#maybe I ought to make separate tags for different personal things

[cerebipalsy]

Taking the GRE today (without extra time accommodations because of some bureaucratic BS)…if I can control my impulses I’ll be offline studying until after I’m finished with it. Wish me luck? 👉🏻👈🏻

#maybe I ought to make separate tags for different personal things #grad student shuffle #Chris if you see this I hope you don’t mind #I hope if I don’t make the cut for a PhD I can at least get into the Master’s program (both at the same school) #anyway #K.txt

[jeskoholic]

A Little Piece of You Chapter 16: A Coffee Date

This is a chapter from an on-going series. If you missed out on the previous entries, you can check my masterlist.

Previous chapter: Boy Talk

Word count: 5,811

Tags: Male OC, College Friends, Jisoo and Nayeon, Coffee Shop Date

Enjoy

---

---LATER THAT EVENING---

Before the thought of Dawn’s so-called master plan could even flush naturally itself out of my system, I immediately moved to bring Ningning on top of my head the moment I parted ways with both of my friends. I haven’t solidly thought of a good enough reason to approach her, especially now that things have gone differently ever since we last conversed. It certainly felt weird that I would just message her out of nowhere not soon after the whole Soyeon-situation… or maybe it was just me being really awkward towards her and absolutely thinking too much out of a normal situation. After all, Ningning and I began to be friends because of United Kwangya, and now that most of the chat has been in shambles since then, I figured there was some sort of barrier that I had to jump to get to her.

It could probably be just me.

However, the thought of that conversation when we were at Yeouido was the debating point, as well as what happened in Valentine’s Day. Somehow that provided me enough leverage to talk to her not merely as someone I shared on the chat with. Ningning and I shared something that connected us away from just United Kwangya.

I don’t even know why I’m making this much of a big deal. I just need to talk to her for the sake of Hyojong, right?

After what felt like minutes of staring at her chat tab, right at the comfort of my own room, I finally managed to input the first couple of characters that ought to take her attention.

Yoon Jae-in: Hey, Ning?

I paused for a bit, hesitating for a bit whether I should continue on or not. It was definitely awkward seeing our last exchange of messages to be inclined with Soyeon. At this time, I really do not want to be involved in any sort towards her; not until I’m comfortable enough to be around her again at least. Also, Ningning always had her chat tab offline so I really don’t know if she’s here or not.

Ningning: Yeah, I’m here. You need something?

Oh, she’s online. I guess that’s convenient.

Jae-in: Actually yeah… I want to talk to you about something.

Ningning: Is this about Soyeon?

Jae-in: No… please don’t get the wrong idea. It’s completely unrelated to that. Well, maybe not entirely but hey. This actually is just between both of us and what we’ve talked about back at Yeouido. I remember having a conversation with you about photography right? I was just wondering if you’re interested on doing it this time around.

Ningning: What the fuck, Jae-in… Are you telling me that you want to do the photography thing now because you’ve finally separated ties with Soyeon? Is that what you mean? >:)

Shit, I forgot how that conversation went… she’s already getting the wrong idea.

Jae-in: No! It’s totally not like that. This is actually for Dawn. He’s told me that he want his picture to get taken and asked if I knew someone who had at least a good experience with that. Of course, having that talk back then, I figured you’re the first person who popped up in my head. What do you think about that?

Ningning:  Really now? Why not Kino? He’s clearly into these types of things a lot more than I am and I’d say he has far better experience than I do. It’s just a hobby for me, unlike him who literally had a wedding shoot entirely on his own.

Jae-in: He’s quite unreliable though and Hyojong kind of agrees with that. At least I have an assurance that you’d do it once you agree. You’re less likely to back out from that once you’re in, as well. Are you interested on doing it? Dawn’s really looking forward to it.

Ningning: It’s for a girl, isn’t it?

Jae-in: Maybe; you can ask him yourself if say, you agreed to it.

Ningning: Well, that’s a good tactic to bait me into it, I’ll give you that. LOL

Ningning: I suppose I won’t mind. It’s amazing how that convo back at Yeouido stuck with you. Normally most people would just forget.

Ningning: Just don’t expect something extravagant with the outcome. I told you that I’m more into sceneries more than anything, okay? Don’t keep your standards up because I’m really just a novice.

Jae-in: Don’t worry; I’ll ask him to find a place with a good scenery as well, in that way you can make the most out of the trip. Yes, it’s for a girl by the way. Also, I think Dawn’s willing to cash in, otherwise he would not be asking me to look for people.

Ningning: That won’t be necessary but damn… I never expected that of all the people in United Kwangya, it was Hyojong who’d be simping this early on; what in the actual fuck?

Ningning: I’ll just message Dawn how things would go. We’ll settle the schedule for good.

Jae-in: Thanks Ning, I owe you one.

Ningning: Hey, if this works out for him, don’t y’all single bitches go looking for me for you pictures, okay? LMAO

Jae-in: Don’t worry; the favour you gave me is already for Dawn. I have no interest of trying it now. I’m too busy.

Ningning: Maybe you should.

Ningning: On second thought, maybe not. I prefer it when you’re single Jae-in. LOL.

I stared at her message.

Huh?

What the fuck is that even supposed to mean?

Ningning: Well, I got to go. TTYL

---SOME TIME LATER---

It never occurred to me that the university’s following week was busy as it could have gotten, at least for the subjects that I was taking up, anyway. Major subjects were still schedule for the following semester and yet I could already feel the dump of school works coming my way. It’s a good thing that I still have that one little summer semester break to serve as a breathing room before the great responsibilities came.

To make it short, Dawn’s small favour literally flew off of my head as soon as I arranged him with Ningning. I guess I had it coming to me; I figured that muting United Kwangya could lessen things up for a bit and let the less-awkward members interact within that chat. Soyeon showed no signs of her presence, so I figured I should match her for the time-being.

Once all was said and done, the next level of Dawn’s master plan finally unveiled itself. I didn’t even notice the overhaul of his entire profile; that the arrangement I did for him actually worked and that he’s progressing already behind the scenes. It’s more impressive that he and Ningning, along with some help from Shinwon and probably even Hongseok, managed to fit all of that in one single week. All it took was one busy NLIU day and somehow the date for Jisoo and Dawn was already up in the air. It’s crazy.

It’s like I blink for five minutes and now everything’s set.

It was one Friday afternoon perfectly aligning with the university’s sports events, effectively leaving Shinwon and the rest of United Kwangya free from classes. At least Hongseok’s ‘playboy’ tendencies worked out well for Dawn here. Anyway, that day I received a private message from Dawn directing me towards the mall placed beside a known city cathedral. Port Skyview was this large commercial complex situated beside the busy streets of the city, leading straight towards its rival, Metro Station mall. The hilly and sloped topography of its lot allowed the topmost floor of Port Skyview to be situated right beside the foot of the church, while in turn justifying its name as it gave a breath taking skyline view of the entire city night life at sundown.

A couple of minutes after 2 PM and I found myself perched on the rail of Sky View’s own terrific sky terrace, with the unexpected company of Hongseok leaning on the rail beside as well. At this rate, the pharaonic view of the City’s proud hills as well as the virgin skies were testament to how beautiful the city was whether you’re in Metro Station or here.

I initially thought that this would be awkward with Hongseok considering the last meeting, but thankfully he’s a very social person. All my doubts were lost with a curt nod as soon as we met in front of the café. It’s like nothing really happened.

Dawn’s message led both me and Hongseok into a coffee shop situated right above the beautiful landscape; it’s cubic glass architecture enabling natural amounts of light to illuminate the beautiful and modernized interior. On its façade, a huge sign written mostly in neon red and violet minimalist letters: Neverland Coffee. The majorly white aesthetic inside reminded me so much of Joohyun-noona’s overly-tidy taste.

I wonder if she’d been to this café before. I really should consider inviting her here one day.

“Should we get in and get our orders ahead of them?” I asked Hongseok after sensing the void of words between our conversations.

“That’s a good idea. We’re not even the heart of the party anyway.”

Thankfully, the said coffee date was once again held on an unconventional time. Ordering would not be such of a huge chore considering we have the shop pretty much to ourselves, which was very much what Hongseok and I would have wanted. As much as the really simple design of the café was already captivating from the outside, the simplistic approach of its modernized interior was a perfect touch. Given the breath-taking view it had on its second floor (which awkwardly reminded me of the mezzanine back at NLIU Library), Hongseok and I agreed to select the best seats in the house; eventually settling on the far end of the second floor.

This was just the beginning of an interesting day. I do hope this would turn out in favour of Dawn more than anything else.

---

Hongseok was the one who volunteered to fetch their orders once it was already available. To Jae-in’s surprise, he returned back up the small, terrace-like second floor of the place accompanied with five new figures three of which Jae-in immediately recognized. Ko Shinwon’s tall stature walked beside a smaller girl, dressed in an all-white med-school uniform giving off a wide smile; marking the first time since Skylight’s first drinking session that he would see the girl named Yeri. Then, right behind the couple was Kim Hyojong wearing a knitted vest over his shirt coupled with a small hat to compliment his blond hair. He immediately supplied the seated figure of Jae-in with a smile the moment that their eyes met.

Then, right behind him were two girls that Jae-in recognized to be Im Nayeon and Kim Jisoo from the photos not that long ago. Jisoo wore a simple black dress with a matching bag, yet it did more than enough to emphasize her beautiful presence. Her friend, Nayeon, stood near her wearing a beige coat over a white blouse as well as high-waist pants. She supplied each of them with a wide, bunny-like smile the moment she set her eyes on Yoon Jae-in.

“Look who I found ordering below,” Hongseok said as he moved to take the seat beside Jae-in. He then placed the tray having both of their orders while gesturing towards the other table. “We ordered ahead, so sorry about that. Jae-in and I reserved you the best seats in the house, so anyone can seat with us if you’re interested.”

“Well, before all of that, let me just introduce you to them,” Dawn said giving a short nod. “Guys, let me introduce you to Nayeon and Jisoo. Girls, these are my friends, Jae-in and Hongseok. You’ve already met Shinwon and Yeri a while back, so there we go.”

The four new comers exchanged nods and smiles, with Hongseok offering to give them a hand to shake. Fortunately, the newcomers Nayeon and Jisoo were fond of the gesture and returned the action. Pressured to do the same, Jae-in awkwardly stretched his hand and shook after his friend, with his eventual contact with Nayeon taking longer than usual, much to the interest of Jisoo’s friend.

“I think it would be better if you and Jisoo would sit there,” suggested Yeri as she pointed towards the other table bearing a reasonable distance from their own. “That way, we won’t hear you if you’d talk. You’ll get some privacy that way. You can sit with us, Nayeon-ssi, if you like.”

“Oh I’d love to,” Nayeon replied, pointing a finger towards the chair. Her question was met with a mutual gesture from both Hongseok and Jae-in almost at the same time. “You guys don’t mind me sitting with you, right?”

Given that mutual agreement between them, Jisoo and Dawn politely excused themselves from the rest of the members as they went on off ahead on a separate table. Nayeon, on the other hand, took the chair opposite Yoon Jae-in without hesitation, with Yeri following suit beside her and Shinwon sitting next to them.

“So, Nayeon-ssi,” Hongseok said, clearly taking charge of the conversation immediately to loosen off the awkward barrier. Jae-in always knew him to be the type who’d do that. “Welcome to our friend group. It’s nice to have someone new to talk to. Please don’t be awkward with us, but I don’t think you have that aura with you, right?”

Nayeon nodded with a wide smile. “I’m happy to be here. If you guys want to ask me some questions, feel free to do so. I do have an aura that you all have something to ask to me in some form, am I right?”

“Well, you’re not just pretty, you’re really smart too,” Hongseok said after taking a sip from his drink. He leaned in closer to the group and dialled down his voice. “I’ll cut it with the chase then, Nayeon. I’m quite interested how this entire thing happened with our boy Dawn over there. I heard that things were quite unusual, no? Is it true that he first talked to you?”

Hongseok does as he does best; skipping the formalities and hitting everything straight to the core. I’m glad that he’s invited here.

“I’m curious as well,” added Yeri. “I’ve only heard things from all of you through Shinwonnie here, and I’m more than surprised to even know that you and Dawn actually knew each other, Nayeon-ah.”

“Yeah, I found things really interesting as well. I certainly was not expecting a familiar face to see in a date like this; especially a former Middle school classmate such as Yeri here. But then again, the world is such a small place and things like this are bound to happen. It’s exciting that way, don’t you think?”

“So, I heard that you’re the one that made everything possible,” said Hongseok to Nayeon. “From what I’ve been hearing from Dawn there, you were the one who introduced them to each other, is that right Nayeon? I’m surprised that you and Dawn did not end up being the ones in the same table on this date; how come that was not the case?”

Nayeon smirked.

“Well, as much as Hyojong there is a pretty nice person to talk to, I guess we both mutually did not feel that sort of spark towards each other. Beside I’m just interested on…”

She shifted her gaze towards Jae-in, who was busy mixing the pearls of his bubble tea lodged on the bottom of the cup using the straw provided.

“…I’m interested on different kind of guys, so I guess we just didn’t click on that aspect. He’s not just for me, per se.”

“I see, so that’s the case. Well, it’s good that somehow this worked out towards Hyojong in the end. At least now that he has someone to talk to, he would no longer have to wait and…”

Whatever happened after Hongseok took charge of the conversation was quite thrown out of the window. Jae-in spaced out the moment that Nayeon joined their table, viewing it to be really awkward considering the last time he shared a table with a girl did not really end well. Unintentionally, he had that isolated feeling as Shinwon, Yeri, Hongseok and even the newcomer Nayeon shared their conversations as if he was the one who was new. There was no real particular reason for it; it’s just that he felt really left out all of a sudden.

It was certainly not because he was sad or anything; he’s sure that he’s not by any means. Jae-in had that sense of losing enthusiasm being around the friends he felt so far off at that time. Even during his spacing out, his eyes danced towards the figures of Jisoo and Dawn talking at the other table. He could not help but admire how picture-perfect they were framed along the glass-panels of the said café, with their figures etched in an amazing painting amidst the soft skies beyond. Their conversation was inaudible from where he was seated and yet he could see the genuine smiles that emanated from them both. The fact that all of this was a result of a collective effort of a good amount of people from United Kwangya… the results were just beautiful.

Of course, given that state he could not help but wonder how he and Soyeon would have turned out had things worked for both of them.

Would they be having the same kind of date as Hyojong and Jisoo are having now?

There was also another, completely unrelated question with that…

If Ningning made all of these possible, she’s supposed to be the first person to show up. Where is on earth she?

“Hey, Yoon Jae-in…!”

The sound of Shinwon’s voice immediately brought him back to the coffee shop with the rest of them. Jae-in didn’t even realize how long he was staying in silence, merely staring at the blank space of the cup’s dews formed on the outside surface. He didn’t even realize that the rest of the orders were already served and that everyone had their orders with them.

“Y-yeah…?” he remarked with a stutter, returning the obnoxious gaze that the rest of the table gave him. “Sorry, what was that?”

“You’re spacing out. You seem to be lost in so much thought,” Hongseok replied, tapping his back here. “We’re just about to tell you how rude you are for leaving Miss Nayeon there and not engaging on a conversation.”

“Yeah,” The girl, Nayeon, said with a smirk. “Your friends are talking about selling you to me in exchange for more drinks. You’re cute when you’re spacing out, though, I’ll give you that.”

What?

“Excuse him please. He just actually came from a break-up that’s why he’s like that,” blurted Shinwon, with Yeri beside him slapping his arm in retort. “Woops, it slipped out. Sorry man.”

“Oh, I’m sorry… I was just joking, by the way,” Nayeon said. “I didn’t know… but at least we know that you’re single.”

“You know what, now that we’re all here… well most of us, but anyway… can you just shine the light up on us on how you and Soyeon broke up anyway?” Hongseok said once again, taking command of the conversation like he did before.

“Why… why are you bringing this up right now?” asked Jae-in.

“Hey, if you all are going to talk about his past, I don’t think I should be here. I can just wedge in between Dawn and Jisoo’s conversation and make the guy a third wheel,” said Nayeon.

Jae-in shook his head and raised his hand to stop Nayeon on her tracks.

“No, no, it’s fine… you don’t need to leave. It’s… I really don’t mind.”

I doubt that she knows me or Soyeon that much to the point that it would matter that she knows anyway.

Plus, I really don’t mind. She seemed cool, so…

“Well, not only good looking but also really polite,” Nayeon remarked once again. “Alright, I’ll just pretend that I’m one of you. That doesn’t seem too hard to do.”

“Great then, so, what happened, Jae-in? Could you please enlighten us on what happened between you and Soyeon?”

“I’m curious as well,” Yeri said in agreement. “You two were so sweet from what I’ve heard, so this really came as a huge shock, especially since Soyeon’s been telling and updating me on what’s progressing between both of you. I certainly did not see this coming.”

She did that?

“I-Umm, well it’s complicated, but to cut the story short we never really worked out so we just decided… well, I decided that it’d be better if we went our separate ways… She didn’t entirely take that positively so, she’s mad at me I guess.”

“It turns out that Jae didn’t like Soyeon since the beginning,” Shinwon informed, causing Jae-in to eye him in shock as he clearly not expected him to blurt it out blatantly like that. It did not make it less of being true, however.

“Yeah well, that too. I’m kind of just struck with the alcohol when she confessed so I guess my reactions weren’t exactly… me, so to speak. Hongseok knows about this and I’ve talked about Shinwon pretty much has a good idea what I had in mind, because we already talked about it back then…”

“I got that right… I certainly won’t forget that,” Hongseok said with a teasing tone. “Well, that’s in the past. I already learned my lessons from that even in Sizzlers so we’re good. Let me ask: is it really over for the two of you? Is there zero chance of you ever talking to her again?”

“On terms of a romantic thing… I would say yes... maybe. However, I would definitely not close doors on her if the opportunity would give us a chance to be friends again. I kept on thinking that we started off on the wrong foot anyway, so we are bound to start talking again at some point, I hope.”

“I guess it makes sense now why you were so hesitant towards her, man… You know if you just told us that you didn’t like her in the first place, Ningning and I could’ve just told Soyeon and all the fuss didn’t happen. Maybe not tell her of everything but at least give her some hints that the impact would not be this troublesome. You are, I think, the first ever guy that rejected Soyeon’s advances, an act of which owes a huge respect on my regard. It’s hard to do that.”

“It might be my pride that’s not letting me do that before, but trust me: that’s what I’ve been planning to do all these times even before we had that talk. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it until I just did it out of pure desire to tell her the truth. I didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to be, but things could’ve been worse. You know, it is what it is. I’ll just have to deal with the outcome.”

Hongseok smiled. “Do you miss her though?”

Their table went awfully silent with the rest of them anticipating for Jae-in’s answer.

“I’d lie if I say I didn’t miss her. I think that’s a pretty normal thing to say.”

Yeri nodded, and due to the ensuing silence, Jae-in continued.

“Soyeon’s really very caring and is really relentless on showing her feelings, but sometimes it’s just too much. Maybe that’s what caused me to feel a bit strangled and obliged to do the things she does; pressured to return the same level and grade of affection towards her to be even. Not to mention, we have a lot of uncommon interests. Shinwon already had a hint that we’d not work out for that long.”

“If given a chance though,” Yeri asked. “Would you still date now? It doesn’t have to be Soyeon, let’s say a new person comes up at a much unexpected time, are you even up for it? I’m sure those things are not really that impossible right?”

Shinwon nodded. “That’s a good question. Things like that really do happen especially when you’re not looking for it.”

Nayeon, on the other hand, shifted on her seat as she waited eagerly for Jae-in’s reply. The young man was about to reply when he shook his head, effectively breaking free of the invisible spell the group unintentionally cast on him.

“Wait a minute, why are you all ganging up on me now, hmmm? I answered things because I thought that it would be just a one-time thing, how come we’re bringing my life onto the table all of a sudden? I thought we’re supposed to be here for Dawn?”

“I mean, given that, but you really can’t deny that it’s an interesting question,” said Hongseok from his side. “You have a tendency to go missing from the chat, especially after you and Soyeon broke up.”

“I don’t do that, man.”

“Actually you do, Jae-in.”

“I want to know as well…” Nayeon seconded, her face showing a hint of shyness this time around.

I really don’t get why Nayeon is so into this. We literally just met. I do hope she’s just kidding because it feels… suspicious.

Gearing up for an answer is so stupid for this. I never thought that I’d be brought upon the hot seat.

“I… I never really closed my heart for things. It would feel like a crime against nature to go against it. If a destined person comes, I’m sure that I’m going to feel it so… I’m not closing doors. If she comes, she comes.”

“Say Jae-in,” Hongseok asked after taking a sip from his tea. “If there’s someone out there who’s like Soyeon, but not Soyeon, would you go for it?”

“What the fuck is that question? I don’t really have standards on people anyway and you know of that. I have preferences, but I’m not pigeonholed into just those things. We’ll work out if we do, right?”

Silence erupted between them after a unison of ‘oohs’, with only the soft exchange of voices heard from Dawn’s table, followed by the soft laughs coming from Jisoo. Surprisingly, the very first person to break the silence barrier was Nayeon. She began her query by clearing her throat.

“Since I’m into this anyway, can I ask you a question as well?”

“Uhh… sure, go ahead.”

“Are you currently looking for someone or even eyeing a person right now?”

“Ehh… not really…”

“Is that true…?” Shinwon interfered. “Even though you never really developed legitimate feelings for Soyeon, you never thought of liking anyone else? Come on, North Line has a lot of pretty girls, I’m sure at least you’ve met someone that caught your eye.”

“That’s not the case. I’m… I guess I was just too busy enjoying life with you guys.”

“Why don’t you try looking for people if that’s the case?” Yeri asked.

“As much as having someone is really nice, I’m… I’m not into it. Not now, at least. I just want to focus on myself, clear things first. I’ll have to stand by what I told Soyeon; otherwise I just broke us up on the premise of a lie.”

“You’ll never really know that, Jae-in… I’m pretty sure at the time you’re going to meet your ‘one’; you’ll eat up every single word and promise you wrote in the air. Feelings do affect that much and it’s crazy when you think about it.”

“Well, if that does happen, then at least there’s one less sad person in the world. Cheers to that.”

It may have been a weird action to offer a toast with bubble teas, yet it was the one thing that Jae-in could think off to bring himself out of the situation. The conversation had reached a point that it was starting to be uncomfortable to everything that he was hearing. That seemed to be the safest, most polite way of getting out of the conversation and he merely grabbed it the first chance he saw. It worked out perfectly in the end.

---

I do not exactly know what helped ease the transition there, but I trust that maybe Hongseok caught up with the spell and immediately understood what was going on. If I did not know better, maybe he got flashbacks from what happened to Sizzlers that he got careful in his words; which I do appreciate. It was not the intention, but I’m glad that it worked out in the end.

We stayed on the café for about an hour or so, shifting the topic from my personal love life to other things that Shinwon could bring into the table. Things slowly started to fade away into the distance as Hongseok began to be the centre of the conversation. Time has passed and we didn’t even notice Dawn and Jisoo’s request to join tables into one huge, conversation for the new comers. Thankfully, the atmosphere started to be a bit friendly to me that I was able to join into the conversation further, but not with the occasional teasing coming from Nayeon. Even Jisoo seem to support on whatever her friend was doing.

But like all dates, at some point it had to end.

Among all of the members that joined the little get-together, it was me who ended up joining Dawn as we walked with Jisoo and Nayeon. Shinwon and Yeri seemed to have another date of their own, while Hongseok insisted of heading off home earlier because of prior commitments. The skies have begun to darken, with the soft patches of purple appearing on the once-blue sky, signalling the entrance of twilight onto the impending evening.

Dawn, Nayeon, Jisoo and I were all walking side-by-side, crossing the pedestrian lane towards the busy street where we would eventually part ways. Jisoo and Nayeon already agreed to head on off to Metro Station, on what I would imagine to talk about Dawn and what follows next. Hyojong, on the other hand, asked me to come walking down with him perhaps thinking of the same exact thing for Jisoo.

“So… I guess this is where we finally split paths,” I heard Jisoo say as she and Nayeon turned in place to face us. “We had fun. It was nice to meet all of you, and your friends are really fun to be with as well.”

“You forgot that they’re good looking as well,” added Nayeon, followed by an awkward eye-contact towards me.

I really don’t know what else to do so I just smiled.

“I’m happy that you had that impression. I had fun, so… it’s good-bye for now?” Dawn asked with a wide smile. Jisoo replied by nodding and eventually giving the two guys short bows. Nayeon immediately followed her gesture.

“Well, please take care heading home. I’ll see you around, and maybe out on another one like this… I hope that this won’t be the last, Hyojong-ah.”

“I’ll see you around school, Jisoo, Nayeon… thank you.”

“I have a reason to thank you too, so we’re even,” she replied.

I smiled and bowed, copying what Dawn had done to maintain consistency as well as courtesy. We gave our farewell waves to them both and proceeded to head down the long road. However, before we could even reach a good amount of distance, I heard Nayeon say my name.

“Good bye, Jae-in…!”

I turned my head towards her, about in perfect time to see her run a finger behind her ear and then proceeding to give me a teasing smile. I could only do so much but nod and smile as I resumed walking beside Dawn on a rather awkward and unexpected situation, probably made worse with a teasing chuckle from my friend.

“Would you look at that; Nayeon seemed to be interested in you, you know.”

“I think otherwise, man. I feel like she’s just teasing me, so I never made it a big deal even though she’s like that throughout the date.”

Dawn chuckled, which I really did expect to come from him.

“She’s always like that. I don’t even know if she’s sure half the time.”

“Yeah, but enough about me; congratulations, man; you really pulled this off and managed to bring her out on a date. Next time, it would just be the two of you and that’s going to be the start.”

“Man yeah I’m really looking forward for what’s ahead of me. I won’t waste everyone’s effort and I’ll truly pursue her.”

“I’ll just be supporting you. I’m sorry that I got really busy last week; I didn’t even know that you already finished the overhaul and managed to get a good impression. Shinwon told me about everything. It seemed that you never stopped working even after we had that convo. I’m proud of your achievements Dawnie boy.”

“Things got a bit fast, but at least it all went well. All I have to do now was to not fuck this up.”

“Yeah sure… like that’s going to happen…”

“Of course, I do hope that things like this would not only happen to me. I want all of you to be happy as well, especially you, Jae-in. I know that you just broke up with Soyeon, but I’m positive that you’re going to get your girl soon. On that note, why don’t you try my method out?”

I grinned.

“Ah, I know that it might be really effective but I’m not interested in looking for people just yet; not until Soyeon’s still fresh inside my memory. It would be a while ‘til I get comfortable going out with someone.”

“I guess I can respect that, man… I guess you really did not like her, huh?”

“Well, among a lot of things, yeah… it is what it is. Can’t force myself unto someone I’m not entirely into, right?”

Dawn and I paused for a moment as we continued walking down the path. The skies have now completely darkened as stars finally shone in the distance. In turn, the first batches of street lights as well as establishment illuminations were a discrete sign that evening was fast approaching.

“Have you… Have you told Soyeon of the real reason why you broke up with her, though?” I heard Dawn ask after we passed by a well-occupied cake shop.

“I did. I told her of everything. I even got slapped for it, remember?”

“Did you tell her, like EVERYTHING?”

“Hmmm…? What are you going at?”

“Did you tell Soyeon that you broke up with her because you already have a girlfriend?”

---

Next Chapter: The Ideal Girlfriend

#kpop series #kpop story #nayeon #blackpink jisoo #twice #blackpink #pentagon

[workingforitallthetime]

that is so creepy and weird of that anon! not to mention disrespectful! to you and to anyone they supposedly know irl. so sorry you’re experiencing that 😞

thanks, anon. i've been thinking about this incident in the context of the end-of-the-year post i've been writing with some reflection about why hockey prospects have been such a good fandom niche for me, and in order to keep that post positive i'm gonna use this one to reflect a bit about one of the only negative or challenging aspects of focusing on that niche.

my initial reaction to that ask was that the anon was someone who's young and hasn't had an adequate opportunity to pick up on fandom norms, and that they sort of thought it would be funny or cool to share my blog in that way. in hindsight i can see that the wording could also be interpreted as intentionally threatening or malicious, but i think i want to continue to give that person the benefit of the doubt. the reason i want to do that is that so much of prospect fandom is young, and that means that doing rpf in this space means i have to navigate how to share it with people who are fans of these players in very different ways than i am.

in the tags for most of the umich and team usa boys i'm interested in, a lot of material is generated by people who view hockey players as individuals that they want to, or could, have a romantic or sexual relationship with. they're very much fans of the flesh and blood Real People, and i think maybe they don't see a line between their ideas about these people and the individuals themselves, because their ideas are about someone who they could -- if only the right meet-cute happened -- know for real.

whereas i am a fan not so much of any real human boys, but of a bunch of imaginary things my pals and i have made up using said boys' instagram posts and postgame interviews as a jumping off point. once you leave that jumping off point, none of the shit i make up is connected in any way to Real People. i absolutely do not ever want to encounter a flesh and blood hockey player anywhere other than a rink, and on the rare occasions when that's happened by accident i have tucked my head down and extricated myself from the situation as quickly as possible.

i think maybe for someone who doesn't have their own thoughts about hockey players separated in that way, it's not necessarily intuitive to recognize that there's a difference between their version of fandom and transformative fandom. that means that i get my share of tiresome anons, but it also means that those (presumably young) fans may not have ever been part of a transformative fandom and don't understand that sharing transformative material with the real people it's sourced from is hugely different than sharing other kinds of fan content with them.

i have mostly navigated the prevalence of this other type of fan with kind of a live and let live mentality. they can fan their way, i'll fan mine. i can ignore all the self-insert fic in the tag, and import content into the ecosystem on my own when their thirsty captions are not to my taste. they can ignore all my gay shit and block me if they don't want to see shipping. but this incident has made me wonder if i ought to be more deliberate about explaining and reinforcing the fourth wall. if people don't understand that fandom norm, do i have an obligation to educate? do i need to start putting those disclaimers on fic? ugh, idk.

[south-park-meta]

Bunny w/ Mamihlapinatapei if you like that, otherwise Style?

I don't like Bunny tbh but it's fine, there aren't many pairings I hate too much to try writing! (I included Style too though because I'm a simple person).

Mamihlapinatapei - The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move.

"I know now that you won't remember, the next time you see it. I just need you to believe me, before we...start anything."

"I believe you," Butters says immediately. He considers, then says, "Y'know, I think we all die a little. It's the comin' back that matters."

Kenny's always been good at reading people. Stan's good at it, too. It's one of the defense mechanisms that they've picked up together but separately. Kenny learned it as part of conflict resolution; it's important to read the mood at home, to decide if he and his siblings should leave the room or if it'd be better to just flick on the TV. If he had to guess, he'd say that Stan got good at reading people at home, too. Neither Stan nor Shelly have ever been hit by their parents-- Kenny doesn't think they were spanked as kids, never mind gotten in a fist fight the way Kevin did sometimes with his dad. But violence isn't the only thing that does it. Stan knows if someone's safe to drive with or if they're going to weave between lanes. He knows the exact way to play babysitter to draw someone back from a nutty scheme. He knows how to mold himself to seem like less trouble to make things easier, when it matters.

Their experiences are different but the same, when it comes to picking up those little hints of a person. The cues that most people don't have reason to learn.

Kenny notices the shift, when Stan and Kyle fall in love with each other. He's always figured they'd end up together, once they figured their own shit out. Over junior year the way they look at each other changes-- not overnight, but not slowly, either, like it's shifting with the seasons. He actually thinks they're together when Stan starts talking about prom.

Except then Stan asks if he wants to skip it to play video games.

Kenny furrows his brows. "Is this a 'Poor Kenny' thing?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Kenny says. Then he stops for a moment to consider which way to take it. His guess is that Stan's feeling sorry for him, because prom's kind of expensive if you do it right. Even doing it a little wrong is more expensive than what Kenny has. It's a hard thing to traverse, though, because if he's honest he likes it when his friends recognize the difference in what they all have to spend. The pop he's drinking is one Stan bought him. But there's a difference in wanting to tag along to McDonald's and maybe, every now and then, letting his friends order a happy meal for him, and wanting his friends to skip out on milestone moments just to play video games. "How come you and Kyle aren't going together?"

"We could," Stan agrees, holding his bottle of Fanta by the neck and spinning it in a lazy circle. Kenny knows he gets the glass ones instead of plastic because it makes him think of beer bottles. It's hard to tell if that scratches an itch or tickles at it. "But we'd just be hanging around, anyway. Same shit, different place."

"Or you could, you know, dance?"

Stan stops spinning his bottle. "With Kyle?" he asks.

He sounds so baffled that Kenny's actually almost surprised they don't need an extra step of 'With who?'

Which makes Kenny baffled, too. "Why not with Kyle?"

"Because we're not dating?"

"Is that a question?" Kenny asks. And before Stan can answer he says, "I thought you were. Finally." It seems like something they'd forget to tell him just because they've been half-dating for so long.He still can't stop himself from making snide comments when they box him out now and again, but when it comes to this--he hadn't even been offended, thinking they'd forgotten.

"Well. We're not."

"So ask him."

"Why would I do that?"

"Why the fuck wouldn't you do that?" Kenny demands. "I love you, Stan, but you're really stupid sometimes."

"Hey," Stan says, but he doesn't sound very offended.

"I know you love him."

"Okay," Stan says, "I love him."

Kenny waits a beat, but Stan doesn't keep going, which is a little maddening. "And he loves you."

"Not like that."

"Yes like that."

Kenny can tell he's not telling Stan anything he doesn't already know, the way he frowns and looks away.

"Why don't you ask Butters, then?" Stan snaps, peevish, looking at his feet. "If you're so smart. He'd go with you."

"Because," Kenny says.

Stan huffs through his nose and opens his eyes a little wider in a way that says, See? And man, maybe Kenny's a hypocrite, but Stan is a smug hypocrite, which is definitely more annoying.

"Fuck you," Kenny says.

"Fuck you, too," Stan says. They sit in silence for a moment and Stan takes another drink of Fanta. Another moment of silence and he says, "You should ask him, though, for real."

Maybe Kenny should, for real. Stan still doesn't like Butters much after all these years--Butters doesn't like Stan much, either-- so Kenny knows it's nothing Stan would suggest if he didn't think it was something that would make Kenny happier. "If I do, you have to talk to Kyle."

"Sure thing, Ken," Stan says. He's still got smug in his tone, like he's agreeing because he knows this is a bet he won't lose.

And it's still kind of annoying, mostly for the 'Ken' that Stan rarely uses except to be condescending, but only for about half a second. Stan can get up his own ass sometimes around Kenny for the same reason Kenny knows he can be petty, bitchy, around Stan. Kenny knows he can't claim a spot at the Super Best Friends table, but they've been regular best friends since they were three. They know each other's entire humanities, even the ugly bits. It's good sometimes, to have a place for the ugly.

They shoot the shit a while longer and then part ways. Stan takes both their empty bottles to recycle them.

Kenny goes over to Butters' house afterwards. He tells himself it's for Stan and Kyle's sake, or at least to force Stan to admit he doesn't have the guts, but he knows well enough he's using them as an excuse. He knocks on the door and waits.

"Kenny!" Butters greets him, bright-eyed. It's really hard to take someone looking at him like that. Like he's the only good thing in all of South Park.

"Hi," Kenny says. "Can I come in?"

"I'll come out," Butters says. "Your shoes are kinda muddy. Y'know my parents would throw a fit."

Kenny doesn't look down at his shoes. It's true, and he doesn't really mind Butters saying so. Even if he does think he could wipe his shoes clean enough.

They take a walk down to Stark's pond. Butters takes his hand halfway there. Kenny slows his pace to make sure it lasts a little longer just in case Butters wants to skip rocks. He doesn't let go, though, once they get there. They sit there holding hands and looking at the water.

"I need to tell you something. Then I need to ask you something," Kenny tells the water.

"Mm, all right," Butters says. His tone stays pitched up, chipper, but Kenny can hear the anxiety stretched underneath, like a safety net waiting to catch someone's fall. "Shoot."

"Well," Kenny says, deciding to back track a bit, because he doesn't like that anxiety. There are too many kids in South Park that have it sitting dormant under their voices, and he likes it least of all on Butters. "I want to ask you to prom. But I need to tell you something first."

The tension slides out at that and Butters smiles wide. "You're doing it all backwards, then, ain't'cha?"

"I do a lot of things backwards," Kenny says, "But you'll go with me? If I ask."

"Sure, I will!"

That doesn't surprise him, for the same reason he knows Stan won't be surprised if he asks Kyle-- or Kyle, if he asks Stan. "I need to tell you," Kenny starts again, "That I die a lot."

Butters tips his head. He looks at Kenny, eyes asking him to continue.

"I know it sounds crazy," Kenny says, "But you've seen me die. You've all seen me die. I used to die every day. And then I came back, and you'd all forget." He pauses as he stares at the lake. There are concessions he's learned he has to make, since the frustrated years of his childhood spent killing himself over and over again, intentionally and not. "I know now that you won't remember, the next time you see it. I just need you to believe me, before we...start anything."

"I believe you," Butters says immediately. He considers, then says, "Y'know, I think we all die a little. It's the comin' back that matters."

"Yeah?" Kenny knows Butters doesn't mean the physical, the way he does, but he also knows that Butters knows he does mean the physical.

"Yeah. I feel it, when part of me dies. Why, there's been times-- there's been times I figure enough of it's gone and died, that I ought to just end it all!" He's not just talking about Reality, and Kenny knows that, too. He's talking about the bits and pieces that have been killed by his parents, by the other students, by South Park as a whole. "But you come back to life. And if you work real hard at it, you come back stronger than before. It gets better...You said it doesn't happen every day anymore, didn't'cha?"

Kenny nods his head. He's a little surprised, that Butters had caught that with his saying it 'used to' be every day.

"Well, maybe someday it won't be happening at all, anymore. Maybe you're coming back stronger and stronger and it won't keep getting you. Not until it's supposed to."

"I'd like that," Kenny says, smiling.

"I'd like to go to prom with you," Butters says.

Kenny nods very fast. He wants, at that moment, more than just prom. He wants every life and every death with Butters. He wants them to go, hand-in-hand the way they are now, and face as many deaths and revivals as they have left in them, together.

#South Park #sp bunny #sp style #stan marsh #kenny mccormick #butters stotch #kyle broflovski #tbh idk how well this fits the prompt but i tried lmao

[ussjellyfish]

Fic Writer Review

(I’m doing the Star Trek edition and just focusing on my Trek fics, for fun).

Thanks for tagging me, @curator-on-ao3! I tag @aleksandrachaev and @justanalto, @holdouttrout , @meanderings0ul, @lorcaswhisky @pixiedane @rikerssexblouse if you fancy it, and anyone who feels like it. (scroll to the end to copy paste the questions)

how many works do you have on AO3?

354 total, 166 if I just count Star Trek and crossovers with Star Trek

what’s your total AO3 word count?

2,194,290 (I am wordy and badass!)

Behind a cut for length.

how many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

I’ve written for 38 fandoms total. I have fic from Star Trek TOS, TNG, DS9, VOY, DSC, PIC and AOS. I sadly have no Lower Decks fic. (I feel like that would be hard to get write, I’m not that funny)

what are your top 5 fics by kudos? (only Trek fics)

354 kudos, Village Building (Voyager, Janeway/Chakotay) 87925 words which I cowrote with Jacks, who is not on tumblr (she’s from LJ days though we’re still facebook friends!) and a lovely lovely human. It’s Janeway/Chakotay season 5 babyfic and it’s very gentle and sweet and is a really lovely piece about how the crew would look after Kathryn and make space for her to live her life while being captain. Has some very excellent Tom and Kathryn, Kathryn and B’Elanna scenes.

250 kudos, Stellar Entanglement (Voyager, Janeway/Chakotay) 29979 words, which is oddly enough a gift for someone who hated one line of it and we didn’t talk for years. We got over it eventually, but it was rough. (the thing we fought about? how long parental leave would be and I, being an american, thought 6 weeks was normal because my country is evil for parents)

The fic itself is lovely! Kathryn gets pregnant after a one night stand with Chakotay , but he’s on a long distance mission, so they’re separated for most of it, then she goes on an excellent space road trip with Seven. There’s a nice scene in here I like with Nechayev and Kathryn and I had a great time writing Seven trying to find her place in the Alpha Quadrant.

217 kudos, Mending (Voyager, Janeway/Chakotay) 15155 words

This is a classic Opal fic because it’s 100% “but what if this wild thing happened and she was pregnant”. Kathryn time travels instead of Chakotay in the episode “Shattered” and she’s very very pregnant, and her crew that she doesn’t know well get her home. Has some of my favorite B’Elanna & Kathryn scenes I’ve ever written.

189 kudos, For the Asking, TNG Beverly Crusher & Deanna Troi, background Beverly/Jean-Luc, Deanna/Will 2138 words

Deanna reads Beverly’s thoughts about sex in a staff meeting and they tease each other it and have a very good discussion. It’s sweet and friendly and I reread it when I want to feel that brilliantly good friend feeling.

154 kudos, Firefly (Discovery, Philippa Georgiou (Mirror) & Michael & Tilly & like..Disco crew. Philippa Georgiou & making friends

This fic is my beloved and I am giddy it’s on this top five. It’s so fun (for me). The Guardian of Forever gives Philippa the choice to stay in the 31st century with Michael and Discovery, in exchange for a very tiny minor cellular change, which is a baby. (she and Chris had some confusingly nice sex before she left).

It’s one of my least commented fic and the one where I feel like it’s just going out into the void (but it has a lot of kudos! good work little fic).  I have so much fun with it though. Philippa and conversations where she is mildly human is a blast. The fight scenes turned out well (even though they’re really hard to write) and Philippa and Tilly is brilliant. I love it. I love them. This is so my favorite right now and I’m so happy it’s on the list.

This is the best part of the meme, right here.

(side note, 4 of my top 5 are babyfic, so at least I’m on brand).

do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try to. I feel like I ought too. Sometimes I’m so busy behind exhausted embarrassed (how to I reply when people are nice to me! gah) that I don’t. Often it’s simply because I want to write more fic and my free time is so limited. I love them, I really really love them. It is so kind of people to comment. I short circuit often with replying to praise.

what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Oh it’s definitely When I the Starry Courses Know, which is Janeway/Borg Queen and she makes a deal to go with Queen if the Queen will save the ship, and she goes. It’s full of depression and self-doubt. It’s one of the best dark things I’ve ever written.

do you write crossovers? if so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

Archaic Diseases, TNG/Battlestar Galactica.  I have a very sweet crossover where Beverly Crusher saves Laura Roslin from cancer and Laura has a bit of a crush. It’s rather lovely. 

have you ever received hate on a fic?

Sure, there’s a few people who just seem to get angry about things, or willfully miss the point. Sometimes I just get weird weird comments that leave me feeling angry or uncomfortable (I have a current string on a Beverly/Kathryn fic that I might just stop reading, because I don’t really need to know.

do you write smut? if so what kind?

Lazily, far less often than I used to. I like feelings more than detail and I’ve gotten much less interested in sex lately in fic. I’ve written f/f and m/f and some threesomes (one foursome). Keeping track of hands is hard. I write a lot of women receiving oral sex, I think that’s easiest for me to write.

have you ever had a fic translated?

I don’t think so.

have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! the one up above with Jacks, and a few others. It’s a very different and fulfilling experience. I like being surprised. It’s full of surprises.

what’s your all time favorite ship?

Discovery!  Ummmm, wait no the romantic kind. Right this second? Beverly/Kathryn, because it’s so comfortable for me and brings to gether so many things I like about the characters.

(Philippa Georgiou/Kat Cornwell gets a nod though, because I’m thinking about them often lately)

what’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Captain Tilly’s Gambit - Tilly plays war games against Saru and has Philippa (imperial varietal) as her first officer. It’s one chapter, and I thought it was a one shot but I guess I have to write the fighting? space fighting is hard...It’s a very good fic though. I’d like to finish it. (Maybe after Fortnight of Kat/Pippa?)

what are your writing strengths?

world building, little details that make it feel Star Trek, dialogue, Sylvia Tilly, she is the best POV character for me and I just adore writing her.

what are your writing weaknesses?

Vagueness, I tend to write in a void without much description, I nearly always write 3rd person limited. I’m not very exact with typos and often things I’ve posted will still have errors.

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

If I can find someone who speaks the language, great, otherwise I usually have the gist of it or “A spoke Vulcan, which sounded great but B had no idea what it meant.” I try to avoid it.

what was the first fandom you wrote for?

It was Star Trek the Next Generation!! It was a big time travelling confusing messy wonderful First Contact AU. It’s not as bad as it being 20+ years old makes it sound.

what’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Firefly! It’s gen babyfic and I feel like it’s in the intersection of so many things that aren’t what people want to read and it definitely feels like the thing I just write and post and out into the void. There are chapters of it that don’t have comments at all.

I am fortunate that I have people willing to read it while I’m working on it, which is lovely, and it’s so important to me.  I adore it. I love the process, I love thinking about it. It’s just important to me. The character arcs and moments and conversations I get to write for that mean so much to me.

I feel like the number of people I talk about it with fits on a hand, but you’re all lovely and I adore you too.

Uncharted (VOY/TNG) Kathryn Janeway/Beverly Crusher, Words: 56,764, kudos 137.

It’s the one thing I’ve written that’s most like a novel, has the tightest plot, the most research and characters and is most like a Trek episode, I think because there’s so much going on and often I write things that have very little going on. This is very different, and sometimes rereading it makes me cry.  It has all the best heroic parts of Star Trek.

The questions!!

   Fic Writer Review

how many works do you have on AO3?

what’s your total AO3 word count?

how many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

do you respond to comments, why or why not?

what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

do you write crossovers? if so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

have you ever received hate on a fic?

do you write smut? if so what kind?

have you ever had a fic stolen?

have you ever had a fic translated?

have you ever co-written a fic before?

what’s your all time favorite ship?

what’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

what are your writing strengths?

what are your writing weaknesses?

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

what was the first fandom you wrote for?

what’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

#writer meme #all about my trek fics #it was fun to narrow it down to one fandom universe #firefly my beloved

[cinaja]

The road to peace

Summary: The meeting at the end of acowar, told from Jurian's perspective. (It`s like, 50% just the Fae getting roasted, really)

Note: I am extremely annoyed with how the humans are being treated in acotar in general and this is basically just me venting (with a bit band of exiles and some stuff with Jurian, Miryam and Drakon thrown in because I love all of them). I think Feyre and Rhys are... not handling the situation well, so this fic won't cast either of them in a favourable light. I am not tagging either of them and anyone who is really into them probably won`t like this.

Disclaimer: The exchange in the end is taken directly from acowar, chapter 80.

----

The meeting does not begin well. For some reason that goes right over Jurian`s head, the Night Court decides that they should hold the meeting in some destroyed manor over an hour away from the camp, yet they fail to take into account that not everyone can winnow. Meaning the humans have to walk. By the time they finally reach the manor, they are already late and Jurian had to talk Grayson out of turning around five times already.

“I put you on opposite ends of the room”, Feyre Archeron tells them.

She seems to consider it to be a favour, but it feels like an insult. Like they need to be separated from the other participants. Something tells Jurian that it`s not for their comfort, but because Feyre doesn`t want them close to her family and friends.

Jurian doesn`t bother with a reply. Neither does Grayson. They just exchange a quick glance and stride into the meeting room, heads held high. Jurian does not look at anyone in particular as he walks through the room and takes his seat. Only then does he allow himself to look around the room.

The room is crammed with people, but somehow, his eyes still go straight to her.

Miryam isn`t looking at him. Both her and Drakon appear deep in conversation with one of the High Lords – Tarquin. She looks so much like in his memories. Only her clothes are different. During the War, she always made sure to be dressed as elegantly as the Fae royals, even when she despised the dresses and jewellery – like she wanted to proof to them that she might be but a child by their standards, but she could still play their games. Now, she wears a simple tunic that makes her look like she either came straight from her camp without having time to change, or like she purposefully dressed to keep attention away from herself. If it`s the latter, it fails miserably.

Tarquin says something and Miryam smiles in return, tugging a strand of hair behind her ears. Her smile is still the same. It´s like a punch to the stomach.

Jurian doesn`t know how to feel, what to think. Just looking at her is enough to make the memories rise. Miryam smiling at him from across the meeting room. Leaning against him as they sit by the fire with his soldiers. Frowning as they study a map. But then, there are the less pleasant memories. Her crying, and the sinking feeling that it`s because of him. Shaking her head and backing away. I think I should leave.

The worst part is, Jurian can`t place the memories. He isn`t even sure if they are all real. And the only person who could tell him the truth will probably never speak to him again.

“I don`t know what impression you`re going for”, someone says from next to him, “but if you keep staring at your ex like that, it`ll be firmly in the “creepy” territory.”

Jurian forces himself to look away from Miryam and turn around to Queen Vassa who sits down on the chair to his right.

“Your Majesty”, he says and inclines his head.

“General”, she replies.

Before Jurian can tell her that he doesn`t think he holds this title anymore, Feyre Archeron steps forward to welcome them. Then, she tells her story. She talks of years in poverty, of the trials under Amarantha and how she found love in Prythian. Jurian honestly wonders what part of the story is supposed to reassure the humans. The one where she got kidnapped, tortured and killed by Fae? Or maybe how her Fae lover locked her up and how she only managed to find acceptance as a Fae. And how is her relationship drama even relevant to this meeting? Well, maybe she just wants to humiliate her former lover, who is stone-faced by the wall. Jurian smirks at the male, who growls softly in return. Jurian can`t say he pities him. After all, he knew his father during the War and he`ll only believe that the son is better when he sees proof.

By the time Feyre finishes her story, Jurian is barely listening anymore. He immediately jerks to attention, though, when Miryam and Drakon step forward. It seems like they`ll be the next speakers. Jurian isn`t sure what he hopes for. He supposes if they do tell the story, he`ll be the next to be publicly humiliated. But no matter how unflattering the story might be, at least it would give him something to sort his memories by.

As they begin to speak, though, Jurian quickly realize that, unlike Feyre, they don`t tell the stories of their lives. They gloss over anything personal, mention what went down with Jurian only in passing and instead tell a story about the seemingly impossible work of uniting their people. They talk of unforgivable crimes, amends that were made and the long road towards peace. Neither of them so much as looks at Jurian as they speak.

He supposes he should have known. In Prythian, it might be considered normal to let the personal bleed into the political, but rules are far stricter on the Continent. Even if Miryam and Drakon chose to settle matters between them, they would never do it during an official meeting. Besides, Miryam was never overly fond of telling the world her story.

When they sit down and Helion takes their place, Jurian makes himself listen to what the High Lord says. He doesn`t want to be like poor Grayson, who keeps staring at Elain Archeron with longing and fury written equally on his face whenever he thinks no one will notice. No, thank you. He very much plans to get through this meeting with his dignity intact.

Helion and a few others talk of the War and the friendships they made, too. Jurian considers getting up as well, but decides against it. He is still trying to sort through his memories, muddled by five hundred years of torment, and he isn`t entirely sure he could give an accurate account of anything. Or if he could manage to get through telling his story without breaking down.

Soon, the first humans step forward and begin to talk of the crimes the Fae committed against them. Entire villages slaughtered. The Treaty violated again and again. (Jurian could have told them of worse things – and he knows those accounts would pale against anything Miryam might tell – but this meeting is supposed to lead to peace, so he remains silent.) But then, the Fae begin to counter the human tales with ones of their own, about humans who treated them with mistrust. And somehow, these pointy-eared bastards manage to make it sound like their grievances are equal.

After a while, Jurian has had enough.

“Right”, he says, just loudly enough that every Fae in the room hears him, “Because humans trying to defend themselves against Fae is just as bad as Fae slaughtering entire human villages for fun.” He snorts. “If you want to get this to work, maybe you should start treating our lives as equal to your own.”

The humans nod along. Most of the Fae shoot him disapproving glances.

“I`m not surprised that you would say that”, one of the Fae hisses, “We all know your stance on Fae. The matter with Clythia -“

Jurian flinches at the name. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries hard not to think of her.

“Jurian merely stated that human and Fae lives should be treated equally”, Miryam cuts in, “Surely you don`t mean to contradict that.”

The Fae opens his mouth, then seems to consider who, exactly, he is speaking to. He squirms in his seat and quickly averts his eyes. Jurian grins. He tries to catch Miryam`s eye, but she refuses to look at him.

“Perhaps”, Rhysand says smoothly, “we ought to return to the true purpose of this meeting. The Wall is gone and it is up to us to find a way to shape this world.”

Jurian rolls his eyes. He wonders how Fae considering human lives and grievances to be unimportant is not relevant to the future of their world.

The discussion begins raging in earnest. Grayson outright refuses to trust the Fae on their word alone – the Treaty, he says, has been violated far too often, even with the Wall in place. Queen Vassa nods and adds that she is not about to leave her people at the mercy of any Fae who decide to make a meal out of them. It is a perfectly valid concern, yet somehow, half of the Fae manage to take offence at it.

It doesn`t take long for the first person to suggest another Wall.

“Might be hard”, Helion drawls, “Without being sure how the first one was created.”

Jurian can`t help it, his gaze flickers to Miryam. For the first time since the meeting started, she, too, is looking at him. Jurian smiles slightly and dips his chin. She nods back, then returns her attention to the discussion.

Drakon begins to explain why another Wall won`t solve their problems, just delay them. Patiently, he describes how they can only achieve lasting peace by having humans and Fae develop a way to life together and that dividing them will only make hate fester and, ultimately, lead to another war. The only way to overcome prejudice, he says, is by having people interact and teaching them about the other side.

Not everyone agrees with him. A few High Lords argue that a Wall would be the better alternative. They talk of security for the humans, but all Jurian hears is that they don`t want to bother with working for peace.

He promised himself not to, but Jurian still finds his gaze drifting over to Miryam, Drakon and their people. Drakon is frowning slightly and keeps flaring his wings in annoyance. Next to him, General Sinna, the commander of his Seraphim legion, keeps whispering with a human man who as far as Jurian knows is their armada`s commander. They both look torn between annoyance and amusement. Miryam`s face doesn`t betray anything, but she keeps scanning the room.

“I think we can all agree”, Feyre Archeron finally says, “that both sides have made mistakes. But it is time for all of us to move past them.”

For a few heartbeats, silence reins. Jurian finds himself staring at her open-mouthed. He can`t believe what he`s hearing and is about to say as much when Miryam beats him to it.

“Both sides have what?”, she asks softly.

Even after five hundred years, Jurian recognizes the look she gives Feyre. There is no mistaking the way her eyes seem to glow. In spite of the serious situation, Jurian grins. He once fell in love with Miryam for her kindness – but damnit, things get entertaining when she stops playing nice.

Feyre seems to realize that something is not going the way she planned. “I was just saying that both sides are to blame. No one is really innocent in this.”

“Then would you kindly explain to me”, Miryam says, and now, there`s nothing remotely friendly about her tone, “how I or any of the other fifty thousand slaves in the Black Land were to blame for what happened to us. Not to mention the hundreds of thousands of slaves in different territories, or the millions who came before us.” She sits up straighter in her seat. “Honestly, I`m curious. How did we deserve being beaten and tortured and killed? What was our crime? Beyond being born human, that is.”

Feyre suddenly finds her the sleeve of her dress in dire need of inspection. She begins fiddling around with it, looking increasingly uncomfortable. But of course, her mate jumps to her defence.

“You`re being unfair”, Rhys says.

Jurian nearly jumps from his seat, Drakon flares his wings so hard that he almost hits Tarquin in the face. It takes Jurian half a heartbeat to decide that Miryam won`t be happy at all if he punches that prick of a High Lord in the face. Across the room, Drakon seems to come to the same conclusion. He tugs his wings close to his body again and mutters an apology to Tarquin.

Rhys continues, “That`s not what Feyre meant and you know it.”

“Then perhaps she should choose her words more carefully”, Sinna hisses. She gives Rhys a look that usually sends her enemies on the battlefield running. Nephelle puts a hand on her arm.

Miryam looks around the room, nailing each person into place with her gaze. “I want peace, too”, she says, “I have only ever wanted peace. But just choosing to forget everything that happened is not the way to achieve that. The past still affects the present and pretending it doesn`t is stupidity. Especially for people who live as long as the Fae do.”

“Forgive me, Lady”, Kallias says. Jurian wonders if he`s purposefully using the wrong title, or if he genuinely does not know that it is common on the Continent for women to hold leading positions, and for married couples to rule together. Sometimes he forgets how annoying Prythian can be. “But did we not fight for your freedom in this very war?”

Jurian snorts softly. As if Hybern hadn`t invaded Prythian before it ever approached the human lands. They were fighting for themselves at least as much as for the humans.

“Yes, you did”, Miryam says, “And I know some of you fought in the War as well.” She pauses. “But tell me, High Lord, who do you think built the palaces you live in? That goes for all of you. Whose hands built your palaces and temples, whose blood paid for the gold in your troves?” She looks around the room. “Every single court in Prythian once owned slaves. Yet, no one ever so much as considered an official apology – not to mention paying reparations to the descendants of the people your ancestors exploited.” She shakes her head. “I`m not saying any of you are bad people. But if you truly believe that you deserve applause for not wanting to enslave us, then perhaps you should consider that you may be setting your bar a little low.”

“Thousands of years of history”, Thesan says says, “you cannot expect us to-“

“Who is talking about a thousand years?”, Grayson asks. Seems like he stopped staring at Elain Archeron long enough to focus on the conversation. “Ever since the Wall was built, Fae have been illegally crossing it and slaughtering humans. I`ve seen entire villages reduced to rubble. Yet not a single Fae lifted a finger to help us.”

“Nothing new, there”, Jurian supplies, “I have yet to see a Fae being punished for ending human lives. After the War, all these Loyalist commanders got away unscathed. Amarantha”, he nearly chokes on the name, “had every single one of her slaves killed, yet no one cared enough to see her punished.” He snorts. “Really shows how much you value our lives.”

At least the Fae now seem somewhat ashamed. Some of them are shifting around on their chairs, refusing to look at the humans. Feyre Archeron is still fiddling around with her dress. Unfortunately, she does not choose to remain silent.

“I, too, was once human”, she says, “I understand your struggles because they were mine as well. But hate and fear are not the way towards peace. We need to move past these things.”

Queen Vassa crosses her arms. “Didn`t you just tell us during your nice little story time that you started out hating Fae and only began to trust them after you saw proof they were better than you thought? And now you just expect us to do the same in one evening, without more than your word to go on?”

“That`s not what I`m saying at all”, Feyre snaps, “But humans, too, have their prejudices. As a human, I experienced first-hand the way the Fae treat us. But I have seen equal amounts of prejudice on the human side. I have seen the hate, the iron walls and ash arrows.”

Grayson lifts his chin and mutters something under his breath. His voice is too low for Jurian to make out words, but the tone makes it clear enough what he is saying. A reply is burning on Jurian`s tongue, but he swallows it. He knows how the Fae see him – his word would probably not help matters.

Again, it is Miryam who replies. “You`ll forgive me for saying this, High Lady”, she says, “but your experience with the Fae must have been pleasant indeed if you believe this to be a fitting comparison. You talk of prejudice. Well, I watched thousands of humans be slaughtered for no crime other than existing. I saw children get beaten to death just because they spilled a drop of water they were supposed to serve – and those were the lucky ones. When someone did something truly bad, you know, like stealing some rotten bread from the trash because none of us had eaten in five days, they drew out the punishment over hours. I…” She shakes her head and takes a deep breath. Drakon itches a bit closer, the movement barely noticeable. When Miryam continues, her voice is calmer. “I want peace as much as you do. Truly. I have spent most of my life working for it.” She turns back to Feyre. “But I won`t stand here and let you disregard thousands of years of human suffering.”

For a heartbeat, there is silence. Then, Rhysand lets out a soft growl. His power rumbles through the air. “Don`t you ever”, he says with cold command in his voice, “speak to my mate like this again.”

Drakon arches an eyebrow at him. Sinna leans in to Nephelle to whisper something into her ear, making the smaller female laugh softly. Jurian just leans back in his seat. This is about to get entertaining. Maybe he should have brought snacks.

“I spoke politely and I will continue to do so”, Miryam says, completely unfazed, “Since I am not one of your subjects, though, I would appreciate you not giving me orders.”

Rhysand`s power flares so hard that a few of the humans flinch back and one of the windows begins to rattle. Jurian rolls his eyes. If that is the Prythian version of politics, he can only hope for their sakes that they don`t ever go to the Continent. He can`t think of a single Continental ruler who would tolerate that behaviour.

“Are you having trouble controlling your power?”, Miryam asks softly, “In that case, taking a deep breath usually helps.”

Rhysand opens his mouth and closes it again. A few of the Fae are now trying to hide their laughter. Jurian grins. He hasn`t had such fun in… well, in a while.

“No”, Rhys finally growls and reins his power back in.

Silence follows. A few of the Fae exchange uncomfortable looks.

Finally, Mor laughs, perhaps a bit too brightly, and winks at Miryam and Drakon. “Well, seeing how difficult this meeting is, I`m twice as impressed that you got things working on Cretea.”

Drakon grins back. “If that`s any consolation to you, it took us quite a while.”

“And I can assure you”, Sinna mutters, “that we did not run around blaming the humans for being scared or try to make ourselves into the victims.”

A few people laugh. Most don`t.

“Having our people learn to live together”, Drakon says, much more seriously this time, “is the only way towards lasting peace. But every one here should be aware that this takes work and that the work will be mainly for the Fae to be done.” He inclines his head towards the human side of the room. “Humans are afraid, some angry, and rightly so. But that is not the problem we are facing, it`s the consequence.” He turns to the Fae. “Because the problem is that many Fae consider humans beneath them and have committed unspeakable crimes against them without punishment. This is what needs to be addressed and it`s why it`s up to us Fae to prove that we, as a people, have changed. Not through words, but action.”

“We now fought two wars for the humans”, Rhys says, “I`d say that`s plenty of action.”

Jurian considers banging his head against the wall. “Yes”, he says slowly, “Because your… brethren first enslaved us and then went to war to do it again – if this skirmish can even be called that.”

“And if you`re looking for actions you can take”, Vassa says, “then how about you start by stopping your people from entering our territory and killing us. Might be a good first step, you know.”

“Another Wall”, Thesan says, “would solve this problem.”

Drakon puts his head in his hands. “No”, he says, voice muffled through his fingers, “it would not.”

Jurian grins. He still isn`t entirely sure how he feels about Drakon (after all, he spent the most part of the last five centuries hating the male`s guts and is only now beginning to remember that there might have been a time when they were friends), but on this, they are in agreement.

“And how can you be so sure of that”, Beron drawls, “Suddenly became a seer?”

“No, but through the magical power of having studied these things, I can predict what consequences certain actions will likely have on society. In this case, though, I wouldn`t even need to have studied it, because it`s literally what happened last time.” Then, almost like he can`t help it, he adds, “Which I tried to warn you about back then already. So we can either try to get it right this time, or we`ll all meet here again in a few years.”

This, Jurian supposes, is where the argument might have ended. Had they been in a reasonable company, they now might have begun discussing how to actually solve these problems. Unfortunately, most Fae are not overly reasonable. So instead, another argument breaks out.

By the time Feyre Archeron finally declares the meeting to be over, Jurian has rolled his eyes so often he fears he may have pulled a muscle. She thanks them for their time and everyone gets up.

“That was fun, wasn`t it?”, Vassa asks, grinning broadly.

“Absolutely”, Jurian mutters. He stands up on his toes.

“She left already”, Vassa says, “By the way, constantly staring at your married ex-lover is kind of weird.”

Jurian glares at her. “It´s not like that. I just want to talk to her.”

“Do it, then. What`s the worst that could happen?”, Vassa asks. She frowns, then laughs. “Well, she could try to kill you again, I suppose.”

“She didn`t want to kill me”, Jurian mutters.

Vassa laughs and says, “Well, then you guys have a really strange way to discuss your break-up.”

Jurian feels his face beginning to burn. “It wasn`t about our relationship at all”, he says with all the dignity he can muster. Unless his old friends really changed in the past centuries, they would not react like this to a personal problem. But with him putting their people into danger… “It was about me sending Hybern after them.”

When he made the split-second decision to name revenge against Miryam and Drakon as his price to Hybern, he hadn`t considered what that might mean for them. The people who might have died if Hybern had managed to track them down and sent an army after them. Not to mention what might have happened if Miryam had been dead, as he first believed, and Hybern would have brought her back.

No, Jurian does not blame her and Drakon for being angry at all. And he still hasn`t figured out a way how to explain. He isn`t even sure he can put into words how he`s feeling about… well, everything.

“Well”, Vassa mutters, “I guess they can count themselves lucky. At least they didn`t get turned into birds.” Her tone is light, but there`s a bitterness underneath.

Jurian winces. “I never apologized”, he says, “for the role I played in that. They didn`t tell me what they had planned – I would have tried to stop them otherwise.”

Vassa waves him off. “You just did what you had to. I don`t blame you.” She winks. “I mean, I don`t think you are the traitorous piece of shit I first considered you to be.”

In spite of himself, Jurian laughs. “Well, thank you for the flattering compliment.”

“You`re welcome.” Vassa grins, then sobers up. “But there was something I wanted you to talk about. My general did not survive this battle. I have to find a suitable replacement before I have to… leave again.”

Jurian blinks. “And you`re asking me?”

It seems ridiculous. Why would anyone want him around, much less in a position of power? He isn`t even sure if he`s in any state to lead again.

“Who`d be better suited than the most legendary General in human history?”

“Oh, I…” Jurian hesitates. “Thank you.”

Vassa smiles again, but he doesn`t look happy at all. “You`ll look after my people, won`t you? When I`m gone.” She stares down at her fingers like she expects them to turn into claws again any moment.

“Is there no way to break your curse?”, Jurian asks.

She shrugs. “I had hoped Feyre Archeron might be able to help. That was before I found out that she got her title as Cursebreaker by solving a riddle, though.”

“I could ask Helion to look into it”, Jurian says, “He has over eight hundred years of experience. We knew each other during the War and as far as I know, he doesn`t hate my guts, so I might be able to get him to help you.”

“That would be great”, Vassa says.

“And you might want to talk to Miryam.”

“Why? Want me to put in a good word for me?”

Jurian groans. “First of all, don`t you dare. And no - she`s good with spells and doesn`t know the word impossible.”

“I might as well give it a try”, Vassa says. She sounds like she`s trying hard to not get her hopes up. “It`s not like I have many other options.”

Before Jurian gets the chance to reply, Lucien Vanserra appears next to them.

“Quite the meeting, wasn`t it?”, he says and nudges Vassa in the side. “I have to say, watching our dear Lord and Lady Night get their asses handed to them was quite enjoyable.”

Jurian nods his agreement. Looking around the room, he finds that they are now almost alone in the destroyed manor. Most of the others have left already.

“Do any of you know where Grayson and the others vanished to?”, he asks.

“Left already”, Lucien says.

“Oh, charming”, Jurian mutters. It seems like Grayson was so desperate to get away from Elain Archeron that he`d forgotten that they had arrived together. “I should probably go after them.”

He waves goodbye to Vassa and Lucien and makes for the door. However, he finds Feyre Archeron standing in the doorway, looking out into the dark. He is about to push past her when she says, “Where do you go now?”

Jurian pauses besides her and stares into the darkness, trying to make out Grayson and his men.

“Queen Vassa offered me a position in her court”, he says, not really willing to discuss this with Feyre.

“Are you going to accept?”

Jurian shrugs. He doesn`t know where else he would go – it`s not like he has any place he belongs anymore. And the offer was certainly an honour. But still-

“What sort of court can a cursed queen have?”, he asks, “She`s bound to that death-lord – she has to go back to his lake on the continent at some point.” And he knows what that would mean, what she`d expect. He just isn`t sure if he can lead the humans again after everything that happened. It should be someone else – Vassa herself, preferably. “Too bad the king was so spectacularly beheaded by your sister. I bet he could have found a way to break that curse of hers.”

“Too bad indeed”, Feyre mutters.

Jurian grunts in amusement.

“Do you think we stand a chance?”, Feyre asks, motioning in the dark to something Jurian`s human eyes can`t make out. “Of peace between all of us?”

Not with attitudes like the one you displayed at that meeting, Jurian thinks. But she looks so hopeful, so young, that he doesn`t say it. Besides, does he truly think that they don`t stand a chance?

He thinks back to the meeting. The humans who came in spite of the history and held their own against the Fae. Miryam, Drakon and their people who already achieved what they are now trying to do five hundred years ago. And if he`s being honest, there were several Fae who were willing to try, too. They might have argued, but at least they took the first step towards peace.

“Yes”, he answers softly, “I think we do.”

After all that suffering, they would certainly deserve it.

----

Another note: What I've written is canon compliant, but I've added certain things. Some of the implications I make about characters fit with the story I'm writing about the War (although everyone gets along significantly better back then, and Rhys is not that much of an ass yet)

Tags: @sjm-things @herpowerisdeath @clolikescloquetas @sunsummoner

#jurian having fun watching shit go down #the Fae are being bashed #rightfully so #miryam and drakon are done with everyone's shit #everyone in prythian is horrible at politics #miryam may not be overly fond of Jurian but she likes entitled Fae assholes even less #jurian #miryam #drakon #vassa #band of exiles #grayson

[so-i-dont-forget-again]

So I Don’t Forget Again: A Breath of The Wild fanfiction

Entry 151: Zora’s Domain

 After training and lunch Sidon and I went searching for history again. We would have brought Bossa Nova, but he had wandered off during training.

We went searching around Ruto Mountain. It reminded me of when we were just walking around the cliffs that faced the Akkala region. Just walking around and chatting. He did give me a scare though when he accidentally slipped on some rocks and slid down a shallow cliff. Thankfully it was not a long drop and he found some more history.

It’s rarer, but Sidon got embarrassed. He’s rather cute when sheepish, he has this little habit of scratching his cheek, even if he tries to hide being flustered, that gives him away. He apologized for worrying me, saying a prince ought to have more awareness of his surroundings.

It was about Mipha, her trident. When she was born the trident was made for her. From the start she was loved by everyone, she was even skilled in spearmenship, easily mastering the Zora’s form. After she died, everyone was devastated, it was like they all lost the most lovable, precious, strong person in the world. They tried sending her trident down the river as a funeral of sorts, but it began to glow, and they heard Mipha speak. She told them her and her trident were one, and to keep going on happily, to remember the past with fondness, it happened and not grief that it was over and to not cry. Since then, on the anniversary of the Calamity striking, they honor the trident as a holiday.

So, when I was given her trident, when I was told that with it she would be protecting me like she wanted, it wasn’t hyperbole or a metaphor, or whatever, they literally meant it. Mipha is literally with me.

Sidon asked me if I was alright. I told him I was the one who should be asking him that. The gesture of being given this trident, what had become my main weapon, the one I almost always go to for battle, something that is considered to be Mipha, it just means a lot. I can understand gifting me the armor she wanted to give me, but her trident, it almost feels to be too much. I just wish I could remember more about her. I want to know what our relationship was, and if she really was as great as everyone says. She honestly almost doesn’t sound real. Just perfect in every way. But then again, Sidon is here, so a person like that isn’t too far of a stretch. Sidon said he wasn’t perfect, but he strives to be, to be like his sister.

I asked Sidon if he was pressured to be like his sister. He admitted that at times, yes. Sometimes he felt he wasn’t good enough and couldn’t live up to her legacy, how when he was younger he would be compared to her often but that just meant he had to create his own legacy and be the kind of person everyone could love, but in a way different from Mipha. He said it’s like what I’ve done. I… didn’t understand. He seemed confused and asked to read through my memories, of the ones of my current time here. He told me there was something I hadn’t noticed.

It seems so blaringly obvious now.

I’m not being compared to the Hylian Champion from a hundred years ago. We are separate people. There’s the old, or I guess younger me, the me who fought with the champions, the one who Mipha loved, and the one who died. Then there’s me, a new champion. One who is more expressive than the one from long ago, one who’s made a reputation for being a troublemaker with an exceedingly kind heart. The new champion who gleefully plays with the children and help them with their pranks. The new champion who had such a big heart he searched across Hyrule’s waters for one single person. The new champion who fought along side their Prince to save them all, a person who rose from death itself just to help people. Someone who even when injured still wants to help by becoming a teacher. They see the old champion and the new champion as separate people now.

They haven’t talked about the past much being here this time, the old me. The old me exists, and is remembered, but I’m not him.

At times, it feels the Zoras speak of nothing of the past, but they live for so long, it only makes sense, it’s not history to them, they all remember it all, yet… Mipha and Sidon are both loved, but differently, and I, though the same person, am thought of differently, and now even treated differently.

That must be why it feels different this time, not as suffocating or sad. Its… like the feeling I have for Hateno, but different, like the love for Sidon and Mipha.

It’s nice.

We kept exploring around the cliffs.

We got a clear view of Mount Lanayru. There seemed to be this bluish-purpleish glow at some places. It’s not like the Luminous stones in the Domain, it’s something else. It’s odd. I never looked around there before. Maybe there’s some shrines to be found, maybe I could get some new equipment, hopefully something to keep warm in the snow since I’ll be going to Rito Village.

We had to do a bit of rock climbing and Sidon carried me the whole way. He slipped a few times but did very well.

We also walked along very tally, grassy areas and found a forest. I insisted we search around it. No matter how small or inconspicuous, I’m going to search every forest for the Master Sword. Sidon asked if this was what traveling was like. Sometimes, it really depended on the area and if I’m following roads or not. Sidon said he’d like to travel someday. It would be fun to have him and Yunobo tag along. Maybe I should visit him soon and see how Death Mountain is doing. Maybe he’d feel safe enough to travel now.

We found more history in the forest.

It was about a princesses Zora who fought alongside the princess of Hyrule and the legendary hero against a man who wanted to rule the world. The Divine Beast was named after her and it was believed to be fate for another princesses Zora to have been chosen to pilot it.

The sun was beginning to set, we should have gone back, but we decided to go searching for a little longer.

The Domain at night is beautiful. It reminded me of Death Mountain. I tried describing the gorgeous sight of that bright, hot lava against the stark darkness. Sidon said that usually if the Gorons and Zora wish to speak, the Gorons come to them, but perhaps, I could be his escort, take him up the mountain, and he could use a lot of potions to protect himself there. The Gorons respect strength so a Zora, a being who needs a cool moist climate, to go to their land, surely they’d respect that and make the ties between them stronger! Sidon wants his people to have good relations with everyone, working together would make everyone stronger than they are alone. The Hylians used to be more so the force that tied the Zora, Goron, Gerudo and Rito together, but with our power fallen, everyone has somewhat separated and Sidon wants to get everyone back together to be able to better help one another and fight against any more disasters like the Calamity. The visit could serve two purposes! If he was going to go there anyway with me, he might as well as get to know the Gorons. He spoke of it like it was certain we were going to visit one day. He told me that if he had the power, he’d do anything for me. He said that with all my travels, I’ve seen so many places, so if I specifically am fond of one area, it must be something more beautiful and unlike any other, he trusts my judgement.

We’ve been taking the river when traveling, but this time we just walked on the trail. Traveling by river and riding on his back is much faster than walking. We found another one. It was about his father and how he had defeated a guardian single handedly and saved the domain.

On the way back we found some blue nightshade flowers. He tucked them behind my ear and just said ‘adorable’, and then I was especially so when I blush and he did it with that toothy grin and why must he make my heart race so effortlessly! He’s doing it again even now just remembering it! AGAIN!

We found one last history piece one the way back, it was right by the road like the last one. Unlike the others, it was notably worn, decayed and uncared for. It was just barley legible, unlike the others. It’s close by town too, it’s almost impossible to miss it when coming and going from town via the trail. The others, some are nowhere near trails or water and were difficult to get to or to find yet were perfectly kept up. It was about me, when I defeated the lynel and earned the Zora helm.

Sidon just stared at it for a while. I couldn’t quite read his expression.

After a while he took my arm and lead me back to the medical bay. Before leaving me in my room, he kneeled down and just hugged me. He told me I am an amazing and sweet person. That I’m strong and courageous beyond belief. He told me I am such a marvel, how hard working I am is astounding. He was grateful he could call me his friend, and I deserved only the best the world had to offer. He asked if I knew I was loved. That people truly care about me and want nothing more than for me to be able to be happy and safe.

If no one else, I at least know without a doubt he cares.

Bossa Nova was asleep on the bed when I got to my room. He looked so comfortable I didn’t want to wake and move him.

Sidon asked if I thought I’d go to sleep. I’m too wide awake, I have too many things on my mind.

Sidon asked me to follow him.

He took me to the reservoir where Vah Ruta was attacking from. We were able to climb up it with a staircase. At the top there are several docks that line the top. Before the dock we were on there is this big, I think it’s called a gazebo? It has a roof and the framing for walls, but no actual walls. Along the frames there’s this counter that connects everything except for the entrance gap. On it are some trays, chalices, a jug and some tall thin glasses full of drinks. There are also a few seats by the counters. The back doesn’t have any pillars, not far beyond it though is the large wall we had to scale to get here. It’s a little taller than the reservoir itself. On the frames are the softly glowing stones, everything else is crystals. There’s also a large bed at the back. Sidon says it’s a water bed. The bed frame is like a cradle that holds this giant bag of water that’s the mattress. Because it’s water the mattress moves and readjusts when you’re on it. It’s so comfortable, and warm, the heat readjusts too.

Sidon told me we was not sure why this was here, maybe it was for entertaining the Hylian royalty when they came to visit the reservoir. Whatever the reason for it, he found it to be a nice spot. From here there’s a gorgeous view of the town and the surrounding nature. You can even see distant mountains and cliffs. It feels like it close to town, but also detached. Just me and Sidon, no one else. The night sky here seems endless. It’s a strange feeling being here.  Almost feel a little nervous being here with Sidon. Sidon is usually so calming which makes this even stranger. It’s not a bad kind of nervous though.

Its more windy here than it is in the canyon, more chilly too. Sidon and I hid in the bed, and it was so warm. Like standing in the morning sunshine in Gerudo desert.

Sidon loosely draped his arms around me and made sure he wasn’t touching my injured arm.

He wondered aloud if I could have my splint taken off for a while so I could take a bath, it might be relaxing if it wouldn’t hurt me. He wondered if we should visit Death Mountain before or after I face the Calamity.  He wondered if I’d take him everywhere across Hyrule, just go anywhere I wanted. He wondered aloud about us resting under the stars. He spoke very sweetly, just about us being together. Sidon kept talking, trying to stay awake, but he soon fell asleep. He’s hugging me in his sleep. Even when he’s not awake his touch is so strong and secure.

Bossa Nova can get food, and I’m sure Sidon will be able to wake me up, so maybe I’ll try to fall asleep tonight. No one can get hurt if I rest for now. The Rito need help, but I can’t go till this infection in me is gone, the doctors won’t allow me to go till I’m healed, so since I can’t help them anyway maybe I can rest for the night. Maybe it’d be okay, but I’m not sure if I even can.

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#loz #botw #loz botw #legend of zelda #breath of the wild #legend of zelda breath of the wild #link #wild link #botw link #breath of the wild link #sidon #botw sidon #breath of the wild sidon #prince sidon #botw prince sidon #breath of the wild prince sidon #fanfic #fanfiction #botw fanfic #botw fanfiction #loz botw fanfiction #loz botw fanfic #breath of the wild fanfic #breath of the wild fanfiction #sidfa #so i don't forget again #soidon'tforgetagain #link x sidon #sidon x link #sidlink

[concussed-to-pieces]

To Tell You The Truth Part Three

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Good morning, good evening! I hope you're all doing well. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi

Part One

Part Two

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains graphic depictions of gore and allusions to previous abuse. Stay safe!]

Bakhroma loomed massive and pinkish-tan on the horizon ahead as you bent double, hands on your knees while you struggled for breath. No doubt you had pushed your filter carbon far past its limits with your headlong sprint heats through the Green. A quick look confirmed your suspicions; the indicator blinked sluggishly at the bottom of the red lines.

You bit your lip, barely reining in the panic threatening to engulf you yet again. You had no idea where you were. Damon was the one with the map, and Ezra...he was the only person alive who might be able to help you. Your heart dropped as you realized that all your running had really done was prolong the inevitable. 

You sank to the ground, staring up at the planet that dominated most of the sky in front of you. The hazy atmosphere around it was bright orange, fading into the navy blue of the cosmos backdrop. Checking your watch, you saw that the first cycle had kicked into the second several hours ago, though the light level didn't seem to have changed at all. The cloying, overbearing vegetation around you abruptly made sense. This moon was not only humid, it was also bathed in light for much longer than the standard twenty-four cycle. 

Moving robotically as your legs began to protest, you lumbered stiffly back to the treeline to suss out the spring you had passed by. You would need water. Even if you weren't in the right headspace to be thirsty, dehydration was not something to sneeze at.

You knelt in the mud alongside the spring, the coolness welcome on your overworked knees even through your suit. Pumping and purifying water always took longer than it ought to, and you found yourself staring blankly off into the distance as you filled your first jug.

You were working on the second when your helmet earpiece suddenly crackled to life with a shrill whine of static. 

"-llo...hello to the Green."

Ezra?

You swiveled your head wildly to look around and the static increased with the motion, making you slow to a stop. It was a stationary transmission, then. Your helmet must be picking up a long range somewhere nearby.

You rose to your feet while rushing to stow the jugs of filtered water in your day pack, tilting your head and mentally begging Ezra to keep talking. He did not disappoint, his drawling voice and the bursts of intermittent static your compass through the tangled overgrowth.

"...one or two pearls...that I will be willing to part with for well under the peakest commercial rates. Nothin' funny." 

It sounded like he hadn't managed to get what he needed to fix the drop pod. Your eyes burned with tears. 

"Just a desperate man tryin' to make a bad deal with the right holdout."

Brick red flickered through the Green's lush verdancy and you realized after a moment that it was canvas. A tent solidified out of the thick brush as you advanced, the roof coated in a generous layer of amber-yellow dust. 

"...anyone is out there...don't hesitate to click on." The signal was nearly free of static at this point. This tent was the obvious origin of the broadcast. But now the question was...whether that message was prerecorded or not. 

You hid beside a large, gnarled tree and pondered your next move. Sure, you had the pistol. If it did you any good was an entirely different animal, but you definitely had it. 

It felt sturdy in your hand compared to the flimsy Boscelot thrower rifle. Solid. 

Maybe...maybe you could reason with Ezra at gunpoint. Strike some kind of new bargain. You had nothing to put on the table this time, however. Everything had been in that pack, and you highly doubted the other prospector was interested in your sketchbooks. It would have to be at gunpoint. He had the resources, but you had the gun. 

Just like Damon. 

You hated yourself in that moment, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. Then, you darted across the space to the tent, ears straining to catch any noise from inside the structure. You couldn't hear much through your helmet to begin with.

After a quick prayer, you unzipped the tent and cautiously ducked your head to enter, leading with the thrower pistol clutched in your hands.

Someone seized your arm like a steel trap and you were ripped through the doorway, the pistol getting knocked out of your grasp in the process. Your plan effectively destroyed, you succumbed to panic, thrashing and attempting to claw at your assailant even with your gloves on. You twisted your head around to try and catch a glimpse--

And those bloodshot blue eyes seemed to loom up at you from the dimly-lit interior, making you scream out in terror, "No, no, Damon please!" as you struggled to get free. 

He all but wrestled you bodily into one of the tent bunks, grunting in pain when you beat your gloved fists into his ribs. You weren't sure if it was just because of the adrenaline or if it was due to how long you had been separated from him, but you had never fought him this hard in your life! You had always just accepted, given in, bowed to his demands. Where had this tenacity even come from?

"Not again, not again!" You sobbed, futilely kicking your legs to try and throw him off of you. "P-Please, please, please--!"

"Gentle soul, if you do not cease tenderizin' my ribcage in this most belligerent and unneighborly manner," a familiar drawl met your ears through your thick helmet, "I will have no resource but to employ far more drastically militant tactics. Be still."

That voice! You froze, your hands still bunched up to tear at the fabric of his exosuit. Ezra. 

His large form seemed to solidify in the exceedingly-dreary tent lighting now that you weren't fighting for your life, and you realized with a rush of embarrassment that it hadn't been Damon's eyes you saw, but the distorted reflection of the whites of your own in your helmet's dome. That, coupled with your imagination...

Damon was dead. How could you have forgotten? Damon was dead. It was just Ezra.

Does that make it any better?

You released him without a word, scrambling back as far as you could and drawing your knees to your chest in a defensive stance. Ezra stumbled upright, reaching overhead with his left hand to press a few buttons. The tent's air scrubber rattled sluggishly to life. "You can take off the helmet." He muttered.

You did so almost immediately, taking a greedy inhale of the dubiously-clean oxygen. A bit bar hit the threadbare bunk webbing by your feet and you ripped the colorful wrapper open, tearing chunks out of the crunchy substance with your teeth. As you devoured the bar ravenously, you realized that Ezra was utterly silent. 

You dared to flick your eyes up and found him studying you, his expression pensive in the sickly orange twilight of the tent. You gulped down the bite of Calori-paste that now threatened to choke you. "I...I'm sorry." You apologized thickly. "I shouldn't have-"

"Be quiet and finish the bar, gentle soul." Ezra instructed softly. He sounded unsettled, of all things. Like he expected you to turn on him any second. "I believe I have unfortunately deduced the answer to the mystery I had pondered earlier, though I wholeheartedly regret opening that proverbial Pandora's box." He shook his head.

The Calori-paste sat in your stomach like a block of lead. You struggled through the last few bites, washing them down with swigs of plasticky water from your canteen. You held out the other bottle that you had filtered as a sort of silent peace offering and Ezra accepted it without hesitation, the older man proceeding to gulp half the bottle in one go.

"I know you may not be overly inclined towards listenin' to me at the moment," he gasped out, wiping the moisture off his mustache. "But I'm afraid my situation has grown even more dire than previously implied." He raised his eyes to meet your own. "I...I need your help." He confessed.

You took another drink of water to give you the time to collect your thoughts. You were certain your disbelief was plain on your face; you had never been gifted in the art of hiding your turns of expression.

Ezra snorted, lowering his body to sit on the far end of the bunk. "The Saders were not exceptionally keen on barterin' with me once you made your timely departure." He held his arm, wincing and no longer looking at you. "I managed to convince them to swap me some of their ambrosia for supplies, instead of-" He halted, his shoulders going rigid before he carefully continued, "I cannot excise the infection without assistance, and if I do not remove it with an exceedingly low degree of error, I will lose the whole arm."

You swallowed hard, clenching your fist so tight that the handle on the water jug creaked as you asked, "Were you going to give me to them?" 

You knew that all Ezra had to do was say exactly what you wanted to hear. But you could live with the prettier lie if it got you off the Green. You could pretend to trust, pantomime the partnership.

His eyebrows drew together in a dark frown and you watched his jaw work sporadically before he finally exhaled a singular, monosyllabic, "no."

You waited for the rest of the sentence, the emphatic declarations of I would never! or what kind of man do you take me for?, but he remained silent, staring at the tent floor. Weirdly, the lack of long-winded antics made his answer feel more honest somehow. He was obviously a gifted liar, tailoring his technique to his target. 

You sighed heavily through your nose. "Okay." 

You told yourself that the bewildered gratitude in his eyes must have also been part of his ability to tell falsehoods.

Ezra prepared the sparse surgical supplies from your kit with a somber, almost funereal air. He seemed to be already convinced that his arm was a total loss. Maybe he knew better than to put much stock in the abilities of a battered floater. 

You were seized with the uncanny urge to prove him wrong. Your need for validation was what had landed you in this mess with Damon all those stands ago, you reminded yourself, but you couldn't shake the habit so easily. "Did I hurt you? When I...when I hit you?" You asked before you could think better of it. 

"No more than the average lighthearted dig dust-up would, gentle soul. Do not trouble yourself on my behalf." Ezra replied dully. "I offer my most sincere reparations for givin' you a fright."

"I spooked myself. I...I saw the reflection of my own eyes in my helmet and I thought…" you trailed off, nervously sipping your water.

"That man, Damon." Ezra hesitated, struggling to secure the band around his upper arm. "I know it is rude to ask after personal affairs, but did he-"

"Don't." You said softly. 

To his credit Ezra stopped immediately, busying himself with the tourniquet. After he had completed that arduous task, he bit the cap off of one of the porta-surge syrettes, spitting it out to land neatly in the lid of the field kit. He jabbed the needle home in his shoulder with a poorly-muffled gasp of pain, nearly crushing the tube with the force of his motion before dropping that into the kit lid as well. "The lid is for sharps." He informed you. "We lack a tray or a proper sterile environment, so keep your hands clear."

"I'll cap that once I get gloved up." You assured him. "I'm not leaving a sharp in the field kit. Knowing me, I'd forget it was in there and wind up accidentally pricking myself or something." 

Ezra nodded, swallowing convulsively. You took the Ralon scalpel from his slightly-shaky hand. "You ever used one of these?" He asked, his voice gone a bit reedy. His breathing in general seemed poor, off-tempo. He was afraid. The knowledge that he was just as scared as you were made you feel more sure of yourself, for good or ill. 

You shook your head in reply to his question, explaining, "I've never used this model before. The one I have for harvesting is much older."

Ezra reached over, flashing you a disingenuous smile. "It's easy." 

He pressed down on the side of the scalpel battery pack, activating the laser blade. The whole handle buzzed in your grip, feeling uncannily like your handheld stitcher.

"There's five levels of intensity. Use two for flesh. Four for bone." Bone?! You jerked your head up, meeting his terrified gaze. "You got it?" He choked out after a second.

You nodded stiffly. If he wanted you to know the bone setting, then by Kevva, you would.

His eyes softened and for a split-second he looked like he might cry. "Thank you." He rasped, blinking rapidly and then glancing away. 

You rummaged around in the porta-surge for the tiny, standard-issue penlight, immensely thankful that the battery still had enough power to work. The tent was poorly illuminated, outside light barely able to filter through the thick material. "Will this...when I start, is it going to hurt you?" The sterile glove packet made an ungodly amount of noise, crinkling and crackling in your hands as you fought to tear the seal.

Ezra scoffed, demonstrating the sensation that his right arm currently possessed by slapping his limp hand a few times. "I won't feel a thing. Hack away." His breathing was still too fast even as he continued to prattle, "quick, confident strokes are best. Try to go full circuit on the first cut."

You nodded again, one-handedly scooping the syrette and pushing it against the side of the lid to shove the cap back on. Then, you disposed  of it in the trash bag by the door. Holding the penlight between your teeth, you smoothed your gloved hand down his arm to pin it securely in place. You were really going to do this. Well, if he wasn't able to feel it...

You had peeled multitudes of aurelac gems in your mining career. You were exceptionally delicate when it came to skinning the pearls. You couldn't recall the last time you had punctured one of the blisters and ruined a pull. Surely...surely this wouldn't be much different. 

"I've never had to use these syrettes before. Kinda' nice. Tingly." Ezra commented as the scalpel buzzed to life. "Almost like it's…" With something that might have resembled quick confidence, you began your excision. The laser blade whirred through his epidermis with enviable ease, smoking slightly. "Oh shit. Oh shit." The older man muttered over your head, his whole body gone tense.

"What?" You asked around the penlight. Ezra started panting, his chest heaving violently underneath his threadbare waffle thermal layer. "Does it hurt?"

"No. N...h--I-I don't know. Keep goin'." He stammered. "You're doin' great, k-keep goin' until you think you've got it all." His left hand was clenched so tightly that his knuckles had gone nearly stark white beneath the layers of ground-in dirt. "Once y...once you finish, dump the juice into the wound and th-then cream it a-all sh-iiit, shut, shut." He continued to instruct you through gritted teeth. 

You nodded, wholly focused on your task. At least it wasn't difficult to spot where the infection had reached. It turned the tissue and muscle it consumed to a sinister purple-black. You tried to keep your brain separated from the fact that this was a human arm you were methodically carving a chunk out of, a human arm attached to a living person who, despite his incredibly convincing big talk, could definitely feel what you were doing. You deliberately narrowed everything down to being as rapid and thorough as possible, like when you had to harvest in a poor environment. Every extra second you spent was a precious resource you could ill-afford to waste, literally. Thank stars that he had the tourniquet wrapped so tightly, even if the blade did it's damnedest to cauterize as you cut.

Once you were as certain as you could conceivably be that you had removed all the infected matter from the wound, you sloshed some of the Sader's juice from Ezra's canteen onto the exposed area. It hissed and steamed like boiling water and Ezra buried his face in the crook of his left elbow, biting down on his sleeve and screaming into the fabric. 

Your hands finally started to tremble as you loaded the patch gun and listened to him dry heave, but you doggedly kept at it. Just a little more to go. It felt like it took an eternity for the stupid cream to expand. The reload was probably years past its expiration date. 

And then it was over. 

You carefully gathered up the grotesque little pieces of your handiwork that had fallen on the floor, balling everything into your fist. The gloves squeaked wetly when you stripped them, turning them inside out as you did to keep the blood and organic matter contained. They dropped into the waste bag by the door, plopping sadly down next to the spent syrette on a bed of bit bar wrappers. 

You shakily switched off your penlight and took a step back, reaching for one of the tiny antiseptic wipe packets. Despite your best efforts, the skin of your wrists was spattered here and there with blood. You scrubbed at the rusty fluid silently. 

Ezra's whole body was shuddering with every groaning retch, saliva hanging in thick strands from the bottom of his slack mouth as he rocked his way through the pain and clearly fought down the urge to vomit. Moved by the admittedly-pitiful sight, you tugged loose your bandanna and wiped off his chin. "It's done." You informed him softly.

He caught your wrist before you could pull away and you were shocked when he pressed a sloppy kiss to your knuckles. "You are Kevva-sent, gentle soul, never let anyone t-tell you otherwise." He grated, "Divinity incarnate; a damn valkyrie in floater's clothing, decidin' my fate on the battlefield."

You squinted at him, down at the grisly mass of expanded foam and then back at his face. "I don't know if I would count this as a battlefield, Ezra." 

"Martyr's malfeasance," he swore, his voice cracking, "you can attempt to dismiss it but I will never forget this kindness, gentle soul. Not even in the next life." 

"Don't...look, let's just hope I did everything right." The insanity of the task you had just performed struck you anew and hysteria bloomed in your chest. At the same time, his heartfelt proclamations of gratitude settled low in your belly, a flickering flame of pride that you wanted to shelter and nurture. You sat down hard on the bunk, pulling your knees up again. The still-smoking scalpel gleamed at you in the dim light of the tent. "I'm probably gonna' be sick." You warned him faintly.

"You are far from alone in that camp, gentle soul." Ezra replied dolefully. "We'll be spewin' in the same trough shortly, I imagine. I have always been a man...afflicted by the trials of sympathetic vomiting." 

"Oh no!" You found yourself caught between laughing and gagging, settling for a retching little snicker. "Come on, don't say stuff like that, you're gonna' make me hurl."

After several queasy moments had passed, he spoke up again, "I know you are just as eager as I to continue on to that mercenary camp, but I must insist on a short reprieve. A burge...burgeoning cloud of exhaustion is relieving me of what little sensibility I possess." He tucked his wounded arm against his chest as he curled up in his bunk. "And I will need time for the syrette to wear off, lest I be rendered an incompetent, staggering buffoon."

"We have to go to them, don't we?" Your voice was tiny.

Ezra sighed. "It would appear so. We will have to throw ourselves upon their proverbial mercies and hope that they are willing to acquiesce in exchange for our harvestin'." He cocked his head to look at you curiously. "Do you actually believe that it's the Queen's Lair they've stumbled upon entirely by chance?"

"Does it matter?" You asked. "Damon thought it was legitimate enough to throw the both of us across the universe in a trashy rental pod. I would say that must count for something, but…" You shrugged, propping yourself up against the end of the bunk.

"I understand. Still though, we will need rest if we are to successfully tackle this conundrum." He drowsily watched you as you dug around in your suit pockets to locate your sketchbook. The current iteration was a beaten memo pad from the pod rental company, each page stamped with the letterhead of Dasha Landcraft Rental. 

This was a familiar ritual to you. Turning your brain off whenever you needed to rest was a difficult thing to manage. In your mid-teens you had begun sketching before lights out and found that for some reason, the activity emptied your thoughts enough to allow you to sleep much easier than you had ever managed without it.

You unwound the twine that kept the pages closed and flipped to a fresh one. Trying to recreate the scenery you had witnessed earlier, sketching Bakhroma hovering imposing on the Green's horizon. 

"An artist, now that I did not anticipate." Ezra commented. You flinched, realizing how close he had leaned in to watch you. "What else have you drawn, gentle soul? Might I peruse your work?" He requested, his hand extended.

"I'm not--!" You floundered, tilting away and clutching the pad protectively to your chest. "I-I'm not...I'm not an artist. I just…I can't sleep without um, doing. Something like this." You tapped the notepad nervously. "It helps me relax." 

Drawing is a waste of time, you should be spending that time cultivating skills relevant to your field.

"No harm in that." Ezra replied agreeably, his words striking a sharp contrast against the echoes of Damon's belittling in your head. His hand remained outstretched, patiently waiting. 

You let out your breath slowly, rooting around in your hip pocket for the previous pad you had filled. That one you had pilfered from the Jata Bhalu processing facility, it had an actual hard cover and a loop for a writing implement. You tugged it free and hesitantly passed it to him, stammering once again that you weren't an artist, this was just something you did.

Ezra was devastatingly silent as he leafed through your tiny sketchbook. For someone that you had come to expect to talk, the stillness that permeated the tent made you unnaturally fearful. Your fingernails dug into your memo pad. What if...what if he was judging you? Some of the sketches were tired and messy, some of them smudged from your environment. Tea and coffee and tears blotted the pages. What if he didn't like them?

This was why you didn't show anyone your drawings, you-

"Have you ever considered acquirin' one of the draw-pads? I am no artist myself, but I know that the digital method saves precious space in pods." Ezra suggested. "And a single rainy day could ruins months of this hard work you have stockpiled."

"I...I want one, of course. It's just...they're so expensive and I could never justify it." You murmured, a little sad as you thought back to standing outside the pawn shop of the last freighter and gazing down at the battered box in the window. Out of date models alone were well removed from your price range. You could only imagine how much a brand new one would set you back.

"Puggart Bench West! I'd recognize that dock anywhere." Ezra exclaimed suddenly, wiping his hand off on his leg before he tapped on the page. "West dock is a real hive, isn't it?"

"Oh, y-yeah." You stuttered. 

"And this one...a deep space miner? Thing looks at least Fringe kestron grade." Ezra continued, squinting. "Not quite Testin, but it'll do in a pinch. I had a few stands on one of those. Food was shit."

"That was...um, it was just a ship that went by the transport freighter that I was on. Out in the Fringe." You shrugged, grimacing. "I didn't know what kind it was." You reached over with your pencil. "How do you spell 'kestron'?"

"K-e-s," Ezra paused, his brow furrowing, "t-r-o-n. If I'm not mistaken. Hell, it might be t-r-e-n." He admitted. "I'm uncertain, gentle soul. It has been so many stands since I've...since I've seen…" he yawned widely, then set off on another tangent. "In the Pug, there was this...vendor, you follow me, in this mercado." He rolled the 'r' in the unfamiliar word, like he was luxuriating in being able to say it. "They had--shit, it was some sort of...treat, the name is eludin' me. Drizzled honey, cinnamon, that fancy sugar dustin'…"

"Little pillowy things?" You supplied. "When the place made them fresh you could smell them all the way down the block?"

"Kevva, yes, now you got my stomach beggin'." Ezra groaned. "What were they called though?"

"It started with an 's', so...pa-"

"Sopaipillas!" He erupted, his eyes lighting up. "I swear, gentle soul, my heart just skipped a beat." He chuckled dreamily, "As much as I bemoaned the drudgery of it when I was there, I'd love to be back on the Pug right about now. Bench was a eternal shit hole, but at least I could breathe." He lolled his head to the side, looking at you once more. "When you and I escape this Green hell, I insist that you give me the pleasure of your gracious company on an expedition to that hallowed mercado." The older man slurred, his eyes sliding closed. "We will devour countless treats in safety and stroll the docks. A heavenly concept, you must admit."

"That does sound nice." You replied wistfully.

"It is settled, then." He held out his left hand to shake yours and you obliged, feeling childishly hopeful about the whole thing. "Now, set the alarm on that platinum chronometer of yours. Maybe...four hours or so? Kevva knows I'd love longer, but if we hope to arrive with adequate harvest time, we'll need to manage ourselves with caution." Ezra squeezed your hand, his smile weary. "Rest well, gentle soul."

Part Four

#ezra (prospect 2018) #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra x reader #ezra prospect imagine #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #slow burn #eventual romance #prospect 2018 #prospect film #prospect fanfiction #I love one man #also take care of your sharps ffs #canon-typical violence

[jawllines]

hey bub don't forget to post the met gala fic! xoxo ur reminder anon

tHANK YOU FOR REMINDING ME :D

“Holy shit.”

Y/N had seen Harry in a lot of things -- being his best friend meant experiencing his wardrobe, including but not limited to getting pictures of outfits laid out for something with question marks for her opinion, entering expensive boutiques with eyes averting from price tags in attempt not to panic, marveling as she walks through his closet to see pieces he’d purchased unbeknownst to her (plucking a few things from his drawers), and sending him links to things she think he ought to like just to see him in a photo online in it a week or so later. Despite how familiar she was with his taste in fashion and what he looks like in items of different colors, cuts, and fabrics, she is still often blown away with what he could conjure up. There was just something so. . .alluring, about the way in which he wore things with confidence without oozing any sort of cockiness that might turn someone off from him.

So when he’d invited her to come with him to New York for the Met Gala (in which she would not be attending, given she didn’t have thirty grand lying around to spend, but she got to sleep in a fancy hotel and eat like a King for a few days so she was happy), she’d been more than ecstatic. Was keen on seeing his outfits, hearing what he would do, what he’d have to say, and hope that he explain to her what even happens at the Met Gala apart from the red carpet. Even had fun with his impromptu ear piercing that she helped with (she’s got steadier hands than him). Her plan was simple -- to enjoy the luxuries of being rich without actually having to be rich, dawning one of the expensive hotel robes, slipping her feet into slippers and watch a livestream of the carpet while simultaneously pretending she would be willing to spend more than twenty dollars on a top as she scrolled through various clothing websites. Maybe take a bath or something and wait for him to come back, wondering what food they served at those kinds of events, if Harry would even like it, and if she should order room service (to which she would pay him back for even if it meant sliding money into his wallet when he wasn’t looking) and get him something in case he didn’t.

Though as the night continued on, picture after picture being released, videos and live streams from the event, everything seems so exciting and entertaining, she began to feel a small pit of. . .of something in her chest. She couldn’t quite tell what it was -- she was so proud of him and so happy to see him happy, that her cheeks could burst with a smile from it, but her heart weighs heavy. Harry makes good to rarely seem like he’s famous. Apart from the occasional fan picture or paparazzi hoard, he’s just normal Harry, who snores way too loud, has awful gas after eating jambalaya, picks off people’s plates without so much as a question to, and cannot sit still or keep quiet through a movie if he wasn’t interested in the subject matter. He was the Harry that shoved his head under her hand as his formal request for her to play with his hair and gave her drunken, emotional kisses because he’s “never felt so close t’a someone before”, and would rather sleep on her dingy old couch in her worn down flat than sleep in his multi-million dollar home if it meant that he didn’t have to be alone.

This Harry though -- famous Harry -- appeared to be completely in his element. Floating down the pink carpet with the man responsible for all things Gucci, dancing to Cher, mingling with celebrities, hosting the fucking event. It was like a whole different world he was apart of; one of glamour and opulence that she could only ever dream of. At that moment, for the first time, she’d felt as if she’d been holding Harry back somehow. She’s more than aware that she does not have that kind of power to do it on her own, but what about what he does for her? The nights that she wants him to come over, is he turning down plans with someone who might be more beneficial to his career? Or with someone who has much better, more interesting stories than what her professor tried to pull in her lecture? Maybe he was passing on drinks with stylists and people of greater importance because he’s far too loyal to pass on a romantic comedy movie night with her?

He deserved all good things; nothing but great, wonderful things and she feels endlessly guilty that she is unable to cater to that side of him.

That’s why when he returns a little earlier than he had expected, showing off the second garment he had changed into, his eyes wide and bright, “Get dressed, you’re comin’ with me to an after party!” He chirps after bursting through the door, walking towards the closet without a second thought and swinging the door open to reveal what she had presumed was a bag for one of his suits. Instead he pulls it from the closet, tosses it onto the mattress that she was sprawled on and points his finger at it, “Loads of people I wan’ you t’a meet, yeah?”

Her heart kicks up in her chest, not only because he is even more ethereal in person, nor was it just the fact that he had literally scared her phone out of her hand when he’d plowed in through the door, but because what in the hell? People he wants her to meet? At a met gala after party? Is she even allowed at those?

“Am  I even allowed at those?” She mirrors her confusion and he shrugs his shoulders.

“Don’t see why not; m’the co-chair, so I think I get a bit of leeway with a thing or two,” he pulls the zipper open to the bag, uncovering a beautiful glittery, chain detailed silver slip dress that she only distantly remembers stroking her fingers against on the mannequin, checked the price tag, and pretend it didn’t happen. Y/N couldn’t believe he’d remembered it let alone purchased the damn thing and now it was just sat on the mattress, waiting for her to put it on, “If anything everyone will suspect your just some smarmy socialite who doesn’t a hundred percent what Camp is and that’s’ okay. Hurry on then, I don’ want them to have too much fun without me.”

Her eyes were wide, “Holy shit,” sbe begins, placing her fingers to her temples, “Holy shit, Harry,” she shakes her head, “I can’t go! I’m not even -- I don’t even -- I took like a half assed shower at best!”

“And you look marvelous, Darling,” he took the liberty of withdrawing the dress from the bag, thrusting it out towards her with his fist around the sleek dark wood of the hanger, “I’ve been gushing about ya all night, and y’know I hate to be made a liar.” He motions towards the piece in his hand, brows furrowed as he becomes impatient, “S’been like two months since I bought this so if y’don’t like it anymore then --”

“Shut up, you know I love it,” she takes it from him, trying to ignore the way her heart swells when his mouth pulls up in a big, triumphant smile, “But it was at least one month’s rent, you’re asking me to go to a party with a ton of famous people and that’s something that I need to like prepare for mentally weeks beforehand.”

As soon as she’s got the dress in hand, he takes her by the shoulders and guides her towards the bathroom, “Yeah, yeah, Lovie, listen -- they’re all jus’ like me, yeah? Normal, dressed a bit fancy,” he squeezes her where his hands lay, “Loud as all get out, just like a good chat, will absolutely adore you if you get your arse ready in the next twenty or so minutes.”

He’d managed to close her in the bathroom, leaving Y/N to stare into the large floor to ceiling mirror illuminating every flaw she could’ve possibly thought to have all at once. She looks disheveled -- like someone who had only been planning on lounging around on a hotel bed and living simultaneously through Met Gala Twitter. Not somebody who was meant to get ready in twenty minutes. However, somehow Harry was incredibly persuasive without even having to be persuasive and she was sliding the robe from her shoulders, letting it pool to the floor.

She could get ready in twenty minutes -- she’s had worse time constraints in the past.

                                                                .                                    .                                       .

Y/N’s head is spinning.

Too much had happened in such a short amount of time; she’d met more people than she would have thought to be imaginable in a night than she’d ever met in her entire life. People of such fame and opulence she was certain that they would never cross paths, no matter the fact that she’s Harry’s right hand for most things. However, she realizes tonight as she’s mingling and meeting these people Harry has known for a long while and had never let the situation arise in which Y/N would meet them. Harry kept his personal life separate from his public life and if he could, she realizes, he kept her personal to him which simultaneously made her heart soften and ache all in the same.

She doesn’t think it would hurt too bad, until she had fluttered around the room with him and he had left her to her own devices for a moment so he could get them both something to drink. That’s when someone had turned to her (she wishes she could remember their name but after meeting so many people in a night, most of them escaped her) and said with a look of bewilderment on their face, “So you guys have been friends for how long? You seem so close, I wonder why he hasn’t really mentioned you before.”

It’s not like she expected him to be speaking on her twenty four seven, that definitely wasn’t the case! However, she talks about him a healthy amount to her other friends, and not even in a way where he’s Harry Styles -- again, just the boy who gets drooly when his face is smushed up against a shoulder -- they know that he’s around and is aware of his presence and their friendship. It makes her wonder if he’s ashamed of her or something. . .was being friends with a college student considered unclassy? Would it be better if she was some socialite who had infiltrated the world of celebrities and shared all their gossip at the first breath of their names? Because those are the friends of his that these people know about.

But he had brought her tonight, so that meant something didn’t it? It had to have, right? Was this a test to see how she would do in a situation where she was placed amongst people of such high regard? Or did he just feel guilty for inviting her then leaving? Or was he just riding off the high of the night and was making hasty decisions that he otherwise wouldn’t dream of?

There’s too many possibilities, it makes her head spin, more so than the apple flavored vodka she’d been sipping on. She needed to get out of her head -- she knows she does -- but it feels impossible when she so clearly doesn’t belong. And without Harry at her side, she felt even more misplaced than she had to begin with. The judging glances from people who couldn’t seem to decipher why she was there, why she was silent unless spoken to, and why it appeared like she wanted to jump from her skin. She had never been more uncomfortable in her life, and she decides then that maybe Harry keeping her away from this was best.

When she’d sought him out to tell him she was going to head home -- make up some excuse about a migraine or something -- she sees him speaking with Kendall, which only seems to further the wrench in her heart. All those teenage glimmers of hope that she could be his right hand are squashed because she’d only proven tonight that she couldn’t handle this side and this was such a large part of him. Not the only part, but big enough that she could understand if he didn’t want to bother trying to acclimate her to it. Why would he want to be with someone who he couldn’t bring to events without them starting to doubt themselves? And why the hell is she even thinking about being with him right now?

She retreats to the bathroom -- just for a little space, at the very least, to calm her down. Tears threaten to crawl up her eyes but she won’t let them. God! Why is she being so melodramatic? What’s her deal all of the sudden? She’s about three minutes from kicking her own ass -- surrounded by celebrities and idols she’s had for years, just to go to the restroom and sit still on the toilet long after she finished peeing? Just because she plummeted herself into her feelings about a boy? It’s like some twisted form of movie high school prom that she’d never, ever wanted to encounter.

Y/N isn’t sure how long she’d been sat there, until her phone dings a bright noise and startles her from whatever reverie she’d thrown herself into. She’s surprised to see Harry’s contact be what she sees, considering she didn’t even think he had pockets to keep his phone, so she swipes right on it quickly.

Where are you? Is everything okay?

And then the bastard had to be so damn sweet! Why should he care if she’s okay? He’d just hosted the damn Met Gala for Christ sake, she should be the last thing on his mind.

She feels her eyes well; here she was in the bathroom, feeling sorry for herself when it was Harry’s night. How could she run off to the hotel? She was here to support him and praise him because tonight is about him and she almost feels selfish for letting her emotions have her feeling like it was even remotely about her.

Deciding to no longer feel sorry for herself, she answers him back letting him know she was in the bathroom, stands up, finally wipes like she should have about ten minutes ago, and goes to wash her hands. She looks at herself in the mirror, very seriously tells herself to buck the hell up only to jump some when she realizes that Katy Perry is beside her in a burger costume. She nods politely, pulls a paper towel from the dispenser and pushes her way out to see Harry was standing and waiting for her, a dopey smile on his stupidly cute face.

“Are ya havin’ fun?”

Y/N musters her best smile and nods, “Loads,” she responds, “Are you?”

He nods enthusiastically, reaching out for her arm and giving her a small tug, “C’mon then, ‘ve been DJ-ing with Mark and I want you to have a go.”

                                                        .                               .                             .

By the end of the night it is very well apparent that celebrities party like college students. After the first afterparty he had taken her to, they went to a smaller one that he co-hosted, and it was a bit slower paced. Y/N felt more comfortable there at the very least -- maybe too comfortable, because several times she caught herself slowly fading to sleep, only brought back to full alertness when the coolness of her glass is pressed against her thigh. She’d done her fair share of mingling here too and met a handful of people that made her mouth dry, but by the time the sun started to rise in the sky, she was curled up on a couch and scrolling through her phone absently, waiting for Harry’s cue that they could go back to the hotel. He’d come to check on her a few times, asking if she wanted to meet someone (she would say yes), or if she just needed company but she urged him several times to go have fun (“You and I will be together for the next few days anyway, y’might as well enjoy your time without me hovering,” she had told him to which he replied with a pout of, “But I like when you hover.” that made her heart flutter more than it should have).

She was in the weird state of drunk-ish but slowly sobering; the last shot she had was an hour or so ago but she still felt buzzy and light. Still drunk enough to think that considering trekking downstairs and hitching a taxi by herself when she wasn’t all too sure of where their hotel was, might be a good idea -- but of sound enough mind to recognize that her feet ached too much to even think about trekking anywhere.

Around 7-ish, a gentle hand lies on her shoulder and nearly has her spring from her skin. Harry’s soft, low, sleepy chuckle is her first indication that it’s him before she turns around and sees his bow is a bit askew, his hair has been tousled and combed through to high heavens, and his eyes were puffy and red from his own weariness. “Jumpy,” he’d murmured, and she could tell he had sobered up considerably and was probably far soberer than she was, as he holds his hand out for her to take, helping her rise and leaning over to grab the heels she had kicked off and lied beside the couch, “Y’should’ve told me you were tired. Would’ve gotten you back to the hotel.”

“And what, miss out on some rich hot shot celebrity falling in love with my drunken sleeping form?” She stood, wincing and pouting, taking her heels from his fingers and sliding them back onto her foot, “Speaking of, m’pretty sure Taron Egerton is bringing me home actually, so I’ll send for my things.”

He furrows his brows at her and waves her along, “Yeah, yeah, and Alessandro is signing Gucci over to me -- c’mon now.”

“That’s actually not so unbelievable,” she replies.

The ride home, Y/N demands Harry work through his jaded brain to tell her about his entire night. She hypes him up even after the fact, reveling in his stories with him, all the new people he meant, how invigorating it was to be hosting the very first Met Gala that he attended, how freeing it was to have his nipples out at an event of this high stature, and how much fun he’d had even afterward. Though he still shies from her praise, blushing a pretty pink when she tells him he’s a legend and, “You’re literally doing such great things at such a young point in your solo career, m’surprised you aren’t floating from ego bloat,” makes him shake his head through a laugh.

She had thought she had made a brilliant recovery from her previous, mid-party panic, and was actually patting herself on the back for having it go unnoticed by him (because he notices absolutely everything; people could call Harry a lot of things, but one of them wasn’t dense). This is why she was so blindsided by how he approaches her when she’d plopped down on the hotel bed, kicking the heels off once again and flopping back against the mattress.

“So are you going to tell me what had you bent out of shape earlier?”

Y/N’s brows furrowed, heart sinking to her stomach, “Hm?” She plays dumb but he gives her that look -- that “don’t for a second think that you can trick me” look that almost makes her visibly shudder.

“You know what I mean,” he responds, “Y’think I don’t notice when you’re gone quiet? Or when you disappear for twenty minutes? Did someone say something to you?”

She opens her mouth to deny it but he shoots her that look again and she crumbles beneath it, shaking her head, “It was nothing,” she tells him, “I just got in my head, is all but it doesn’t matter and m’fine, so everything is good.”

“Don’t say you’re feelings don’t matter, because they do,” he responds almost immediately, peeling himself from his outfit and revealing the creamy smooth skin beneath -- Y/N has to tear her eyes from his torso so that she’s listening -- “Tell me what was wrong.”

“You’re awful demanding,” she grumbles, reaching up to take her earrings out, “It was just new and weird; I was surrounded by people I only ever see on a screen and then there were some people that just -- I just realized I didn’t really fit in, and I got in my head, but I got over it.”

His brows furrow, crawling up onto the bed, “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

“Because it was your night idiot!” She all but snaps at him, not out of anger with him, but from pure frustration with herself, “I wasn’t going to hold you back because I felt weird. That wouldn’t be fair to you, n’I just -- I’m not apart of that world and it was very apparent and I just realized that I could be holding you back from something better when you’re hanging out with me or even that you have to take me places with you ‘cos you feel guilty. And if. . .and someone just -- I said we were best friends and they made a face and I -- it just feels weird. . .I felt weird.” Pushing the heels of her palms to her eyes, she shakes her head, “But it doesn’t matter, stop prying, me head hurts enough and I’m not letting this ruin how amazing tonight was.”

Harry’s fingers are gentle as they loop around her wrist, pulling it at it delicately so he could draw her hands from her face, “Okay,” he murmurs gently, “Okay, okay, I’ll stop, I just --” he pauses for a moment, like he’s trying to pluck the right words from his brain, “You’re so important t’me, y’know that? Right important and I wanted to bring you with me t’night, because I wanted to experience this amazing night with you.” His thumb carefully caresses her skin, and she can feel his eyes boring into her though she doesn’t look up at him, “Y’don’t have to be apart of that world, yeah? I like that you aren’t ‘cos -- well, as selfish as it is, I just want you all to myself. You’re my person. And don’t ever think you’re holding me back, Lovie, if I wanted to hang out with a ton of snobby rich celebrities all day then I would.” He leans in, pushing a kiss to her forehead, “I love you Dummy.”

Her heart pulls in her chest, “I love you more,” she murmurs.

They finish getting ready for bed (despite it being close to 9AM) and Y/N returns from the bathroom to see that Harry had planted himself on her mattress opposed to his own, snuggled up beneath her covers with only his eyes peeking out at her, “Get in,” his words are muffled by the blankets and Y/N rolls her eyes, climbing up into bed beside him. He wriggles his way over to her almost instantly, lying his head against her chest and sighing contentedly as his eyes flutter shut.

“You looked really hot t’night,” she murmurs idly as she combs her fingers through his hair and he hums, nestling closer to her, “Especially in the first outfit. You’re lucky I didn’t jump your bones.”

Harry laugh comes as a soft puff through his nose.

“You should’ve.” He responded.

Y/N stays up for an hour after thinking about it.

#bLURB #Anonymous

[clansayeed]

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 21: Come Hell and High Water

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Please, please let this work.

[READ IT ON AO3]

“Even with what you now know you would bring them here — together.”

Catching the Elders by surprise wasn’t a part of the plan for good reason; thinking they could get one over on the people who have been planning this for who-knows-how-long would just be arrogant.

Doesn’t make the sharp cunning of Elder Daniels’ glare any less intimidating.

“Do you think it too much to hope they understand why this is necessary? What part they played in the inevitability of this?”

Elder Vion remains silent; his opaque gaze observing both everything and nothing — but where does it focus?

“You remain as blind to the present as ever, Millet.” chides Daniels.

Elder Millet’s shoulders slump. The only one to show any kind of remorse — genuine or otherwise. “A little optimism never hurt anyone…”

Elder Daniels doesn’t deem her worth a response. Focuses instead on looking out over the garden party with a forced disinterest; the mask of her neutrality firmly in place.

But Taylor can see through the gaps and cracks now. To the edges that curl around her real emotions. Contempt, disgust; as though the choice to gather despite knowing the Coven’s plans is a personal attack on her careful cultivation of the future.

He’s the first to address them properly. Down the steps to the decorative gravel the Lamrian decorators sprinkled with crushed gemstone.

“Thank you for coming, Coven Elders.” He’d step closer if Nik’s steady hand doesn’t stop on his shoulder — hold him at a distance. But they can’t seem hesitant if this is going to work. “It wouldn’t be a Council party without everyone on the Council attending.”

He still has no idea if this is going to work. Please, please let this work.

Elder Millet shuffles her tarot deck like a nervous habit. Daniels steeples her claw-like fingertips together in front of her and, like an unspoken signal, Vion’s grip on his staff grows pale-knuckled tight.

Power pushes out from them in an invisible wave. Just once; but once is all it takes. He feels it, Nik feels it — everyone feels how the pressure changes in the air; how something old like the mantle of the earth tastes at the backs of their throats.

Let the countdown begin.

“Explain this little… gathering,” demands Daniels with a sneer.

Only it’s Tonya who answers. She stands on shivering legs with Vera’s help but to call her feeble would be to call the wraith itself a minor inconvenience.

She may no longer have the Touch but Lady Smoke is far from powerless in their presence.

“You’re the one who ought to be explainin’ themselves, Ophelia Daniels.”

The women stare one another down. It’s obvious every second spent standing is agony but hell if Tonya Reimonenq is going to lose even in her current state.

Vion steps forward and stays his companion’s hand. That familiar tingle of empathy down his spine makes Taylor shudder; makes him see Cassiopeia’s blood stained up to leathery elbows — falling to the ground in a drip. drip. drip.

“If the Council has an accusation, let it be heard.”

Isadora hisses from across the garden, “The gall of you, traitors and murderers…”

“Such stinging words to your claims!”

“One of many!”

“Have you witness or evidence?”

“Aw hell,” the lumbering figure of Kristof breaks the growing threads of tension by stepping forward — strangely the calmest he’s been insofar, “cut the crap, will ya? We know you’re the ones tuggin’ that hellspawn’s leash.”

It’s instinct, he doesn’t mean to. Looking away from their very dangerous guests of honor Taylor catches Cadence’s eye for only a moment before snapping back forward. They can’t risk anything longer catching the Elders’ attentions.

“Do you now?” asks Daniels coolly, “I regret to inform you that knowledge will not give your sacrifices any amount of dignity.”

“There is more at risk within this city’s borders than the dignity of the few, Ophelia.”

It must be magic; how Elric speaks clearly and is undeniably heard despite the fireworks that crackle overhead; without even raising his voice.

The sharp curve of Daniels’ smirk is a malicious one. “I will not suffer a cowering outcast to speak to me of dignity. You still breathe only because your hidden city’s wards have protected you.”

“I am not cowering now, am I?”

“The night is young.”

Anger hangs thick and stifling on the edge of every word and Taylor — god — he can feel it all.

The Coven’s unwavering conviction, Isadora’s desire for revenge, Kristof’s refusal to die anywhere but on his hind paws. The strangely smug way Lady Smoke feels like she should have seen all of this coming and the fierce protectiveness Elric projects at him without shame.

But hidden in the woven tapestry of them all is a single thread, sour and ill at ease but no less recognizable. He’s no longer a stranger to what fear feels like.

“If you would, then — indulge us the most obvious of questions;” even with the distance between them Elric, towering at least a foot taller than Daniels and her power-stilettos, looks down his nose at her, “why?”

“You’ll have to be a tad more specific.”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?!” Kristof rages. “They’re playin’ us fer fools!” Yet his monstrous howl of rage is silenced by the elf lord’s pale hand raised; staying him.

“That may be, Jensen, but surely I am not the only one here who wishes to understand. Who wonders why the formerly reasonable Coven would change so abruptly. And why they would decide to act now—of all times—and with such vicious intent.”

“It’s not the Coven that’s changed.”

At first Elder Millet’s voice is lost, timid, on the wind. Like a spectre from the beyond there to bolster a claim. But no one misses when she stops shuffling her deck, flips over the top card to reveal a gruesome and bloodied tyrant.

The Emperor reversed.

“There have been signs more than what we witches witness. Signs in the earth and skies, in the lifeblood that runs through our city. But you — your Council — have been complacent; content to ignore them. Focused instead on your own gains and greed. We considered every option, please believe it.

“But this was the only way our city might stand a chance of surviving the coming darkness. A unified voice, when divided, would only serve to hasten our downfall.”

“If you had approached the Council — shown us the signs we so easily missed —”

“When did it become the duty of the Coven to play prophet to the willingly ignorant?!” Daniels interrupts loud and unashamed. “To the immortal and oh-so-wise faire folk, or the creatures of dark magic who should have felt the gathering storm in their bestial bones! Or to you, Lady Smoke, with ears in every room on every block.

“Admit your guilt — not that it will save you. Admit your hunger for power and wealth led you into the blind fog that the Council should have been beyond the reaches of. For the downfall of New Orleans would have been your burden to bear.”

“Had you not stepped forward and assumed some sort of divine control, you mean?” demands Isadora.

“Make no mistake — we chose this course of our own free will. Because we were the only ones left untainted; loyal to this our sanctuary city.”

Elric steps forward, not without caution. “There has been enough death, Ophelia. Stop, now, at the threshold of a fall you will not survive.”

“Every death has been and will be a necessary one.”

Something about the victory in her claim riles Taylor from the inside out. Makes the words throw themselves out of him unbidden—

“Even yours.”

It’s probably the closest Daniels has ever come — and will ever be again — to a look of surprise. A dozen thoughts half-formed on mute lips before she schools her expression complacent.

“An unseen complication indeed.”

But that doesn’t make Taylor recoil as it once did. In fact he’s kind of proud of it. “How about instead of demanding everyone else admit some imagined guilt because of your desire for power, you three do the admitting? Admit you know this isn’t the so-called only way and try to muster up a little bit of humanity— Try and feel even the tiniest bit of remorse for what you’ve done because deep down you know it was wrong.”

Nik tenses behind him. He can feel it where they’re connected; his guttural hissing thought of think about the plan, Rook.

And maybe it wasn’t how they originally hoped to get the final piece of the puzzle but maybe—just maybe—it might go in their favor.

For the first time the Coven Elders part; Daniels breaks away in even, purposeful strides to close the distance between them.

Taylor feels the way Nik tenses, readies himself for the inevitable attack.

But it doesn’t come. Not physically, anyway. Only the look the witch gives him that may very well will him out of existence.

“Your blind stumbling has gotten you far little halfling. But you’ve come far enough, I think.”

“You wanna know what I think?”

“Not particularly.”

“I think that’s not really your call. The same way I think deep down you know you’re just as greedy as you say everyone else is. You’re just pretending to think about the greater good.”

Then there’s a movement; so fast it’s a blur. A stinging pain on his cheek and a sensation akin to tears rolling down his face.

Everything that follows still comes as a surprise despite having been building in the tension on both sides. The night air harsh on his open wound and a crisp ache in his shoulder as he’s yanked backwards and behind Ryder; a leather-clad shield.

Movement in his periphery and Nik goes flying backwards. Hurled by a tornado of unseen power.

“Nik!”

“This ends tonight!” Daniels raises her outstretched arms high to the heavens. Draws clouds from nowhere and everywhere to blot out the moon and the stars. The darkness within consuming the world outside her soul.

“You’re damn right it does—!”

Katherine pulls out Nik’s crossbow from underneath a nearby folding chair; wields it weightlessly as she aims at the witch and pulls the trigger.

Daniels deflects it with little effort. Sends the bolt flying towards the outer brick wall.

Behind their companion the other Elders whisper curses into the very wind. Once-solid ground ripples like water and their influence takes hold.

The trees around them bend and twist; their natural states resisting the witches’ call with an eldritch orchestra of groans before they yield. Roots torn up and fallen leaves and broken branches coming together; an army.

“Ah hell, not again!” shouts Cal; voice distorted with the wolf already pushing against his skin.

There’s hands at his arms — Taylor looks up to see Cadence struggling to drag him backwards towards… what? Towards safety? There’s no such thing anymore.

Still he scrambles up and back. Ducks just as the windows at the back of the House shatter under Elder Millet’s will. Just as she sends the broken shards hurtling in a transparent flock coming directly for him.

Above him comes a barely-restrained cry of pain; Taylor looks up to see two pieces lodged deep in the vampire’s shoulder.

“Cade!”

“I’m fine!” Like he’s trying to prove a point he shoves Taylor backwards, stumbling; “Go check on Ryder! Keep to the plan!”

Wet tearing noises fill the clearing as Kristof the wolf pries free of his skin — Octavia right at his heels. Together they howl at the cloaked moon and take off on all fours towards Elder Vion.

But with a limber motion his withered body shouldn’t be capable of the witch fights back. Whips his staff out; sending roots from the nearest tree to his aid. They lash, sentient, at the wolves’ hind paws — one hits home and ropes around Octavia’s flank, squeezes and sends the Beta crashing snout-first into the gravel.

The Beau-Keyes Garden is in chaos but Cade is right. They should have expected this. He needs to find Nik.

Taylor takes off in a mad dash towards the hedges where the Nighthunter had been thrown. Catches the tail-end of Vera and Ivy pulling Tonya out of the fray and into the House.

A cluster of something dark scurries on the whipping wind towards them, right at Ivy’s back. “Ivy, watch it!” Voice catching in his lungs — but its enough.

Enough for Ivy to turn around with bright burning eyes at the incoming horde. Her peeled-back lips move in silent words and her hair lifts around her in a neon-tipped halo. The incoming swarm — Millet’s tarot deck — stop mid-flight; repelled by whatever curse the revenant has conjured.

The cards shudder, then begin to crumple and squeeze themselves into balls. One last flick of Ivy’s lace-laden wrists and they spontaneously burst into a dozen individual flames, hot-pink heat licking at the air and casting her ghoulish grin of glee in flickering light that burns bright before they are consumed — nothing but ash scattered at her platform-raised feet.

A hand closes tight around his wrist and pulls him back. Catches him in half a scream when he turns and sees the stern pull of Elric’s brow.

“What are you thinking; standing here exposed?! Get to cover!”

“Not without—incoming —” he pulls them both to the ground just in time for a large branch to soar overhead and crack against the trunk of another tree, “— Nik! I have a plan, remember?”

“If your life is the cost —”

“It’s not!”

“Then please, find safety!”

“I’m not leaving them behind!” He meets Elric’s eyes in a long look — ignores the cacophony around them and clasps their hands together. Can’t tell which of their palms is slick with sweat; maybe both. “I need you to trust me, Dad. I can do this.”

And they’re no longer in the midst of the fight but back in time; back to a mere hour ago when he asked Elric to trust him once; now again. “I can do this.”

The fae inhales; nods and rasps, “What do you need from me?”

Thank you. “Get the Elders on the defensive. They need to summon the bloodwraith.”

“What?!”

“You said you’d trust me!”

It’s a struggle, but Elric swallows down his protests and nods. “Very well. Find your Nighthunter; do whatever you need to prepare. Leave the rest to me.”

One last squeeze and they part. Taylor’s already halfway across the garden when he hears Elric shout strong and clear; “Garrus! Lend me your hand!” And it’s such a shock that he almost trips; almost.

Mustering up the last of his energy Taylor vaults over the farthest hedge; goes crashing into the lawn on the other side to find Nik lying limp and still.

No—no no nono…

He moves through the pain. Blinks through the tears piercing pain at his wounded cheek and pulls the hunter to lie on his back where he can check for injury—for a pulse—for anything.

“Nik wake up,” and fighting through the violent shaking in his hands is hard—near impossible—but he manages two fingers to the man’s pulse, “Nik—please please wake up. We can still do this — but there’s no way in hell I’m doing it without you.”

But he can’t tell what’s a possible sign of life and what’s his own blood pounding through every vessel in his body like his blood wants freedom. He tucks a hand under dark hair and can’t help the strangled noise he makes when he feels slick wetness matted at the crown of his head.

“Oh no—no no no…” Fuck now he’s scared to turn the man over; to make it worse. “This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening…”

And he’s not being entirely truthful — not even with himself. The plan surely could work without Nik at his side but why would he want it like that? He doesn’t — he can’t even imagine it.

Taylor looks up and around. Wildly searches for someone who can help — someone who knows more, someone who can do something. But they’re all too far.

He isn’t sure he’d be able to call out to them even if they were.

It’s an actual effort to manage Nik’s limp head into his lap. What the fuck is he supposed to do? Slap his cheek, shake his shoulders like in the movies? Only those aren’t real head wounds on film — just actors with fake blood squirting in packs like ketchup and prosthetic makeup making them look battered and bruised.

Nik is battered and bruised. There’s nothing fake about it. This isn’t a movie; they aren’t on a set and his tears aren’t eye drops. They’re real. Everything about this is real.

“Oh fuck—fuckfuckfuck…”

When he pulls his hand back to the sight of red smeared on his fingers, he almost comes undone. Stays sane only because one fleeting thought, more of a background notion really, rattles in an echo around his skull in a voice that isn’t his own.

Those who seek to change destiny never understand how to bring it closer.

His rational mind is right: this isn’t a movie. Everything that’s happened has been real—from the smallest arguments to the biggest tragedies.

Nik is real. Cal is real—werewolves are real. Vampires, shapeshifters, revenants and spirits and even witches are real. Fae are real. Fae halflings — yup, real too.

And if there were times where Donny wasn’t saved, or the Council did fall to the Elders and their plan, or Taylor died in the cemetery that night, then didn’t that mean there were times that Nik didn’t survive this encounter, too?

But Donny was saved. The Council won’t fall to the Elders and Taylor didn’t die that night.

He refuses to let this be the one thing that can’t be changed.

“Breathe, Rookie, breathe…” Taylor whispers, forces his voice to keep calm and his hands that cradle Nik’s skull to go still. Because he knows how to change destiny this time; he’s done it before.

He doesn’t need to feel a pulse under the man’s skin because when he closes his eyes; reaches down inside his chest he can feel something there. Dim and flickering but so very present. A flame that wants to grow; it just needs to be fed first.

If there’s an incantation he doesn’t know it. But he knows how badly he wants Nik to heal; how bright he wants to feel the man’s soul inside.

There has to be a reason he is the way he is. Why can’t it be to save Nik Ryder?

There’s a flash against his closed eyelids; bright like someone turned on the sun in the middle of midnight. A switch flicking a lamp to life; or logs thrown on a campfire to keep him warm.

And when he opens them he has to squint through the burn of brightness but that’s not a bad thing. Not where that light filters through Nik’s hair askew and tingles at Taylor’s palms. Warms them in rays of daylight soft and flecked with dust motes, wipes them clean of dirt, clean of tears; clean of blood like it was never there to begin with.

Looking down at Nik’s slackened face; searching every scarred inch for some sign of life he knows is there; treading water just below the surface.

His heart skips a beat. Nik’s eyes flutter open; awake and alive. And the sight of color and life on his face is so fucking beautiful that it makes him start to cry all over again.

Around them fades to dim night but Nik still looks up at him with a strange wonderment. Reaches up and drags the calloused pad of his thumb across Taylor’s cheek to catch his tears before they fall.

“C’mon now,” comes that familiar throaty whisper; he doesn’t have to see the smirk to know it’s there like a kiss at the edge of the man’s lips, “sure as hell you ain’t sheddin’ those tears for me, Rook, are ya?”

“��Course not.” Taylor teases back — bends himself practically in half as he leans down to take that offered kiss because he can.

Because Nik is alive.

They part — Nik holds himself up on a wobbly arm and reaches, feels around his head where even the ghost of his injury is a fading dream. And when his fingers pull back clean and without blood Taylor’s heart stutters back to life.

“Should I ask?”

But he doesn’t even know how to start explaining what happened — doesn’t quite understand it himself except for the fact it was instinct like he’s never known. “Maybe when this is over.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Make sure you do, he wants to say; instead touches the curve of Nik’s jaw because he’s there and he can.

Reality crashes back around them; suffocates what’s left of their bewilderment in the large form of a wolf.

It comes crashing through the hedges just shy of them. Taylor peers over the protective form of Nik’s shoulder just in time to see the shine of the werewolf’s yellow eyes before they roll backwards and Octavia slumps down; limp and unconscious.

“Why the hell ain’t they summoned the fuckin’ wraith yet?”growls Nik. He uses what’s left of their cover to survey the fight; locks his sights on Elder Daniels as she pulls at invisible strings and sends a fallen branch forth to sink home in Isadora’s belly.

The vampire hisses and collapses, catches herself just shy of impalement and desperately claws for her freedom.

“They’re trying to take out the Council on their own —” Taylor cuts himself off as he searches the fray in panic for any sign of Elric.

“That ain’t a part of the plan, Rook.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Then what the hell’re we supposed to—holy hellfire!”

But it isn’t hellfire — not quite. Burns just as hot but Taylor’s pretty certain hellfire isn’t made of pitch black flame that shimmers iridescent as it races in tendrils towards the Elders; presses them against one another back to back in prowling circles that scorch the earth at their feet.

The mere sight of it captivates the entire Garden. Causes the witches to hold their combined magics out to defend their ranks against the fiery lashes.

Elric commands the stream of fae grimfire like a natural extension of himself. Raises his hand to send another wave in that raise the walls and keep the Elders pinned together.

“Accept your defeat, Elders of the Garden Coven, lest justice be swift and without mercy!”

But he isn’t alone. With sleeves rolled up to the elbow Garrus coaxes the grimfire at the witches’ heels. Sweeping movements of his arms drag the vestiges of it away from the rest of the Garden and tighter against their commanded foes.

This is it. This is their final chance.

“Where’s Vee?! It’s time!”

“Go —” Nik pushes him up and forward; makes Taylor stumble over a pulled-up root now rendered lifeless; the Elders’ magic contained in spectral fire, “— if they’re cornered, they’re desperate. They’ll call him forward soon.”

But Taylor can’t even comprehend the thought of leaving Nik’s side. Of not being there — not keeping him safe. “No way.”

“Now ain’t the time to argue!”

“There’s no way I’m leaving you again!”

“Rook.” And its just one word—one stupid little nickname he doesn’t even like—but he pushes so much meaning into it that Taylor’s feet move with a will of their own. Carry him out from safety’s cover with Nik hot on his heels until he veers into the Beau-Keyes House gone dark.

It takes literally everything in his churning gut not to follow.

Instead he breathes, stomps down the unease building inside — threatening to crest and consume him — and joins Elric in front of the Elders.

Every attempt the witches make against their ethereal prison is consumed and rendered powerless. If he didn’t know better — if he wasn’t hoping for this to be what forces their hand — Taylor might almost believe they’ve won.

“Enough fighting, Daniels. Please.”

The woman turns her head in a lash. Nothing but unbridled rage in empty eyes.

“Your persistence is no longer amusing, little pest.”

He knows his pleas are falling on deaf ears but… but doesn’t he owe it to everything they’ve lost to try?

“Look— you said part of the reason you decided to act was because the Council was so divided. But—but here everyone is! You brought them together. Can’t that be enough?”

It’s a useless question. He knows it, Elder Daniels knows it too. He can see it in her eyes.

“We are beyond the point of peace.”

“We don’t have to be.”

“Your ignorance will be your undoing.” She turns her back on him; on everyone. Joins Millet and Vion in clasped hands and bowed heads as though the grimfire is nothing more than an illusion.

This is what they wanted— what they’ve been waiting for ever since the Elders appeared tonight. But hearing the familiar incantation harmonized between them is no less haunting.

“Claw and blood, claw and bone. Bloodied flesh, endless stone…”

“They are summoning the abomination!” Isadora shouts. Her voice cracks as she gives one last violent pull; wrenches the branch free from her body and hurls it aside. “Stop them, burn them!”

But the plan isn’t to stop them. Still, Taylor understands. Feels it, too. The sickening wrongness in his gut only made worse by the familiar smell of foul and rot that seeps in like a putrid fog.

The effort it takes to hold the grimfire steady shows on Elric’s pallid face. “Are you sure about this?” he asks through gritted teeth. And he’s really not—can’t be sure of anything anymore—but that isn’t the answer he gives.

“Yes. Let them do it.”

“Soar with the zephyr, shriek with the crow. Life renewed we now bestow.”

Elric looks ahead to where the strain of their casting has Garrus ready to collapse. He gives the man a silent nod, and almost in relief and a perfect mirror they pull clenched fists apart to end the conjuring.

The grimfire eats itself from the bottom up. Dissipates at the edges of itself until the multicolored flames are only a remnant burned on the insides of Taylor’s eyelids. Beside him Elric begins to sag sideways as the exhaustion takes hold; he throws the man’s arm around his shoulder to keep him standing steady. He watches in relief as Krom refuses to let his fae collapse; catches him in strong stone arms and with unheard praises.

But the Elders continue their wicked chant; they either don’t notice or don’t care with victory within their reach.

“Arise hellbound soul! We beseech and command Fell our enemies with your cursed hand!”

Around them the wind begins to gather — pushes aside the cloud cover overhead and bathes the Garden in moonlight. Just like the last time they stood here gathered. Just like that night in the cemetery.

“Ryder!” Katherine calls; tosses the crossbow the short distance as he approaches with Vera on his heels. “We sure this is gonna work?”

Nik looks up at the sky with a grim resignation. “I think it’s a bit too late for doubts.”

As one the Coven Elders turn to face their accusers. The wind lashes Millet’s hair in tendrils and billows Vion’s robes; blows Daniels’ collar this way and that yet they remain rooted to the earth.

They stand with their convictions until the very end.

“Perhaps in number you can overpower us,” Daniels sneers, “but whatever scraps of this little front survive the wraith’s touch will be easy pickings.”

Over their heads a shadow passes over the moon. The telltale whip of burial wrappings hisses in their ears — followed by the unholy shriek they know all too well.

Daniels’ hands raise to the sky as the bloodwraith approaches.

“Come wretched creature; come accursed traitor! Pay your oath in the blood and bone of our enemies! Know no rest until our great work is done!”

The bloodwraith descends slow; places itself between the Elders and the rest as a shield grotesque. This time is no different than before — the very sight of it makes the hairs on the back of Taylor’s neck stand and scream to run, flee, there is no salvation here.

He used to think nothing could equal the void and despair where Death itself burns black in its eyes. But now that he sees them in the same space, he sees the same lifeless purpose like a stain over Daniels’ face.

But knowing what he knows now has Taylor looking at the wraith in a different way. Still with the same revulsion natural of the living to the violent dead — but he tries to imagine the face that once framed that skull as the same one from the photograph in Cadence’s office.

Familial features shared by both Tonya and Vera now twisted, warped by bloodlust and the unnatural.

And even worse — finds himself searching for some hint of the first victim to all of this madness. How could something so evil come from a soul like Cassiopeia? He didn’t even know the girl and yet those brief moments sharing a piece of her soul — her last moments — gave him a grief he felt tasked with bearing the burden of.

Behind him there’s a rustling; a bundle wrapped in cloth passing from Cade to Vera’s bare hands.

“What are you doing?”

Vion’s croaking voice breaks through the tense silence. Matching looks of wary apprehension barely restrained as they pass between each of the Elders.

Their confusion is understandable. Nothing has stopped the bloodwraith in its grisly pursuit before.

But this time is different. Whatever mangled bits are left of Derek Reimonenq’s soul feel it. Taylor feels it; behind him his companions feel it too. The Elders are just the last to notice.

“What are you waiting for?” but Elder Millet’s voice isn’t as strong as the others — her concern betrays her; “You are tasked by your summoners. Go forth!”

Hackles rise when the creature inches forward only just. But Taylor stands his ground.

“That’s not right though, is it?”

“Silence halfling!”

No, no more silence. “It wasn’t you that summoned it. Not the first time. That was Cassiopeia—you remember her?” — there’s no denying the recognition, the last bit of life that flickers and dies behind the Elders’ eye s— “The witch who you were supposed to protect and care for, who was so scared of what she could do… but cared more about thanking you for taking her in when no one else would.

“She was willing to do anything, even the thing that scared her the most. And you took advantage of that.”

“How dare you speak of such things—” says Millet. Elder Millet who she trusted, who she looked up to; who led her like a lamb to the slaughter.

“Who else is gonna speak for her? Certainly not you!”

“The girl’s sacrifice was a noble one, you will not diminish that!”

“She didn’t even know there was a sacrifice to make. Admit it,” and it’s awkward, ducking his head around the bloodwraith that hovers between them like a horrible marionette waiting for the puppet show to begin, but he has to look her murderers in the eyes because Cassiopeia never got the chance.

“You knew what you were doing was wrong. That’s why you dragged her out of her bed in the middle of the night, placated her like she was doing something good. Because it was the only way to get her to agree.”

The tiniest shame bubbles up from Millet’s direction. Makes it all the more important that he stares over that skeletal shoulder right into her eyes.

“She may not have known the extent of what we needed of her… but she did do good for the future of the Coven; for the future of this city.”

“She didn’t know because you didn’t tell her.”

A scoff drags his attention away to where Elder Daniels has rounded on her companion — a fist clenched in the barest show of restraint. “Do not lose your conviction now. At the accusations of this—this ignorant child!”

She rounds back on Taylor every inch a wraith in her own right—reaffirms what invisible tether ties Reimonenq the wraith and the Coven together with palms raised to the sky; “Enough of this! Kill the halfling first! I command you!”

The bloodwraith’s neck cranes back at an unnatural angle and it howls to the wind, bloodstained talons reaching out and forward; compelled to attack.

His breath catches in his throat and Taylor squeezes his eyes shut. He braces himself—

For the pain that never comes. The icy grasp of a fate worse than death that he still can only imagine; still must only imagine.

Peeks a tentative eye open to the sight of Cassiopeia’s severed hand stretched out in Vera’s quivering grasp.

A firsthand witness to how the small and humble sparks in Vera’s breast ignite into a blaze that consumes her soul.

“You will not.”

#nightbound #nik ryder x mc #nik ryder #cal lowell #playchoices fanfiction #vera reimonenq #katherine nightbound #oc: cadence smith #mc: taylor hunter #nightbound mc #garrus #ivy #krom #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

[maddiviner]

Hi, you reblogged some stuff about soulbonding and I was wondering what you think about it and why. Personally I think it can go too far, like the Sarah girl and the Final Fantasy house.

You’re asking for my opinion, right? Well, this is it, but obviously I can prove none of it. It is, by definition, only an opinion.

I’ve been aware of soulbonding since the very early-2000s when the term was popularized on LiveJournal and other sites. I first ran across it through the overlap with the otherkin community. 

At the time, I was still sorting out my own therianthropy and relationship to my therioside, so I lurked a lot of related communities. When someone’s wishkinning selkies as hard as I was… well, I encountered a lot of different perspectives.

I remember reading about how the term “soulbond” was coined by Amanda Flowers in the late 1990s to describe her relationship with her characters, and the concept expanded from there. 

I also found a (now-defunct) site called Soulbonding.net that documented the phenomenon (paradigm?) in some detail. I kind of wish that site were still around, but it seems to have vanished.

The site was pretty broad in its application of the term. It just defined soulbonding as the practice of interacting with mental constructs of (mostly self-created) fictional characters for the sake of better writing. I can’t remember if the site talked about soulbonds as spirits or just mental constructs, but a lot of people were agnostic about that, anyways.

What do I see with soulbonding? I’ve already made it clear on this blog that I see magic (and with it, spiritwork), as the birthright of humanity and all other conscious beings. 

Magic and spirit contact are veritable constants in human culture. Even in instances where the dominant culture strongly disbelieves or disapproves of those things, you still see them. 

For example, even in Puritan New England, young girls and other folk sought out occult practices, which ultimately led to the Salem witch hysteria. In other historical contexts we see a similar “return” to the occult; a skim of the works of Claude Lecouteux on Medieval peasant society proves that, and we see it with the legacy of Isobel Gowdie.

There’s just a certain percentage of folks who (for whatever mysterious reason) are always going to gravitate towards the spirit world. This happens regardless of what the dominant society indoctrinates in them.

With soulbonding, you have a lot of people who grew up in a culture where spirits were seen as either evil or nonexistent. This includes some folks who likely didn’t have the opportunity to investigate paths like Wicca or others which accept spirit contact. 

Yet, still, spirit contact happens, and it ended up being called “soulbonding.”

It is clear to me that some spirits want contact with humans, and humans reciprocate this intuitively. This is true regardless of what spirits you’re talking about. Pop culture egregores? Spirit guides? Self-constructed thoughtforms of happenstance? 

Hard to say, but at least some percentage of all of the above seeks human contact, just as some folks are naturally predisposed to magic and spiritwork in their own right. Different spirits tend to seek out different sorts of people, I think, but still, a sizeable minority of people gravitate towards the occult no matter the age they live in.

You’ll notice that I never tag posts with any “tulpa” related tags, and never write about the “tulpamancy” systems or “tulpamancers.” This is because I largely feel the word “tulpa” to be inappropriate in this context. 

That word has a distinct meaning in Tibetan Buddhism, and I don’t want to remove it from that context for the sake of describing a (barely-related) phenomenon. Therefore, I tend to use the terms “soulbond” and “soulbonding” to describe those experiences.

Soulbonding had major influences on my trajectory through various occult studies. In late 2009, my own experiences with a soulbond propelled me to seek greater context for the phenomenon. 

I realize a lot of people firmly believe soulbonds cannot be consciously forged, but I put a lot of effort into doing just that. I ended up with Katy G. for a few months, who fuelled a cyberpunk novella of mine (it was awful, but good practice writing).

Even when that was over, I still found it enticing and sought more context for the experience.This ultimately lead to my time studying chaos magic and the works of Peter Carroll, Andrei Vitimus, and Phil Hine. 

I mean, yeah, chaos mages can get mighty annoying on  Facebook these days, but the chaos movement has produced some real luminaries and sound techniques. I’m not saying all chaos mages are serious practitioners, but chaos magic in general has contributed a lot to magical gnosis as a whole.

I think the same is true of soulbonding as a paradigm for spiritwork, though it’s still pretty nascent. 

What I’m getting at is this: it’s a spiritwork context much more accessible than most such frameworks, and that’s a good thing.

I wouldn’t currently consider myself a soulbonder. While I do work with spirits, including self-constructed thoughtforms, none really reek of soulbond these days. It can be hard to quantify spirits, but that’s just my impression of my current contacts. 

My most recent experience with soulbonding was in 2014. I was (trying to finish) writing a short story about cyborgs, and ended up with vivid dreams in which I saw things from the perspective of one of the characters. It just so happened to be a particular well-meaning yet antagonistic antihero. 

It happened without effort on my part. Suffice to say, I was surprised to find myself in touch with my character (a corrupt corporate executive with many strong opinions about how he ought to be portrayed in my short story…)

Over a period of a few months, I worked quite a bit with that particular soulbond (thoughtform, etc), but the experiences faded once I finished writing the story. I can’t say whether or not I’ll forge another soulbond in the future, but I still fondly remember my earlier soulbonding endeavors, and where they ultimately led.

With regards to “soulbonding taken too far,” I think it’s a valid criticism in some cases. Any spiritwork, and actually, any magical technique can be misapplied or “taken too far.” But, with soulbonding, a lot of the risks were vastly over-emphasized online. 

You mention the “Final Fantasy VII house,” a particularly infamous online account of a summer spent with self-described soulbonders. As far as I know, the events described in that did actually happen.

Still, was it much worse/different than some of the cultish behavior that festers in other parts of the magical community? 

Hardly, and I believe it doesn’t taint soulbonding as a whole.

Of course, after that, we saw a massive surge of salacious accounts of “crazy” soulbonders posted online. At the risk of sounding like a conspiracy theorist (again), I believe a lot of these were hoaxes hoping to ride on the wave of the FFVII House story for the sake of internet fame and attention. 

On that note, the “Sarah Saga” in particular was a hoax. You can’t prove a negative without doubt, but so many things about the story are impossible or unlikely ($500 a month for a sparkly house in the Bay Area?!). 

There’s a ton of evidence that “Sarah” was based on a real person (maybe a soulbonder?) though, but it seems like whoever wrote the stories purposefully fabricated them around her. This was likely done both for the sake of verisimilitude, and for the purpose of launching an attack on her.

In other words, “Sarah” was real, but she never lived in that (nonexistent, probably) house, nor did she act in the ridiculous manner portrayed. 

Before you ask, though, I’m not going to link to any of the real-life “Sarah’s” sites, nor namedrop her. Let things rest, for heck’s sake. The girl’s been through a lot already over this. 

Suffice to say there’s zero evidence she started a “soulbonding religion” or lived off the donations of other soulbonders. It simply didn’t happen.

In the early 2010s, when Tumblr started getting popular, the soulbonding crowd had even more trolls to deal with. Most of this happened simply because Tumblr became a volatile space very quickly. 

Some of the trolls no doubt influenced actual soulbonders into some really misguided things, but that doesn’t mean all or even most soulbonding had negative effects.

So, essentially, I’m just saying that while soulbonding isn’t any safer than other forms of spiritwork, much of the hysteria surrounding it was just that - nonsensical hysteria fuelled by attention-seeking trolls and their misled followers.

In case you couldn’t tell from the rest of this response, I do see soulbonding from a spiritual/occult perspective. Some folks don’t. There are plenty of soulbonders who just see it as an interesting mental exercise. I can’t prove them wrong, but my beliefs are different. It’s not exactly something to be sure of, either way, I guess? Yeah.

So there you have it; my thoughts on soulbonding. I hope this response was interesting and maybe even informative. If anyone has any comments, let me know in an ask or reblog/reply! 

I may make a separate post just about my own experience of soulbonding, because the 2014 events were pretty interesting! It was quite an unusual treat and definitely stands out amongst my spirit interactions! If I write about it, I’ll tag it #soulbonding for easy finding.

#soulbonding #soulbond #witchblr #spiritwork #witchcraft #occult #tulpamancy #thoughtform #thoughtforms #spirits #eliza.txt

[collective-laugh]

Detective AU - Muriel x MC

So, because of the overwhelming support and enthusiasm found here, I bring to you the first chapter of the 40s Noir AU. I’m tagging everyone who said something (please let me know if you don’t want to be tagged). If you’d like to be tagged in the updates, please let me know and I’ll put you on my list!

I’ll be posting a masterlist of this series a few chapters down the line, and tagging all of them “detective au” followed by the character’s name. Clearly, I’m starting with Muriel, lol. 

@a-zoidberg-aesthetic @lesbiancountess @fartkittyonline @yaysam @y-all-dnt-ve @countgoatman-and-drleechboy @julians-chest-hair @softarcana @vesuviass @caterpiller-tea @zaemoultrie75901 @saltywerewolfrebel @obsessedwiththearcana

Chapter One: If I Didn’t Care

The neon sign lights up the alleyway, bringing light to the otherwise nondescript gap between buildings.

The neon lights were a pretty purple, a tiny speck aiding in lighting Vesuvia, and curled to read “Private Detective”, and just below it a separate sign advertising, “Tarot Readings” in a dark blue. Overall, it was pretty shady, and no one should want to go there willingly, as private detectives were a dime a dozen, but private detectives who also read tarot were as rare as they were dubious.

The office was tucked on the first floor of an apartment complex and alongside a building that doubled as a laundromat and a Chinese restaurant, and could be completely overlooked if you weren’t looking for it. Their office itself consisted solely of a pair of desks, each completed with a desk chair, an abundance of filing cabinets, too many ashtrays, a long stick for the resident snake to slither on, and a bohemian tapestry separating the detectives’ office from where tarot was read. Overall, it was much more inviting than initially anticipated, regardless of how decrepit the building itself was.

The Apprentice was tired - of the office, of Asra, of the damn headaches. Balancing her bag, a box of Asra’s favorite doughnuts, her keys, and a handful of files, she manages to pry the lid off her meds, downing a few pills without bothering to complain about not having any water to make the trip easier. She sighs, pausing only to look at the tacky neon lights, hoping that Asra might have lured even a singular customer in. The bitter taste in her mouth is only partly caused by the pills.

She manages to open the door with her free hand and catch it with her foot, all while balancing the monument of stuff in her hands. She sighs yet again when she sees Asra asleep behind his desk, head in his arms. She tosses her keys on his desk, effectively waking him with a start.

“I’m assuming no customers?” She scratches the back of Faust’s head, and the snake yawns, keening into her touch.

He runs a hand through his floofy bedhead, smiling fondly at his friend and coworker, “You’d assume correctly.”

She huffs out a laugh, though she was definitely far from amused by the fact that they were nearly financially destitute. She sets the box of doughnuts on his desk, patting it twice with her files, “A thank you would be appreciated.”

Asra gives a mock bow, “Many thanks, my dearest colleague.” He yawns, long and wide and she wonders when the last time he actually laid down to sleep was.

“Go get some sleep, Asra.” She sets her things down on her desk, her files teetering until they sprawl across the surface, only adding to the chaos. She just tosses her bag on top of it all, holding back a scream when it opens and the files inside flying.

Asra looks a little sympathetic, at least, “Can’t.” He glances at his wristwatch, and then sets into high gear, flitting around the room like a hummingbird, “I’ve a train to catch in twenty minutes.”

She furrows her brow, effectively confused as hell, “A train? Where are you going?”

“Nevivon.” He lets Faust slither around his shoulders, and then pulls his overcoat on, “I’ve some business to handle there.”

She only grows more confused, “Business? Business that puts money in our pockets or business that consists of you leaving me here for weeks on end?”

Again, he only looks a little sympathetic, and she’s unsure if that’s because he was hiding how bad he felt or if he was trying to emulate sympathy, “I’ll be back within the week.” She’d heard that promise before.

She sighs - realizing then that she’d been doing that a lot lately - and faces him, “You could have least told me sooner.”

Asra puts on that stupid smirk and even stupider hat, “Next time.”

And with that, he disappears onto the streets of Vesuvia, leaving her with a radio and closed cases.

She flicks the radio on, scanning until music came through and not those shows Asra listened to, and cursed under her breath when she realized that Asra took all the damn doughnuts.

If I didn't care more than words can say

If I didn't care, would I feel this way?

If this isn't love then why do I thrill?

And what makes my head go 'round and 'round

While my heart stands still?

She sighs, all but throwing herself in Asra’s chair and burying her face in her arms, willing her headache to cease and desist and for her wallet to overflow with riches.

It was an unlikely outcome, but certainly welcome at this point in her life.

She knows that she ought to get back to work, especially now that Asra and Faust have left for an indiscernible amount of time, but her head aches and she’s hungry as hell, and if Asra didn’t have to do any work, neither did she.

She wished that were true. She wished there was no work to be done and everything was easy, but, sadly, that wasn’t the case.

She yawns, and sets to gather the papers that had gone flying moments before, wishing she could just get lost in the music.

If I didn't care, would it be the same?

Would my every prayer begin and end with just your name?

And would I be sure that this is love beyond compare?

Would all this be true if I didn't care for you?

She hums along with the popular tune, pretending like she remembered all the words and though she doesn’t get lost in the music, it’s a pleasant distraction from just how dire her situation was. All the papers find their place back in her bag, and the radio crackles a moment. She’s terrified she’s about to lose the music, but before she can throw herself across the room to fix it, the problem gone.

She’d like to say that a cold case catches her eye, or maybe she found some cash tucked away in a pocket of her bag that she just happened to forget, but Lady Luck hadn’t blessed her that much, and thus, she was stuck in her dead end job, in a hole in the wall, with no money, no doughnuts, and little more than the clothes on her back and a radio that was on its last legs.

Things had been different before the war - hell, the war had been their peak income. People had been desperate to find their missing loved ones, or to know what their future held in store.

She gathers the last of the files, tossing the majority of them back in her bag and thumbs through a few pages of things that were most certainly not relevant to her work.

Nothing was relevant to her work anymore, and she scoffs, setting all the paper down in another undignified heap. She retrieves the newspaper from her bag, and begins her search for the wanted section. Regardless of how much she liked working with Asra, there was no possible way they could keep this up.

She circles a receptionist position, and sighs once more at the overwhelming amount of “male” positions, knowing full well there was no way she’d stand a chance against even the most incompetent man on the face of the planet.

She wanted to scream, or cry, or maybe just fall asleep for a little while, but all three seemed to be escaping her as of late.

If I didn't care, honey child, more than words can say

If I didn't care, baby, would I feel this way?

Darlin', if this isn’t love, then why do I thrill so much?

And what is it that makes my head go 'round and 'round

While my heart just stands still so much?

Someone knocks on the door, two little raps that she barely heard, and she’s almost excited for the first time in a long, long while. But, the more rational side of her takes its turn before she can read too far into it.

It was probably just Asra, holding too many things at once, and only just forgetting something he needed for his big trip. She wished it were a customer, someone who might be willing to give her enough money to buy food this month, but she was too much of a realist to expect it.

She sets the paper down and pulls the door open without bothering to greet Asra, and she’s more surprised than she ought to be to find that the person on the other side of the door was not, in fact, her boss, but rather a close friend of his.

“Muriel.” She says simply, obviously put off by the fact he was there at all. Her eyes rake over him, and she knows she ought to move out of the way so he could come in, but the initial shock of his visit still hadn’t worn off. “What’re you doing here?”

He furrows his brow at that, hands tucked in his front pockets - she notes just how massive his hands were, considering - and she worries she’s said the wrong thing already, “Is Asra in?”

She finds her train of thought, shaking her head, “No, sorry, you just missed him.” A beat of awkward silence passes, “He’d headed to Nevivon on a...surprise trip. I don’t know how long.” Something resembling pity crosses Muriel’s features, for only a moment, “Would you like to come in?”

He glances over his shoulder, and she worries that someone might be following him...and then she remembers that he’s nearly seven feet tall and could crush her head like a grape if he so pleased. No one could truly be stupid enough to mess with him.

“Come in.” She presses, stepping aside, “I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

He purses his lips but doesn’t protest, bending down so he could fit inside the doorway. He stands awkwardly against the filing cabinets, clearly trying to make himself as small as possible.

“So…” She sets to work, trying to fill the silence a little less awkwardly than the radio was doing, “Why’re you looking for Asra?”

She knew Muriel, though certainly not as well as Asra knew him. They’d always been civil, but their conversations consisted solely of awkward pleasantries. He’d come all this way, though, and she was determined to help him if she could.

He ignores her question, though, and asks, “Do you know why he’s going to Nevivon?”

She shakes her head, leaning against her desk as the coffee brews, “He mentioned something about being back within the week, but you know how he is.” A week long trip could turn into two weeks, and two would turn into four, and before she knew it, she was left alone for two months.

Muriel huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, “Dammit.”

She runs a hand over her scalp, mirroring his sentiments, and decides to make small talk rather than pushing him any further, “Are you still working at the Rowdy Raven?”

He nods after a moment’s hesitation, obviously put off by the fact she was trying to talk to him, “Yeah.” She turns back around to pour their coffee.

“How do you like your coffee?” She asks, pouring her own cup first.

He hesitates just a moment too long, before he finally answers, “Oh, uh...black’s fine.”

She hands him his mug, and he thanks her with a short nod. She sits on Asra’s desk, picking up a figurine she knocked over, “So...how have things been? How are you?”

He eyes her suspiciously, taking a sip of his coffee in spite of the fact it certainly wasn’t at a consumable temperature yet. “Fine.”

She arches a playful brow, blowing into her mug, “We’re trapped in social etiquette, so unless you’re comfortable with this uncomfortable chatter, I suggest we ask one another a few more questions.” His eyes dart to the door like he’s considering bolting, so she’s quick to say, “You don’t have to if you don’t want.”

He looks confused and his face is marred by a scowl, but asks, “What sort of things?”

She genuinely seems to ponder what question to ask him before settling on, “What’s your favorite color?”

“What.” He asks, in spite of the fact it definitely didn’t sound like a question.

The right corner of her mouth quirks up in a smile, “Your favorite color. What is it?” She traces a finger around the rim of her mug.

Almost immediately, he answers, “I don’t...have one.” He purses his lips, swirling his mug.

She nearly chokes on the scalding coffee, “What? Everyone has a favorite color!”

He rolls his eyes, “Well I don’t!” He takes a large gulp of his coffee, trying to hide how embarrassed he was.

They sit in tense silence for a moment, the air between them palpable as they drink their coffee before he looks back at her, chewing on his bottom lip. He swallows and says, “Green is ok.”

She smiles, bright and genuine, in spite of the headache pounding behind her eyes and around the back of her head, “Green is a good color.”

“Whatever.” He’s blushing a thousand shades of red, the blush spreading from his cheeks to his neck. “...What’s yours?”

Whether or not she genuinely cared about the color in that moment, she knew that the pretty shade of red running across his face was enough to convince her to say, “Red.”

#arcana #the arcana #the arcana game #detective au #detective au muriel #chapter 1 #muriel chapter 1 #detective #muriel is a doorman #i dont know if i established that #swearing #tw swearing #muriel x mc #slowburn #muriel x apprentice #muriel x female apprentice #muriel x female mc #mc is a detective #the plague was a war instead #plague #lucio is still missing #red #series

[zukalations]

Sparkling TIME: Miya Rurika and Ichijou Azusa

Sparkling TIME was a long-running Kageki talk feature which includes a photoshoot (designed by the participants) and talk between classmates. Miya’s and Ichijou’s was published in the February 2017 issue.

@chemicalperfume kindly assisted me with this translation.

(As always, we encourage you to purchase the magazine to see all of the photos in their original quality)

Sparkling TIME - Miya Yurika (Moon Troupe) and Ichijou Azusa (Star Troupe)

Ichijou: When we were in Star Troupe together, we would have photoshoots together a lot, so they would call us ‘Azururi’, right.

Miya: I feel like we just spread that around so much that other people started doing it (laughs).

Ichijou: We forced it to happen (laughs). But after we ended up in different troupes, of course we had less chances to meet and that was really a shame, so when I was able to do another photoshoot with Miya-chan I was really happy. This is the first time since ‘RISING STAR GUIDE 2012’, isn’t it.

Miya: Right. At that time, we got really excited about the photoshoot, but today the feeling is a little different. It’s like a ‘morning sun’ feeling (laughs).

Ichijou: We’re in separate troupes, going down our own paths, and it would be nice if people see us now that we’ve grown up.

~~~~~~

Miya: Last year, I was able to be in Kurenai-san’s dinner show* in Tokyo only, and it was so much fun. Even though in Takarazuka I was just a cardboard stand-up figure (laughs).

Ichijou: (laughs) In rehearsals it was like we’d gone back in time, and it made me so happy.

Miya: Even though it was my first time in ages participating in a Star Troupe rehearsal, everything from back then came back to life in a flash and it felt like I’d been there the whole time. Especially with Shiiran (Ichijou), since we were together in the Music School, and were struggling through things together ever since we were ken-1.

Ichijou: We were always doing such dumb things, weren’t we (laughs).

Miya: The second we saw an opportunity we’d start goofing off (laughs).

Ichijou: Yeah. Star Troupe was strict, but times when we could hang out with a classmate like that helped us get through it, I think.

Miya: ‘Hang out’ you call it, but we’d just go off somewhere we thought the senior actresses wouldn’t turn up and play things like color tag or ‘otokoyaku red light green light’.

Ichijou: I’m sure it’d be just as fun if we did it again now (laughs).

Miya: I think we developed such a deep relationship because of things like that.

Ichijou: Right.

Miya: Currently we’ve both increased in seniority, so how is it? Shiiran is really enthusiastic and sports-minded, so you’re good at guiding the junior actresses, aren’t you.

Ichijou: I guess so…

Miya: Because they even call you ‘Guts’.

Ichijou: I do think that since I had all of those experiences that I treasure myself, if I see a girl with a lot of guts, or a girl with that kind of attitude, I want to teach them more and more.

Miya: When I was a junior actress, and a senior actress would say just a couple words to me without thinking anything of it, it would make me so happy, so I can still remember what they said to me even now, you know.

Ichijou: Right, I can too.

Miya: Therefore, if I see a girl who’s also pushing herself to do her best, or a girl who’s steadily putting in a lot of work, I feel like I ought to say something to her. When I went to Moon Troupe, I realized that Star Troupe’s ability to work as a whole was really strong. Everyone would share the same feelings and push forward together, that kind of thing.

Ichijou: Yeah, yeah. In Star Troupe, we’re stronger as a group than as individuals. But in Moon Troupe, each and every person does their homework and they're all incredibly good at making their individuality blossom.

Miya: Right, right. It was totally different, so I was really startled. I realized how much I had been helped by the strength of everyone else in the group up until then, so it was like coming to Moon Troupe really gave me a push, and I felt like I had to work harder in order to not cause trouble for everyone else around me. But on the other hand, since I had come from Star Troupe, there were also times when I wanted to convey to everyone how impressive it was when we all worked together as one. I think it’s great that I was able to experience both of those things. Has anything changed for you, Shiiran?

Ichijou: Let me see. I’ve sometimes thought ‘is it fine for Ichijou Azusa to just be ‘Guts’ and energy’, or as there have been more cool otokoyaku around lately I’ve wondered whether it’s a bit lame to just go on ‘Guts’...

Miya: When did you start to think that?

Ichijou: A few years after graduating from shinjin kouen performances. But then once when an OG came to see a show, she told me ‘Has something changed about your characterization? You don’t seem to have much energy.’ So then I realized ‘When I try to be cool it looks that way, maybe I shouldn’t be doing that’. Therefore, I’m not embarrassed about enthusiastically going for it, and I feel I should be ‘Guts’ since that’s the only way I can be. When I realized that, I was able to be a lot more relaxed about performing onstage, and right now I feel like I want to be the kind of performer where people say ‘When you look at Ichijou-san, you really feel like you’re watching Star Troupe’.

Miya: I see. In my case, although they say ‘10 years to otokoyaku’, when it came to that time for me, I felt like I couldn’t really do anything, and I didn’t know what to do with my characterization, so I really had a negative image of myself. In my first couple years [after the 10-year point], no matter how much I rehearsed it didn’t feel like there was any growth to show for it, and as my seniority increased I started to get really scared. But after having a wide variety of experiences, I realized that what I had been doing up until now to make myself look larger, since I’m on the smaller side, had actually been working in the reverse to make me appear smaller. I’m not like Shiiran, but it’s true that being how I am naturally will let my personality come through more. Like at this point, wouldn’t it just be pointless if I decided to change into a super zealous type (laughs).

Ichijou: That’s right (laughs).

Miya: Before, even when an audience member would tell me ‘I like this about Miya-san’, I would think ‘but why, though’ and I couldn’t understand it. But now I’ve started to think that if these things are my good points to an objective viewer, then I should recognize that about myself when I’m performing. And so I’ve started to relax and think ‘it’s fine to be like this’.

Ichijou: And when you can think like that you aren’t scared any more.

Miya: Yeah. And then, Shiiran did this too, but recently I played a female role**, well, a witch, but that’s still a woman (laughs). At that time, I realized that men and women both have the same kind of heart, and while their manner of expressing things may be different, they are moved by their heart.

Ichijou: I thought that too, when I played Mme. Montespan in Le Roi Soleil.

Miya: When I returned to male roles I realized that I had become way more relaxed about performing, so I felt like playing a female role had really helped me grow. I don’t know what kind of roles I’m going to encounter from now on, but right now I think that I’d like to keep a flexible heart and enjoy letting myself be changed, and that it’s good if things change as I perform each role.

Ichijou: In Om Shanti Om it was my first time playing an old person, so I was happy to be able to challenge myself that way. It’s really true that no matter what the character is, they all have the same heart.

Miya: Yeah.

Ichijou: Also, what I’ve been thinking currently is that there are still so many people who don’t know about Takarazuka, so it’s my dream to have even one more person come to see a show while I am still here. Maybe that’s too much.

Miya: No, not at all.

Ichijou: Therefore, I’ve been trying to tell all sorts of people ‘Please come and see a show’.

Miya: That’s wonderful.

* Stella Rossa

** Morgaine in Le Roi Arthur

#takarazuka #article translation #mag: kageki #sienne: ichijo azusa #sienne: miya rurika #troupe: hoshi #troupe: tsuki

[dogbearinggifts]

Little Tyrants Prologue: Reclusion

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: When Vanya was four, Reginald Hargreeves visited her cell. But not to take her powers away. Just to let her know he could. Just to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that her powers were a privilege he could rescind should she ever choose not to fall in line. 

Years later, the old man is dead—and the last sibling Vanya wants to see has reappeared in the Academy courtyard.

Author’s Note: A couple weeks ago, I separately received two different asks: this ask about what I thought might have happened had Reginald let Vanya keep her powers, and this one on what I thought might happen if Five returned as a traumatized 13-year-old instead. After a while, I wound up putting them together and liked the result, and now I’m turning them into a full-blown AU. Thank you to everyone who sent me asks about the idea, helping me develop it into more of a story and less of a nebulous concept. If you’d like to read those asks, you can find them under either the “vanya keeps her powers au” or “five returns as a kid au” tag. 

This fic is also available on AO3. 

Both the story title and chapter title are taken from songs by Anberlin. 

******

Number Seven was never alone for too long. 

Sometimes—most of the time—she was by herself for periods that stretched out longer than time ought to. Minutes moved slower, hours never ended. Grey walls grew larger, closer, tighter and tighter—and then, just when she was certain she had minutes before they’d crush her flat, the lock would whirr and the door would clank open and the walls would snap back to their original shape. It always happened, sooner or later. The walls were never allowed to get too close.

But she’d never been thirsty for so long before.

There was no clock in that room, or any other decoration to break the monotony of those walls; but when she was hungry, Grace or Pogo would come in with food, Dad trailing behind and watching. When she was thirsty, there would be water or juice. Sometimes she had to wait, but it was always there when she needed it.

Number Seven bit her lip and knitted her fingers together. Sometimes that provided her a moment or two of amusement, but it usually just reminded her of how little there was to do. Today, it reminded her of nothing but water. A glass of it. A pitcher of it. If Grace set her before a bathtub, she knew she could guzzle it all down. The thought only made her tongue feel stickier.

She watched the door. Any second that wheel would turn and the door would open. Someone would step through and they would have a glass of water.

Her head ached. She thought about water and willed the lock to turn. Her powers were useless in that room, but if she thought about something for long enough, it would happen eventually. It always did.

Time passed. She didn’t know how much, only that her throat felt even drier at the end of it. That last glass of water she’d had—how long had it been? Dinner the night before? Lunch? What time was it now?

What if that had been the last one….ever?

She pondered the thought longer than she wanted. No more water. No more food. No more Dad, no more Grace or Pogo. Grace was upstairs—however far overhead upstairs was—fixing the next meal for her siblings while they played. Dad was watching while Pogo stood nearby and watched too, or worked somewhere else in the house, and nobody was thinking of her. Nobody would think of her.

Her eyes stung. She gasped in a breath, trying to hold back a sob—but what was the point? No one would see it. No one would see her. Not now, not ever. They’d go on playing and watching while she kept waiting.

The crying began without her meaning it to. A few tears slipped out, the rest weren’t far behind; she drew a long breath to try and hold them in and they came rushing out before she could think to stop them. No one was coming. No one was going to see.

She didn’t hear the whirr of the lock. The clank of the door as it opened and closed made her jump.

“Dry your tears, Number Seven. They’re unbecoming.”

The sight of Dad threatened to turn her sobs into tears of joy, but she wiped a sleeve across her eyes, then did it again when that didn’t clear them up. She tried to make her breath steady and even, but it shuddered its way in and trembled its way out.

She thought Dad might leave by the time she could look up, but he was still there, still holding a glass in his hand.

A full glass.

Number Seven sat as still as she could, gripping the edge of her bed to keep from jumping to her feet and grabbing for whatever was in that glass. Water, juice—she didn’t care. He could have brought her something that tasted as the way wine smelled and she’d gulp it down.

He handed her the glass.

She’d never liked cranberry juice. Dad, Grace, Pogo—they all said it was good for her, but the taste made her tongue curl and her skin shiver and sent her off in search of the nearest sweet thing to wash it from her palate. This glass seemed especially bitter, but she didn’t care. The juice was gone in a matter of seconds, leaving her to shudder at the aftertaste.

Dad took the glass back and set it on the floor. For a second she thought he might leave again, but the thought didn’t frighten her as much. He’d brought her something to drink, even if it wasn’t something she liked. Maybe he wouldn’t leave her alone this time, not forever. Maybe, if he left, Grace would reappear with whatever the next meal was supposed to be.

But he didn’t leave. He folded his arms and stood there. The light overhead wasn’t the brightest, but he stood at the perfect angle and height for his monocle to catch it, shining just brightly enough to turn opaque. Something about the sight of it, or maybe about Dad himself, sent her fear sinking down and down like a weight tossed into the bathtub. She could feel it if she grasped for it, but it slipped past her reach and she let it go. What she felt wasn’t quite calm, not the sort that came over her when all was right, but she didn’t have another word for it so calm would have to do.

“Do you know what you’ve been given, Number Seven?”

When Dad asked questions, sometimes he expected to be given an answer and sometimes he expected to give one. She tried to figure which category this one fell into, but the puzzle had too many pieces missing. Number Seven frowned at the picture she was able to form, trying to guess at the image Dad wanted her to see, but only saw vague shapes and contradictory colors.

“In that glass,” Dad said, taking a step forward, “was a medication that will negate your powers for a time—regardless of whether or not you remain in this room.”

Sometimes Dad used words like that, big and strange words that left Number Seven with the feeling she was listening to a person whose comprehension had so far surpassed her own that she might never keep up. She could often guess at what a word meant by how the others arranged themselves around it; but there were times when she could only nod and hope Dad wouldn’t quiz her on anything later.

He hadn’t used the word negate before. She hadn’t heard anything like it. But the tiniest of smiles curving Dad’s lips left little room for doubt.

Number Seven reached toward the nearest sound—but the room was so quiet and she wasn’t sure it would have obeyed her anyway. The medication, the juice—she had to get it out of her. Her stomach already felt sick; maybe if she moved fast enough, spun around too quickly, did something wrong in just the right way, the medication would—

Dad was on his knees as soon as she moved, his hands on her arms the instant she stood. Number Seven tried to dart for the opposite corner, but his grip tightened. A small yelp sprang out before she could stop it.

“You have left me no choice, Number Seven.” He hadn’t raised his voice, but the soft growl beneath it made her wish he would. “Had you responded to earlier warnings, you might have avoided this outcome entirely.”

She tried to speak, but all her words had fled. He gave her arms a small shake, just enough to sting her skin.

“I decide what is and is not an appropriate use of your powers. I decide when you may use them freely, and I decide when to revoke them. If your rebellion persists, you may force me to make this loss permanent.” 

Number Seven couldn’t speak now, not even if she’d wanted to. The pain in her arms had overtaken her throat. She wanted to wipe at her eyes, but Dad wasn’t letting go. A rough yank brought her close enough to smell his breath. 

“If you would like to keep your powers, Number Seven, you will do with them as I say—and only as I say. Do I make myself clear?”

She wanted to shake her head. She wanted to run to the other side of the room, throw herself to the floor, and give in to her tears. She wanted to do whatever it took to open that latch and run to the elevator and take it up and up until she was back in the Academy, back in the sunlight, back with her siblings and Pogo and Grace and grilled cheese and all the water she could drink.

But Dad wouldn’t let her go.

“Have we reached an understanding, Number Seven?”

He expected an answer. The last answer she wanted to give, and the only one that would get her back to a place where time marched on. The only one that would make him give her powers back. Hot tears slipped out, and she watched them slide to the floor. It was better than watching his face as she did what he wanted her to do.

She nodded.

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #tua #vanya keeps her powers au #five returns as a kid au #cw: child abuse #tw: child abuse #trauma #vanya hargreeves #reginald hargreeves #five hargreeves #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #leonard peabody #grace hargreeves #pogo hargreeves #bullying #abuse #au #umbrella academy au #umbrella academy fanfic #my fanfic #my writing