love” as often as he used the word “culture,” yet from the essayists and poets we’ve already heard today, I think it’s clear that there is a connection between the practice of love and the way we understand ourselves to be related to others. I am indebted to philosopher Leonard Harris for his journal article to help me understand what Dr. Locke had to say about culture and community.

Two of the ideas Locke wrote about might seem to be in tension with each other until they are closely examined. One idea is that race and culture are social constructs; that is, what draws people together in shared identity is influenced by what we see, hear, and experience; and that therefore it should be no surprise when the definition of an identity is unstable. That’s not a very controversial idea now, but he went out on a limb academically in the 1920’s for rejecting the idea that biological races exist and are biologically caused to express cultural traits.

The other idea provides creative interplay, but is not mutually exclusive with the first. Locke argued that people have an instinct to seek out people with whom they share some kind of similarity, and that even though that similarity is a social construct, this instinct to form communities is good. A shared experience with what it means to be assigned to a group as it is defined in that moment still provides what he called “a consciousness of kind,” with associated common interests and responsibilities, and is enough of a reason to lead to a sense of belonging. He wrote:

The final thing is that we shall see that human society must [have] a … consciousness of kind, and that consciousness of kind is a healthy[,] and a normal[,] and a fundamental social instinct.

(From A. Locke, Race, Contacts and Interracial Relations, Quoted in “Alain Locke and Community” by Leonard Harris, The Journal of Ethics 1:239-247, 1997. This article is behind a paywall, but we might be able to find someone with access. For a free resource on Alain Locke, the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy has an entry that is thorough and peer-reviewed.)

Dr. Locke warned that the social instinct can go astray, and that the construct of an identity begins to be harmful when the identity becomes regarded as static. He goes on:

… normal and healthy instinct has a very abnormal expression from time to time in the false notions, the false conceptions[,] of kind which are not conceptions of social kind--not conceptions of civilization type, of the American civilization type--but [rather] conceptions of racial kind and conceptions of race type [as permanent and invariable].

(Ibid.)

Dr. Locke's support for the healthy social instinct is part of what drew him to be a patron of the arts. The 1925 publication that launched his reputation as “The Father of the Harlem Renaissance” included art, African artifacts, articles by Black intellectuals, and poems by such writers as Langston Hughes, Countee Cullen, and Angelina Grimke. In retrospect, Dr. Harris writes that this publication was “intended as a work ‘by’ rather than ‘about’ African Americans. It was a text exuding pride, showing African-American historical continuities, and revealing a new spirit of self respect.”

In other words, the things valued and created by the people who share an identity should be celebrated, not because they represent an objective reality or timeless virtues, but because the particulars draw people to connect with one another in a healthy, human way that helps people find a feeling of belonging.

Dr. Locke’s insistence that community is both always in the process of being socially constructed and vitally important as a human instinct reminds us that love isn’t just about who we think we are, it’s about who we are becoming, and about continuing to find ways we are related beyond the current social constructions. Everything that makes us who we are and leads us to places where we feel that we can belong is subject to change because we are part of an interdependent network of living, changing, mutually-affected influences and relationships. Even in this constantly-moving dance of being, Dr. Locke says that it is still important that we find community, and that we guard against the absolutes and the inflexibility that lead the instinct for community to go awry.

Love is wise because love remembers connection. When we love truly and deeply, the tug of emotions and relationships help us to account for data and frameworks that short-term thinking has forgotten. Even if identity and community are formed on ever-changing parameters, our human connections fuel compassion and a flexible landscape with room for healing.

Conclusion

I’ll be coming to a close soon, but I wanted to say a bit about Black History Month and how my thinking has developed with this Platform Address. I originally just wanted to say something about love, because today is a day for talking about love. As I researched sources, I came to understand that I had a great deal to learn about the perspectives of Black Humanists and freethinkers. While I am very far from being an expert on Black history, I believe all of us have a responsibility to study the whole history of the movements of which we are a part. The poets and essayists I have drawn from today bring lenses that are vitally necessary for understanding how we, in our close communities and in our larger society, have arrived where we are, and give us important perspectives from the history of the Humanist and free thought movements. I anticipate that I have made some errors. I look forward to learning more.

If you happen to be enjoying some discount chocolate later this week, I hope it will remind you that love is wise. Love goes beyond romance, beyond sentimentality, even beyond human concerns. When love works in harmony with all of our senses—the clarity of reason, the skillfulness of our hands, the renewal of our spiritual path—the combined wisdom helps us to be our best for each other.

Love keeps us here. In our caring relationships, we hold secret pockets of ourselves, treasures that help us stay connected to the forces that create and uphold life. May love call us back to our truest selves. May we carry resilience and hope for one another.

Love is embodied. Whether our bodies are part of a movement for justice or part of a team that cares for one person, our actions make wisdom visible. Love knows that people matter.

Love remembers interdependence. Cause and effect transcend the next quarter and can’t be measured by a single yardstick. We take the big picture into account when the wisdom of love invites us to take a second look.

Let us love deeply. Let us love boldly. Let us love wisely.

May it be so.

[twilightofthe]

Anakin Skywalker Has ADHD.  Here’s Why:

I’ve noticed during my time as a neurodivergent person in the Star Wars community that Anakin, a favorite character of mine, displays a lot of neurodivergent traits.  Other people have noticed this too; in particular, @bpdanakins has made a really in depth and detailed post explaining how Anakin having BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) makes a whole lotta sense.  I’ve got ADHD, so this post is gonna be about how I as an ADHD individual see Anakin Skywalker as having ADHD too!!!

Note: Symptoms of ADHD include inability to focus and disorganization.  I have ADHD.  This post is gonna be a wee bit disorganized and I probs won’t be the best at citing a million sources cuz I do not have the mental focus to do that right now.  Thank ye.

So, what is ADHD? (Complicated.  The answer is complicated.) (If you don’t want the general ADHD lecture, just scroll down to where I start talking about Anakin particularly).

ADHD, or Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, is a neurological disorder that impairs the brain’s executive functions.  People with ADHD have trouble with impulse-control, focusing, and organization.  Basically, ADHD is a developmental weakness in how the brain manages itself.  I like to picture it like a filing cabinet.  Everyone else’s brain has a neatly sorted, labeled, and organized cabinet full of drawers that contain typical brain executive function commands.  ADHD people’s brains have a monkey in them that runs around screeching loudly, ripping labels off drawers, rearranging stuff, throwing the files everywhere, eating the papers and generally making a gigantic mess, so whatever you need to go to the drawers to look for something, it takes you ten times longer to find the mental command you need to do if it’s even still there-- and also the monkey is biting your leg the entire time.

People tend to say that this monkey infestation is a gift because sometimes, occasionally, the monkey will rearrange the papers in a different, special way that makes a beautiful picture that no one’s seen before and you can share it for the world to enjoy and everything’s great, you’re just quirky!  People tend to forget that it can be like that, but 90% of the time it’s more like the monkey has decided to take a massive shit all over the one specific paper you needed really badly and then put it in front of your foot so you step in it and don’t notice until people point out you’re tracking monkey shit paper everywhere.  Anyway.

ADHD is a complex condition and difficult to diagnose because it has so many different varying symptoms, and one person who has ADHD may experience none of the symptoms than another person who also has ADHD does and vice versa because there is a lot.  ADHD also tends to go unnoticed because it overlaps symptoms with a LOT of other mental illnesses an individual might have, so you might not even know you have ADHD if you’re also, say, autistic or bipolar, or again vice versa, because there’s a lot of “same hat” stuff going on there.  

ADHD also can have its own subcategories of mental illness that can also stand on their own, like ADHD-induced anxiety or ADHD-induced depression.  It can be really confusing to know everything going on in your head and put a label on it; for example for me, my doctors and I think I’ve got a separate anxiety disorder that works on its own that my ADHD makes worse, but that the depressive episodes I can suffer likely stem from my ADHD, and don’t need to be tackled individually or say that I have depression.

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) has previously identified three subtypes of ADHD:

Primarily Hyperactive-Impulsive type: Mainly have impulse control problems, tend to be impulsive, impatient, and interrupt others.  They fidget, hate sitting still/need to be in constant movement, tend to blurt out what’s on their mind or do what they feel like without thinking it through.  They’re constantly up with the thoughts in their head and have difficulty focusing on a single task unless they’re in hyperfocus mode (explaining more later)

Primarily Inattentive type:  Are easily distracted and forgetful.  Tend to be daydreamers who lose track of memories and personal items with regularity.

Primarily Combined type: Tend to display a mixture of both symptoms.  I was diagnosed as a child with the combined type but leaning more towards inattentive.

Anakin and Signs of ADHD:

SO.  For starters, I see Anakin as primarily combined type with heavy leanings toward hyperactive-impulsivity.  While this type is used to describe the stereotypical hyper little boy media tends to paint ADHD people as, adults can have it too and I see it a lot in Anakin.  ADHD magazine ADDitude gives examples of adults with h-i ADHD as people who find difficulty in waiting around for anything, interrupt others in conversation, make impulsive decisions, and have reckless driving skills.  Sound at all like someone we know?

Now Anakin absolutely checks all of the above boxes, but it’s way more than that, though.  I looked up Healthline’s basic signs and symptoms of Adult ADHD, and I am going to run down the list to show how basically all of them apply to Anakin Skywalker in one way or another.  Let’s begin!

Anakin and LACK OF FOCUS:  ADDitude suggests that saying ADHD people don’t have attention might be a bit misleading.  More accurately, ADHD people have tons of attention, we just can’t harness it in the right direction at the right time with any consistency.  In canon, it is made very clear to us very early on that Anakin has issues with some of the more spiritual aspects of Jedi training, like meditation, because he does not possess the focus necessary to concentrate.  We get other times when Anakin’s on missions with Obi Wan, where it is made clear Anakin has read the mission brief, but he hasn’t done a good job on it as he’s overlooked something.  He gets distracted while in diplomatic situations and Obi Wan needs to tell him to pay attention.  Palpatine is able to pull sketchy shit because he knows how to slip under Anakin’s radar while he’s not too focused on him.  Anakin isn’t always aware of his surroundings, seeing as how basically everyone who knows him knows about Padmé because he’s not good at being subtle; he’s not good at reading a room.  Canon has established that Anakin, while brilliant, has a very flighty attention span and unless it’s something that is deeply important to him or made glaringly obvious, his brain has a tendency to skip over it, and makes him less aware.

Anakin and HYPERFOCUS:  The flip side of ADHD focus issues.  While our brains don’t always want to pay attention to important rules or other peoples’ emotions or basically anything presented to us that we find boring in any shape or form, if we find something we like, we LATCH.  ON.  And we cannot stop concentrating on it, up until the point that we lose track of time and ignore others around us.  In canon, it is shown very easily what Anakin hyperfocuses on.  He’s described in several SW books and is shown in show and movies to completely go into a zone when in combat mode.  He’s good at it, he enjoys it, and saber skills is easily something that he can concentrate and get lost in.  Another obvious one is mechanics.  We see briefly in TCW and bits in the movies where when Anakin is fixing something or piloting something, he kind of drifts away from reality-- he’s got an ear on the situation if there’s danger of course, but he goes just solidly into Tech Mode where all he concentrates on is whatever he’s fixing/piloting at the moment, and that’s why he’s so skilled at what he does.  It’s also possible to hyperfocus on specific ideas or opinions, which you can see in basically every argument Anakin ever gets into with someone.  He’s like a dog with a bone on a topic he wants to discuss Right Now This Very Second and he will not let it go, nor will he allow you to either, because when we hyperfocus, our fixation can bleed into conversation until it takes control of the conversation, without us even knowing we’re doing it, so it can be surprising/embarrassing when someone points out we’re doing it. 

Anakin and DISORGANIZATION:  ADHD people basically struggle with organizational skills.  While we don’t see much of Anakin’s living spaces, we can see from the brief TCW snippets that his living quarters are a little cluttered.  However, he does run a relatively neat army-- though we don’t know how much of that has Rex, Ahsoka, Obi Wan, or someone else to thank for it.  In Anakin, most of the disorganization we see is in his mind.  Priorities can be an issue for ADHD people, and Anakin tends to prioritize the wrong thing at the wrong time at certain points.  He doesn’t always know what to say or how to say it, making him awkward and not very eloquent when speaking.

Anakin and TIME MANAGEMENT PROBLEMS: An issue that goes hand-in-hand with disorganization.  We have trouble using time effectively.  We procrastinate on things we don’t want to do, show up late, ignore things we consider boring, and the idea of the future or the past is overwhelming and or scary to us and can cause panic-- we need to focus on the now and the now alone because if we try to cross that bridge before we get to it, we might end up burning it.  All throughout TCW, we get Obi Wan in particular, but others as well, harping on Anakin for showing up late.  And, uh, he kinda does.  He makes it, he always does, but it’s always at the last minute just when everyone’s worried he’s not gonna show up.  He sometimes doesn’t go to important meetings.  He puts off paperwork.  Lots of people use all of this to make fun of him, be like “ah, he’s a bad Jedi, he’s lazy”, but like, that’s standard ADHD time management issues.  And fear of the future?  Hoo boy...  Anakin may handle his fears of the future in the literal worst way possible, but that overwhelming anxiety that everything’s rushing at you so fast and holy shit, you don’t have your shit together NOW, what the hell are you gonna do THEN, holy shit holy shit everyone’s gonna DIE PANIC PANIC DANGER PANIC--  Like, I get that.  I really do.  Fear of the future and inability to manage time overlap a lot.

Anakin and FORGETFULNESS:  ADHD have a tendency to forget important stuff, but here is where I remind y’all that not all ADHD people experience all the same symptoms, because Anakin actually has a really damn good memory.  Boy is sharp, he recalls really obscure stuff, and if you piss him off/do him a favor, he’s remembering that to his deathbed. Anakin, however, does display what is common in ADHD people, having a selective memory.  This goes hand in hand with our attention issues.  We remember what we focused on and that sticks in our mind: hopes, fears, interests, stuff like that.  Anything else?  Eh, if we didn’t notice it then, we’re not noticing it five years from then, or even five minutes from then.  That you can see in Anakin, where people like Ahsoka and Obi Wan have to teasingly remind him of important stuff that he tends to just shrug off like “oh yeah that thing that I didn’t care about then and don’t really care about now”, or he feels guilty cuz “oops I didn’t notice it then so now I’m lost”

Anakin and IMPULSIVITY: Aight y’all, this probably requires the least amount of explanation for Anakin Skywalker cuz the Star Wars narrative calls him impulsive like every ten seconds xD  ADHD people with impulsivity can be socially inappropriate (Anakin, always managing to say the wrong thing at the wrong time, king of escalating tense situations because he blurts out whatever he feels like), interrupt others (something Padmé and Ahsoka have both canonically called him on doing, he does it to plenty of others as well, Vader does it all the damn time by just force-choking people silent), rushing through tasks (”Oh Anakin, always on the move”.  He does not wait, he makes up plans as he goes, he’s constantly in motion), ACTING WITHOUT MUCH CONSIDERATION TO THE CONSEQUENCES (Examples: The entirety of Star Wars episodes 1-6, Star Wars: The Clone Wars)

Anakin and EMOTIONAL PROBLEMS: Alright, maybe THIS is the one that requires the least amount of explanation, haha.  ADHD peoples’ emotions seem constantly in flux.  We get bored easily and need constant entertainment. (Anakin running off doing crazy stuff seemingly for fun)  Small frustrations always feel like the end of the world because it takes over our entire brain. (Anakin being “overdramatic/overreacting”)  The slightest sense of rejection or negativity towards our ideas or anything we do can read as total hatred (this is called Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, it SUCKS) so we’re oversensitive about criticism of basically anything.  RSD also means we’re paranoid that we’re not noticing other people’s emotions, so we always tend to worry everyone else hates us or our friends are going to leave us-- we have serious abandonment issues. (Basically all of Anakin worrying about the Jedi’s image of him, worrying about Padmé and Obi Wan loving him, freaking out over Ahsoka leaving, etc.)  Our mind is focusing on a million things at once so our emotions run super quickly, causing what looks like mood swings because in the time it takes someone to get surprised, we’ve already gone through surprise, confusion, realization, betrayal, fury, and sadness and are now “randomly” crying in front of you (Anakin and his mood swings).  Focus issues make us not realize that something we’re doing is upsetting/bothering someone unless they flat out say it, so we may seem mean/inconsiderate/careless (ok, not excusing that part of Anakin’s personality is that he’s just kind of a dick lol, but other stuff that he does seems accidental; he doesn’t want to hurt anyone he loves).

Anakin and POOR SELF-IMAGE:  HOOOO BOY THIS IS GONNA BE FUN!  So adults with ADHD are often hypercritical of themselves, which can lead to a poor self-image.  I do this a lot, and I can’t really explain why, just that I am frustrated with myself and need validation from outside sources.  Anakin verbally expresses this to Padmé and Palpatine in Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith especially with all his “I’m not the Jedi I’m supposed to be” bits, how he constantly puts pressure on himself in the novels to be “the very best, I have to be better than everyone, I SHOULD be”, the conflict with that Chosen One label and whether he believes it or not and the pressure he feels from others to fulfill it, to be the Hero With No Fear when he’s fucking terrified all the time.  He’s relentlessly hard on himself for his failures and is always looking for an insult in others’ words (Like if Obi Wan gives him gentle concrit, Anakin will subconsciously tear it apart to turn it into how Obi Wan has found an error with all of him and hates him and Anakin sucks). For all his pride in his abilities, Anakin really does not like himself, poor dear, and seeks outside validation in Padmé, Palpatine, and Obi Wan.

Anakin and LACK OF MOTIVATION: Also ties back to focus issues again, if we don’t like it, our brain won’t focus on it, and we can’t convince ourselves to do it.  We can see this in times where Anakin has to be gently (or not so gently) prodded by Obi Wan or Ahsoka or someone into doing some Jedi business Anakin considers annoying.

Anakin and RESTLESSNESS AND ANXIETY: It’s described as our “motor won’t shut off”.  We always need to keep moving and doing things, and we get frustrated when we can’t do something immediately.  There are also bodily tics with fidgeting or frequent hand movements.  We see this several times with Anakin during wartime, where he’s practically vibrating over having to play the long waiting game instead of rushing in and getting the job done immediately (See: on Naboo where Anakin is pacing a hole into the floor and Obi Wan is telling him to kindly chill pls).  Part of his issues in ROTS happen when he’s worked himself up into a frenzy over sitting not knowing what to do over what’s scaring him so he jumps the gun and goes with the first available (awful) option.  I don’t remember if this is Hayden or if this is me projecting, sorry, but I always feel that when I watch Hayden in the movies, he always portrays Anakin as vaguely squirmy/fidgety, not really ever sitting PERFECTLY still, like he’s always moving some body part, fiddling with something in his hands or on his clothes.  In TCW and the OT especially, we see how hand-wavey he is when he talks, especially when he’s pissed, then the Finger Wag Of Doom comes out, but his hands are ALWAYS in motion.

Anakin and FATIGUE: It’s as the word describes it, we feel tired.  All the craziness in our head is overwhelming and we just.  Feel.  Tired.  We don’t see this as clearly in Anakin because all the Jedi seem fatigued, they’re fighting a fucking hopeless war, but it’s definitely there.  He has sleeping problems with his dreams and nightmares that spawn from his anxiety that could easily be ADHD-induced; they’re there.

Anakin and HEALTH PROBLEMS: Long story short, it’s basically all your ADHD issues making you neglect to take care of yourself.  We see how Anakin has unhealthy coping mechanisms, neglects sleep, and throws himself into reckless, dangerous situations.  He does not take care of himself very well at all.

Anakin and RELATIONSHIP ISSUES:  Ruh roh...  Aight, so all of the symptoms above can very obviously prove to be hurdles in professional, romantic, or platonic situations.  We can see how all the above examples in Anakin have in one way or another caused an argument between himself and basically everyone he loves (Obi Wan, Padmé, Ahsoka), people he has to work with (the Jedi council, anyone he gets assigned to on a mission), and anyone else.  He’s not called a human disaster for no reason, his actions can make him rub people very much the wrong way, and being kind of lonely and awkward and with not many friends is unfortunately a common occurrence in the lives of ADHD people (It happened to me, and I would consider myself much more of a pleasant individual than Anakin (no offense, hon), other people who met me just thought I was “strange” and that was that).

WHEW.  So yes, all of the above state my reasons why I think Anakin Skywalker has ADHD (as well as anxiety, but that’s another post).  Please remember once more that these are MY EXPERIENCES AS AN INDIVIDUAL WITH ADHD and that once again, NOT ALL ADHD PEOPLE SHARE THE SAME EXPERIENCES/SYMPTOMS

I will give the two articles I bothered fact-checking with below, the one from Healthline and from ADDitude

If y’all wanna talk more about ADHD!Anakin or any other ADHD Star Wars characters or just neurodivergent Star Wars character headcanons with me, my inbox and DM’s are always open, I love talking about this!!!!!!!!!

#long post #morai musings #one (1) hot mess #star wars #sw stuff #sw meta #adhd #Anakin Skywalker