It’s crazy to think that the last time I logged into this account I was suffering through the lowest point of my life so far. It’s even crazier to realise that all those motivational posts that said ‘everything will get better’ were right.
I broke off from that toxic friend. I stopped ignoring my health and I finally got help. I started drinking more water. I met a girl who changed my life and taught me to love myself. I started leaving the house more often. I found a job and started earning money. I graduated. I dyed my hair. I got my license. I embraced my sexuality. I started smiling at my reflection in the mirror.
I feel like a completely new person, and I could not be more grateful for the life that I have right now. If you’re reading this and find yourself in the same place that I did last year, please hear me. Reach out. Get help. Focus on yourself. Find the negative in your life and cut that shit out. It’s your life, live it however you want.
Something I thought of in the car earlier and had to get down. No plot, just Gwyn deciding to make sure Azriel wins the snowball fight by any means necessary. And by any means necessary, I mean an obsessive amount of planning, preparation, and scientific research - leaving Azriel intensely confused. Obviously.
Azriel had a headache.
It had started that morning, a gnawing, irritating pulse behind his eyes. It was the height of summer - it had been summer solstice last week - and the heat was making everything worse. Every step he took seemed to echo in his skull, and he had only made it to the dining room before sinking into a chair and quietly asking the House for a cup of tea. It had obliged, which he was endlessly thankful for.
It was temperamental sometimes, the House. It would grant Nesta and the girls anything they wanted. Anything. But if he or Cassian asked for so much as some salt at mealtimes, it was generally inclined to ignore them. Nesta insisted they must have done something to upset her (the House, they concluded, had to be female, given the evident dissatisfaction with the men around her). Cassian could spit out denials like he had a mouth full of feathers. It never made any difference.
So it seemed even the House recognised that Azriel had had a rough day. He didn’t think he was that obvious, but his footsteps had been heavier than usual, and his usual ramrod straight posture had been exchanged for sagging shoulders and a slumping spine.
He was tired.
Pain had begun to radiate into his jaw - how the fuck can a headache hurt in your jaw - and he let his eyes slide closed.
The silence washed over him, and he thanked every deity he could think of that it was so quiet.
Rubbing his temples with the tips of his fingers, he was also thanking every deity he could think of for the distinct absence of both Nesta and Cassian. He didn’t have to think long or hard about where they’d be or what they’d be doing, but as long as it wasn’t here, disturbing his tea and his silence, he couldn’t care less.
He heard footsteps outside. He cracked an eye open, glancing down at the shadows wreathing his forearms, wondering why they hadn’t told him someone was coming.
He listened. Steps too light to be Cassian. Too quick to be Nesta. Azriel briefly thanked the heavens. He was too tired to deal with either of them, regardless of how much he loved them both.
He expected to be surprised when Gwyn rounded the door. He expected something in him to sink as the silence he was enjoying so much was broken. He expected to have to force the smile onto his face, and was endlessly surprised when he found that none of the above was true.
His shadows seemed to perk up when she stepped into the room, unwinding from his arms. He could have sworn one was ushering her to the table.
“There you are,” she said. He could have sworn she was breathless, which was absurd, because she was hardly unfit. She must have rushed up the stairs from the library, but Azriel decided not to dwell too long on what that meant. Not only that she’d rushed up here to see him, but also that she’d known he was here in the first place. How did she know he’d arrived back home?
Her arms were piled high with books. Thick, heavy looking ones. He could have sworn one of the spines said Windflow and Weather Patterns. Again, absurd. A flush was across her cheeks, turning her skin a pale pink. He was about to ask why, if she was intent on bringing all those books all the way up here, she didn’t just ask the House to deliver them to this room. An image flashed into his mind of their midnight dagger training a few weeks ago, when he’d asked why she’d not worn something warmer if she knew it was going to be cold. It was the first time she’d successfully gotten the blade pressed against his skin. Right across his throat, no less. As a result, Azriel had developed a strictly no-questions-asked rule when it came to Gwyn and her decisions. He wasn’t even sure it was technically allowed to take all of those books out of the library at once. But again. No questions asked. His head might have still been pounding, but he liked it attached to his shoulders.
“Hi,” she said breezily. She dropped the books onto the table with a decided thunk, sinking into the seat directly across from him. Her eyes were so bright they almost seemed to physically twinkle, and right there, Azriel knew she was up to something. She had that small smile on her face that said she’d been plotting all day, and all he could hear was Nesta’s voice in his ear: You’re the new ribbon, Az.
Gods, had that been a warning or a threat? He looked at Gwyn across the table, all bright eyes and stubborn shoulders, and he honestly had no idea.
His right hand had been massaging his temple, but his fingers stilled. He curled his knuckles against his temples instead, leaning his head into his closed hand. He raised an eyebrow.
“Can I help with something?”
Gwyn grinned. She took off the thick cloak all the priestesses wore over their robes inside the library. It was drafty down there, apparently, but it certainly wasn’t up here. She was getting comfortable. Which meant she was planning on staying. Azriel narrowed his eyes, and that seemed to make her grin widen.
“Nesta was telling me about the snowball fight.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” She took a notebook from the pile and scribbled something at the top. She didn’t look up at him as she continued. “Cassian, the belligerent bat that he is, overheard and immediately started a monologue about how great he is and how he’s going to win again this year.”
Belligerent bat. She was sounding more and more like Nesta by the day, and she’d certainly piqued Azriel’s interest now.
“And what does that have to do with me?”
“I figured he needs taking down a peg or two.” She raised her head to meet his gaze, and he saw pure intent burning there. It was the ribbon all over again.
“He ran us ragged in the ring this morning, and he was too busy crowing about his own greatness to notice that Emerie’s footwork was off. She twisted her ankle.”
Azriel wanted to point out that not every injury in the ring could be Cassian’s fault, but… again. Interest piqued.
“And, what? What does this have to do with me?”
“I’m going to make you win.”
“Win what?” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“The snowball fight.” She answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Her eyes had gone wide, like she couldn’t for the life of her understand his confusion.
But… it was summer.
Fuckingsummer.
“Nesta did tell you that the fight happens at solstice?“
“Yes?”
“Wintersolstice?”
“Yes,” she repeated, dragging out the syllables like it was, again, so painfully obvious that she couldn’t get why he wasn’t grasping it. She was fighting the urge to roll her eyes, he could tell. He didn’t stop to think about how he knew her mannerisms so well at this point that he could anticipate her actions. Today was not the day for that.
“Gwyn,” he began slowly. “It’s only just been summersolstice.”
Now she did roll her eyes.
“Yes?”
Azriel didn’t know what to do. It was clear she was confused. Had she hit her head? Forgotten what date it was, what season? Did she realise winter solstice was months away?
That colour on her cheeks. Was it a flush from carrying all those books, or was it the start of a raging fever scrambling her brain?
His shadows didn’t know what to do either. Half of them seemed to be in the same state of suspended panic he was in, growing more concerned for her health with every passing second. The other half was ambivalent at best, and endlessly amused at worst. Somehow, he didn’t think they were laughing with him. No, his shadows were laughing at him.
He needed Nesta.
She could check Gwyn for a fever, take her back down to the library. She could get her into bed and see if she needed to be seen by a healer. He was just about to call for her when Gwyn grabbed the top book from the pile and slid it across to him.
His confusion intensified when he saw the title.
Aerodynamics?
Definitely ill.
She was definitelyill.
He knew she had trouble sleeping at night - she joined him in the training ring at midnight enough times - but had insomnia turned into delirium?
“Gwyn,” he began slowly. As if he was talking to a child. “The fight is months from now. And what has any of this got to do with it?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Don’t patronise me, you overgrown fruit bat.”
Definitely spending too much time with Nesta.
She pointed a finger at him across the table.
“I am fully aware that it is months away, but it takes time to formulate a solid plan. These things take planning and proper consideration. I really didn’t think I’d need to explain that to you.”
He… didn’t quite know what to say to that. She knew it too, knew she’d got one over on him. Her smile was smug. Cocky enough that his blood turned to fire in his veins. She stared him head on, refusing to back down.
“I need you to draw a map of the area. That one,” - she pointed to one of the books - “has some detail of the area, but not enough. Where exactly do you normally have the fight? And we’ll need to know the average level of snowfall at that time of year, too. We can plot out exactly where you need to be for maximum impact. This one,“ - she pulled off what looked to be a book on geography from the pile - “should give us some indication of general weather patterns in the area. Usual wind speed and the like.”
Azriel was stunned.
“Us?”
“I told you. I’m going to make you win, Shadowsinger.”
“And this is all to get back at Cassian?”
She nodded. Gods, if this was the effort she was going to over Cassian being a little too self-absorbed… he dreaded to think how she’d react to a genuine insult.
He raised an eyebrow, then sat back in his chair. She was so damn sure of herself, and gods above, if that didn’t just make him almost forget to breathe. He tilted his head.
If she wants to play this game, then fine. Let’s play.
“What makes you think I need your help, priestess? I’ve managed without you just fine so far.”
She narrowed her eyes. He smirked, and she muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like stupid fucking bat.
Nesta. Again.
“You know what, I changed my mind. Maybe I’ll give all of this to Cassian to get you back for that.” She tilted her head, fixing her gaze on the wall in defiance. She was radiating energy, almost bouncing with it.
Azriel snorted.
“Cassian prefers a brute force strategy. But again…” He leaned forward, forearms on the table. “I’m perfectly capable of winning on my own.”
Her eyes snapped back to his, before she picked up her hand and started studying her nails. As if this were the most normal conversation she’d had all day.
“Work smarter not harder, Shadowsinger. Have you never heard that phrase?”
He snorted.
“Yes. But this,“ - he paused to flick over the page of the text nearest to him - “Doesn’t count as workingsmart if it takes months of preparation and twice as much work. That’s quite literally working harder, and working much harder than I normally would do to win this, besides.”
She rolled her eyes again.
“You can’t win everything with brute force, you know.”
“Can’t I?”
His voice was low, and dammit, if that didn’t come out sounding like a dare…
Silence fell between them for a moment as they sat opposite each other, their gazes assessing. She wasn’t going to let this go, wasn’t letting up. It almost made him want to laugh, how astoundingly competitive she was. A bundle of energy and optimism wrapped in a shell of deadly determination and will. She folded her arms across her chest.
He swore he wasn’t going to break the silence. He wasn’t going to break at all, in fact. He broke other people for a living, so he was pretty damn sure he could hold out on this. At some point, this whole conversation had become a game. A test, to see if he would accept her help. To see how far he’d get if he decided to go against her.
He was certain he wasn’t going to break.
But there she was. Sitting there with a glare almost identical to his own plastered onto her face, studying every inch of his face, his jaw, his neck, the tips of his wings. And Azriel had never felt more undone by anything as simple as a look.
He relented.
“Alright. Give me what you’ve got.”
A grin split her face. Triumph itself lit up her features, and if the sight itself didn’t make something deep within him sing, he would’ve regretted this moment.
Because he sure as hell knew that she was going to gloat about this forever.
“First, I need you to mark on this map,” - she slid a rough drawing of the cabin and the hills surrounding it across the table - “where the most gravelly ground is. Rougher ground equals rougher snowballs. If you’re hitting them with snowballs and rocks, and they’re working with snow alone, that puts you at an advantage straight off the bat. The bigger the rocks the better.”
His eyes widened. Whether it was surprise or admiration - or a bit of both - he couldn’t tell.
“That’s… brutal, Berdara.”
She grinned again.
“Work smarter, not harder.”
The sun was starting to set, and Gwyn still wasn’t finished. Papers littered the table, and how she kept a track of them all Azriel couldn’t tell. She was rambling about wind speeds and how to make an impenetrable ice fort, and gods above, he was completely lost, but couldn’t stop listening. There was a gleam in her eyes that was almost magnetic. He could barely take his eyes off of her to look at the books and pages she was shoving his way.
Every so often one of his shadows would dart out to turn the page before she had finished reading aloud - the shadows seemed even more excited about the scheme than Gwyn - and she would lightly bat it away as it if were nothing. Azriel had never seen anybody else interact with his shadows. That she did it so casually made something within him tighten. She didn’t notice his reaction, but when one of his shadows weaved itself through her fingers, she laughed and looked up to catch his eye. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. Instead, he laughed along with her.
“That one likes you.” He said drily.
“I’ve always wanted a pet,” she replied with a quirk of an eyebrow. The shadow between her fingers carried on winding itself around her hand, and he didn’t know whether he should call it back or not. It was odd. His shadows never moved independently of him, but this one…
Well, he’d certainly not told it to wrap itself around Gwyn’s wrist like a bracelet, and yet here it was.
Gwyn turned her attention back to the book.
“What are Rhys and Cassian’s usual plans of attack? Brute force every time?”
He nodded, and was about to give her a verbal answer, but -
Footsteps.
Heavy, booted footsteps in the hall.
Cassian.
“Don’t let him-“ Gwyn began, gathering her notes to her chest protectively. As the door opened, she squealed. A sound so high pitched Azriel swore it could have broken a glass.
“Don’t look!” She ordered. “Don’t you dare look!”
She glanced over to Azriel, silent order in her eyes. Cassian wasn’t to know about this, he realised. His shadows had already formed a blindfold over Cassian’s eyes.
“What, and I cannot stress this enough, the fuck?” Cassian asked, arms grasping the air in front of him.
“It’s nothing. You just can’t see this.” Azriel said calmly. A smirk played on Cassian’s features, and Azriel allowed the shadows to tighten just a little too much around Cassian’s eyes. Cassian winced, and tried to prise the shadows away from his face.
Gwyn had finished gathering all of the loose papers, and held them close to her chest. She asked the House to take care of the books, and they immediately disappeared. She gave Azriel a curt nod.
“This isn’t finished,” she warned.
He found himself smiling, and saw the same smile mirrored on her face, too. It was infectious. She was infectious.
“See you tomorrow, Shadowsinger.”
She breezed past Cassian, and Azriel let the shadows drop once her footsteps had receded down the hall. His head dropped back against the headrest of his chair as Cassian sat down in the one Gwyn had just vacated.
“Well isn’t this an interesting development.”
The grin on Casian’s face was so fucking insufferable it made Azriel want to kick him repeatedly in the shins.
“Well it definitely isn’t what you think, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, of course not.” Cassian said blandly. A plate of chicken appeared in front of him, but he paid no attention to it. Odd, for Cassian to ignore food. That’s when Azriel knew he was in for it big time. Cassian only braced his elbows on the table, interlocked his fingers, and rested his chin on top. He was grinning like a maniac, like this was the best day of his life.
Azriel groaned inwardly.
“You know, you gave me and Nes so much shit for what we got up to in here, it will be nice to repay the favour.”
At that, Azriel did kick Cassian in the shin.
“I told you, it’s not what you think.”
“Sure,” Cassian said with a laugh, turning at last to the food before him.
“Fuck sake.” Azriel muttered underneath his breath.
He sank back against the chair, even as the House made a plate of the same chicken appear before him, too.
It was only when he started eating that he realised his headache had gone completely. Had started to abate the moment Gwyn had sat down.
And as he ate, he started thinking. About aerodynamic snowballs and brutal, conniving priestesses.
How lucky he was, he thought, that this brutal, conniving priestess was on his side.
The trainer walked alone on the streets of Pewder City. It had been a long time since he has been here. Memories had filled the raven haired boy’s mind like a waterfall. His first Gym Badge, where he met Pika…man how he wished he could relive it all.
He was called to see Professor Oak back in Pallet. Red had no idea why he had called him, but he knew that Green was going to be there. He had this need to show him what good a trainer he was. No wonder they were rivals. Though Red did wonder if Blue would be there too. He wanted to show her how strong he had gotten as well.
Soon he had stopped in his tracks when he noticed a familiar female.
“Blue! It’s been too long!”
There was no need to ask the Professor what he requested her presence at, after all she owed him so much. She stole from him, a valuable pokemon, and he had the audacity to forgive her and even give her a pokedex. Simple gestures like that gained her faithful loyalty.
Luckily she was fairly close to Pallet Town to visit. Stepping out of the museum, she pulled out her pokedex to check the time before placing it back into her bag. If she left now without stop, she should arrive when expected.
As she made her way through the small town, she expect it to be quick and easy but when she heard her name she paused. A soft smile spread upon her lips. That familiar voice provided instant comfort and protection.
Pivoting her heel, she faced the direction that he voice called out. “How do you know my name? You sound familiar but it’s not ringing any bells. Perhaps if that voice called every once in a while I might be able to match a name to it,” she quipped while sporting a playful smile.
Ok I have an age old question for you. Would you fuck your clone, why or why not. By clone I mean a copy of you including all of your memories/personality/etc at present
Hahaha this is probably very random, BUT PLEASE HELP ME (Another cry for Marauders Lunatics like moi)
So! I’ve been thinking! And like we have a well established face claim for Sirius, which is Ben Barnes (because that man even likes crosswords. I’m not saying he’s a reincarnation, but he kinda is) and for James too, Bob Morley (Idk I just really like his smile and even though I didn’t put much thought into it, I really think it matches)
(I am aware that I use PJ as James in this account, but that’s because his pictures just send that vibe that makes me think of James.)
And I, as #1 fan of a dork called Remus Lupin, have been thinking: is Andrew Garfield the best choice for him? For the longest time I thought so and I still love the hc, but is he my way too sarcastic, sweater lover son?
Maybe yes.
But /maybe/ there’s a ultra cute fc waiting to be found!!
So, what I’m asking is: do you have a face claim for Remus that a lot of people don’t know about or something? Or maybe never gave too much thought into?
And maybe Peter too? Because I just think so many face claims are perfect, but I never actually settle for one?
