#seeing too many theories and after last night's excerpt i feel like i have to clarify finally

[friday-answers]

THIS IS A @universe-friday PSA:

thalia is NOT nor inspired by a pre-existing osemanverse character!

#seeing too many theories and after last night's excerpt i feel like i have to clarify finally #like guys #we both read the same thing right? #well i wrote it but still #i would love to bring in a character aled creates inspired by another person #at some point #actually i DEFINITELY will #but i swear i am not trying to allude to any character with thalia right now #i think people should go over their universe city facts... #what kind of characters DOES aled create? #maybe... other than.... sidekicks... #and there will be a lot more where that came from! #anyway this isn't to tell anyone off #but just to make it clear before it becomes problematic . thank you #aled last #alice oseman #radio silence #universe city #osemanverse #february friday #carys last #frances janvier #ask me anything #original fiction #heartstopper #hstv #aled and frances #daniel jun #friday answers post #universe friday

[annlillyjose]

dairy whiskey – update 04

[image description: on a blurry shot of leaves against a dark grey wall, a white serif font reads, “dairy whiskey – update 04”. / end id]

hi, hello, how have you been?

if you’ve been following along on the chaotic journey of me writing this book, you probably already know that i finished this book a few days back. hence proven, i am feeling an unimaginably complex blend of emotions that i can’t comprehend on my own. however, i think it’s safe to say that at the core of it all, deep in my heart, i feel a true sense of joy and accomplishment. to say the very least, i am proud.

this is not a book-ending update, though. that’ll be the one that comes after this, hopefully in a few days. but here we go, a few excerpts from a few chapters from one of my many books. hope you enjoy!

excerpts and taglist under the cut.

disclaimer: this is an original work of fiction. plagiarism of any kind will not be tolerated.

TWs: this novel deals with themes of childhood and religious trauma, sexual, emotional, and substance abuse, mental health issues, self-harm, abortion, suicidal ideation, etc. so please be kind on yourself and read ahead only if you're comfortable. while the excerpts i share may or may not touch on these, the themes are very prevalent. please be kind to yourself and read ahead only if you're comfortable.

a lot of the plot is kept private for now because i intend on publishing this book, so please excuse the lack of context. i hope you can enjoy the prose, though.

chapter six – flock and soil

the first quarter of this chapter is happy, the second is emotional, and the last two are extremely sad. i have three excerpts to share, without any context, of course.

But it had actually started a long time back, when we met for the first time and I heard the lullabies being sung beneath his eyes. The flowers that had bloomed between us today had budded long ago, even before time had been created, and the plants had taken root in my stomach before anything ever was. I had been lured into the melody of his voice; the simple way his bones were placed inside his body. It had all started long back when I looked at him and he looked back at me. It started with the exchange of sight; when my eyes wanted to see him more than they wanted to see anything. It had all started a long time back, but now, we had a body to give it. We had something we could touch and call our own. We had skin and we had bones.

this is dinah talking about austin. believe it or not, i am not that cruel. she gets her share of happy and truly romantic moments, i promise!

the second excerpt is a conversation between dinah and ephron. i wanted to show you a moment of theirs that’s not too intense (which is rare, but not non-existent).

“Where were you?” he asked. “I was worried about you. And why do your eyes look like that? Were you drinking?”

“Ooh, calm down with the questions,” I said. “I went to meet some friends at a house party. Yes, we did drink a little bit. My eyes are fine.”

“They’re the size of golf balls!”

i’ve got nothing to say about the third excerpt. it is what it is.

I looked back in the mirror. My cheekbones and nose had been lifted in a copper glow, a beet blush spreading through my cheeks. There was a cosmic glimmer in my eyes. The sound of conch shells murmured in my ear. My heart had turned into a lighthouse at the base of which a thousand waves beat and crashed against each other. It beat with a swell, milk and honey oozing out. Somewhere in the middle of the ocean, the night would soon crawl into a fisherman’s boat and sing him to sleep, but here, every bone in my body would twist to the sun, bringing forth a morning with flowers, nectar, and birdsong.

proves my theory – i’m not that cruel.

vignette six – salt and light

unfortunately, due to spoiler reasons, i won’t be sharing anything from this chapter. here’s one thing to know, though – it’s terribly sad.

chapter seven – what blooms in the armageddon

no excerpts in this chapter either. all i can say is, things happen. things change.

vignette seven – cradle song

written from mariam’s perspective, this vignette is a conversation in which only one person speaks – the mother.

When the world comes to an end, baby, we will be back together. The skies will be beautiful and I’ll feed you balls of rice. I will hold you close to me. I will not let you go. I will show you butterflies and bring your hand to dog fur. You will put your fingers in my hair and I will stick little leaves in yours. I will buy you a watercolour kit. I will take you to the supermarket. I will buy you all the cookies in the aisle. I will make you payasam when you ask for it. When the day ends and the night falls, I will hold you close and draw a cross on your head. I will sing you a song.

this goes on and on for quite long, but i’ll cut it off right there.

thanks for reading along. tell me what you’ve been feeling, what you’ve been working on, what thoughts are occupying your head, or anything that you’re really excited about.

i hope you enjoy the excerpts. in the meantime, i’ll be curating the last update for this novel. see you all again!

– ann.

general taglist (ask to be added or removed)

@shaonsim @heartfullkings @vnsmiles @dallonwrites @sienna-writes @violetpeso @flip-phones @rowansghost @ambidextrousarcher @zoe-louvre @writing-with-l @magic-is-something-we-create @femmeniism @frozenstillicide @wizardfromthesea @rose-bookblood @coffeeandcalligraphy @rodentwrites @saltwaterbells @snehithiye

#dairy whiskey #dairy whiskey update #wip update #wip tag #writeblr #writeblr update #excerpts #novel excerpts #literary fiction novel #litfic #aljwrites #writing update #writing talk

[saintshigaraki]

won’t you give me your cruelest smile

↳ DARK ACADEMIA TSUKISHIMA KEI 

pairing: tsukishima kei x gn!reader

word count: 1.4k

excerpt: 

He makes no move to get up as he watches you pack. “You really don’t like me, do you?” He sounds far too pleased for your liking.

“No one likes you,” you snap back, stuffing the last heavy tome in your bag and shouldering it. “You’re an ass.”

a/n: @yamagucji​​ said dark academia tsukki and my brain quite literally short circuited 

tags: enemies-ish to lovers (more like academic rivals to lovers), tsukki being an annoyingly smart condescending history major, reader goes through the five stages of grief when they realize they might actually li- 🤢 like him, a reference to the classic ‘ooooh you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid’ 

If there is a single, minuscule, barely visible silver lining in having Tsukishima as a partner for your quarter project it is that, without a doubt, he is smart. 

You have to admit, begrudgingly, that his intellect borders on genius-level which is something you use as silent proof to attest to your working theory that there is in fact, no god, or at the very least not a kind one, because if there was they wouldn’t be blessing gremlins like the one sitting across from you with a gift like that. 

He’s quiet now (after about an hour of telling you all the ways your interpretation was oh so very wrong) and content to stare at you lazily, his eyes half-lidded and filled with his specific brand of cruel amusement that leaves you wanting to do nothing more than smack his black-rimmed glasses right off his smug face. 

You take a deep breath and try desperately to quell the utterly unique type of rage he elicits in you, although as always, nothing you do ever quite manages to bring your boiling blood to a simmer. 

He’s twirling his expensive black pen between his stupidly long fingers. Every once in a while the light catches on the onyx stone of his pinky ring which somehow manages to flash directly in your eyes every time. He notices, of course. He notices everything. Which makes you think he’s doing it on purpose just to be an ass.

Which, admittedly, is perfectly in line with everything else he does so, you come to the frustrating conclusion that he most definitely is doing it on purpose. 

“You’re embarrassingly easy to rile up,” he says, interrupting your silent seething, his voice deep and smooth and absolutely dripping with condescending satisfaction. 

Your eyes flash up from the book you’d been only barely processing just to be met with his own golden-brown ones. He’s smirking down at you, of course. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear any other sort of expression. 

You want nothing more than to glare at him but that would just be proving his point so instead, you snap your book shut. It rings out loudly in the empty library. 

“It’s late. Let’s start this backup tomorrow.”

He makes no move to get up as he watches you pack. “You really don’t like me, do you?” he sounds far too pleased for your liking. 

“No one likes you,” you snap back, stuffing the last heavy tome in your bag and shouldering it. “You’re an ass.” 

He tilts his head back, exposing his long neck, and laughs. It’s so deep you feel it in your own chest. You just barely manage to suppress a shiver, which thank fuck, because he would’ve most definitely noticed it and you don’t think you’d be able to live that down. 

You make your way towards the front doors but not before he manages to slip on his wool coat and catch up to you, with ease of course, his long legs have become your number one enemy over the quarter because he always, always, catches up with you when you try to speed walk away from him. 

The autumn chill immediately settles into your bones, your skin prickles unpleasantly. You can see your breath in the night air. A shitty end to a shit day. 

You both head down the cobbled street in strangely comfortable silence. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat he radiates and you’re silently thankful for it. 

You get to the fork in the path where he takes his way back to his dorm and you take yours but instead of peeling off left like he usually does he sticks to your side. 

You stop immediately and eye him up warily. “What are you doing?”

He rolls his eyes. “Asking idiotic questions doesn’t really suit you, you know.” 

You say nothing, content to narrow your eyes. 

He rolls his eyes again and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I’m walking you home, try not to be a brat about it.” 

“You never walk me home,” you point out, suspiciously. 

“You are rather good at pointing out the very obvious, aren’t you?” and before you can respond he already had turned on his heels and started walking. You have to half jog to catch up. 

You watch him out of the corner of your eye with the intent of trying to read his motive but you get stuck on the fact that his cheeks are flushed rather prettily from the cold. 

“You sure do love to stare, don’t you?” he asks rather conversationally. 

You’ve never wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole more in your entire life. Your cheeks burn hot even in the frigid cold. 

He notices. Of course he does. What does Tsukishima Kei not notice?

“No need to be embarrassed,” he needles cruelly. “Denial can be a brutal beast.”

You only barely manage to stop yourself from asking what exactly he means by that, what exactly he thinks you’re in denial about. 

But you know he wants nothing more than for you to ask so you take a sweet sort of satisfaction in not questioning him further, at least on that front. 

The rest of the walk back to your dorm is spent in less comfortable silence than before. There’s an odd sort of tension in the air, like a rope pulled so tight you can physically feel it starting to fray, getting ready to snap.

It comes to a head when, after getting to your building, instead of immediately going inside you find yourself looking down and shuffling your feet.

You know you should thank him, even if you didn’t ask him to walk you home. You guys never worked this late, you’d lost track of time (it’s scarily easy to lose track of time when arguing with Tsukishima) and you know it was nice of him to walk you home when he’d have to double back another 15 minutes in the freezing cold to get to his place. 

You know you should thank him. It’s the reasonable, polite thing to do. But it’s just so fucking hard to be reasonable and polite when Tsukishima Kei and his galaxy-sized ego are involved. No one in your entire life has been able to get under your skin as he has. It’s like he was perfectly crafted to be your own personal headache. 

You brave a glance up at him and find that he’s standing very, very close and staring, rather intensely, at you. A curiously amused gleam in his eye. 

Your mind stutters and then stops completely, going painfully blank. 

He’s so stupidly pretty. 

His skin is flawless, you’ve never once seen him with even a single pimple, his hair is the nicest pale-blond you’ve ever seen and it falls in perfect tufts against his forehead, but it’s his eyes that always make you shift from foot to foot. They’re such a unique shade of golden-brown, and now, shrouded in the dark and mere inches away from your own face, you’d swear on your life they were practically glowing.

“You’ve got something on your mind?” he asks, his tone anything but sweet. He’s so close you can smell the warm spice of his cologne and the ever-clinging scent of ancient books that seems to follow him wherever he goes. 

“I-” but you can’t seem to put together a coherent sentence. You don’t think you’ve ever hated someone so much in your life. 

Somehow, he’s managed to push in even closer. “You know what I think?”

No, you want to say, and I don’t want to know. Your heart is beating far too fast and you can’t explain why. 

(You know exactly why)

“I think you want to kiss me.”

And just like that the rope snaps and you’re viciously tugging him down by the collar of his too-nice coat so you can smash your lips against his. 

The kiss is brutal. Far too mean with too much teeth. At one point you taste the sting of iron and you can’t tell if the blood is his or yours. 

He backs you up against a wall without breaking the kiss. When he bites at your lip, no doubt cutting it open, you grab a fist full of his hair and tug cruelly and his responding groan tastes so sweet on your tongue. 

He doesn’t pull away until your lungs are screaming for air. 

He’s inches away from you, pupils blown wide, lips swollen (and a little bloody), and his hair is a mess. It’s the most out of sorts you’ve ever seen him. 

If you thought he was pretty before, he’s absolutely beautiful now. 

His smirk widens into a full blown smile and you understand now why he doesn’t show it often. It shows too many teeth, it’s downright wolfish. Predatory, even. 

You don’t really have time to think on it though before he pulls you into another bruising kiss. 

have some dark academia tsukishima headcanons while you’re here

he is without a doubt the most pretentious asshole you will ever meet and and you will HATE yourself for eventually finding him weirdly charming in any capacity

he is, of course, a history major which. if you have ever met pretentious male history majors you will know that this means he is a literal walking, talking, annoyingly tall headache

interrupts professors constantly. does it like he’s getting paid. will argue and argue and argue with them without that dumb condescending smirk ever, ever managing to slip off his face

(the worst part is, he’s honestly probably making a good point most of the time. but you’d quite literally rather die than admit that to him)

he is always walking around campus lazily flipping through leather bound books so old they’re cracked precariously at their spines, all on different ancient civilizations. you’d think that’d mean he’d be running into people but the student body collectively parts like the red sea for him which sets your teeth on edge.

he’s unbelievably arrogant and the worst part is its not baseless like you find yourself so desperately wishing it was

he IS smart, wickedly so. disgustingly, cruelly intelligent and he will use it to pick you apart piece by piece while that stupid fucking smirk stays glued on his face.

(you start to seriously question whether or not he’s even human because how can anyone keep the same, perfectly calculated expression for that long?)

always looks like he stepped straight out of some dark alternate universe vogue photoshoot with his constant rotation of black turtlenecks, long coats, and oxford loafers all tied together by the same 5 rings he’s never seen without, two of which are set with hefty onyx stones

you will be unlucky enough to be paired up with him for a project that will take all quarter long and multiple meet ups a week. when your professor announced your partner, you genuinely consider dropping the class and when you find out you wouldn’t be able to drop the class without switching majors, you genuinely consider switching majors

you don’t. and by the end of the quarter you’re really starting to question whether that was a good thing or not

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq!! #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei #hq #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima x you #tsukishima imagine #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu scenarios #tsukishima scenarios #you think thats enough tags lmaoooo #vicwrites #vicwriteshq

[becomewings]

The Most Beautiful Moment in Life <I’M FINE>

     BTS Universe Story Highlights, pt. 1 / 4

» pt. 2

Introduction

BTS Universe Story, a mobile game published by Netmarble, was released on September 24, 2020. While the majority of the app is essentially a sandbox and engine for users to create their own interactive stories, it also includes official and canon BU content. The first eight segments were introduced between the release date and December 2020, gathered under the title The Most Beautiful Moment in Life <I’M FINE>.

“I’m Fine” is half of the I’m Fine/Save Me ambigram introduced in the Love Yourself era. Notably, all of the BU content available in the game so far falls between events of the webtoon Save Me (also called HYYH0 in its logo) and The Notes 1—chronologically, that is, while bearing in mind that time resets to the morning of 11 April Year 22 whenever SeokJin fails to avert a tragedy among his six friends. I want to assure anyone who is unable to play the game that you are not missing any new, major plot beats from the overall BU narrative. Instead, the stories provide more insight into the motivations and consequences of SeokJin’s decisions in the earlier time loops, as well as more depth to individual characters and their circumstances.

The goal of this guide is to summarize each of the eight stories and highlight noteworthy details, especially if they are not yet present in other BU media. Within each story (which I often refer to as an arc, due to their character-focused nature), episodes must be played successively, but the stories themselves can be played in any order. I will present them over a series of posts in the order they are listed under the <I’M FINE> heading. The Prologue and NamJoon’s arc are free to play; the rest are paid content. Please note that due to the app’s Terms & Conditions, I will not include in-game footage here. The images in this guide are sourced from the official trailers/videos and the live action MVs as appropriate.

Content warning: contains references to death, suicide, suicidal ideation, child abuse, domestic violence, blood, homicide, depression, trauma, PTSD

This guide contains major spoilers and includes references to other BU media

Do not repost, copy, or quote without permission

Game Mechanic

Before diving into the summaries, I would like to address the primary mechanic of the game: the user’s control of character choices at designated moments in the stories. It’s a primary marketing point that the player can influence the progression of the narrative, with a frequent in-app tip also declaring, “stories’ endings can vary depending on your choices.” The latter is not strictly true—and it cannot be true due to the structure of the game. Choices are presented within most (not all) episodes, but each episode is an isolated unit: episode 2 provides the same content regardless of what you choose in episode 1. Since the consequences of your decisions are not cumulative, each episode reaches the same ending, and each decision inevitably rejoins the “main” story path (effectively reducing the script size).

So what is the point of this mechanic? While the system is not nearly as complex as what major platform titles are capable of nowadays (I suspect due in large part to the story creation portion of the game), it does foster a sense of interaction with the narrative that isn’t present in static visual media like comics or film. The episodes with choices also have incentive for replay to discover the impact of changing a character’s dialogue or action. Sometimes the differences between the outcomes are inconsequential, but other times you unearth new details, interactions, or memories that are missing in the other path.

I say this partially in reaction to all of the comments and tweets I read for the game trailers and even Smeraldo Book twitter’s choose-your-own-adventure style teasers with The Notes 2 excerpts released last summer. Many users expressed excitement, through words or memes, about finally being able to give the boys the happy ending they deserved. I don’t fault anyone for wanting that happy ending—I wish for it, too. But no matter what the rather overzealous marketing has claimed, I don’t believe that the canon ending of BU is ever meant to be in the audience’s control. But I do feel that this mechanism fits the BU narrative. It echoes the “countless loops” SeokJin has experienced in an effort to save his friends, the choices he must make at every crossroad, and the butterfly effect those actions have on all of their lives. I think it is reasonable to interpret the simple branching paths in the game as alternatives SeokJin has explored across multiple loops in his struggle to find the “right” way forward. I’d love to hear if you have theories of your own!

Prologue

The prologue is a brief episode introducing SeokJin’s repeated struggle and failure to save his friends. He wakes up yet again in his bed on 11 April Year 22, the beginning of the time loop. After reflecting on the tragedies that keep befalling the others, SeokJin realizes that he has only tried to fix the problems he can see. He wonders: “Have I tried to understand the root of my friends’ misfortunes? How much do I really know about my friends? Maybe I was never brave enough to confront their real scars and the worlds they’ve been living in. But I need to do it. Because it may be the key to saving them all.”

How to Offer a Hand

In this story, SeokJin attempts to prevent NamJoon’s arrest after he gets in a fight with a rude customer at Naeri Gas Station, his place of work. The first episode opens on the night of 11 April Year 22 with NamJoon curling his fists, glaring as crumpled bills lie untouched on the pavement. (The money looks similar to the shot from the I Need U MV.) SeokJin reaches for his shoulder, but NamJoon shrugs him off and strides away to punch the customer who deliberately dropped the bills for him to pick up. The gas station owner runs over at the customer’s furious shouts and orders NamJoon to apologize. He refuses, and police officers soon arrive and charge him with assault. No one listens to SeokJin’s protests that the customer started it first. The man sneers as NamJoon enters the police car. “Do you even have money for a settlement? Hey, you’re done for.” NamJoon is sentenced to prison again, and SeokJin hears glass shattering before the loop resets.

Rising from his bed on the morning of 11 April, SeokJin reflects on his failed efforts so far. He has hit the customer’s car, called for NamJoon in the middle of the incident, and stopped the fight himself, the latter of which caused his friends to avoid him later. The fight has even escalated; the details are unspecified, but the audience is provided an ominous shot of SeokJin speaking to a police officer alone at the scene. NamJoon is not the kind of person who would normally respond to that kind of provocation with his fists. SeokJin realizes that he cannot merely stop the fight but must discover and fix the true cause of it.

With this in mind, SeokJin heads to Naeri Gas Station during the day and tries to engage NamJoon. This is their first time meeting since they both returned to Songju, although SeokJin has experienced it in many loops already. “It’s been a while,” he greets (as he does at the end of the Blood Sweat & Tears Japanese version MV). Before SeokJin can dig deeper in their conversation, NamJoon is called away by his boss. SeokJin enters the small employee break room which serves as NamJoon’s living space when he’s not at the container, hoping to find some clues about his friend’s life. SeokJin locates something bundled in newspapers. If the player chooses to open it, he sees a strange shard of glass inside that may belong to a car or motorcycle headlight. He continues on, finding the book Cosmos by Carl Sagan and a notebook. SeokJin hesitates over the invasion of privacy but decides to read it since he needs all the information that he can gather. The journal entries detail NamJoon’s daily life since returning to Songju: his work at the gas station isn’t too bad despite the occasional rude customer; he purchased a book and hopes to get more in the future; he picked up a second job at a wedding hall to help catch up on bills; his brother NamHyeon got in trouble again, leading to more expenses; and his dad’s health has worsened, with hospital bills after an emergency surgery rising to levels that the family cannot afford. SeokJin knew that NamJoon was the de facto head of household due to his father’s illness but was unaware that it was to this degree. He feels sorry for NamJoon yet is also impressed by his maturity, for NamJoon never writes how difficult his situation is.

NamJoon arrives and asks what SeokJin is doing in the room. If the player chooses to answer “reading” instead of “just sitting there,” SeokJin privately observes that the conversation flows more easily when they talk about books. NamJoon says he must leave and declines when SeokJin offers to wait for him there. SeokJin knocks over a pile of books along with money and receipts as he stands. He thinks it is unusual that NamJoon picks up the books before the money. The books seem to be more than a hobby to NamJoon, holding special meaning. Walking to his car, SeokJin wonders if it is pride or determination not to falter that keeps NamJoon from journaling his grievances. He realizes that money is a constant source of frustration and misery to NamJoon, and that’s why he can’t stomach being insulted over the customer’s dropped money. SeokJin’s new plan is to prevent NamJoon from picking up the money. He also calls Palgok County Hospital and offers to pay the patient bill for NamJoon’s father. Anticipating that NamJoon will be angry if he finds out, SeokJin says the payer is Songho Foundation.

That night, SeokJin returns to the gas station with the excuse that he forgot to fill up earlier. The luxury car arrives with a honk, and NamJoon hurries over to assist. He shakes with anger when the customer drops the money on the ground. “Why aren’t you picking it up? You don’t want it? What’s with that look? Pretty arrogant for a part-timer, aren’t you?” goads the customer. SeokJin intervenes. Whether the player chooses to have him advise NamJoon not to pick it up or to order the customer to pick it up himself, the end result is the same. SeokJin asks the customer, “Why are you harassing a pitiful part-timer?” The customer drives away, and something about NamJoon seems off. His face is expressionless, not mad or humiliated. “SeokJin, you…” He stops. “Never mind. Thank you for your help.” The words sound difficult for him to speak.

SeokJin believes that he has saved NamJoon, although this ending feels sloppy. He continues on in the loop to rescue JungKook and later YoonGi, but uneasiness plagues him. Though he meant to help NamJoon with his actions, SeokJin wonders if he hurt him instead. On 5 May Year 22, he returns to the gas station and follows NamJoon when he leaves work early. NamJoon enters a bookstore, and SeokJin sneaks in after him to watch from afar. He overhears employees talking about NamJoon, worrying that he might dirty the pages of the book he’s perusing. NamJoon is too absorbed in the book to notice one of them calling for his attention. SeokJin recalls a memory from their school days when he found NamJoon reading alone in their classroom hideout: he asked why NamJoon read so diligently, and his friend explained that he found it comforting to empty his thoughts of everything else while focused on the book. In the present, SeokJin wonders how he forgot how much books mean to NamJoon. He sacrifices some of his food and transportation budget to afford them, but they enable him “to endure the weight of the world he’s forced to bear on his shoulders.” After realizing this, SeokJin wants to apologize for carelessly sympathizing with the reality that NamJoon has weathered alone.

The next episode is from NamJoon’s perspective, revealing his excitement over being able to purchase a book for the first time in two months. He wants to buy two but can only afford one. The employee at the register sighs and asks why he leafed through a book he wasn’t going to buy. NamJoon apologizes, and she mutters, “So dirty.” He notices his reflection, clothes worn and smelling of gasoline, and realizes she’s talking about him, not the book. He tries to shake off these depressing thoughts, but he is still not accustomed to this treatment despite experiencing it regularly at work. As NamJoon begins to exit the store, the security alarm goes off. The employees demand to check his bag despite his insistence that he didn’t steal anything. Their certainty of his theft angers him. NamJoon allows them to look through his bag, and they are suspicious of the like-new book in it which he brought from home. One begins to call the police until SeokJin appears, vouching for NamJoon by saying he saw everything. The employees accept that the alarm malfunctioned and excuse their suspicions as a mistake.

Outside, SeokJin asks NamJoon if he is all right. NamJoon is thankful but wonders how SeokJin materialized right when he needed him. “How’d you find me here?” he asks aloud. SeokJin explains that he happened to notice him while walking through the neighborhood. NamJoon wonders if it’s because they said goodbye on a weird note last time. He thanks him and turns to leave. SeokJin calls after him. “I’m sorry. I wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to upset you that day at the gas station. It was a mistake to have called you pitiful. If my rash actions hurt you, I’m really sorry.” NamJoon accepts his apology, believing it to be sincere, and says that things would have turned out a lot worse if SeokJin had not intervened. Thunder rolls overhead, and NamJoon uses the impending rain as his excuse to depart. He declines SeokJin’s offer of a ride and runs home, feeling his friend’s eyes on him.

Before he can settle down to read at home, NamJoon receives a call from his cheerful mother. She thanks him for paying off the entire hospital bill. NamJoon is perplexed and asks what’s on the receipt, since he didn’t pay it. His mother wants to leave it be, but he insists that they investigate so they don’t get in trouble or sued. She reads that the Songho Foundation is credited as the payer. NamJoon calls the hospital, introducing himself as the guardian for Kim YoungMin, but they can’t transfer him to the administrative department at this time. Disappointed, he looks up the foundation’s website, unable to recall why it sounds familiar. He wonders why a scholarship foundation in the city would get involved with him. Spotting photos of a recent launch ceremony on the site, he recognizes a few people: Songju High School’s principal, the familiar-looking face of the foundation’s chairman, and SeokJin. First, NamJoon forces a laugh, and then it’s difficult for him to breathe. He thinks that SeokJin really had pitied him at that moment. The only thing keeping NamJoon going is the idea of getting through life on his own strength. Why does he have to live like this?

The last episode opens on 5 May back in SeokJin’s perspective. He is confident now that he has saved NamJoon, although it occurs to him that a better alternative may have been to simply pick up the money himself instead of stepping forward. (This decision is enacted in a later loop and depicted in the Euphoria MV.) While reflecting on what comes next to save his other friends, he receives a text from NamJoon. “What’s your account number? I’ll pay you back for the hospital bills. I don’t need your help. I’ll handle my concerns on my own.” Heart sinking, SeokJin wonders how he found out. With a sense of foreboding, he tries calling NamJoon, but no one answers. SeokJin texts him back, pretending that he doesn’t understand, and tells NamJoon to call him. SeokJin’s second attempt connects while he’s gathering his car keys to visit the container. “That’s enough. Just send the account number over text,” NamJoon instructs. SeokJin coaxes him to talk for a moment, and NamJoon asks flatly, “Are you going to apologize again?” SeokJin attempts to salvage the situation, but his friend turns cold when he insists that NamJoon is misunderstanding and that he just wanted to help. “So, why? Why are you helping me?! Yeah, you’re always a good person. You’ve done nothing wrong and I’m the one misunderstanding.” SeokJin apologizes again. NamJoon refuses his request to meet in person. “No, I thought maybe there was a reason for everything you did… But I guess I misconstrued it. I’ll pay you back, so I’d prefer if you stopped contacting me.” Long after the call ends, SeokJin stands holding his phone, feeling that the glass is going to break at any moment. He wants to believe that it’s not over, but hope is slipping through his fingertips.

The episode finishes in NamJoon’s perspective. On 8 May and 9 May, he accepts part-time delivery work and reflects on his three jobs. Whenever he thinks he’s at his breaking point, he focuses on his new goal of returning SeokJin’s money. On 10 May, NamJoon wakes up to his buzzing phone and is called in to work. On a scooter, he passes by a bus stop and notices graffiti. (This is the same bus stop, with matching graffiti, that appears in the Highlight Reel.) Mesmerized, he wonders if it’s TaeHyung’s. As soon as NamJoon looks up, the scooter’s brake fails, and he crashes. The shattered glass on the cold pavement reminds him of the headlight shard and the kid who looked like TaeHyung. (So the piece of glass SeokJin saw in April was really a memento NamJoon retrieved from the scene of the crash in the mountain town, where the delivery boy whom he privately called TaeHyung died. This event is described in NamJoon’s 17 December Year 21 entry in The Notes 1.) NamJoon’s vision grows blurry, and the distant sound of an ambulance doesn’t come any closer.

The arc concludes there, but it obviously marks another reset for SeokJin. It is interesting to note that in this failed loop, NamJoon suffers the same fate that he narrowly avoided in the snowy mountain town before returning to Songju.

Please stay tuned for the next Highlights post featuring JungKook and YoonGi!

#armiesnet #networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #armysource #dailybangtan #bts universe #hyyh #bangtan universe #bts universe story #bts universe story highlights #seokjin #namjoon #namjin #bts theories

[oldshrewsburyian]

if u ever wanna dump an essay about edward fairfax rochester to me...I’m here!

Ahh, you must know how dangerous such an invitation is to an enthusiast! It’s a rainy Sunday evening, I’ve poured myself a glass of wine, and I’m ready to do this. I think Charlotte Brontë is doing and exploring some really interesting things in the character of Rochester, which sometimes get flattened/left out in adaptations. To be fair to the adaptations: he’s still compelling as a Brooding Gothic Protagonist.™

Prolegomenon I: I haven’t read the scholarship on Jane Eyre since undergrad, and I haven’t read The Wide Sargasso Sea since graduate school. I make no claims to particular originality here. And of course, literature can and does hold multiple meanings, etc. etc.; this is my take on Edward Fairfax “Self-Delusion” Rochester. The subfields of Jane Eyre criticism I’m most familiar with/informed by are “Jane Eyre + feminist theory” and “Jane Eyre + ‘early 19th-century debates within Anglicanism, pretty wild, right?’” This should surprise exactly no one who follows this blog.

Prolegomenon II: when I get caught up in my Rochester Feelings in conversation, there is inevitably a point where one of my English-major or -professor friends will shout me down and say “He kept a WIFE in the ATTIC” and I know. I know. It’s inexcusable and I’m not trying to excuse it, and everyone should read Jean Rhys. What I am really interested in doing, though, is exploring Rochester as three-dimensional character, not “man whose bad behavior gets hand-waved aside because reasons.”

First off: Rochester is a man of contradictions. He is a man who is generous to his retainers and his tenants. He is a man who shoulders even social responsibilities that are not strictly his, as we see in the education of Adèle (who might otherwise have died in an uncharitable charitable institution, or become a laundress, or become a courtesan.) True, we meet him as an extremely awkward and fumbling and sometimes resentful figure in loco parentis. But he is trying. I think this is perhaps the key thing about Rochester: what we see him doing for most of the novel, almost always badly, is trying to achieve better (more just, more humane, more equitable) results within a system (patriarchal, economic, colonial) that is rotten at its core. It is not everyone who has the moral fiber of a Jane Eyre, to say “this system is rotten at its core and it is better to starve on the moors or live forever unhappy than to be complicit in it.” The second thing we see Rochester doing, almost always badly, and this is where the contradiction comes in, is trying to avoid his own pain. I’ve intentionally said pain rather than guilt. I think that gets closer to the heart of the matter.

I’m going to get back to my essay in a minute, but an interjection of sorts, before I put the rest of it under a cut: I think it is vital to the novel that Rochester genuinely changes. Justification of this argument and More Emotions below.

For contemporary readers, the concept of repentance as a process may feel unfamiliar, trite, irreversibly sullied by hypocrites. But even if we take it out of Brontë’s extremely Anglican framework, I read Rochester’s profound, unconditional acceptance of his own sin (wrong, if you prefer) against Bertha and the losses which he sees as divine punishment for it as absolutely key to his having a chance at a future with Jane. The concept of divine retribution is surely stranger to us even than that of repentance, but having Thornfield, Rochester’s inheritance, sign and symbol and engine of his patriarchal wealth, built on colonial exploitation, literally go up in flames like the wicked cities of the Old Testament, is Not Exactly Subtle. And, of course, he loses his sight: “If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out.” His sight has been, in the most fundamental spiritual sense, diseased. He has been incapable of accurately seeing his own guilt (which is to say, seeing it in proportion to all other things, the other facts of Bertha’s madness, the duplicity of his family and that of the Masons, etc. etc.) So he loses his sight. And then he gains a much richer understanding of, well, everything. Gradually. Not all at once. I have Feelings about the psychological realism of those final chapters, but let me rewind, as it were. [N.B. I’m not arguing that Charlotte Brontë presents all this as a straightforward Divine Smiting. It matters that Bertha gets the freedom to bring all this crashing down (literally), and that she chooses her own end. But I do think that Rochester reads it as Smiting; I think we need to take that final assertion of his seriously. It’s entirely possible to read the Elm Tree Incident, and indeed that bizarre wedding morning, as Rochester waiting, waiting with pounding heart, for the bolt of lightning.]

I believe passionately in Rochester and Jane as a couple for a number of reasons (so many reasons, all the reasons), but perhaps chief among them is that they are both, bless them, raging romantics who have had very little outlet for their rich emotional life or for their unconventional, erudite, intelligent, exploratory spiritualities. OR (sorry, I forgot one) for their intellectual life, come to that! Rochester with his library full of science and his feelings about moths and Jane who becomes a teacher and genuinely loves nurturing young minds. *sobs* I love them so much. But Rochester is far too ready to manipulate others as he has been manipulated, and as others seek to manipulate him. His treatment of Blanche Ingram, for instance, I read as being several things, in shifting proportion 1) an effort to distract himself from Jane; he has few if any scruples about involving the unscrupulous and mercenary Miss Ingram in bigamy 2) an effort to distract the neighborhood and its gossip from Jane; why, after all, has he been at Thornfield so long without entertaining anyone?? very suspicious 3) an effort to find out what Jane’s feelings for him are. We see her ready to sting him into jealousy at the end too, a nice little bit of symmetry. Rochester is, yes, high-handed in the extreme. But I read the conversation under the elm tree not as a cynical test, but a genuine and painfully awkward attempt to figure out what Jane’s feelings for him really are. Yes, they’ve been having High Spiritual Communion and intellectual discussions and mutual teasing and borderline flirting for however many weeks it’s been. But also: he’s her employer. He’s at least 15 years older than she is (I forget the details on this. 15? 20? anyway, point stands.) He is not and never has been handsome, and he knows exactly how little his wealth counts for with Jane. He’s deeply weird and his house is weird and he comes with a French ward and a mysterious attic and a wife. But does she love him anyway? She does! *cries about it* 

Of course, none of this excuses the inexcusable. The proposal-to-wedding sequence shows us Rochester at his moral nadir, in relation to both Bertha and Jane. It also shows him on the knife edge of losing control over his integrity in other ways, now that he has violated this one. (Remember when Jane comes back to Thornfield and says “Reader, I had feared worse; I had feared he was mad”? Yeah, there’s a reason for that.) Anyway, allow me to present excerpts from Chapter 27, which lives in paraphrase in my head at all times:

[W]hile he spoke my very conscience and reason turned traitors against me, and charged me with crime in resisting him. They spoke almost as loud as Feeling: and that clamoured wildly. "Oh, comply!" it said. "Think of his misery; think of his danger—look at his state when left alone; remember his headlong nature; consider the recklessness following on despair—soothe him; save him; love him; tell him you love him and will be his. 

Whew! Anyway, she decides not to despite the fact that she and Rochester feel exactly the same way in this moment:

I am insane—quite insane: with my veins running fire, and my heart beating faster than I can count its throbs. Preconceived opinions, foregone determinations, are all I have at this hour to stand by: there I plant my foot.

*sobs harder* I think it is vitally important to point out that Jane is not cold or even, in this moment, convinced by her own arguments. She and Rochester are, moments after this, in each other’s arms, the language of fire and flame used for them both, and Rochester releases her first because he wants her influenced by nothing but her own will; not their shared passion, and certainly not his own force.

...Where was I before I got caught up with the unbearable sexual and emotional tension? Oh yes, Rochester after Jane leaves. He embraces an extremely thorough program of self-punishment. The most obvious course of action for him -- the one that Jane, the person who knows him best in all the world, assumes he has taken -- is to run away from his pain again, to leave England. He does not do that. He does the opposite of that. He refuses to so much as leave Thornfield itself except to roam the grounds at night. I love this book so much.  Then, after the fire, which happens only 2 months after Jane leaves, he goes to Ferndean. Now! The only thing we have learned about Ferndean previously is that Rochester refused to have Bertha live there because its bad climate would have (or at least might have) killed her. We learn from Jane-as-narrator that literally no one will rent it, again, because of its “ineligible and insalubrious site.” Rochester has, with heartbreaking obviousness, given up on life. He has, by his own account, been “doing nothing, expecting nothing,” in “ceaseless sorrow... [and] delirium of desire.”

 ...Edward Fairfax Rochester has never heard of chill. Also, as we learn, though he is worried about his disabilities because he is worried that Jane will mind, and because they make him a less eligible potential husband in his own estimation (*sniffle*), what he has been chiefly preoccupied with for the last year is worrying about where Jane is and if she’s all right. Again: the man has never heard of chill. But his impulses are generous. He is the heir to a rotten and a poisoned inheritance, and he begins by blaming this inheritance -- his external circumstances, both his privilege and the choices that he is pushed into by his father and brother -- for his own injuries and the ways in which he has injured others. But I (obviously) vigorously cling to the belief that he genuinely turns away from this, that he confronts his own sins and repents and accepts that he will not, cannot, be reunited with Jane in this life. But then he is. *cries about it* Moreover, in a key reorientation from his earlier avoidance-and-denial coping strategy, he accepts Jane’s services “without painful shame or damping humiliation.” He un-hermits himself! He and Jane travel to see friends and family! They receive visitors! These romantic-hearted science nerds proceed to be shockingly normal... for their own given value of that. I’m also convinced that they have the kinkiest sex in nineteenth-century English literature, and I support them. And part of their happiness is the happiness of others; it’s the opposite of Rochester’s globe-trotting, radically individualistic conduct in the first part of the novel. Of course it’s more than he deserves; he knows that, and he needs to know it. But it’s narratively elegant, and (I think) deeply satisfying. And I love it. And, obviously, him... again, more than he deserves.

#jane eyre #edward fairfax rochester #was recently reminded of how hard i ship jane/rochester #is a tag that i have #asks and answers #emilydickinsonapologist

[maxwell-grant]

Thoughts on the Shadow's Doppelganger, Lamont Cranston

The funny thing about Cranston in the original stories is that, yeah, one of the most famous scenes across all Shadow media is the “Lamont Cranston Talks to Himself” chapter in The Shadow Laughs, where we learn that The Shadow is not Lamont Cranston, but has usurped his identity, and now shows up at his bedside looking like him, talking like him, knowing more about his own life than he himself does, and ordering him to leave town, effectively blackmailing him into letting him use his face. It’s a very iconic scene that exemplifies a lot of what makes The Shadow unique as a character, and you can imagine why so many adaptations have gone with the idea of Cranston being either a hapless stooge bullied into submission, or an actual villain, because that whole scene is very much a horror movie scenario. 

Thing is, none of them seem to remember how Cranston and The Shadow’s relationship developed past this. I’ll post this excerpt from Atoms of Death:

"Good morning, Cranston," came a quiet tone from the foot of the bed.

"Good morning, yourself," returned Cranston, rubbing his eyes without noticing the visitor.

"You should say: Good morning, myself," chuckled The Shadow, dryly.

Cranston was pulling down the sleeves of his pajama jacket. He sat bolt upright, staring. Then a slow smile showed on his lips; one that was almost a replica of The Shadow's.

"So it's you," remarked Cranston, sleepily. "Well, I knew that last night. It was about time we crossed paths again. Well, old man, you landed me in for plenty this trip."

Cranston shoved bedclothes aside and perched on the edge of the bed. He found cigarettes on the telephone table; The Shadow supplied a flame from a lighter before Cranston could ignite a match. The millionaire noted that The Shadow's lighter bore the initials "L. C." 

"You handle every detail, don't you?" questioned Cranston in admiration. “Jove! I remember the first time I met you. In this very room. You dropped cloak and hat and left me looking at my own face as plainly as if I had seen it in a mirror. Just as it is today."

"And I advised you," recalled The Shadow, in Cranston's own tone, "to take a trip abroad, while I used your identity. You were a bit exasperated at first."

"I must admit that I was. I threatened to have you arrested, as an impostor, until you proved that you knew more about my affairs than I did. I really believe that if it had come to a showdown, I would have been proven the impostor and you the genuine Lamont Cranston. Jove!"

"Jove," repeated The Shadow, quietly, "You have acquired that expression recently, Cranston. I shall remember it for future reference. You have a penchant for acquiring anglicisms during your sojourns in British colonies. Jove!"

"Bounder and blighter," laughed Cranston. "Don't forget those. I still use them occasionally."

Or this excerpt from The Hydra, which is an incredible book where the chemistry between the two really shines:

Lamont Cranston woke up and wondered why his head still whirled. It took him about half a minute to learn that the motion came from the fact he was riding in his limousine. Someone must have put him back in the limousine and Stanley was driving him home. 

He didn't have to guess who had helped him on his way, for at that moment Cranston heard a low-toned laugh beside him. He turned to see the black-cloaked figure of The Shadow.

"What did you hit me with?" asked Cranston. "All four of your automatics?"

"I'm only carrying a pair tonight," replied The Shadow

Look at these two dorks, just palling around and getting into shenanigans and The Shadow outright joking around Cranston, like they are just two old chums having a laugh at the weirdness of their lives. The “real” Cranston didn’t show up very often in the original stories, especially in the last stories when Lamont Cranston essentially became the real identity of The Shadow, but when he did, part of what makes him stand out as his own character is that he’s funny. Gibson gets a lot of mileage out of Cranston as this guy who is completely nonchalant and chill about all the weird shit that happens to him, even in The Hydra after he kills a man with an elephant gun, he’s still more or less the same, he largely just walks out of it with a newfound realization. 

Relieving Cranston of the elephant gun, The Shadow steered his friend into the closet. Hauling the big weapon with him, The Shadow opened the door to meet and dismiss arriving servants who had dashed upstairs when they felt the house quake. 

"Whenever I see this gun," began Cranston, coming from the closet, "I'll remember what I did with it -" 

“Quite right," interposed The Shadow approvingly. "What you did to Mance will make amends for any elephants you may have killed. Too bad Mance didn't bring along a few more Hydra Heads.”

Slowly, understanding dawned on Cranston. He'd never compared his big-game hunts with The Shadow's quests for men of crime. He felt that The Shadow's cause was justified, but it had seemed outside the field of sport. It still was, but Cranston, now that he had dealt with a murderer who deserved to die, was realizing that his game hunts were more deserving of rebuke.

His encounters with The Shadow gradually changed Cranston from a useless millionaire wasting his resources and talents on idle pursuits, to...still largely a useless millionaire, except his resources and talents are no longer wasted and he’s gradually grown into a useful ally and friend to The Shadow. The Shadow tends to have that effect on people who work by his side and even Cranston, the guy whose main role in his organization is to just stay away and be useless somewhere else, can’t help but change a little into a better person when he appears. 

There’s an interesting article written by Bob Sampson called “The Third Shadow” which refers to the Bruce Elliot run of The Shadow Magazine, which is incredibly maligned by fans and not without reason, the stories all largely suck and the Shadow bears little resemblance to his former self, instead mostly feeling like a diet take on the radio show Lamont, more of an average detective. The theory Sampson puts out is that, during this period, it was actually Lamont Cranston who became active as The Shadow while Allard was busy overseas, and I definitely like this theory. It makes sense specially considering The Hydra sets up for Cranston to become more pro-active and serious:

While not the towering master-mind of Allard, he does become the next best thing: A post-war sleuth. He even indulges in wearing the cloak and slouch hat from time to time (to varying degrees of effectiveness), while trying to laugh like Allard (also to varying degrees of effectiveness) as if to fulfill that forbidden fantasy until he finally gets it out of his system. After all, The Shadow pretended to be him, why not the other way around?

As Bob Sampson put it: “It is always Cranston who explains all and takes the credit”. 

Probably very cathartic for Lamont, who for the last 18 years was relegated to being a distant supporting player in his own life. Cranston is still in contact with the agents however. He even receives "assignments" from Burbank. 

This entire arrangement could only be with The Shadow's tacit approval. Let us remember, Cranston was not merely some insipid fop. He certainly had done his own share of exploring and was indeed a hunter. He could handle a variety of firearms, was familiar with exotic peoples and their customs, knew how to stalk dangerous animals through the jungle and veldt, but he was not, nor ever claimed to be, a master secret-agent and soldier.

I think it is fitting that the writing is completely different for this period as well. Not the enigmatic journalistic style of Allards exploits, but the witty, modern champagne fizz of Cranston's odyssey in a Post-War world. He feels a full range of emotions. In the Gibson stories, The Shadow is at arms length. In the Elliott stories, Cranston is sitting right next to you on a train or an airplane or roadster. 

It’s also interesting to consider how Lamont Cranston has basically become the true name of The Shadow in pop culture. Often times it’s the name people use when they specifically want to reference The Shadow, the supposed “Ghost of Gay Street” hauntings in Gibson’s former apartment took the form of Lamont Cranston, and even in the stories, more and more people became aware of it as the years went by (which also helps reinforce the idea that the “real” Cranston eventually took to acting as a fill-in for The Shadow, to draw attention away from the real Shadow’s operations), and Gibson even mentioned a few times that Cranston was The Shadow’s “favorite” identity along with Arnaud. Which is kinda fascinating to think about and does hint at some weird underlying aspects of The Shadow’s psyche, that his favorite identity is one not his own.

And at last, there’s these passages from The Whispering Eyes, a book that does not mention Allard once, and the very last Shadow novel: 

From beneath the seat he was taking his black garb. Cloaked and hatted as he stepped from the cab, Cranston merged immediately with the darkness. He had become The Shadow. 

Cranston's switch to his other self could well be attributed to a hypnotic mood. The mental lapses produced through hypnosis were the sort that would often cause a subject to revert to habit. Now, as The Shadow, Cranston was still in what might be termed a haphazard mood. He was skirting through darkness, pausing, changing direction, behaving generally as though avoiding something that did not exist.

Lang had flung away his glasses; his eyes now showed the shining, hypnotic force that the lenses normally softened. He recognized the eyes that met his above a leveled gun muzzle.

The Shadow's eyes, yet strangely Cranston's, for this was one time The Shadow did not care to disguise them.

Which begs the question: Did Cranston succeed in fully becoming The Shadow? Or did The Shadow succeed in fully becoming Cranston?

#replies tag #pulp heroes #pulp fiction #the shadow #lamont cranston

[ppatpranss]

Gaya Sa Pelikula: Pushing for a Happy Ending as an Aftermath of the Finale Teaser

VLAD: Hi.

KARL: Hi.

VLAD: This is not my unit.

KARL: This is not your unit.

VLAD: And you are not my ex.

KARL: I am not your ex.

VLAD: (tears form in his eyes). You are not my ex.

Vlad breaks down, crying. He loses balance. He’s about to fall. Karl lets go of the teaser to catch Vlad.

This is an excerpt from the Wattpad screenplays (read here). This is a snippet of “that night” (as also seen in the finale teaser).

Hello! To the person who asked about this, sorry if I’m gonna reply through this post instead because for some reason, my Reply feature is not working. I hope you see this.

Spoilers ahead.

(EDIT: Taking back what I said on this first part because I just got reminded that the series is a prequel so skip to next paragraph) First, to explain - the Wattpad screenplays are a fictionalization of the events of the sembreak as written by Karl. What we’re watching now in the series is basically the “real” events that happened during the sembreak. So, if you read the Wattpad screenplays, you can recall a few familiar scenes we’ve already seen in the series. It’s just that the Wattpad screenplays are set in university. For example: In the series, episode 1, Ate Judit caught Karl and Vlad in a compromising situation and immediately assumed that they might be dating. In the screenplay, this similar event happened as well but this time, it was inside a bathroom in their university and Aldous (Vlad’s ex) was the one who walked in on them.

The original plan for Gaya was a university setting but given the prolonged pandemic, this is obviously not feasible. So I guess, this is where Juan Miguel Severo’s creativity came in - he connected the Wattpad screenplays to the series in such a way that this is now a story written by Karl. Remember, Karl wants to write his own story.

In the screenplay, there was Vlad’s famous Letter #38 where, in the last part of the letter, he told Karl:

“About your script. Why did you choose to start the story with that night. You know the truth as well as I do. It wasn’t a single night that started us. It was an entire sem break.”

A Twitter mutual of mine posted a screenshot of the excerpt above from the Wattpad screenplay a couple of days ago. For now, I could say that what we saw in the teaser is precisely this specific scene from the Wattpad screenplay, however, in a different context - the series context.

Considering the context of the series, it led me to believe that this could now be interpreted in a different light. As mentioned in this mini Twitter thread of mine: You see, Karl is always compared with Vlad’s ex. Ate Judit and Vlad pretty much assume that because Karl could not come out yet, he would do the same to Vlad by hiding him and forcing him back. But to me, the precise exchange from the screenplay when put in the context of the series could mean a different thing now, specifically “you are not my ex.” Vlad should have given Karl the time to process his feelings and his newfound discovery about himself. Karl is not A. It would be a moment of realization for Vlad to accept that he won’t necessarily experience the same thing he did with Aldous because he should have known better that when it comes to Karl, it’s different. (ADDITIONAL NOTE: I’m not necessarily saying that the “you’re not my ex” line will be said in the series but I just thought that putting it into the context of the series gives it a whole new meaning.)

The that night Vlad was referring to is precisely this night: the one in the excerpt and the one we saw in the teaser. With the help of my discussion with my mutuals over the past few days and today, we’ve come to a realization (or let’s call it theory for now, I guess) that writing the screenplay is indeed Karl’s way of writing his own story. For Vlad, their entire story started during the sem break, but even if the screenplay is sprinkled with these events, Karl was not sure then. That was not when the story started for him because, to borrow the words of one of my mutuals in this tweet, the events of the sem break are a byproduct of the invasions of the many people coming into his life and in his apartment. And so, that night in the teaser when Vlad came back to the apartment is the night when Karl finally decides to really embrace all these feelings and discoveries about himself, and be brave enough to fight for their love. Karl started the screenplay with that night precisely because that was the start of the story for him. That was Karl finally owning his story.

Here are some Twitter threads or tweets you can check (though these are in Tagalog and English): [1], [2], [3], [4]

Also adding here an analysis I did on Karl from Episode 07 to try to make sense of where he’s coming from.

On whether I see the show having a happy ending, yes I still do believe in it. I think that after their conversation during that night, both Karl and Vlad can find a new ground on how they can navigate this situation between them (Simula sa Gitna). For me, most of their problems always come from external forces - people who are invading their space, families who are well-meaning but also overstep their boundaries, the society in general for establishing these hateful perspective that a boy loving another boy is a crime. But when it is just the two of them together, they always find ways to navigate through their situation. Vlad knows how to give Karl the time to figure things out for himself, and Karl becomes braver to do what he wants because he knows there is at least one person in Vlad who believes in him.

Majority of the GSP viewers believe that Karl and Vlad should take some time away from each other, and I do agree with the sentiment. However, for me, you can also take the road less travelled: they can do this together. They’ve always been great together. They’ve always made things work together. Severo’s aim in writing this story is to show that this is possible too for its queer audience who have been told multiple times that their endings are always sad, or tragic, or hopeless. I’d like to believe that Gaya will take a different approach by giving Karl and Vlad the happy ending that they deserve. Karl and Vlad deserve it. The queer people watching this show deserve to know that this is possible for them, too.

As with the line from Kilometer Zero that I’ve been quoting, sa ‘tin pa rin ang uwi. We will always still come home to us, to what is ours.

#ppangpangss replies #gaya sa pelikula #like in the movies #gsp #happy ending theory #happy ending agenda #gsp wattpad scholar hahaha

[razanartuk]

about me tag game thing

i was tagged by the wonderful @nothingunrealistic! thank you very much ily <3

under read more bc i was not capable of keeping my answers brief this time around

why did you choose your url?

this...was supposed to be a short explanation but it turned into quite a tale so strap in i guess because we are going on a ride. back in 2017 i was just getting into musical theatre rp and i was still feeling too shy to really talk to anyone ooc so i would just wait for people i wanted to interact with to post starter calls so i could just do things in character with them the easy way. So i did this with my friend cam, who posted a starter for me using a lyric from If I Could Tell Her. she linked the song so i could listen to it, so i did and i went ‘wait a minute, is that Ben Platt from Pitch Perfect?? (and other things too, but i only recognized his voice at the time bc of the acappella girl movies)’ and yes it certainly was.

i had zero idea what the plot of Dear Evan Hansen was about at that point, and for some reason based off Just That One Song and the poster art of who i assumed was Some Guy in a Polo Shirt i started to think it was about some jock guy who broke his arm and had an emo/goth friend who had either died or gone missing under mysterious circumstances. also i intuited that Evan had a crush on his friend’s sister but he couldn’t tell her that directly or his emo friend would kick his ass. so i was like mostly wrong, but a little bit right.

oh and i knew jared and alana were characters from the show bc cam said that they were i think?? but i had no idea what their role was. so after listening to if i could tell her, i listened to good for you and all i really got out of that was that evan the apparently not-jock guy had done...something... that really hurt jared and alana. and at that point i finally decided to go look up a plot synopsis and i found out i was waaay off base. but honestly this is why cast recordings should include scene dialogue in the songs bc otherwise you just get soundtracks like dear evan hansen where the songs have like. zero context. we really just go from waving through a window to for forever to sincerely me without like. any reason as to what is happening huh. It’s honestly not a surprise anymore that all those people on twitter had no idea the plot isn’t about gay teenagers.

anyways. cam was writing jared and she made a post at one point about wishing somebody would write alana and i was like ‘oh i could do that!’ (after i had actually Seen a bootleg and finally knew what the whole story was, of course) so i made a multimuse rp blog featuring alana beck, nabulungi hatimbi, chloe valentine and some other characters, and cam started sharing her headcanons with me that alana is trans, jared and alana were close friends when they were little kids but they sort of drifted apart as they got older and their priorities in life changed, jared was the first person alana came out to when she realized she’s trans, etc.

one night i started talking about wanting to pick a more theatre-relevant url for my blog and trans-[character name] urls were getting pretty popular, and at least 3 of the friends i made through rp had changed theirs to coordinating trans-[character name] and i think it was cam suggested i should make mine be trans-alana so i did. eventually i realized the unhyphenated version was available so i changed it to transalana with no hyphen and i have lived here ever since. sometimes i think about changing it but i feel like transalana has become a part of My Brand and i am not so great with coming up with cool names for things.

any side blogs? if you have them, name them and why you have them

in theory, i have sideblogs... i don’t really use them, but of the ones i do have, there is:

emsbookblog - this was supposed to be where i would post excerpts of the book that i’m working on, but i think i did that maybe one time roughly 2 years ago and then promptly forgot about it/got nervous about my writing and was scared to share anything else. the rest of the stuff that is there is assorted writing tips. i don’t really know what to do with it now. i probably should post all my little thoughts about em and anita and caleb there instead of infodumping on my main from time to time, but if i do that then i have to promo a sideblog and direct people over to it which is always annoying to me when i could just do it on this blog which is much easier

dearnovelhansen - this is basically no longer used, but was a sideblog i made specifically to talk/complain about the novel adaptation of Dear Evan Hansen which was about 3 years ago?? maybe? i can’t be trusted to understand the passage of time. but to summarize: i thought it was an honor just to have the story be made more accessible since many of us couldn’t see the stage performance, but i hated a lot of the creative liberties that were taken. my main grumbles are that everyone who isn’t evan or connor is done so dirty in the novel. connor’s still kind of done dirty in the book, but not as much as like. heidi, alana, jared, and zoe are.

horseisle3 - this one was meant to be a place where i could just enthusiastically post screenshots from hi3, but instead it turned into a blog where i occasionally reblog other players’ hi3 content and bitch about how bad the game admins are bc hi3 is the tumblr famous (infamous?) homophobic horse game. the game where it was once okay to call your club store the gulag bc according to their head of hr, ‘it’s just a russian word for prison’ but you can’t say ‘im gay’ without somebody accusing you of corrupting young children who play the game. unfortunately there aren’t very many good interactive horse games out there, so this one is still about as good as it gets. it’s either that or star stable and i don’t care about star stable.

mlaenie - i’ve had this url saved for i don’t even know how long. way way way back in the day when i wanted to escape from the clutches of the onceler fandom i abandoned my first blog where i basically had an alter ego i guess?? and i decided to just be myself on the new blog. i don’t fully remember who came up with it, but one of my sister’s mutuals suggested that if you scrambled the letters in your name you could come up with aesthetic-looking urls. so lauren’s url became lrauen, and to match with her mine became mlaenie, which i abandoned on tumblr after about a year or so? but have continued to use as my main username on twitter, reddit, youtube, xbox, steam, and discord. i barely ever use any of these accounts aside from twitter, steam, and xbox, but yeah. so i’ve decided to try and turn this empty sideblog into a place for video game thoughts maybe. we’ll see how long it lasts this time around.

how long have you been on tumblr?

i made my first tumblr account in december of 2010, but i didn’t understand how to use it at all or how to customize my theme to look cool and unique so i quickly abandoned it. i made a new account in september of 2011 after some kids at school and my sister told me i should and i have been trapped here with varying degrees of activity/inactivity ever since. i have witnessed the rise and fall of the lorax/onceler fandom, hyperfocused on lord of the rings, star wars and back to the future all at the same time, and for the past 4 years i’ve mostly been a musical theatre blog with assorted other fandom stuff mixed in. i feel i have seen everything and nothing, but mostly i’m just tired and bored.

do you have a queue tag?

no bc i don’t use a queue. i’ve tried using it in the past but i irrationally feel pressured to sustain a coherent theme to queued posts and my brain simply does not vibe with that so i just don’t use it at all anymore. Instead i instantly reblog or post several unrelated thoughts in succession and then don’t post again at all for 3 days. the way god intended

why did you start your blog in the first place?

my very first blog was intended to be a place for me to post all of my petz 5 animals’ profile info, but i didn’t have any understanding of how coding worked at all and i don’t think i really wanted to learn, either. so it just sat there, unused. my second attempt at blogging was as a classic rock fandom person, so as you can probably imagine i was pretty pretentious about ‘modern pop’ vs the beatles, the rolling stones, the who, the monkees, and so on. and then i slowly devolved into a lorax fandom blog and everything went to shit so i made a new blog for lord of the rings/the hobbit which later evolved to include star wars and back to the future blogging. and then for the past 4 years i’ve been mainly a musical theatre blog with other random stuff i like thrown haphazardly into the pot. wonderful.

why did you choose your icon/pfp?

because my url is transalana and two of my most prominent lgbt headcanons are that alana beck is trans and a lesbian. i gotta be shouting out @kinqmike though bc she’s the one i adopted the trans alana beck headcanon from in the first place!

why did you choose your header?

in 2017 i was hyperfixating on Dear Evan Hansen (and Be More Chill, but there weren’t many gif-able videos then considering it ran for a month in New Jersey in 2015 and there was only one yet-to-resurface 35 minute bootleg) so i just grabbed a random gif off of google. i really should get to replacing it with a new header of my own though. i just don’t know what i should do for it.

what’s your post with the most notes?

i have lost track of how many notes it has (i think it’s somewhere around 200 now?) but when Will Roland and George Salazar performed Two Player Game on Good Morning America, i posted a screencap of their Jeremy and Michael along with that one quiz answer meme that says stuff like ‘i want to see it grow up healthy’. i didn’t tag it with any ship names or anything because i was anxious about having it show up in the tags, but somebody who reblogged it from me did tag it as boyf riends and i firmly believe it took off because of that. i don’t think i make posts that are relevant enough to amass thousands of notes, even by accident. which is probably a good thing bc if i did i would have to block so many of them.

how many followers do you have?

on this blog? 175 according to the counter. how many of those are still real people and how many are bots and abandoned accounts? i have no idea.

how many people do you follow?

i try to keep it somewhere around 200. i think i’m sitting at 180 right now but i kind of need to go through and clear out the really inactive blogs.

have you made a shitpost?

let’s think about this for a second. i’ve been on tumblr for nearly 10 years. you might even be able to say i’ve made more than one. they’re just not what you would call...popular shitposts.

how do you feel about ‘you need to reblog this’ post?

that stuff makes me so incredibly anxious that i have to fight the urge to want to yeet my laptop or mobile device through the closest window whenever i read it, so i try very hard to avoid any sort of ‘if you don’t reblog this, i’m judging you’ posts. i find them very manipulative and not particularly helpful

do you like tag games?

yeah babey!! i just frequently forget to do them, but please know that if you have ever tagged me in a tag game i felt incredibly touched by the gesture and the @mention even if i completely forgot to do the thing afterward

do you like ask games?

i do! but also rip to literally anyone who has ever sent me an ask meme bc it takes me so long to answer them. i’m still working on a micro fic prompt from a few weeks ago. also, horrified to realized that it has in fact been a few weeks and not 3 days anymore.

which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

i don’t know that any are tumblr famous as a whole. but probably @neverheardnothing

do you have a crush on a mutual?

in any sort of romantic connotation? no. not that i’m aware of. there are mutuals that i have friend crushes on where i want to be friends with them but i get so anxious when it comes to meeting new people that usually nothing ever comes of it. i’m really not good at small talk or other casual conversation either which, as you may or may not be able to imagine, sucks. i just wanna skip over all of the awkward introductions and ‘hey how are you, how is life, what are you doing with yourself?’ stuff. not because i don’t care about it. i do, but i think most of my friends/the people i want to be my friends are also depressed and anxious so asking these basic questions about life tends to uh. make us all nervous. and i don’t do much with my life so i always have the most boring answers anyways.

i’m not tagging anyone officially bc the @ thing has just completely given up on me at this point, but if you want to do it, go for it. and then say i tagged you so i can read it c:

#mel.rtf #abt me #tag games

[ironblccded]

     One thing I REALLY HATE about the anime is that no one will ever understand how truly STRONG Akame is actually. Like yes, we see great feats of strength and speed, but as far as she was in the manga? She is so damn underpowered it’s not funny. For example! 

     In the anime, when a person is CUT with Murasame, it’s a slow acting poison, where it slowly creeps along the body. Where you have almost a couple MINUTES to reflect your life before succumbing to the poison. In truth, it’s more terrifying, sure, but to SMARTER foes, that’s not a good thing, because they can overcome it by things like amputation, etc. We look at Esdeath for instance in the anime, where she cut off her arm seconds after noticing. She was able to WATCH it creep along her arm, and then react. More on this in a moment though. 

     In the manga, this was not the case. Her poison in the manga? Was instant. In the first instance we saw someone hit by it, where she killed three BANDITS threatening to R.APE her, she slit their throats instantly. But, one of them DIDN’T die, he lived. Lived long enough to turn to try and kill her, but then instantly was hit with a fast acting poison that spread to his heart. He only had the second to utter a couple words before succumbing and dying in seconds. It wasn’t drawn out. But then, they were just grunts. So we move on to something more hard hitting: ESDEATH. Like I said up in the previous paragraph, in the anime, she was hit in the arm and amputated her arm, yes? She had time, etc. 

     This happened in the manga too...but she did NOT have time to watch it creep, or feel the poison effecting her. 

     The only one to LAND a decisive blow was Akame, out of MILLIONS of foes, and as stated, this poison is SUPER fast acting. So, in this position, where even ESDEATH was caught off guard, what must she do? She doesn’t have time to react. She will die in an instant. After all, One Slash Certain Kill is the nickname of her blade. 

     Simple: Esdeath wastes her one time a day shot of her TRUMP CARD to save her life. 

     To those who are unfamiliar with MAHAPADMA, this is a special ability created by Esdeath that she can use ONCE a day, to stop ALL TIME around her as she sees fit for several minutes if she so pleases. But once more, it can only be used once a day, and it takes A LOT of her energy to do it. So what did she do? She had to FREEZE TIME to stop the flow of the poison fast enough to take off her own arm. 

     This poison is NOT weak by any means, as no antidote in the entire world can be made to combat it. Because it isn’t a true poison: it’s a CURSE in the acting form of a poison. And there is no antidote, and no way to combat it. 

     Esdeath is the only one able to fight it off, because she is able to treat the wounds with her Ice Magic. For instance, she also gets several fingers cut off in the future fight, when she mistimed a dodge, and Akame’s speed once more catches her off guard. On the spot, she freezes her fingers over and creates ice digits to take position of the fingers. 

     Now then, the LAST point this post will touch on, is her CURSE FORM, or Trump Card, Ennoodzuno. Anyone who has followed me knows I’ve spoken about this at length many a time, but not once on this blog, and though in the future I WILL make a lengthy, full explanation of this form, this one will be just a small excerpt of the longer one being made. 

     The form is SUPER DIFFERENT between both Manga and Anime. And this one seriously pisses me off cause it shows how lazy the makers of the anime wanted to be with this form and this fight. But let’s get into it. 

     In the anime, we watch Akame activate this form after a not-so successful one on one fight with Esdeath as her normal self. This was not a thing in the manga. In the manga, Akame and Esdeath NEVER had an upright duel until she already activated this form. In the manga, MILLIONS fight to keep Akame secret, and let Akame rush around through their shadows and around their bodies. She kept her aura hidden, and she kept her BLOODLUST gone, and she waited for an opening. She waited. She watched. Esdeath was a monster on the battlefield. She was able to BEAT all the millions of foes around her with EASE, and only when she saw that opening did she STRIKE. And we see the conclusion. 

     Tatsumi in his Tyrant form, breaks through MAHAPADMA, and Esdeath drops it in time to fight back. But this results in Tatsumi being thrown aside. When Akame rushes to him, she is assaulted by him, and here is where we once more differ to the manga and anime. 

     In the anime, by this point, Tatsumi is already dead. He died saving the Imperial City from the First Teigu crashing down onto it after defeating it. He dies in her arms, even, and she SCREAMS in tears that he promised to return home to her alive. She couldn’t lose another friend. It devastated her. But this is when Esdeath arrives, and turns her back even on the empire she serves, WIPING OUT her own soldiers and the soldiers of the revolution, to block herself and Akame in and fight her one on one. Now, this is partly correct to the manga, but we move on. 

     After Tatsumi loses control to Tyrant, he BEGS for Akame to kill him. Because he doesn’t want to fade away. He doesn’t want to lose control again and kill her or anyone else. And so she does: and this is where her true TRUMP CARD activation kicks in. In the anime, all she had to do was CUT HERSELF and succumb to her own poison. Her body would be strengthened by it. But she could only do it one time: logically, that doesn’t make sense. If you overcame the poison ONE time, why can’t you many other times? Even after the effects of it wear off and her curse is branded on her, she STILL logically could do it again, and risk death even more. But it’s still possible. 

     The manga is different though: the true activation is in killing the one CLOSEST TO HER HEART. Because she casts off her humanity to do this, and becomes a true DEMON, in a sense. She becomes a true WIELDER OF THE DEMON SWORD. And then the fights truly start, both anime and manga. 

     Now, in the anime? She is seen going toe to toe with Esdeath, the two are now equals...and this is shown in the gifs I have down below. none of which are sped up, by the way. I made sure to grab gifs ACCURATELY representing the exact speed of the anime fight.

     Now all of this? This is all wrong. This is where the anime pisses me off. Because this is not at all the case. These two should NOT be on par with one another at this point. ‘But Wolf, Esdeath clearly is stronger, so shouldn’t they be on par with Akame in this form? They are equals now! Two demons on the field!’ Great question in theory.

     In the manga, not only is the parameters of the change different, but so is the actual change and activation. In the anime, Akame is consumed by her poison and put through severe pain. A mist forms around her body and face, and she is changed. In the manga...no. She literally EXPLODES with energy on a nuclear level. To the point that Esdeath, in the HEAT of her warhungry bloodlust, PAUSES from killing a person in her grip, and TURNS with fear towards her. 

     This alone is a huge change, but then we add on this: Akame is literally FLOWING with dark energy. And it’s not just like, the mist of the explosion. She BURNS an aura of pure darkness. And if this wasn’t enough, ESDEATH cannot even see her fighting. Esdeath is the strongest fighter of the Empire, she is a menace...and even SHE cannot fight Akame now with how fast and strong she has become. 

     Super sonic speeds is an understatement now. 

     Now, we are nearing the end of the SMALL version of this topic. This all shows how DANGEROUS that my little Akame truly is. But, here is where we conclude it: the difference in their strength is literally day to night. 

     And I will touch on all of this sometime this weekend. So do feel free to look forward to that!~ 

     TLDR: DO NOT fucking test Akame. You will fail. Because though she is HUMAN, she can fight on par with some of the most dangerous characters alive in any anime or manga. I have even come to realize, she could beat ICHIGO KUROSAKI, probably my most powerful muse on my blog, with ease. Because she is all about skill, not strength or power. Yes, she has power, but if you have to worry about SKILL, this bitch will beat you in EVERY way possible. Her skills are NOT in assassinations. They are not in combat. They are not even in swordplay. 

               Her true STRENGTH...is just in BURYING her target.

                                 No matter the METHOD needed.

#Blood Stains Her Hands || The Sins Of The Many Lives Taken Weigh Heavy On Her Soul (Akame) #Each Of The Pack Has A Story To Tell || Listen And Learn From All Around (Headcanons) #General With A Heart Cold As Ice || The Strong To Consume The Weak (Esdeath || Adrosetum)

[lechemoflife]

Getting out of Comfort Zone or remain in God’s Zone of Grace?

What comes to our mind when we hear the combination of words of “Comfort Zone”?  I’m sure a lot of motivational speeches and inspiring quotes flashes across our minds. It’s because we often hear that we must move out from our Comfort Zone to succeed. On the other day I was listening to this Tedex Talk where I heard, “Successful life begins at the end of Comfort Zone”. So what do you think is Comfort Zone? Should we remain within comfort zone or move out of it? Well, personally for me, this is quite debatable. I’ll be trying to elaborate this on both the school of thoughts as listed below:

Step out of your comfort zone; success begins at the end of  your comfort zone

Never come out of the Comfort Zone. Keep     learning, keep expanding your Comfort Zone

Let us take a look at the first point. Does “stepping out of comfort zone” refer to some sort of adventure? We understand that it’s quite traditional to think that we must move out of our comfort zone in order to succeed. It has naturally become such a widely accepted thought. Yes, we must. We must get up and get out of our bed early morning even during the winters. We can’t lazy around like the way I do sometimes. We must get out of our homes to get to our respective work place. We can’t just sit and expect our rice-n-noodles bowl to come to our table on its own. We have to get up and get going. With respect to our professional life, areas where we feel we need to upgrade, we must step out, step up and open ourselves to learn the new methodologies, new technologies, adapt to new processes, pick up new skill sets and upgrade ourselves.  We must open the door of our commitment levels; open and get out; open to learning, to practicing and be more effective. This is applicable to our jobs, business or even our personal lives. When we learn about Peter, we see him stepping out of his comfort zone. Peter seeing Jesus walking on the water, dares to step out of the boat in faith. Below is the excerpt from the passage; Gospel of Mathew 14: 24-29: 24But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves: for the wind was contrary. 25And in the fourth watch of the night Jesus went unto them, walking on the sea. 26And when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, It is a spirit; and they cried out for fear. 27But straightway Jesus spake unto them, saying, Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid. 28And Peter answered him and said, Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water. 29And he said, Come. And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus.

To step out from the boat on the stormy sea can be seen as a case of someone girded with a robust degree of faith and be perceived as an apparent case of stepping out of comfort zone. It takes courage and a mind that is incredibly faith-conditioned to do something seemingly so bizarre. It isn’t quite an informal affair…Is it?

Now, let us move to the other side of the table, to a school of thought that is poles apart. Let us turn to few references from The Word. Psalm 91:1 He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. 4He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler.

 Let me tell you something you may already know; “The wisdom of this world is always contrary to the divine Wisdom of God”. However, if you notice I quoted from The Word in support of the first school of thought. And perhaps one could serve even more references to support the same; and this is because The Word of God is a two edged sword (Hebrews 4:12), and we the children of God need to discern by His divine Grace what means to whom, when, in what context and why. God’s Word has repeatedly mentioned about 6 times directly or indirectly that means “the JUST shall live by FAITH” (Hab 2:4, Rom 1:17, Gal 3:11, Heb 10:38, Ezek 18:9,  Ezek 18:22). If that is the case, then why step out from the secret place? Why step out from under His wings? Why shouldn’t we abide under the shadow of the Almighty? Now Bible says in Hebrews 11:1 that “Now faith is the substance of the things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen”. 

The wisdom of this world that promotes stepping out of our Comfort zone needs to take a back seat at least until the end of this article. I leave it up to you if you would want to bring it back to the front seat. Allow me to take you back to investigate the scenario of Peter deciding to step out of the boat into the raging sea to walk toward Jesus and a little further. Mathew 14:28 And Peter answered him and said, Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water. 29And he said, Come. And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus. 30But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me.

Imagine this whole episode prudently may be with your eyes shut just as it happened. You’ll learn that Peter’s mind wasn’t fully conditioned with the kind of faith that Jesus talks about in Mathew 17:20. Faith of Peter, it was a momentary excitement seeing Jesus walking on water. If Peter had a high degree of faith-conditioned mind, he would have stepped out of the boat just as if he’s stepping inside the boat. Friends, when Jesus is walking on water, when Jesus the creator and the master of this Universe is walking on the water, when Jesus who gave us the authority to be called as the children of God through his name (John 1:12) is walking on the water; then why can’t we too simply step out of the boat and join him on an evening walk talking to him with his loving hands resting upon our shoulders?

 I call this phenomenon as “Expanding the Comfort Zone” which is a greater challenge than stepping out of the comfort zone. For instance, in our professional life too, we need to take up the process of learning and development as a routine and not some sort “stepping out” ceremony. A true child of God, doesn’t need to step out from God’s zone of Grace but needs to keep conditioning his faith to perfection like how an athlete conditions his body for his race (I Tim 4:7 ….exercise thyself rather unto godliness). Let me reiterate, “The wisdom of this world is always contrary to the divine Wisdom of God”. Remember…. while most of us believe in the phrase “Survival of the fittest” that originated from Darwinian evolutionary theory, God teaches us something that is altogether conflicting in its entirety. Let us turn to the Gospel of Mark 8: 35 “For whosoever will save his life shall loose it; but whosoever shall loose his life for my sake and the gospel’s, the same shall save it”. This verse is just so brilliant and if you notice, is the precise inverse of Darwin’s theory, which simply means don’t try to safeguard yourselves or your life to survive and sustain; because in doing so, you’ll LOSE your life. And what Jesus further puts forth is also very significant.

 Consider the professional athletes; an athlete has to step out of his comfort zone early morning and be on the training tracks regardless of summers or winters. He keeps conditioning his body every single day for years no matter what comes his way, certainly not to lose the race right? The pursuit of a true athlete is not just limited to winning the race on the track but also many associated reasons; Respect, Honour, Expectations, Anticipations, Pride, Signature identity, Mending broken relationships. It could be any reason; I can tell you these because I was myself a trained athlete for 800mtrs track event in school. However, what do we see in the Gospel of Luke 13:30 “And, behold, there are last which shall be first, and there are first which shall be last”. I understand this verse doesn’t mean literal but spiritual.  Whatever the case, in God’s word “race” is always referred to as a “Quest” or a “Pursuit” of certain accomplishment. In I Corinthians 9:24-25 this accomplishment is referred to as “an incorruptible crown”. Further in I Tim 4:7-9, it’s advised to “….exercise thyself rather unto godliness” and while this world and its wisdom tells us to focus on physical fitness and endurance, the God’s word sets the tone straight; “…bodily exercise profiteth little”

 Remember Noah whom God commanded to create an ark? Noah took about 120 years to create an ark, a 120 years to create a zone of comfort, a zone of safety, a zone of prayer and fellowship with his family and loved ones. God specifically told Noah to get locked up in an ark, and while he built the arc, he kept preaching too for 120 years.  He built the ark exactly as per the mandate and blueprint that God gave to Noah. Because it was God’s will that Noah remains sealed in His grace.

 Remember the garden of Eden? …where the first man Adam and Eve stepped out of the comfort zone to try some sweet adventure? This wonderful garden was created especially for both to remain within the divine grace and with all the comforts. That little adventure affair of disobedience had to be paid by the cost of having to step out of the garden forever losing the grace in God’s sight.

 Remember Cain who ran away after killing his brother Abel? He was distanced and out of sight, fallen from God’s grace. Jesus says in the Gospel of Mathew 11:28 Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden and I will give you “rest”. Jesus isn’t calling us for an adventure but rest and comfort. Honestly, stepping out of comfort zone is way easier than staying within the comfort zone and to keep conditioning our faith.

 David, one of my favourite personalities, on many occasions of prayers and supplications mention that God is his hiding place. He never seemingly wants to be separated from God but always wants to be in His hiding place, in His safety and comfort. He keeps talking to God with so much of intimacy that it immaculately reflects in his Psalms. Let us look at few of them:  Psalm 32:7 Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble... Psalm 119:114 Thou art my hiding place and my shield... Psalm 17:8 …hide me under the shadow of thy wings Psalm 27:5  …in the secret of his tabernacle shall he hide me... Psalm 31:20 Thou shalt hide them in the secret of thy presence from the pride of man... Psalm 64:2 Hide me from the secret counsel of the wicked… Psalm 143:9 …I flee unto thee to hide me. Psalm 61:3 For thou hast been a shelter for me… Talking about Psalms, I recall Solomon the wise’ Proverbs 18:10 The name of the Lord is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe. Yes, the righteous runs into it NOT out of it. Let’s examine if we are indeed righteous because we don’t see anyone running out or “Stepping out” and still remaining safe. Our strong tower is Jesus. I solemnly clinch on to the school of thought that a true child of God doesn’t need stepping out of God’s Zone of grace and run away into the wild, out of sight, distanced and fallen from His grace. Rather it’s so much more challenging to remain within God’s comfort zone. I’m strongly of the conviction that one should never come out of their comfort zone; rather keep learning, keep conditioning the faith, keep surrendering to God’s will and His divine grace, keep expanding your comfort zone (God’s Zone of Grace), invite others under your roof of prayer and worship, into your fellowship, share the gospel, keep advancing in your spiritual journey and intimacy with God”. Moses also kept listening to God. He kept learning and depending on God’s grace. And he did quite well. From Egypt to the Mount Sinai for an appointment to meet God, from a stammerer to a great evangelical and prophetic speaker, He was an “Exceeds All” Performer altogether. Wherever he went, he was confident because he was within the divine comfort zone, obeying and surrendering himself to the divine will of God.

 Shall we meet Peter again who stepped out of the boat? By God’s grace, in His cover of comfort and assurance and by faith, every “stepping out” would become “stepping in”. Let’s depend more and more on God’s grace and be found sealed within His hiding place. And in this pursuit, may our focus be on conditioning of our faith. Praise God.

#BreadOFLife #LechemOfLife #StrumsOfLlife #JimsonKJoy #ComfortZone #ZoneOfGrace #JesusIsLord #JesusIsWay #JesusTheTruth #JesusTheLife #JesusTheWay

[killjoy-loveit]

A Lifetime With You

A/N: Thirteenth spooky season post- we’re almost two weeks in! I would like to clarify that everything written in this story is complete fiction and isn’t to be taken as a true portrayal of reality. This story is going to be part of a series, it is the first part of ~6-7 others.

Excerpt: Morning came slowly, the sun taking it’s time in rising. You had managed to get a few hours of rest once he had fallen asleep. One day turned into two, then into three, and so on until close to a week had passed.

Word Count: 1,961

Genre: Supernatural AU, Angst, Slight Fluff

*******WARNING: Mentions of blood, gore, violence, and character death******** 

     It is widely acknowledged that it’s difficult to find your true love, there’s even a debate as to whether true love even truly exists. In regards to you, specifically, neither of the statements above hold true. In each and every lifetime you have always found your true love. Or rather, he always found you. There’s never been a lifetime during which you have not found each other. Your story first began in the times where nomadic tribes roamed the Earth. 

     The sky was dark joined by a full moon and tiny glimmering stars. Everyone else in your group was asleep, but you were fully alert, keeping watch over your surroundings. A lake laid off to the right of camp and a small mountain just to the back, while a forest sat a mere hundred feet in front of you. The forest is what you were keeping your eyes on. It would be difficult if people were to try to cross the lake or mountain, and it’d be very clear if someone was traipsing across the open ground to the left of camp. Places that your group made a temporary home in were always easy to guard by using surrounding nature as barriers whenever possible. 

     It was almost boring this way, at times you figured it might be fun to camp out in a more open area. At least that way you’d be kept up on your toes by adrenaline rushing through your veins. Though it made sense as to why you never did, your group was made up of more than those who could fight like yourself. There were children and elders, both of which you were meant to protect. And that’s exactly why you were sat in front of camp, eyes glued to the forest scouting for any sign of movement. Every so often you felt your mind drift off, desperately wishing for sleep.

     Your head would bob as your eyes fluttered shut, only managing to open them every few seconds. This time when you opened your eyes, a vague movement at the edge of the forest caught your attention. That movement shook the sleepiness from your head, eyes narrowing in on it. For a few moments you were convinced that it was just the wind rustling the leaves and that you were being paranoid. But your instincts won out as a minute later a man stumbled out of the trees, falling to his knees not only a second after.

     Even from this distance you could see blood on his side. A part of you wanted to rush over to him, to come to his aid. But the more rational side screamed that this might be a trap, it might not even be his blood. If you weren’t close enough to camp to signal that there was another group on the attack, then everyone you cared for would die. So despite the fact that it hurt your heart to stay still, you didn’t move an inch. Not when he collapsed fully on the ground. Not when he started to crawl. Not when you could see his muscles trembling and spasming as he dug his fingers into the ground in an attempt to pull himself forward.

     Your determination held strong. That is until he was a mere fifty feet from you, his cries of pain wrenching into your heart. But even that wasn’t what broke you down. It was when he looked up and your eyes locked together. At that moment it felt like you could see into his soul, you could feel his pain as if it were your own. With a pained gasp you lurched forward, legs propelling you in his direction until you were right in front of him. 

     “What happened?” You questioned, taking his hand cautiously.

     “Wild A-animal. Separated… Group.” 

     “Can you stand if you lean on me?”

     He nodded slowly, his dazed eyes focusing on you. As you pulled him to his feet you could see a jagged gash on his side, ranging from the top of his ribs to his hip. On the bright side, the wound didn’t appear to be too deep. 

     “Did anyone else in your group survive?” You asked softly, trying to move as quickly and gently as possible.

     The man let out a pained groan. “I don’t t-think so.”

     It didn’t take as long as you thought it might in order to bring him into camp. But it did cause quite a commotion after you woke up one of the women trained as a healer. She was frightened and almost refused to work on the strange man before her. Though she acquiesced after you begged for her help, reminding her that you’d never asked her for anything prior to this and that whenever she was lacking something you always kept an eye out. But once she had applied a mixture of herbs topped by a layer of clay to his injury, she went around alerting everyone.

     A small group surrounded your area of the camp, throwing questions and accusations your way. None of your answers seemed to appease the group, not until you started yelling at them. Seemingly they always listened best when you became loud. Their voices quieted once you reminded them how many times your life was put on the line for their safety, how often you got them out of a dangerous situation. Finally they dispersed, reminded that you wouldn’t go and do something harmful to the group, leaving you with information that another had taken your post so that you could stay and watch over the man.

     Morning came slowly, the sun taking it’s time in rising. You had managed to get a few hours of rest once he had fallen asleep. One day turned into two, then into three, and so on until close to a week had passed. Hope had all but been lost; it seemed he may never awaken. Silent words you had sent to the universe appeared to go unanswered. This man, whom you felt an all-consuming urge to be around, didn’t look like he’d ever wake up.

     Night had fallen once more, the sky gradually turning into an inky abyss lit only by the flickering of stars. Soft slivers of light fell on his face, illuminating his features. As the light was just that, your gaze on him was heavy. You knew next to nothing about this man and yet you were ready to mourn him as if you’d known him since birth. Hesitation marred your movements as the thought flitted through your mind that maybe you shouldn’t touch him. But you needed to, at least just once- and not just changing the dressing on his wound.

     Gentle, more so than you’d been with the young of the group, your fingers brushed against his cheekbone. Trailing down at a snail’s pace, you took this time to engrave his features upon your mind. Full lips, high cheekbones, a strong jawline, dark eyes. His eyes were dark like the night, drawing you in and making you wish to get lost inside them. Frozen, you realized belatedly, his eyes were open. He had finally awoken- now he could answer your questions. 

     His hand came up to grasp yours, preventing it from leaving his face. “I saw flashes of you in my head.”

     “Probably since I was the last thing you saw.” Your voice a soft whisper on the cold, night air.

     He shook his head. “No. You were there, pulling me back. Why did you save me?”

     “I don’t know.”

     “You do.”

     A deep shuttered breath in. “I’m drawn to you. I don’t know you, yet I feel as though I can’t be without you.”

     His eyes gleamed. “I feel the same.”

     The rest of the night passed in a blur. Names were exchanged, stories of life in two different groups shared casually. Tales regaled of the different dangers you both had faced. Time spent getting him up and moving about to test his mobility after being out of action for close to a week. Slowly the sun ascended to it’s rightful position above you, taking its turn for brilliance back from the moon. As is usual, when the sun rose so did the rest in your group. Of course once they saw he was awake, intrusive questions bombarded him.

     Why was he injured? Where was his group? Did he intend to harm the group? Was there a trap waiting for the scouts if they went to find his people? Did something happen to his people? Why was he alone? Did he abandon them? 

     Instead of getting angry at being accused almost immediately upon waking in a strange area by unknown people, Mingyu answered every question gracefully- with a poise that isn’t simple to uphold. His group was attacked in the night by nocturnal predators that weren’t native to the area they were in; his theory was that they were driven from their natural hunting grounds by another larger, fiercer group of predators. As he wasn’t on guard that night he was sleeping peacefully when he heard the screams, and by then it was too late. The only option left for him was to run and hope that those creatures wouldn’t kill him.

     After hearing this, your group could find no reason not to take him in- he was only trying to survive. Time passed the only way you could track: the changing of seasons. The air chilled and the ground was blanketed in snow, the days turning to night in shorter spans of time. Then slowly warming back up, melting the snow, and the plants flourished once more. Despite the long harsh winter and mild spring, nothing had ever been better in your life- nothing could go wrong. By your side, no matter what you were assigned to, was Mingyu. 

     It was as if the two of you were glued at the hip, there wasn’t a thing that could separate you. His eyes, face, his entire being, would forever be imprinted upon your mind. Nothing could happen in order for you to forget him. Not a thing was kept a secret from each other, all was laid out on the metaphorical table. But even the most beautiful of times must come to an end.

     You were preparing to head back to the group when it happened- Mingyu hadn’t come with you, as he was needed at the camp. The sun had set a while ago, the only light guiding you being from the moon and stars. Almost to the edge of the forest, something snapped behind you. You shouldn’t have turned your head. Shouldn’t have hesitated when you saw the beast behind you- a large feline, mouth open in a snarl, showing it’s vicious teeth. Shouldn’t have screamed before running. But you did. You didn’t make it very far, just past the edge of the forest, when you felt it’s claws digging through the skin of your back.

     It took you down with ease. Fingers grasping at the ground underneath you, as if that would help. The screams never stopped. Blood, yours, soaking into the earth. Eyes frozen wide open, the last thing you saw was him running towards you- fear written all over his face. Then everything went dark.

    That is how your first life ended- shortly after finding your one true love. The amount of time spent with him being naught but a drop in your short lifespan. But still, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to see him again. Which is maybe how you ended up in this precarious situation, being kept in an odd state of limbo until you were reborn. Again and again. To meet him each and every time. Who knows, maybe one time you’ll have a happy ending?

#svt #seventeen #svt mingyu #seventeen mingyu #svt mingyu scenarios #seventeen mingyu scenarios #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #spooky season short stories

[icecoldflames]

The Pinnae Flower Chapter 4, Part 1

Masterlist

Underneath Sidney’s Cloak?

We have made plenty of posts about this subject. The longest mystery in the Pinnae series, probably. What is under Sidney’s cloak?

If you just Google searched the topic you’d probably find enough posts and theories about it to make your head spin and take you weeks on end to read all of them through.

Previously, we’ve theorized that maybe Sidney was hiding some kind of tattoo that belonged to one of the rouge sprite gangs. We’ve also theorized that perhaps maybe Sidney wasn’t hiding anything under his cloak and perhaps it was the cloak itself that was important. Maybe a dead relatives' creation or a love interest. We also said that maybe Sidney was hiding a battle scar or something like that that he was embarrassed of due to the fact that he’s petrified of dragons and the thought of them.

But now we’ve got a new theory: what if Sidney used to be a fairy?

We’ve all sensed that Pinnae: Spelunca might take a turn to the dark side. What if Sidney used to be a fairy and his wings were ripped off? Maybe by a dragon (which would again explain his dragon phobia). Or another fairy or sprite ripped them off?

It would make complete sense.

Sidney’s cloak is used to hide the remains of his wings. His wings were maybe ripped out by dragons which would have an everlasting effect on him and making him scared of them.

Might I point out an excerpt from Pinnae: Exsul?

The tree is massive. It’s branches are thick and twisty and the leaves look almost too green. It soars above Exsul with it’s mushroom houses and I swear that I could probably see Magus and Parisa.

“Arel, come on,” Sidney calls out to me. When I turn to look, he has begun to climb the tree. The wind is ruffling his hair yet his cloak doesn’t move. For a split second I wonder what’s beneath it. I’ve heard the rumours from the other sprites.

But I shake those thoughts out and begin climbing the massive tree. I wonder how Sidney feels—that small and climbing this thing. I find it huge, I can’t imagine what it feels like climbing this tree while being a quarter my size.

It takes us some time (and some tree bending on Sidney’s part) to finally make it to the top. The sky is so blue I wish I had a camera and I can hear birds chirping nearby. It’s peaceful. It’s the most at peace I’ve been since the fairies’ pinnae flower was cut.

Sidney perches on one of the smaller branches and I sit on a thicker branch to hold my weight. The wind is stronger up here and I wonder what my kite at home would look like flying and soaring through the endless blue.

A raven flies past us and Sidney watches it, enraptured.

“Have you ever flown before?” I ask curiously.

Sidney’s face is shocked when he looks at me—almost panicked—and I wonder what I said that made him react so strongly.

“I mean, you know, on the back of a bird or something.” I add in quickly, trying to make amends. I run a nervous hand through my hair.

Sidney’s face relaxes and he turns to look back to the raven, now only a speck in the distance. “Yes.”

Ah, the famous tree scene. This is such a nice scene for multiple reasons. For one, Sidney isn’t as rude and closed off. It really shows how much Sidney likes Arel. Secondly, it’s just so beautiful.

In any case, we can see that Sidney has flown before. Although Arel suggests on a bird and Sidney says yes, we can all tell that Sidney might not actually mean on a bird.

When Arel first pops the question, he’s shocked. Only when Arel specifies on a bird does he finally relax and answer the question.

Which brings us to the conclusion that Sidney thought that Arel was talking about something else—something that he shouldn’t know. Like maybe how Sidney used to be a fairy with wings?

It would explain so much and why Sidney’s character is so bitter and cold. It also explains the cloak too.

So that’s the new theory for what’s underneath Sidney’s cloak: remnants of wings.

Thanks for reading my loyal plebeians,

Prince Roman Falco

~~~

A couple of days passed before Roman could bring it up. It was late evening and him and Logan were in their hotel room, sitting on their beds while silently looking at the screens on their computers. The TV was on the news for background noise.

“Logan, I’ve been thinking,” Roman began hesitantly, “I don’t think I necessarily want to figure out Raz’s identity anymore.”

Logan paused his typing and looked over at Roman curiously. He shifted his position on the bed and cocked his head to the side. “And what changed your mind now?”

Something told Roman that Logan already kind of knew the reason for the change of heart but just wanted to hear it from him.

“It’s just that, I was there when Jo was trying to flirt with Virgil. And I got to thinking that that’s what Raz feels like—all this unwanted attention that you don’t want. It must get scary, people constantly trying to figure your identity out.” Roman said, trailing off. Virgil’s terrified, pale face was burned into the back of his eyelids and he wasn’t sure if it would ever go away.

Logan pursed his lips and didn’t say anything for a long time.

Roman’s eyes widened as his thoughts came to the startling conclusion: Logan wanted to figure out Raz Keeran’s identity.

Roman knew Logan enough to know that he wasn’t in this for fame like he had been. He was in it for the sake of solving a mystery.

Roman’s favourite series was the Pinnae series. Logan’s was Sherlock Holmes.

Logan wanted to be Sherlock Holmes. He wanted to solve a mystery. And the mystery has presented himself once he was forced to go on a summer trip at Roman’s request.

Logan’s voice came out meek and Roman wouldn’t have believed it was coming out of him if he hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes. “I really want to find them though.” He looked incredibly conflicted with himself. “But not for fame—for me.”

Roman didn’t know what to say. Was this how Logan had felt when he was obsessed with Raz and finding his identity?

Roman no longer wanted to find out who Raz was. Yet Logan had no intention of releasing the knowledge to the public.

He crossed his arms and legs and then immediately recrossed them. “I’m not so sure about this anymore, Logan,” Roman finally said.

Logan looked flabbergasted. He didn’t speak for a long minute and Roman wondered if he too realized that the roles were now reversed.

They stared at each other, blinking occasionally.

Roman had no idea what to say. If Logan did continue his search, Raz wouldn’t be affected because Logan had no plan to tell the public. But it was still wrong. But Roman would feel bad if he barred Logan from trying to find Raz.

Logan seemed to be in the same boat—unable to speak and unsure what the next move should be.

Finally, when Roman couldn’t handle the thick silence, he managed to form some words. “I...I won’t tell you no but I won’t help you anymore.”

Logan nodded. “Okay.” Was all he said.

To be honest, Logan would probably find Raz quicker without him. He was smart all on his own and Roman got distracted easily. It was probably for the best anyway.

They soon went back to their own business—Roman rereading Pinnae: The New Era and Logan doing whatever he did. Probably research or work from home. Maybe responding to emails.

When Roman finished his book he closed the computer and stood up. He couldn’t stand the silence anymore. Even with the TV on and the clicking sounds from Logan’s computer, it still sounded like an empty room in the dead of night.

“I’m going to go over to Patton’s.” Roman muttered, grabbing his phone and wallet before exiting the hotel room. He breathed deeply as the door clicked shut behind him.

As soon as Roman walked into Patton’s, he wondered if maybe staying at the hotel was the better option because Jo was sitting in Virgil’s spot in the corner.

Patton emerged from the kitchen as he walked in and his eyes immediately looked over to Jo, quietly typing at the computer with such rigor Roman was afraid the computer might break.

“Hey Roman,” Patton said. His voice didn’t have the usual pep it did when he came in.

“Hi Pat.” Roman greeted, trying to walk normally towards the counter. “Could I have some churros?” He needed a taste of home right now.

“How many?” Patton asked, opening the sliding door and gripping the tongs in his right hand.

“Uh, three please.” Roman was tempted to ask if Patton had any edible glitter—preferably pink—but decided against it. He doubted Patton had it anyway.

After Roman paid he found a spot in the middle of the cafe. It’s wasn’t too close to Jo to make him uncomfortable but not too far away that Jo might think he hated her. Which he kind of did. But that wasn’t the point.

“Roman!” Jo exclaimed and both Roman and Patton’s head shot up. “Come here for a moment, I want to get your opinion on something.” Her voice was light—not noticing the tension in the cafe.

Roman glanced at Patton worriedly before taking his last churro with him as he crossed the room. “Yeah?” He prompted, taking a bite of his churro.

Roman glanced at Jo’s screen. The churro went down the wrong way and he began coughing up a fit. The screen. Oh my gosh.

Jo looked at Roman worriedly and Patton quickly hurried over. “Are you alright?” She asked.

“Do you need a glass of water?” Patton said.

Roman coughed one final time, pounding a fist to his chest before saying, “I’m fine. Really. It just went down the wrong way.”

Jo, seemingly not worried anymore now that she knew Roman was fine, gestured to her screen. “You look like the kind of guy to have a knack for dramatic and punchy titles, so what do you think? I’ve narrowed it down to two.”

Roman looked at the screen once again, feeling sweat beginning to pool at his hairline.

AUTHOR RAZ KEERAN: REVEALED

MYSTERIOUS AUTHOR, RAZ KEERAN, FINALLY UNVEILED

Roman felt Patton still behind him.

Jo cocked her head to the side, unsuspecting of everything. “The first one is shorter and gets to the point quicker but the second one is much more dramatic.”

The words came out of Roman’s mouth before he could think them through. “You shouldn’t do this.”

Jo’s eyes narrowed. “Oh. You’re one of those Pinnae fans. ‘Raz should be able to do what he wants.’” Her voice went up a pitch in mocking. “Oh, he should have the freedom to choose, he doesn’t have to be in the spotlight, Raz has his freedom to do what he wants…” Jo gave Roman the death stare and he wondered how someone could be so rude to a practical stranger.

“It’s wrong.” Roman stated once again and it was like Logan’s brain was attached to his own. “Raz does have the choice to choose whether to stay out of the public eye or not. Just because they’re a famous author doesn’t mean they’re obligated to tell their real name and show their face. The public is so cut-throat. You should know this. Raz might not want internet strangers behind a screen picking them apart and stalking them and making them uncomfortable.”

Jo made a disgusted noise and rolled her eyes. “Raz Keeran gave himself up to the press and any scrutiny on a silver platter as soon as he published his first book.”

“No he didn’t.” Roman shot back. Was this how Logan felt, trying to smack some sense into him when he has the same opinions as this woman? “Raz Keeran can do whatever the heck they want. Who’s the famous author again?”

Jo’s eye twitched. “If he has the right to hide under a pseudonym then I have the right to tell the world.”

Roman opened his mouth to make a biting remark but Patton beat him to it. “That is not the same thing.” His voice was the sharpest Roman had ever heard from the man and he was slightly scared. “You have the right to wear your hair however you want. No one has the right to tell you otherwise. As a child, you have the right to education. No one has the right to take that away from you. I have the right to express my opinions, you don’t have the right to silence me.”

If it had been appropriate, Roman would have applauded.

Jo pursed her lips. “If I knew you two were one of those fans, I wouldn’t have asked you for your opinions. Although, I suppose it makes sense.” She shrugged nonchalantly and if she had been chewing gum Roman would have expected her to chew it obnoxiously loud. “You are buddy-buddy with Raz anyway.”

“What?” Roman’s voice went hoarse. “What are you talking about?”

Jo put the face of pure innocence on but Roman could see the malice behind her angelic eyes. “Oh? Virgil hasn’t told you?” She put a hand in front of her mouth like she had just spilled something. “My bad.” She flicked her head around, her ice blonde hair smacking Roman in the face.

Roman felt stone cold and rooted in place. It was only when Patton began pulling him away that his feet finally decided to move, however clumsy.

Virgil was Raz Keeran? Virgil? Roman felt shocked and stunned yet, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

That was the reason why Virgil was hesitant about revealing his opinions about Raz. Because he was him.

No wonder he could afford to spend all that money to get 40 of the rock collectables. Because he was a famous author.

Patton dragged Roman into the kitchen. He looked panicked and frightened. “What do we do?”

Whenever Roman needed help he always went to the same person—his best friend Logan. He always seemed to know what to do.

Even though Roman and Logan weren’t on the best of terms at the moment, this dire situation trumped over everything.

So Roman dialled Logan’s number.

“Yes?” Logan prompted, always straight to the point. His voice didn’t sound annoyed.

“You have to come over to Patton’s immediately.” Roman hissed into the phone.

“Through the kitchen door.” Patton piped up.

“Yes. Through the kitchen door.” Roman repeated.

He could head the springs of the bed squeaking and the rustle of blankets on the other end. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay? What happened?”

“No, everyone’s physically okay.” Roman said. “It’s just that Jo is going to reveal Raz Keeran’s identity. I don’t know what to do. I panicked so I just called you.”

Roman heard Logan suck in a breath. “What? When? How soon?”

Roman heard even quicker shuffling on the other end then a click of a door. “I don’t know. She asked me for options on a title for her article so I would say quite soon.”

“Keep her occupied until I get there. I’ll be over in a second.” Logan said and then the phone went dead as he hung up.

Roman glanced at Patton, his eyebrows drawn downwards. “You can stay here if you want.”

Jo was still at her computer, her forehead creased and her whip straight hair was pulled up in a messy bun. She was typing furiously. A still full cup of coffee was next to her, no longer steaming.

“What do you want?” Jo snapped, not looking up from her computer. Her voice was bitter and strained and reminded Roman of when Logan was immersed in a project. He always hated when he was disrupted.

“You can’t do this, Jo,” Roman pleaded, sliding into the seat across from Jo. “What are you trying to gain from this?”

“Fame. Glory. The title of first person to figure out Raz’s identity. The first person to get it right...” Jo’s voice trailed off.

Roman cringed—this is exactly what he had wanted back then. It was like looking into a mirror. Except, now he was better. He was a changed Pinnie.

If he changed, surely Jo could too.

“You should know how internet fame works, Jo,” Roman said, honing in his inner Logan, “you’ll be top trending on social media and maybe have a Twitter moment but, in a few days time, no one will remember your name. You’ll have a couple news articles about you but soon they’ll be buried by newer news. You’ll have fifteen seconds of fame. That’s it.”

Jo’s sucked in a breath, pausing her typing for just a moment. “Fifteen seconds is better than what I have now.” And she continued her vigorous typing once again.

Where is Logan? “Come on, Jo. Think about this rationally. It isn’t worth it. You’re ruining someone else’s life to give yourself fifteen seconds in the spotlight. Imagine if someone were to do that to you.”

“That would never happen ever because I will always embrace fame, no matter what.” Jo snapped.

Roman was beginning to get desperate. He couldn’t imagine Virgil being yanked into the spotlight like that. So unannounced and forcefully. So, he pulled out his last card. He reached his arm out and slammed the computer shut, Jo just managing to avoid pancakes for fingers. “What the—“

“—Please, Jo. I’ll do anything. Please. Just don’t tell the world about Virgil.” Roman pleaded.

Jo, who had been about to re-open her computer suddenly stopped. “Anything?” She repeated.

“Anything.” Roman confirmed. He cared so much about Virgil, he would do anything to protect him. “What do you want? Money? Life-long groceries using my pocket money? A personal maid—“

“—I want ‘The Prince’s Crown’.”

Roman blinked. “The—?“

“You heard me.” Jo said icily. “I want your blog. All of it. Forever. I want your followers. I want your email list. I want your place in the Pinnae fandom. And, you aren’t allowed to notify your followers of your absence.” Jo looked defiantly into Roman’s eyes.

Roman’s throat parched and his brain seemed to suddenly stop. “The Prince’s Crown”? His baby? This woman wanted that? His pride and joy?

But, through Roman’s halted yet swirling mind, one thought came through crystal clear. Yes. Of course. It makes sense. His blog was popular in the Pinnae fandom. They sometimes got sponsors. If Jo wasn’t able to get her fifteen seconds of fame, owning an incredibly popular blog was the next best thing.

Roman was tempted to say no. But then he thought of Virgil who chose to write under a pseudonym so he wouldn’t be under the scrutiny of thousands of people.

He thought of Virgil—who he really liked—and thought of that intimate moment in the alleyway when Virgil was touching his shirt. It would affect him so horribly. He could barely take Jo’s advances...what would happen when there were thousands of Jo’s?

While Roman could never really assume Virgil’s reaction to being dropped into the spotlight on his head, he could certainly guess. And guess he did.

Roman’s blog was pretty much his everything. But could Roman really keep his blog while Virgil’s life fell apart because of it?

“Deal.” Roman’s voice felt far away and he noticed Patton and Logan in the kitchen doorway. How long have they been there?

Jo grinned a winning smile. “Thank y—“

But Logan interrupted Jo, mid-sentence. “I’ll create the paperwork.”

“What?” Jo spun around to look at Logan. “Why would you need paperwork?”

“It’s good to have things official.” Logan sniffed, walking closer to Jo and Roman’s table. “And the deal set in paper.”

So he did know about Roman’s deal.

Jo frowned. “You don’t think I’ll follow through.” Her voice was accusative and she pointed a finger at him.

“No, I just think it’s good to have a paper copy of the deal. So you both know the limits and you both have something to show if you break them. It goes both ways,” Logan enunciated.

“Actually, that sounds like a great idea.” Jo chirped. Roman hated her happy-go-lucky voice.

Logan gave a tight-lipped smile. “Okay, just hold on while I go get my computer.”

He was gone and back again in less than a minute and, again, Roman wondered what had taken him so long to get to Patton’s the first time.

They talked through the terms of the transfer what Jo and Roman could and could not do.

The only terms Roman could come up with was that “The Prince’s Crown” had to stay a Pinnae series blog and Jo would never expose Virgil to the press or any other kind of media.

Jo, on the other hand, had many terms. Roman wasn’t allowed to tell his followers of the switch of ownership, he wouldn’t say anything about “The Prince’s Crown”, he couldn’t tell anyone about this he knew personally, the email list had to be given to her, he couldn’t do a lot of things.

“And he isn’t allowed to create a new blog surrounding the Pinnae series.” Jo added in.

Roman had every intention of just nodding and agreeing with everything Jo said like the past terms.

However, Logan spoke up about this one. “Oh, come on, Jo. That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

Jo sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She huffed. “He’s allowed to create another Pinnae relegated blog after...ten years.”

Logan glanced at Roman apologetically.

Roman shrugged apathetically. “Fine by me.”

Logan quickly typed this up. “Is that all?”

Jo thought to herself and Roman braced himself for another term to slap him in the face. “No...I think that’s it.”

Roman breathed a sigh of relief. It could be worse, he thought. It could be worse…

Logan smiled grimly and closed his computer, standing up. “I’ll go print this at the library. I’ll be back soon.”

Jo grabbed her phone. “While you do that, I’m going to book some plane tickets to get out of this dump.” She rolled her eyes and began dialing numbers.

Logan left and Patton must have retreated back to the kitchen so Roman was all alone in the cafe with Jo who was arguing with whoever was on the other end. Roman felt sorry for the poor bugger.

Roman flinched when his phone buzzed in his jean pocket. He unlocked his phone and glanced curiously at the text from Virgil.

Wait until she’s super impatient and seconds from blowing her head off. Then, text me “now”.

Roman read and reread the text over and over again.

What are you talking about?

Virgil’s text came back almost instantly.

Wait until Jo is about to blow her top. Then, text me “now”. Just trust me oh this.

Okay. I trust you.

Roman had no idea what Virgil was doing but he did trust him wholeheartedly.

Jo got off the phone and leaned back smugly in her chair. “I’ve got a plane ticket to Alabama in four hours. Enough time to get to the airport and through security.”

As the time ticked by, Jo’s smug smirk slowly fell away. “Where are they? I thought they were going to print a couple sheets of paper?” Her voice was growing annoyed but Roman could tell she wasn’t an overflowing volcano yet.

More time went on and soon Jo asked Roman to text Logan to see what was taking him so long.

What’s taking you so long? Jo wants to know.

The printer’s malfunctioning. I should be able to get it working in a couple more minutes.

“The printer’s not working…” Roman said. “But Logan said he’d get it working in a couple minutes.”

Jo huffed. “Show me.”

“What?”

Jo sighed and made a ‘come here’ motion with her hand. “Show me the text. I want to make sure you’re not lying.”

Roman flashed his phone screen to Jo who read it over at least three times before finally coming to the conclusion that the text was legit.

More minutes passed. Jo made him text Logan three separate times, Logan not answering either one of them.

“I’m going to miss my plane!” Jo exclaimed, furiously typing on her phone. She had her suitcases surrounding her, ready to go the minute she signed the contract.

Three minutes and 43 seconds passed when Roman finally thought Jo might blow.

She was cursing up a storm and Jo was about to stand up to find Logan herself. “I swear! I am going to find that man and—“

Now.

Roman texted the signal to Virgil and instantly Logan hustled in.

Roman blinked. Had Logan been waiting outside the door all along?

“Sorry, sorry, sorry…” Logan trailed off. He had his computer under his arm and papers in his hands. “The printer wasn’t working so I had to go all the way across town and—“

“Just let me sign the dang papers!” Jo snapped, her arms outstretched and a black ink pen ready in her hand. “I have a flight soon and I still have to drive to the airport!”

Logan gave Jo two sheets stapled together. “Here’s your copy.” He passed Jo another two stapled sheets. “Here’s Roman’s copy.” And another. “And here’s my copy.”

“Why do we need three copies?” Roman asked as Jo skimmed through the first paragraph and skipped through the lines and sentences before signing her name on the two lines. The “I have read the terms and agreements” and the simple “I agree with all terms and agreements”.

“In case one of you guys lose them. It’s always good to have a backup.”

Jo signed the other two copies in record time.

“Good doing business with you.” Roman said, signing his own name on Jo’s copy.

“Can’t say likewise,” Jo muttered, snatching the copy out of Roman’s hands and scurrying out the door.

The cafe felt eerily silent and empty. The fact that “The Prince’s Crown” was no longer his gourged a piece out of his heart. It was gone.

Roman should have been happy. Jo wasn’t going to tell the world about Virgil. And he was.

But his blog was gone.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. It was just a blog. Just a simple blog.

But it was his blog. Not just any blog. His.

Logan sat down in the chair Jo had just left and Patton emerged from the kitchen.

“I said to keep her occupied,” Logan said quietly. “Not barter away your blog.”

“It’s the only thing I thought of.” Roman muttered, hanging his head and crossing his arms.

The bell rang signalling a customer but Roman didn’t look up.

“Thank you for doing that for me,” said Virgil’s voice and Roman’s head shot up. “Your blog must mean so much to you.”

Roman shrugged, trying to play it off and ignore the aching in his heart. “Eh. I can make a new one in ten years.” He paused. “It could be worse.”

Virgil drew closer. “Seriously though, thank you.” He pulled up a chair and sat next to Roman. He grabbed a copy of the terms of transferral. “Listen, you phoned Logan the first time he came to find me.”

Roman nodded hesitantly, unsure as to where this was going. However, this now did explain why Logan was so slow getting to Patton’s in the first place.

“And I came through the back with Logan and heard everything.” Virgil’s shoves his left hand in his hoodie pocket and ran his right hand through his hair nervously. “And then I got the idea…” he trailed off.

Virgil passed the paper to Roman. “It isn’t much but...sixth paragraph.”

Roman took the paper and counted down to the sixth paragraph, reading the middle sentence.

Roman Falco will be able to create a new Pinnae series-related blog in exactly one month after the signing.

Roman blinked to make sure it was true and wasn’t a trick of the light.

But it was still there—in ink. On the official papers.

His heart soared. One month. That was nothing compared to ten years.

However, Roman thought of Jo and what she could do if she figured this out. This wasn’t one of the terms they had agreed on. “What about Jo?”

Logan smiled and pointed to the line where Jo had hastily scribbled down her name. “The line she signed says she read the terms of agreement.”

Roman’s eyebrows raised and he looked between Virgil and Logan. “Oh my gosh.” He said. “Oh my gosh.” He repeated.

[file-tunnel]

Excerpts from weekly report 7.

Our exhibition date has been set to the 20th of october. Following reflections, scripting, preparing, arranging, and then branding it all.

(graspable concept)

Statements/questions on exhibiting placebo products for fear of darkness.

Define the brand of the exhibition or the initiative before the user has entered the space.

Define how the room will communicate the products.

Define the products in the exhibition and their individual purpose

These factors should communicate what the participant can do afterwards and/or until the next exhibition or part of the service.

(Sengevesenet - Bed service/bed creature)

Concept Philosophy:

Sengevesenet is defined as an initiative service that seeks to explore how children and guardians may talk or act around fear of darkness.  As with a psychologist seen as a service, conversation is always based on personal triggers. We would never know what certain triggers are on behalf of all of those who are afraid of the dark. Design usually offers manifestations of needs. Although external conversational services - like psychologists, may work well as a conversational service, they are usually initiated on what is seen as uncommon and serious occasions. On “common” problems, like fear of the dark, parents are fully capable of dealing with the situation by talking to their child. 

So, what is really needed is a service that can act as a catalyst for parents to talk about sensational and emotional triggers with their children. This will be done by creating something together, based on the manifestations of their emotion, to suit the comfort of them both. 

Thus, conclusively, the dissemination of those real and valuable instances of (de)mystifying delusions will be in the hands of Sengevesenet. They will spread this to the masses in order to further strengthen awareness and experience of speaking about emotions with our younger self. 

This can be done through videos, graphics, ads, exhibitions, litterature, talks, seminars, games, products and subordinate services to name a few. 

(pallette/safe play)

Brand philosophy:

Name:

Sengevesenet has a double meaning. Vesenet as in creature, and Vesenet as associated with “service” as in the health care service (Helsevesenet). Thus, Sengevesenet is an authoritative “force” denoted by act around the myriad of situations unfolding in the bedroom of a child. Sengevesenet is also the actual thing -the creature as a product of imagination.

Sengevesenet is both a safe and organized thing, but at the same time, a representation of the actual thing it seeks to contain. Logo:

The logo is a visualisation of the name. It is a bed seen from above, with four legs, a pillow and a blanket. The perpective makes the bed look like a creature seen from the front. 

The tight and thick strokes of the logo is meant to make it look more emblematic, to strengthen its expression as an organized unit. The use of cursive is related to the cursive picture notes often used in children’s text books. A drawing or picture might need explaining, just as parent or child might need explainations of their emotions or sensations.   The use of paranthesis is also a nod to parts of the concept philosophy, as it is usually used with cursive under a symbol in translation, often of asian letters and symbols. Since the logo could draw some similarities to an actual asian letter, the logo plays with the literal cultural look of a translation. Our service will serve as a translator between parent and child, therefore giving the logo another dimension including the more obvious reasons stated above. This is not necesserily easy to catch, and we are motivated to keep it that way. 

(moodboard)

Visual Identity:

Sengevesenet communicates on behalf and within the borderland of adult conversations and child conversations. Visually, this can be expressed by exposing how children see “adult things” and how adults see “child things”. Mixing them, interpreting and translating them gives a visually interesting contrast between the mundane as an underlying justification to the playful.

A good reference are the products of the members of the Memphis Group. These were relaitvely normal everyday products, like a leaning chair, a lamp or a toaster, designed to look visually extreme. A stark contrast between expression and intention, giving the object personality and character though still maintaining their respective function.

This is empasized in the typography of Sengevesenet. Beneath the bubbly visual representations of ideas, follows a calm and controlled comment, interpretation or reiteration.

(Sengevesenet typography)

(context... maybe)

Other insights gathered during week 7:

Mats talked to his grandparents about our theme, trying to get a bigger grasp of the timeline of the subject we have been diving into.

With the rise of home electronics, our perception of childhood have shifted into something a far cry from what were typical just 20 years ago, when we were about the same age as our youngest user group. Contrasting even further, both the grandparents were that age during WW2, but under drastically different circumstances. 

The Grandfather (b. 1937) lived in Kristiansand during the War, a city which suffered greater civilian loss than any norwegian city during 9th of April 1940 (The day of the Nazi occupancy). The city was bombed several times, which resulted in several cases of evacuation, many times during night hours.

On the contrary, the Grandmother (b.1940) lived on a remote island outside Brønnøysund called Vega. Almost completely seperated from both cultural impressions and wartimes, she had an uncommonly isolated childhood. 

(war)

I suspected their most notable experiences around fear to be logical to their surrounding sociatal situations, and after presenting the frames around the project, asked them about their memories from the age of my interest. 

Reasonably, many of the things the Grandfather presented, were memories during and relating to the war. One of his earliest memories were being carried by his aunt, terrified of the loud german planes above. He also remembered being evacuated with his family during one night when a dud (bomb that doesn’t go off) were dropped in their garden. His memory was faint when asked if he had any troubles or trauma because of his experiences, but was also clear that he was very young and talk about the War was taboo, and the children were “sheltered” from knowing about the War. Aside from the combat related insidents, roleplay in the forest as cowboys and indians were mentioned, but nothing too spesific about any long-lasting fears.  The Grandmother was also quite vague, but in an interesting aspect to our concept and suspitions. She had no spesific fears but, in her words, were afraid of the unpredictability in the dark. Something might be there, and therefore, she is afraid. Death was the only thing to be specified, and the living dead was something she definetly didn’t appreciate. As a real death was one of the only ways to get exposed to something we today get exposed through earlier with pop-culture, mass information and easily available and less sensitive entertainment, and all the “memes” that might get stuck on the cornea of a 5-year old today, was easily enough not available. But the fact that she still was afraid illustrates a valid point, which was talked about in an earlier excerpt, namely evolution.  As a 5 year old, it’s perfectly normal to be afraid of the dark as we’re hardwired to do so, and therefore survive. We are by nature a weaker fighter in the dark, and a reason to be afraid of ghosts, could be to have a peg to hang the fear on. The Grandmother was definetly afraid, but weren’t exposed to anything that her fear could exist as. 

On the other hand, the Grandfather were exposed to real things happening, so his fears might weren’t that hard to deal with as they most likely weren’t “debunked” by his parents or peers, or the fact that he was too young to understand the actual terror of it, but rather afraid the loud noises combined with the stress of evacuating.  

Another theory is that they forgot about their fears a long time ago, and shoved them in tray way back in their head, unavailable for discussion. A lot of people who recall having fear of darkness either remember their feelings or the actual visual memories that they imagined at the time.

We theorise:

After conversing with someone who newly or currently experience fear of darkness, certain nuanced visual memories may pop up. 

People who had very distinctive visual representations of their fear will remember it more vividly later on.

Children who have a good ability to rationalize early on may still be supported by actually finding some kind of visualisation to aid them, either way.

With this, we conclude week 7, and prepare ourselves for making 12 objects for the exhibition. phew

[snowwritesall]

Writing update #2 Anathema + new WIP!

Hi folks, hope y'all have been doing well and staying healthy - I've had a pretty trying week and my financial situation is gonna be tight at best for the next few months but I'm still trying to maintain a positive outlook. With that being said, I'm gonna give you guys some updates and excerpts on my current WIP, Anathema, and a new novel that I started the other day (yes I'm well aware I have way too many wips but I'm dumb and listen to no one's advice :)

Anyway, that being said, onto the updates!

Anathema is my surreal sci fi novel that I came up with last year and has spent many months under development. A brief summary on the novel for you!

The tea on my novel: 

I absolutely love the concept of my novel - keeping in mind that there is a lot of the plot hidden because I don’t want to spoil the entire book - however, there are a lot of things that need work. Seraph - my main character - still feels a little flimsy and underdeveloped - as well as my side characters, who have had limited interactions with Seraph throughout the novel as far - mainly due to the reason that I’ve been focusing on narrative rather than characters. The next thing that I’m finding is a problem is that there’s barely any dialogue between what character interaction I do have. I’ve been focusing a lot on the vibe and feeling of my book - I really want to create an eerie, almost alien feel, without being fully horroresque - think Coraline x Limbo. 

The things that I do like about my novel: 

- I really love the literary devices that I’ve come up with to help give the story that eerie vibe I want. 

a) Really weird rhetorical questions

b) interjections of two unknown characters that comment on Seraph and his friends when they’re together

c) POV of animals and inanimate objects 

Here are some examples of both: 

a)  Really weird rhetorical questions

The wind seems strangely muted to Seraph, as if moving through a half-awake dream, or sinking in murky water that chills the bones.

Why does the water hurt? This is only one of the questions hurtling through his mind, but there are many more barrelling inside his head; a turbulent chamber of thoughts and unspoken quandaries that crescendo in the night hour. He is curious. And that - that, is what will save him.  

ai)

The beetles crawl up the blackened bark, wings glistening from between the cracks. They make soft, chittering noises as they climb aimlessly up the branch. Their path is strangely linear, their wings a malachite soaked fluorescent in the bitter, fuse sharp breeze. If they were to travel down the length of Seraph's spine; their strange, crackled wings fluttering against his ashen, ghostly skin; they would calm him as they walked up the shallow curve of his spine and nestled in his hair, a dim saucer of moonlight that they would bathe in.

Is the moon ever lonely?

b)   Interjections of two unknown characters that comment on Seraph and his friends when they’re together

“What was it like?”

His voice shakes as he asks, still staring at his hands. Wilbur is teething his lip, his jaw hardening like clay left in the sun.

  “Were there others? Are we the only ones left?”

Are we the only ones left?

They both look scared, don’t they?

     No. Not scared. Doomed.

Why are they doomed?

      Because they were never meant to be here.

Wilbur continues to stare out at the forest, and after a moment takes a few steps forward, shoveling his feet into the soil; the wind rifling through his clothes. He looks like a scarecrow made of marble, distant, ghostly - not real.

  Were any of them real?

c) POV’s of animals 

Seraph had stroked the snake gently, the scales cold and undulating under his fingers, the snake mothers eyes dark and pupils, her nose nudging the wings of the fledglings.

“Don’t eat your babies, mother snake. They love you. Don’t leave them.”

I have found my new children. My own children were buried in a sandstorm, and I milked my venom from my teeth on the carcass of a deer. There was no one to sing them to sleep as they died. I will listen to this strange boy. I will take care of my children.

I will not leave them.

ci) 

The forest is very cold for us. Even we, with our wings like a shield and a fur coat, even we feel the wind. The bark splinters are like earthquakes under our feet, even though there have been no earthquakes for centuries. We remember. We remember when the earth shook and trembled, and when we would seek shelter amongst the splintering trees and scuttle for cover under broken fern leaves. He comes to see us. The boy with curious eyes that glint like the rock in the sky, his hands are as pale as the eggs the birds lay. He brushes his fingers across our coats, and we shiver; with a strange fear and an even stranger contentment. We are not alone.

 He is not alone. 

Here are some excerpts from the novel that I really like: 

- POV of the boy that drowned in the lake. Seraph remembers this when he looks at the jars of butterflies that he keeps on his windowsill. The clear, glossy surface reminds him of how the lake looked when he watched some of the village men pull the boy’s body out of the lake. 

- Seraph is remembering the first time that one of the children stuck their head in the guillotine in the schoolyard. He remembers thinking how odd it was that they would have something so dangerous where children could find it. Maybe they wanted them to use it. 

Seraph is watching his school teacher polish the guillotine blade through the cover of pine trees. One of his friends, Beluah, creeps up behind him and startles him. They both watch the teacher and talk. 

More commentary of Seraph and Beluah watching the teacher together: 

Okay, that’s all on this novel for now, onto the new WIP! 

Basically, this idea arose from two things - I felt like I was constantly writing in the same sort of style - ie, cold rivers, frost, rain, foggy forests - and I was majorly inspired by Fairytales for Wilde Girls by Alysse Near. This woman has an absolutely INCREDIBLE writing style - I would compare it to the bright and shiny treasures that magpies collect, and her plot and characters are amazing; so a big part of why I’m writing this is because of her. 

The characters appeared really easily to me, and after only a few minutes, I already could feel them writhing around alive inside my mind. But, before I tell you about the characters, a summary of the novel for you! 

When three dead girls show up at school with flowers where their eyes should be and birds living in their chests, Ariel isn’t sure what to think. She’s never really been sure what to think, since her mother sells beads and homemade jewelry for a living and her sister is a snake. Well, two snakes, really. Her parents keep strange things in the closet, like elephants with jellyfish swimming in their stomachs and siamese twins with leopard skins in the attic. And then there’s that strange girl that lives in the mirror.

When three dead girls demand to be brought back to life, you start to panic a little when you realise the closest things you’ve made come alive are the ragdolls in your toy chest.

It gets even worse when they tell you you only have a month or they’ll take you back to the underworld with them. Then you really begin to freak out. And begin to have a mental break down in the middle of class which involves involuntary tap dancing (Except the tap dancing is actually crying. Ariel doesn’t own tap dancing shoes. Not even doll tap dancing shoes.)

It doesn’t help when your best friends are literally ragdolls. She actually has a few real friends. I promise.

Now onto my babies/kids/characters! 

Ariel Hakens: 

has a big giant ball of curly red hair that she likes to dye a new colour every week. She likes glitter but also loves black. Big boots and shiny raincoats are a thing. She love to collec. She loves to garden, but her methods are...unorthodox, shall we say. Loves Edgar Allen Poe, and recites it to herself on the way to school. Does she ditch a lot? Maybe. Who knows. Can apparently see the dead and do weird stuff nobody should be able to. Favourite animals are mice and rats. Is fascinated with the legend of the pied piper. Is like a beaver in the fact that she chews pencils. They’re basically like a midnight snack for her. Favourite foods are peanut butter and cherry tarts.

(yes I am fully aware this is Leigh-Anne Pinnock from Little Mix, but this is what she looks like in my head) 

Gwendolyn Spires: 

She is as extra as the name sounds. She dreams of participating in an illegal dance competition in an abandoned subway tunnel. Her mother is the principal of a ballet boarding school, and highly disapproves of her daughter's skateboarding fetish. Her father is completely on board with it, and also her addiction to gumballs and love for all things haunted. Yes, those spell books are completely real. The amount of salt rocks she keeps in her bag would put a shaman to shame. African American. 

Indie Brooks:

 She’s basically a giant nerd, but covered with tattoos. And piercings. She actually needs those glasses, and she refuses to put in contacts for fear that the government will be able to read her mind. She has a conspiracy theory Youtube Channel, but her theories are really??weird??

Think: we are all giant animals living in a zoo for aliens

Does she have evidence: Yes. Is it sketchy evidence? Also yes.

May or may not have broken into area 51.

Native American/Latina.

Callum Prikhill:

pervy, but not in a sexual way. Will he sell you exam answers in exchange for candy? Possibly. Ironically wears caps. Unironically wears light up shoes. Likes sci-fi movies from the early 70’s. Skinny dipped and LOVED it. Is a theater boy. If he were an animal he would be a lizard. His mother is a low-end movie producer and his father is an accountant. Often stays at his nan’s place a lot because she has a hidden bunker under the house and he very much down for that. Because the acoustics are amazing.

The first time Ariel saw the three dead girls sway through the doors of Helkbud Senior Preparatory School, she was whistling Sissyneck while flipping through her collection of rained on vinyls that she’d chanced to pick up from the thrift store, her tanned dewy legs slick with snow and hail as she pushed hot pink cat eye sunglasses up her freckled nose.

They looked like nesting dolls all jumbled up in a lolly bag, corpse candy sucked dry of their colour and watermelon blush that should have twisted their cheeks into marionette smiles.

The girl in the middle wore poppy red heels that spun and shone like a disco ball at a teenage party where the parents were gone for the weekend and everyone was drinking punch mixed with vodka in cheap, crinkly red cups; and was the shortest of the three; yellow daisies and white crocuses growing out of her eye sockets, petals drinking salty tears out of a chipped watering can that dangled over her head.

Hope you enjoyed hearing about my WIPs, and I’ll keep updating about them as I continue to work on them :)

That’s all for now, folks! 

- Bella. 

#writing #writblr #writers #writercommunity #writeblr #reading #books #novels #lovewriting #wips #writingwip #words #my words #glitter #so much glitter in this one guys

[capmerthur]

THE BODY SWAP

It’s all in the title :) Somewhere end S1 (after 1.11 Labyrinth, but pre 1.13 Morte). In a land of myth, and a time of magic, Arthur awakes inside Merlin’s body (and no, not in that way). Alternating Merthur POV. Bonus Gaius. Mentions of Will and George. 

Excerpt PART XI:

"You are now *literally* two sides of a coin - both at once in the same body. Maybe this was the intent of the prophecy all along. I can only hope you will not come to regret your choice, young warlock"

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDERS CHAPTER XI)

XI. DESTINIES ARE TROUBLESOME THINGS (MERLIN POV)

Merlin can't help but be on his guard. He has no idea, he realizes as he enters Kilgarrah's cave after having successfully put to sleep the guards in front of it (after a shortened dinner with Uther and Morgana), about how the Great Dragon will react to a stranger's presence in his lair.

But Merlin needs some guidance; and so, he calls out to him...

/

"Young warlock, what has happened to you?"

"You know it's me?"

"Of course. Even though I am surprised indeed by your current appearance."

"Arthur and I- Our bodies have been switched."

The Great Dragon straightens up.

"So this is Uther's heir's body?"

"Yes. And I need - we need - help. Do you have any idea about how to reverse such a spell?"

"I do not have such knowledge. I can only tell you what you already know; that there is some very powerful magic at work here. (pause, tilting his head) But maybe you are not supposed to reverse it to start with."

"Excuse me?"

"You are now *literally* two sides of a coin - both at once in the same body. Maybe this was the intent of the prophecy all along."

(helpless, shocked sigh) "No."

Merlin cannot believe his ears. But the idea is not only incongruous; it's also outright enraging, and simply *impossible*.

"No", Merlin repeats, firmly this time; a denial.

"You would throw away the opportunity to fulfill your destiny? You would carelessly discard the chance to bring forth the greatest time for Albion?"

Merlin doesn't even flinch under the Dragon's ire. *Arthur* is his destiny; and only Arthur. Albion's welfare is in Arthur's hands. And Arthur *will* be its greatest King; not Merlin. The notion only makes him sick. It's not even about a possible guilt at cheating Arthur's crown (which he doesn't want to start with). It's simply that Merlin wants - needs, and will not (and never) accept anything less - Arthur to be Arthur, intrinsically. Besides, Merlin knows the burden of pretending already; and he wouldn't wish for anyone, and certainly not for Arthur, to have to shoulder it too. How can Kilgarrah not realise any of it?

"This just cannot be the way. It only feels wrong."

"You should at least think about it, Merlin."

"It is all decided. I cannot and will not abide to the belief that this masquerade could ever be our true fate. And if you don't - can't or won't - help, we'll look for a solution on our own - no matter how long it might take."

They hold each other's gaze; and Merlin won't relent.

"I can only hope you will not come to regret your choice, young warlock", Kilgarrah finally says as he flies away.

/

Merlin is still fuming as he enters Arthur's chambers.

His fingers itch, longing to search through his spells book. He hasn't had yet the opportunity - between being a Prince taking most of his day, and Arthur being at his side when he had been off duty. Unfortunately, it will have to wait until tomorrow - it would look suspicious if he went out in the night.

So. He should rest. After all, a clear mind will be necessary in the morning, both for council and for finding a way to break the spell they're under, right?

Only looking at the bed though makes Merlin's entrails twitch in disgust. This is wrong indeed; and will never feel otherwise. And no matter how comfortable that bed is, Merlin now knows (he might grow understanding of Arthur's lack of will to leave it on some mornings from now on, huh), you bet he will never even contemplate sleeping in it.

Merlin makes his bed for the night on the floor, wondering if Arthur has been able to fall asleep yet.

.

Bear with me. The Dragonlord bond is an intrinsic link between souls, which is why it isn't affected by the body swap. Whereas magic inhabits everything it’s in, and is therefore by nature anchored in physicallity. It explains too somehow why magic in general can be learned/found, but that the Dragonlord bond can only be inherited. Oh well, it makes sense in my head, at least...

Also :( I've really hurt myself with Kilgarrah's last line :( Because of course Merlin *will* wonder about this, *for centuries*, later on (my heart:(). Anyone willing to hold me while I cry, pretty please?

.

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS)

I. AWAKING (ARTHUR POV)

Arthur awakes; lying on his back - unusual - and rolls over automatically.

He surprisingly falls, down, hard; and jerks fully awake now - on the floor, near a so very tiny bed, tangled in an unknown blanket (harsher than his standards, even while on errands, he can’t help but notice).

In disbelief, he eyes his surroundings…

Where is he? Has he been abducted?

Think, he admonishes himself - trying to clear his mind; to remember what must have happened, to guess who has dared to commit such an act, and, most important of all right now: Find a way out.

His eyes then suddenly meet Merlin’s, and relief surges through him somehow - Merlin is alive - before his anxiety returns; and double: because poor faithful, loyal Merlin has obviously been taken too; and it’s Arthur’s fault - he must have failed to save them both from being taken, even though he cannot remember anything…

Except when Arthur reaches out to Merlin for him to come closer (they need to share information and plan, but must be quiet as a mouse), he realizes with fright but indeniable certainty that Merlin is in fact a reflection in a mirror; and worse: *HIS* reflection!?

It his NOT his hand indeed that is stretching out in front of him; NOT his clothes on his person; and definitely NOT his own hair falling upon his eyes, as he notices the black strings in his vision range…

Arthur is dumbstruck. He sees Merlin’s mouth shaping a silent O, and he sees the dread in Merlin’s eyes… except they ARE - he feels - *his* mouth, and *his* eyes; and everything is just plainly wrong, and plainly impossible - but undeniably REAL.

He is… Merlin? Or better said, *inside* Merlin? How can such a thing have even come to be?

Sorcery, Arthur understands with horror: Camelot is under attack!

But now armed with the knowledge of his predicament, Arthur realizes he is actually in Merlin’s bedroom. He’s been in here before, once; and he recognizes it all now.

So. Not abducted. All things considered, that still counts as something, right…

And, as it surely doesn’t feel as if Merlin is still somewhere in his own head too while Arthur is inside of it, well… Maybe? Logically? Merlin might then be in return inside his own body?

Arthur suddenly finds himself praying for this to be true. It would be for the best, if Merlin was in his body - if they were the only ones concerned by this unnatural situation; because what if *everyone* was awaking inside someone else’s body this morning? That would be… precarious - the general panic leaving Camelot completely vulnerable to whoever must have plotted this? The worst though would be if the one responsible for this was right now in control of his body, and acting as Crown Prince to do, well, evil deeds… So yes, you bet Arthur truly wants to find Merlin to be the one inside his own body when he finally finds it.

Arthur jumps on his feet, ready for action. Luckily (even though Arthur feels a bit guilty, as he notices his armour in pristine state against the opposite wall - apparently Merlin has been polishing it late into the night then) Merlin hasn’t bothered to undress before falling asleep.

So. First thing first: he has to go to his chamber.

Picking some weapon on the way for good measure, you bet …

/

Simply walking the few paces to open the door though turns out to be a challenge. His limbs are too long, and dangly; it feels like he has two left feet, and he has to try thrice before actually getting a grip on the handle - because he isn’t used to this body, of course - but maybe it is truly NOT Merlin’s fault if he trips over his own feet that often after all…

Gaius is already out - hopefully looking for herbs and not wandering out of his mind… Arthur would have preferred to be able to test right away his theories about how many people were affected by the damn body change; but unfortunately, it would have to wait some more.

The corridors are empty too, except for a stray black cat who walks at his side long enough for Arthur to start questioning himself about asking to the cat if he *is* Merlin - because Merlin HAS to be somewhere, right, as he obviously isn’t where he should be to start with; but then the cat takes another turn… Arthur feels stupid for worrying so much about his silly manservant - but he cannot deny that he definitely will worry less only after having indeed finally found said silly manservant.

Arthur relaxes slighthly though when he enters the kitchen: people are working as usual, apparently not in shock, apparently in their right bodies. He picks up the first tray he finds, along with an extra knife that he hides in his pocket for good measure.

He tries to put on a confident grin as he walks (with the most assurance he can muster in this awkward-feeling body) towards the guards at his bedroom’s door - and can only hope it will look the same as usual to them. They let him pass without trouble, and Arthur isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing. On the one hand, he *doesn’t* doubt Merlin - he simply, intrinsically doesn’t; and would never want him to feel like he did if his guards were to search him whenever he was about to enter his chamber. On the other hand… well, it isn’t Merlin right now entering his chamber, with knifes at the ready… This time, it’s only him; but what if it happens again, and if the one then inside Merlin’s body has ill intentions…

Deciding not to dwell on this for the time being, Arthur enters his bedroom - hoping to find Merlin doing whatever Merlin always does, but preparing for a fight, if need be…

.

II. AWAKING (MERLIN POV)

Merlin awakes as if in a cocoon; literally. He is surrounded by softness, flush, warmth; he cannot remember ever feeling so comfortable - and the world can wait for just another few seconds before he opens his eyes, right… Merlin wriggles, shifting on his back, sighing softly as he nestles some more into the cushions…

When Merlin awakes for the second time - culpability sinking in as he realizes he has overslept - his eyes open to a Pendragon red canopy he would recognize even among hundreds. Merlin freezes: what the hell is he doing, sleeping IN ARTHUR’S BED?!

Merlin sits upright at once - blankets falling all around him to reveal that he wears ARTHUR’S NIGHTGOWN too ?!

Whaaaaaaaat?!

This… just DOESN’T make any sense. The last thing he can remind is sitting on his own bed, polishing the last bit of Arthur’s armour before letting himself fall down to sleep (*AN). He surely doesn’t recall walking to Arthur’s chamber, and even less…

Merlin’s mind is reeling as he shuffles out of bed as swiftly as he can. Oh my… What is Arthur going to think? And come to think of it - true panic now creeping down on Merlin at that thought: *WHERE* is Arthur to start with?

His attention is drawn out right then by Arthur calling out his name (Merlin feels relief, no matter his current embarrassing situation) - in one of those thousands yet unmistakably always Arthurian ways to say his name: a myriad of moods and meanings in those simple two syllables - the voice sounding odd though this morning (is Arthur sick?), and tensed (well, he just found his manservant in *his* bed, that might explain it!).

Merlin turns to face his sovereign, trying to feel less self conscious because he mustn’t look guilty, while wishing for inspiration, and buying time until it hits: “There is actually a perfectly valid explan-”

But it is NOT Arthur he sees: it is… himself? His breath catches as ‘utter confusion’ gets a new meaning, you bet…

At the same moment, Merlin notices suddenly just how *not his* his voice has just sounded, and how he’s wearing a very particular ring around one finger of what’s NOT his hand, and how *blond* hair is falling upon his eyes… And still nothing makes sense; but at least it *does* explain how he awoke in Arthur’s bed in Arthur’s clothes: he *is* Arthur?; and… Arthur… is him? MUST be him. He has been calling his name right the right way, right?!

“Arthur?” Merlin barely dares to breathe out, both in wonder and in plea (because Arthur CANNOT be gone - the fear and pain and simple *impossibility* of such a concept slicing through Merlin’s mind like a knife).

There is a bright smile then appearing on his face - a smile that doesn’t entirely look like his own though - “Yes, Merlin. It’s me,” followed by a relieved sigh: “And it’s you”. And, despite the shock about them having apparently switched bodies (?!?!), Merlin can’t help but feel warm all over - because Arthur (and yes, it is so clearly Arthur, even in HIS body!) has apparently been worried about him.

.

(*AN) Headcanon time :

Merlin uses magic to clean Arthur’s armour in the beginning, indeed. And he still uses magic for most of the chores, as much as he can, of course (washing clothes, mending clothes, emptying chamber pots, sweeping fireplaces, preparing baths, refreshing beds, cleaning floors, cleaning everything, really (except for mucking the stables, because there are always others around, grrrr). But he quickly grows nearly *maniac* about Arthur’s food (picking at it as a way to make sure it’s not poisoned etc…) and about Arthur’s armour: it’s one of Arthur’s protections - so you bet Merlin definitely cleans and polishes and repairs and oils the leather ligaments that hold it together and EVERYTHING the hell out of it, with extra ardor and fervor, with his own two hands, all the while continuously trying to put on it any protecting spells he ever finds, and repeating those over and over at each occasion…  Also, mirrors were probably not so advanced at the time… But let’s say Merlin has an enhanced one, after all he has magic, right…

On a side note, I’m never going to be over Arthur’s priority-thinking (I’m in trouble = CAMELOT IS UNDER ATTACK (babyyyy let me hold you - being Camelot Prince/King is NOT your only worth) and Merlin’s priority-thinking (what the hell is happening = WHERE THE HELL IS ARTHUR (babyyyy let me hold you - your devotion to The (brave, kind, admirable (shut up Merlin)) Prat doesn’t have to mean that you always must come second (and a bit self-preservation cannot be harmful)) *SIGH* I just love those two idiots so much !!!

.

III. DISABLED (MERLIN POV)

But soon, Merlin is terrified.

And not because of the puzzling body swap.

*HE HAS NO MAGIC!?*

(Not that Merlin knows of any spell to reverse their current situation at once, mind you; so he doesn’t actually try anything about it. But Merlin simply knows: there is nothing but blood running through his veins now - no vigorous warmth, no energic flow; there is simply nothing singing under his placid flesh, as he focuses on it.)

He cannot help but wish he’s wrong though, and desperately tries to move a quill on Arthur’s desk behind Arthur’s back - the simplest of things, really; yet he fails, indeed…

His magic is tied to his body. Not to his mind.

No, no, no, no, nooooooooooo.

Merlin is, to his core, *terrified* - as he has never been. Not only because he feels more powerless and utterly helpless than he has ever felt - and worse, unable to protect Arthur! But also because the longer Arthur stays in his body, the more chances he has to find out that he has magic!? (And even though Merlin has nearly told Arthur, once? He is still not ready for him to know right now… Will after all didn’t lie to protect Merlin’s secret on his deathbed for Merlin to take chances with his life so soon after…)

Merlin though decides to push his panic aside for the moment: he simply MUST focus. No matter which sorcerer has this week decided to deal with the Pendragon line once and for all, Arthur’s life is undoubtedly in the balance; and that’s dearer to Merlin than all the magic in the world - included his own.

Because Merlin’s life *has* tilted, on that rocky beach by The Great Seas of Meredor.

Merlin’s earnest readiness to lay his life down to save Arthur’s had been instinctive, beyond doubt visceral; and the concrete force of the impulse had surprised him. Because it hadn’t been related to his first supposed then anyway indeed wished upon destiny. It had merely been a reflex, a spontaneous reaction: what he had wanted to do; more than what he ought to do. And Merlin had realized right then that he had, somehow, but undeniably, actually come to *LOVE* Arthur? He had known, for some time, that he liked him. And he had felt oddly pleased when Arthur had turned up at Ealdor - maybe Arthur liked him too? But if your first thought when someone is threatened is 'I’d rather die than see him die’? Well, there is a kind of selfishness, even in seflessness, that goes beyond 'liking’, right…

It shouldn’t have been such a shocking revelation though. Sure, Arthur could be a spoiled, royal prat; an irritating, pompous ass; an arrogant, moronic bully - to list but the top of the iceberg of his massive shortcomings, and without even mentioning the complete dollophead he could sometimes be. But Arthur could also be truly brave, honest, and kind; willing not only to trust but also to actually defend the words of mere servants, ready to defy his father’s orders in order to save a child’s life, and volunteering to help a village not even belonging to his Kingdom, to note only a few examples. Also: at some point, Merlin had realized how what could at first appear as near manhandling tactility was in fact just Arthur’s disguised way to show (or ask?) affection (because one probably just doesn’t walk around asking for cuddles while growing up between Uther’s judging cold glares and Morgana’s sharp witty tongue; and the physical occasional playfulness of the knights training must have seemed like the only way to go…). And last but not least: Merlin owed Arthur his life - if Arthur hadn’t gone looking for a Mortaeus flower… So, in short: of course Merlin had gotten fond of the man. For his own values; and not because he was meant to be the other side of his coin or something. And notwithstanding how so annoyingly beautiful he always was (for the record on that particular subject: Gwen is so adorably beautiful, and Morgana so petrifyingly beautiful).

But, as Arthur - bound to be King one day Arthur - hadn’t even hesitate before choosing to sacrifice himself, in order to fix what he had recognized to be his error, instead of using the (even offered) life of a simple servant? Well… There is a difference still between having the conviction that Arthur is a good man ready to fight for the greater good, even knowing it could be his death; and knowing as a FACT that Arthur *is* a good man ready to *die* for the greater good, even knowing it *will* be his death. And you bet having been proven *exactly* how pure of heart Arthur intrinsically is has only cemented that burgeoning love deeper into Merlin’s heart - simply; truly; and maybe irrevocably. Merlin would now willingly die a thousand deaths to save his Prince.

.

(Feel free to shout with me about 1.11 because *MAJOR FEELS*!)

(And then hug me as I shamelessly cry because this is still NOTHING next to what’s to come - aka Arthur becoming ACHINGLY beautiful, as Merlin turns ready to KILL a thousands times to save his King, blackening his own heart in the process and thinking himself then unworthy of Arthur’s love because Arthur is just so BRIGHT; but wishing for it nonetheless?)

.

IV. PLANNING (MERLIN POV)

Arthur, miraculously (even though understandably; because he must be shaken too, right), is unaware of Merlin’s internal crisis as he shares what he’s uncovered until now: “It seems to be just us. The kitcheners and the guards all seem to be themselves.”

“So. Whoever has done this is targetting you - personnally.”

“Nice to see your wits are still so very particularly sharp, Merlin. Is there any reason for the one behind all this to be targetting you?”

It is beyond odd to *hear* Arthur’s usual tone in his own voice; but Merlin still has the grace to sigh, before pushing his point further: “But why you?”

“Well, obviously *you*’ve forgotten, but I am Camelot’s Crown Prince, responsib-.”

“Which is exactly what’s bothering me!” Merlin can’t help but interject. “Why take on the Prince when you can take on the King?”

“Oh… Do you think… Could someone be… training on us, then? Before attacking-”

“I honestly have no idea. Maybe you got targetted indeed because you’re head of security. We shouldn’t rule anything out.”

Arthur brings his fist down on the table, determinedly: “Well, whatever the evil plan might be, we just cannot permit for it to work. We’ll have to find a way to stop this nonsense - no offense. In the meantime, we must act as if nothing unusual is going on. It might be for the time being our best chance at keeping Camelot safe - making whoever planned this think the spell didn’t work?”

Merlin can’t help but let out a helpless (yet realistic) sigh: “That’s… a lot; on both accounts.”

Arthur echoes with a helpless sigh of his own: “I know.”

/

But if they are to keep up pretenses, Merlin is going to need to be prepared: “So. What’s on your agenda for today - besides the monthly open pleas this morning and the daily training this afternoon?”

“Nothing particular. And there are no coming feasts nor abroad visits planned for the coming time, thankfully. (worried sigh) But there’s concil, tomorrow.”

“Well, let’s start at the beginning. I should do fine enough for the pleas. It’s mostly your father’s duty; your presence is required, of course, but mostly you’re to hear and listen…” Fear grips Merlin at once: “But it’s public; so it would be a great opportunity to try to murder you!” He MUST protect Arthur’s body: “Will you please go fetch your chainmail in my room?”

“No.”

The tone is definitive, and Merlin is torn between begging, or growing impatient - because Arthur can be so obtuse sometimes (now really isn’t the time for Arthur to be feeling indignation about being ordered around like a simple servant; even though he *is* one at the moment - not that Merlin would ever think he was one, of course - but what if Arthur thinks he does and enjoys the chance at some payback?): “Arthur, please (again?). It’s the expected type of errands of the body you momentarily (because it MUST be momentarily, right?) inhabit - I can’t - You’re the target. I need your chainmail. I have no fighting skills, nor any kind of skills really to protect yo-”

“I cannot be seen wandering the castle in my chainmail without reason, Merlin; it would attract attention”, Arthur interrupts in a somehow gentler tone; and Merlin realizes that Arthur hadn’t registered at first how Merlin’s concern was about him, more than himself - and is obviously humbled by the thought. “Court clothes are required, anyway. We’re not supposed to look threatening, nor threatened, when our subjects come to present their wishes,” Arthur pursues, killing any possible protest in the bud. “Besides, the guards will be present. So don’t worry too much about anything happening to us”, Arthur ends in a lower voice; as if the last part had been more a thought to reassure himself than a phrase meant to be uttered - and Merlin just has to savour that precious 'us’…

Merlin though isn’t reassured enough about his Prince’s safety: “Please (yes, that’s thrice; adamant much?) Sire, at least allow me to wear your thickest leather under your tunic” - willing his voice to make it sound like a not-to-be-denied demand more than a true question.

Arthur holds his gaze; and it actually feels like a blessing when he finally relents: “As you wish; but it won’t be comfortable against naked skin.”

“I’ll manage.” Merlin can’t help but fidget some before pursuing - asking Arthur to do what is and should be *his* work feeling not only weird but even wrong: “But I’ll need your help to tie it in the back?”

Arthur dimissively tousles his hair, grumbling: “I *know*, Merlin.” 'My clothes’ going unsaid.

Merlin can be relieved about one thing, at least: Arthur obviously isn’t piqued about doing a servant’s work…

/

Merlin picks out the largest fitting of Arthur’s clothes. He puts on the braies and trousers while still wearing the gown, respectfully tying the belt blindly around his waist. He puts on socks, and shoes. Then only does he take the gown off, and turns his back towards Arthur so that he may help with adjusting the leather’s straps.

A surprised but definitely pleased whisper (“Impressive, ain’t I?”) echoes in Merlin’s ears, as the Prat Prince seems apparently unable not to comment about his damn broad back, angling Merlin shortly that way and this way as if to assess it even better.

'Believe me, I know’, Merlin can’t refrain from thinking; feeling a blush coming over his face, and thankful that Arthur is too busy looking at his own back to notice any of it.

“I think I might even have outgrown Sir Leon - in width at least if not in height”, Arthur concludes proudly before finally starting to work the ties - leaving Merlin suddenly ashamed of his initial internal reprimand, and oddly upset. Of course Arthur would only wish to see in his physique the strength of a warrior. Of course his first thought, when finally able to actually see his own back, would be to compare it to his given models - the Knights; and most of all among them, to his own chosen model, Leon - both the noblest and strongest of them all, yet young enough to play the part of the older brother Arthur could look up to while growing up… No one has probably ever told him that he is beautiful, Merlin realizes sadly. But the fact that Arthur is so unaware only makes him even more beautiful in Merlin’s eyes…

Merlin forces himself to tease Arthur, hiding his turmoil under their usual banter: “Well, I could ask Gabriel to take measurements, if you so badly wish-”

“Shut up, Merlin”, accompanied by a rewarding hit in the back of his right shoulder, which Merlin gladly revels in, no matter the unusual fist size. This, no matter their predicament, feels normal.

And in that short moment of normalcy, when everything feels just right as Arthur ends tying the leather, Merlin notices something he hasn’t noticed before, when all he could feel was STRESS.

Oh no.

/

“Arthur?” Merlin can’t help but wince at the intimidated tone in his voice as he turns around; and Arthur is eyeing him now with furrowed eyebrows. “I think I need - I mean you need… to… have to go?”

Arthur makes a face - with his face; except it still looks somehow like a typical outraged Arthur face (damn, this is just too confusing…): “Merlin!”

“He! Do not look at me like this is my fault! It’s *YOUR* body! Maybe you shouldn’t have drun-”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have brought a full pitcher at dinner then!”

They eye each other, both unrelenting over who is at fault.

And Merlin can’t help but think that somehow he is, indeed, no matter what. Because there are levels in intimacy; and he IS definitely crossing a line. There is a difference between being around and trying to avoid his gaze when Arthur walks in and out of his bath, or applying Gaius’s healing balm to bruises on Arthur’s back because it’s a place Arthur can’t reach on his own, and, well… watching and touching Arthur’s *manhood*, even if only for urinating, technically ensuring no mess is done while doing it?

Arthur suddenly sighs though, and his voice sounds kinder as he offers: “This will surely happens a few times before we sort it all out, huh. To the both of us. So. How should we proceed?”

Merlin scratches his head, summoning some courage: “Do you want to… hold-”

“Your hand, Merlin!”, Arthur demonstrates, lifting the would-be-culprit in the air and wiggling its fingers for good measure; and that’s a 'No way’ if Merlin ever heard one…

“Would you rather it to be your hand-”

“It’s *your* hand right now!” Indeed. So. Another 'No way’.

But suddenly Merlin has a solution, of sort: “What if I… go sit into the stream? There’s a quiet spot not so far from the castle I found while collecting herbs for Gaius… If I hurry I still can make it back before the pleas.”

Arthur actually claps his hands, obviously relieved: “Sometimes, I swear, you are a genius.” He hurries over, handing Merlin his tunic and grabbing the Pendragon red doublet before marching out: “Let’s go!”

“You’re coming?” (hastening to put the tunic on and grabbing a towel before following)

“Well, as I just said, it’s bound to happen to me - you - so I might just as well tag along, and know where it is.”

/

Once out of potentially spying ears reach, they plan the day further.

“We HAVE to tell Gaius, at the least, about our situation: no one will contest his word if he says you’re not to train for a while - because honestly how am I supposed to spare with your Knights? They will notice right away that something isn’t right. And, well…”

Merlin hesitates, not wanting to incriminate Gaius in any way. As it turns out, he doesn’t have to:

“You’re right. Besides, Gaius has heard about a lot of… stuff, in all his years. I was planning to go around Jeffrey and look for the forbidden books, but I have no ideas how many volumes are hidden down here, nor where they even *are* to start with… If anyone we know might have even the slightest clue about how to fix our problem, it’s him; even if it’s only about finding an adequate book.”

Merlin nods, relieved: “So. After the pleas, I stage a fall, and we go to Gaius, who tells you’re not to train for the time being. That leaves the rest of the day free, both for looking up about our situation, and briefing me on what I should be aware of for tomorrow’s concil. Do you address things in an established order; who’s whose specialisms; what you discussed by the latest concils which might be brought up again tomorrow; and so on…”

“I’m supposed to make the battle plans, Merlin? But as far as plans go, I have to admit this isn’t a bad one. Except I’m not you; I do not trip on my feet twice a day. So. I’ll make you fall. That’s more plausible.”

“No way! You’ll end up in the stocks!” Merlin realizes how - no matter what he might have been thinking just a few months ago - he simply doesn’t want Arthur in the stocks. Ever. “Which is NOT where you should be spending your afternoon.” Merlin quickly amends; hiding his concern under logic’s sake, knowing it to be the best way to persuade Arthur anyway. “So. You fall. I try to help you. But we both fall. I’m clumsy, as ever; you’re noble, as always; everyone get to laugh at me, and praise you; and your father might skip punishing me for you getting hurt in the process, as you obviously didn’t want me hurt to start with?” (pause, before adding earnestly, yet fiercely, as Merlin isn’t able to tone back the surge of threat in his eyes at the mere idea of having anyone disrespecting Arthur in that way) “If he doesn’t though, I’ll stand guard next to you.”

“Would you?” Arthur seems surprised; but touched: “Well, who knows, maybe I’ll return the favor the next time.”

Merlin can’t refrain a whine: “The next time?”

“Even I can’t save you from my father’s wrath every time; it’s bound to happen, either from your two left foots or your snarky mouth.”

They can hear the water now, and Arthur accelerates towards it, as Merlin lags behind, unable not to smile:

“I guess I’m supposed to say 'thank you’?”

“I might have forgotten to mention I’ll probably throw something in your face myself at the last moment. Prince’s privilege and all that…” - Arthur even turns towards him, giving him one of his goofy faces to boot (Merlin didn’t know *his* face could do *that*, by the way).

Merlin just keeps on smiling anyway. He probably hasn’t felt that brightly, positively, ridiculously happy since “I’m rehiring you - because someone needs to muck out my stables”. Arthur has a particular way to express fondness, and Merlin wouldn’t change it for the world.

.

V. THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MERLIN (ARTHUR POV)

Arthur is the first to reach the stream, and crouches down to test the water with his hand.

“It’s cold”, he warns, while Merlin walks in a straight line towards a tree with a low hanging branch and starts undressing - he does come here often, clearly.

Merlin shrugs: “Be grateful it’s not winter yet. Try bathing around Imbolc - that’s cold.” Merlin goes on; stating an afterthought while hanging his pants on the branch: “Still worth it though; everything here is just more… alive, you know. You don’t get that indoors.”

And Arthur has bathed on patrols enough to know that, honestly?: he prefers his warm baths. He can’t help but feel a smile on his face though at the words; they are so intrinsically Merlin.

/

Arthur had been struck, when they had met. No one had ever defied him, in any way. And it had stung; Arthur could admit. So. He had not been displeased at all when he had overmastered the fool and turned him over. The affront had been too public to be allowed to slide, and Arthur had decided he wouldn’t dwell a further thought about the goodhearted fool (Arthur knew terrorrizing people wasn’t right. He tended though to react badly whenever anyone acted cowardly (which was, well, all the time, around him); especially as he was actually *praised* for it somehow), but fool nonetheless, who should have known to mind his own business…

It had been nothing though in comparison to his surprise when their paths had crossed again. Arthur hadn’t been able NOT to taunt him - hoping, somehow… But the last thing Arthur had been actually expecting had been for Merlin to act *exactly the same*. Surely, now that he knew who he was, he would just scrabble around him as anyone else - not defy him again, knowing it would get him in chains again, right? Arthur had been *delighted* by Merlin’s untamable fire - the words, and then the look he had thrown at him while taking his jacket off? (Maybe Arthur had just been waiting all his life for someone to finally stand his ground to him, indeed…) Of course Arthur had let him go without punishment that second time - and any time since then (which was honestly difficult, as Merlin - always fighting for what was right more than for himself Merlin - frequently got riled up, be it in private OR IN PUBLIC, by literally anyone and anything).

Since he has been to Ealdor though, Arthur can’t help but see things under a new light.

Hunith is everything Arthur believes a loving mother to be. But there had been no father at home, nor any mention of one. (Arthur knows the sting of this kind of wound - missing a parent; and he had been saddened, as he had realized that Merlin bore such a wound too.) Arthur hadn’t dared to ask, but he had wondered: did Merlin ever got a father to start with; or had he been abandoned - intentionally or not? (Arthur knows how even an accident still feels akin to a betrayal in a child’s heart.) Which would be the worst anyway? But what if Merlin had been bullied through his childhood because of it? - children could be particularly malicious, when they intended to… Was it how Merlin had learned, the hard way, that fighting - both with his words and his fists - was the only way to end the pestering? And had decided it wouldn’t be only for his own sake, but for the sake of anyone who might ever need help? Was it what had brought Merlin close to Will - the fact that they both had lost their father? Was it the reason Will had wanted to learn magic to start with? (Arthur knows the near constant anger, too. As does Merlin, obviously.)

Arthur can’t help but feel grateful anew, somehow, and no matter what, still, that Merlin has had Will around: surely, no matter how bad the fights Merlin had jumped into, Will must have kept him safe - at least safe enough - *with his magic*. The thought had been unbidden the first time it had occured, and had definitely surprised Arthur; but he hadn’t been able to deny that it was what he truly felt indeed.

/

Because of course Arthur had come to care for Merlin. Isn’t it why he had gone to Ealdor to start with after all…

Merlin.

Definitely not an ordinary manservant. And probably not the champion manservant by any book (fast learner, and smart, and hard working, he was; but only about what *he* deemed important - hence for example his total disregard for any kind of storage? - but Arthur generally agreed with what Merlin deemed important or not anyway). But honestly the only manservant Arthur now could imagine ever having - or ever want to have.

Because Arthur likes Merlin as his manservant exactly just the way he is, and would now never wish for another - no matter (and specifically because of) how well-schooled and zealous to satisfy his every need (and whim) that hypothetic other might be… Arthur now sees what others might judge flaws as assets (Merlin’s clumsiness and chattiness are more endearing and uplifting than unefficient, especially as his opinions always sound reasonable; his sarcasm and insults are a sure way to keep Arthur’s head from ever getting inflated; and his challenging manners push Arthur to do and be better - from training with the knights to saving people’s lifes), and what others might judge insubordinate as being treated, for once, finally, as an equal, somehow (even though they both know and acknowledge they aren’t) - no matter whenever it comes out at Arthur’s expanse too, food getting shoved into his mouth and getting unceremoniously pulled out of bed included in their everyday banter, as Merlin can give just as much as he gets indeed. But that’s maybe what Arthur values the most: how Merlin’s respect feels earned and honest; neither forced by birthright or fear for repercussions, nor cajoling nor calculated.

Arthur has never had a private servant for longer than a year - his Father’s rule; but you bet Arthur is decided about keeping Merlin at his side when the year would end. He will have to strategize; he will need irrefutable arguments. But if he plays his cards well - and Merlin never ceases to hand him over cards to play - Arthur has no doubt that his Father will actually allow it: it’s in the best interest of the Kingdom after all.

Merlin.

A whirlwind. Always animated, always busy; never still, even when he’s doing nothing. But always so expressive - so easy to read - a fact Arthur has come not only to appreciate after decades around perpetually guarded scheming faces, but even to *trust*.

A chatty nature-loving poet with dangly limbs, gentle heart, and the brightest smile Arthur has ever seen - Arthur has come to know. Yet the sassiest mouth and the most unrelenting fighter Arthur has ever met; his utter lack of skills balanced by sheer defiance - Arthur has learned right from the start. (Merlin just never backs off, no matter the odds; which is very stupid, but also very brave.)

A confusing, clashing mess of contraries. But an admirable man, with a beautiful soul.

And you bet Arthur wouldn’t have him be any different.

Arthur shakes his head. Maybe - just like with his two left feet - it isn’t Merlin’s choice to be such a poet all the time. Arthur hasn’t been inside Merlin’s body for more than a few hours, and already he is turning into a maudlin bard himself, huh…

/

Arthur sighs; bringing himself back to the present - only to be struck by Merlin yet again.

Merlin has by now disrobed of everything except for the leather, which he has rolled up to his chest (logic; it would take too much time to tie it up all once more), and the tunic, which he now holds tightly in a bundle against his chest too, even if (and no doubt exactly because) it must get in his vision range as he enters the water. The lengths Merlin now goes again, simply to avoid to *see* - treating his body with the utmost respect, even when it is betraying him?

It should be insignificant, but the whole endeavour screams once more just how *devoted* Merlin always is, to him; and it is honestly dumbfounding.

He has been willing to die for me. And more than once.

The thought slices through Arthur’s mind; as usual charged with guilt, and heartbreaking, yet oddly sweet.

Arthur doesn’t understand: he has truly done very little to earn such high esteem - and that’s an euphemism. Getting the man in the stocks? Letting him drink poison destined for him? Having his only friend die?

But you bet Arthur cherishes it all the same. And he wants - oh, he WANTS - to be worthy of it. Not because it’s what he ought to do, repaying kindness with kindness, loyalty with loyalty; and definitely not because he owes Merlin a friend - you can’t replace a friend (even if Arthur never actually had a friend, he knows that it’s supposed to be a special, powerful, unique bond). Not even because Merlin does indeed makes him want to be a better man - even if that’s true, and definitely positive for the future of Camelot. But simply because HE. WANTS. TO. Arthur has realized by now how he is always tempted, whenever they are together: either to act silly in order to cause a smile; or to provoke Merlin until he bites. Both reactions feel peculiarly satisfying; spreading a pleasant warmth through his whole being - and Arthur just always has to smile…

So.

On impulse, Arthur disrobes Merlin’s lower half and enters the (indeed very cold) water while holding his tunic bundled up too, keeping his eyes stubbornly fixed on his own body sinking until the water reaches up to above its waist, as Merlin sits on his knees in the middle of the stream. And yes, the fact that Arthur has just chosen to abide by Merlin’s stubborn dedication on that matter, instead of letting his perpetual interest about literally everything run free, for once, (because yes, if he hadn’t witnessed Merlin’s commitment, Arthur might have taken a look at Merlin’s body, out of sheer curiosity; he wouldn’t though, not from now on…), is both a pledge and a self-serving whim.

Merlin, drawn by the sounds, turns to him with questioning eyebrows, and Arthur sheepishly drops on his knees next to him: “I thought it unfair to let you have all the fun on your own. Now, ready to scare the fish?”

Merlin howls with laughter. Arthur decides it’s definitely worth playing silly while freezing his ass off.

.

(Imbolc = 31 january)

Feel free to come and fangirl with me over 1.01 and then scream with me over 1.10 !

On a side note, I’m sorry but not sorry about that fish line? It was *totally* unplanned but then it just rolled out and I went 'yep, sure, arthur would, totally; it stays!’ ?

.

VI. THE PRINCE’S PART (ALTERNATE ARTHUR/MERLIN POV)

They get out; get dried; put their clothes back on. Merlin ties the towel to the branch, for future use.

Then, on their way back to the castle, Arthur asks Merlin about his agenda for the day.

Merlin gives him a look - like he’s unsure whether Arthur means it. Arthur gives him a look back - meaning he isn’t joking indeed.

Merlin smiles, eyes full of mirth: “Your chambers are a complete mess, your clothes need washing, your boots need cleaning, your dogs need exercising, your fireplace needs sweeping, your bed needs changing and, oh, *someone* needs to muck out your stables.” Merlin sobers up. “But we have more pressing matters at hand; so I think you can consider yourself free for the day.”

Arthur is taken aback. He recognizes his own words, of course. It’s both baffling and humbling - that Merlin can quote him, months later? and that Merlin has omitted one part and one part only in his old speech, because they both know his armour doesn’t need any repairing (the devotion Merlin shows those metal pieces echoing the devotion he shows to Arthur himself)? Arthur had first planned to give a playful thankful bow; but it would feel wrong.

“So. I’ll go bother Geoffrey. Try to get him to show me where the secret books are hidden. I’ll tell him Gaius has found a strange herb and wants to make sure it isn’t dangerous or something…”

/

Merlin has to give Arthur that: he is indeed insightful.

The mention of Gaius’s name though has Merlin slightly panicking again: Gaius doesn’t know yet about their current situation. What if he mentions 'something’ upon walking on Arthur thinking he is him? No. Merlin has to be there when they’ll get to see Gaius.

“Speaking about Gaius? Stay clear from his chambers. I doubt he’ll be as magnanimous as I am. He’ll do that thing with his eyebrow and have you pick herbs and brewing healing potions and concocting ointments before you even got a chance to tell him about our predicament - he’s really dedicated in my education as a physician, you know…”

“And I believe you rather enjoy it.”

“I do, indeed. I mean… It’s fascinating - do you know that the same stuff can cure you or kill you sometimes, depending on the dosis? Anyway, who wouldn’t want to know how to save lives?” Merlin can’t help but twitch. “I’m not sure I’m any good at it though…”

/

There is a flash of guilt in Merlin’s disheartened eyes, and Arthur realizes two things:

1) Merlin feels responsible for having been unable to save his friend Will. Which is understandable, because Merlin must have gathered by now some knowledge from Gaius’s lessons; but heartbreaking - because Arthur has seen enough arrow’s wounds to know that Will’s could never have healed - and perplexing - because Will has died to save *him*, not Merlin; so why would Merlin think the guilt was his to start with? and how come Arthur has never felt like Merlin might blame him for it either?

2) Merlin’s face is always *transparent* - a fact Arthur truly appreciates on Merlin’s face - but a fact that could turn out problematic, now that it’s on his own face…

“Let’s get back to my chambers. There is still something you should master better before the pleas.”

/

And that’s how Merlin finds himself positioned by Arthur in front of a mirror.

“What do you see, Merlin?” Arthur asks.

“Well, you?” Merlin feels he’s missing Arthur’s point, but he has no clue…

“Do you? Because I see my body, I see my clothes; but I do not see the Prince of Camelot - I’d like to think I play it better than that - and I must be, because my Father would not allow *this* I assure you - at least I hope or the kingdom is doomed.” Arthur ends on a sigh, shakes his head, and then turns commanding eyes back towards Merlin via the mirror. “Close your eyes, Merlin. Think of me. I mean, *picture* me; and more especially, picture me at any official activity you’ve served me through. See how I walk, how I stand, how I sit, how I move, how I look?”

Merlin does as asked, searching through his memories. After a while, he nods.

“Got it?”

“I think?”

“Then open your eyes, Merlin. What do you see?”

Merlin understands now. He can’t help but sigh helplessly. “Not the Prince of Camelot. Obviously. I’m sorry Arthur, I guess I’m just not… majestic enough to play you.”

“It’s not that hard, Merlin. Come on; I’ll explain. Ready?” Arthur grins at him via the mirror, exuding confidence - trust in him?; and Merlin would face (has faced) monsters to earn it indeed.

Merlin nods, their eyes still linked via the mirror.

“First thing first? You’re slouching.”

“Yes. (Merlin tries not to slouch; but is still not satisfied with the result) I think though the biggest problem is- There’s something wrong with your face.”

“Because you wear your heart on it, Merlin; and you mustn’t. Believe me, you do not want to be lectured for hours about this by my Father…”

Arthur moves away, and Merlin can’t see him anymore in the mirror. His voice is directing though, and Merlin focuses on the words to school his face.

“You’re a prince, so you *must* always look like one. No matter what you do, you must always, *always*, look confident. That’s the first strength of a kingdom - the strenghth of its ruler. That’s what keeps your people safe. So. Chin up, Merlin. Square your shoulders. Stand tall - stand *proud*.”

Merlin realizes the words are not Arthur’s; they’re Uther’s. He wonders how often indeed Arthur has heared those words - most probably often enough to give himself a internal pep talk before any official anything apparently…

“That’s better; but still not good enough. No matter how you feel inside must not show, Merlin. When you’re tired, hide it. When you’re sick, hide it. When you hurt, hide it. When you’re stressed, hide it. When you worry, hide it. When you doubt, hide it. When you’re bored, and even more when you disagree; hide it - it’s disrespectful; and we do not want wounded pride to fester, don’t we Merlin? When you’re afraid, definitely hide it. When you’re sad, hide it. And the trickiest part maybe: when you’re happy, hide it too - or risk whatever is making you happy to be taken away: weakening you is weakening the kingdom; and its enemies will never hesitate to bring you down, if you let them see even an inch of an opportunity.”

Merlin is shaken. He feels guilty, somehow. This is, certainly, too intimate. Merlin feels like he’s intruding. This feels even more trespassing than being in Arthur’s body. It’s like being forced in Arthur’s head, without his consent. It’s nauseating.

“Again, Merlin. Your eyes; focus. It’s a part; but it’s part of your job. So for the love of Camelot, Merlin, please try harder. Your people reckon on you to lead them and protect them; so it’s your duty to be a leader, and to be strong. Work hard; harder than anyone else. You *must* be an example, an inspiration. You must be admirable in everything, so that your people will follow you everywhere. But you must lead, Merlin; never follow. A ruler is alone - *must* be alone. Do not trust anyone; at least do not trust anyone more than anyone else, and surely not more than you trust yourself. Your own judgement must *never* be clouded.”

Merlin can’t help but turn towards Arthur at the words, both in disbelief and in ache… Because Merlin has grown up hiding, but he had never realized that Arthur had, too; and maybe even more than him. Arthur must not only always pretend and perpetually watch over his shoulder; he must pretend and watch over his shoulder *alone*. And Merlin can only imagine how hard that must have been, and be. Back at Ealdor, Merlin had (and still has) his loving mother, and he had Will. Even here, now, Merlin has Gaius. And somehow, yes: he has Arthur too, Merlin suddenly realizes; and then feels ashamed, because he can’t help but feel blessed - Arthur trusts him. Because Arthur is definitely less guarded around him, isn’t he? When it’s just the two of them; Arthur and Merlin? Arthur laughs, Arthur doubts, Arthur *shows*; maybe not everything - but that’s probably not possible as he is so trained - but something at least always shines through; even if it’s by putting his feet on his face… But Merlin knows now, how rare and precious it truly is. They can never be friends, maybe; but Arthur trusts him. That’s undeniable; and that’s everything, somehow.

“Do not look at me; look at the mirror, Merlin. Harden your eyes. Smile; always politely, even when you don’t want to smile at all; more genuinely, when it’s true - but never let it go up to your eyes. First thing about tomorrow too; as we’re at it. Hear everyone out. Listen with your full attention to everyone; whether you agree or not. Never decides right away; except if it’s necessary, in war time. Your decisions must be thought upon; never a spur of the moment. If something is unclear, do not let it show during concil. If you favor a position, do not let it show during concil. If you disagree, do not let it show during concil. You need further advice, or even only further information? Seek the appropriate person in private; ask man to man. They will see the honor in it if it’s positive, and be thankful you kept it private if it’s negative. Also. You must be ready to be impartial, Merlin; because you do not need to be kind, but you must always be fair. You may - and you will, unfortunately - make mistakes; but never ackowledge them. Fix them. If you can’t; repair as much damage as possible. Learn from your errors, in order to never make the same mistake again. But never apologize. Come on Merlin; I’m sure you can do it. You’re nearly there.”

More over, Merlin realizes the Arthur he gets to see nowadays - the true Arthur - has always been there already, even under the pretense of the moron. Kilgarrah is wrong. His destiny isn’t to change Arthur; because there is nothing to change. Arthur already has everything to be a great king, the greatest king, all on his own.

And so, Merlin is *angry*. He has now yet another reason to despise Uther, it seems - scarring his child on the inside in such a way. Of course Arthur always feels inadequate; of course Arthur feels lacking; of course the only bond Arthur values is the one with his fellow knights - ride to glory or death, together? It’s the only bond Uther has authorized him to authorize himself to ever have… But Merlin’s anger is a good thing, apparently - because whenever Merlin thinks about Uther, Arthur finds that he’s playing the Prince’s part better.

“There Merlin, you have it. See? Right there. Lock it; just like that. That’s good enough for anyone looking today; because believe me, someone *will* be looking, even if only my Father and not the one who switched us or anyone else with ill intentions - there is *always* *someone* looking, Merlin.”

Fine. Think about Uther; until the pleas are done. Merlin can do it; and he’ll gladly do it. He’ll probably gladly do anything; for Arthur. He can still have a cry or hit a wall afterwards, right…

.

Arthur needs a hug. I volunteer. Anyone with me? (besides Merlin, obviously…)

.

VII. DOOMED (ARTHUR POV)

With a last commanding yet encouraging nod, Arthur leaves Merlin by the Great Hall’s entrance and starts to make his way towards the Library.

He is stopped by Merlin’s name being called out twice - because he has failed to react right away; Arthur chastises himself. It is the headmaster recruiting hands: his Father wants his bath ready when the pleas end.

Arthur doesn’t want to bring Merlin in trouble, of course; so he takes on the ordered job - after all, how complicated can it be?

He is paired with a newcomer answering the name of George who looks up to him as if he holds the sun: the Prince’s manservant! Which isn’t that bad. Until he starts, seemingly embarrassed but curious all the same, to ask questions like “Is the Prince as terrible as they say?” or “Is it true he throws knives?” and such? Arthur tries to explain that the training field is, well, to train? He isn’t sure the message gets across though, as George only holds his eyes with a perplexed gaze…

Arthur can’t help but hope that Merlin at least understands that he’s not only training himself but also trying to get Merlin to know how to defend himself if not to attack whenever he comes at him with a mace or anything… He should maybe make his intentions clearer, apparently…

Anyway. After yet another round of carrying buckets full of cold or warmed-up water up and down and left and right, Arthur realises there is more to it than it looks; and the bath is only half full still…

And when they’re nearly done? His three coworkers and the headmasteer seem satisfied, but Arthur can’t help but think while bringing up the last two buckets that they achieved nothing more than a luke warm bath with a clean but no particular scent. Merlin’s baths are definitely of a superior category on both accounts, and Arthur doesn’t know if he should feel guilty and spoiled for regularly enjoying better baths than the king himself, or more amazed or worried about Merlin’s bath-preparing skills (is he even thinking about his safety? he wouldn’t actually carry boiling water up the stairs, would he?)

Arthur decides he should address the issue. And maybe take baths downstairs from now on just in case - a little backroom near the kitchen would be more practical than his chambers, wouldn’t it? When the space isn’t needed for banquets preparations and such of course…

Arthur misses the first step towards the second floor (it’s actually the eleventh time today that he misses a step - he still isn’t used to Merlin’s feet). This time though, his balance is too lost for him to compensate and he falls backwards, landing on his butt and ready to get soaked and hit by the water and buckets he has released when instinctively freeing his hands (one to help catch his fall; one to protect himself from the falling projectiles). Except nothing comes: no water, no hit - and no falling sound either. And when Arthur takes a look? The buckets and water are… floating above his head?

Arthur gasps in surprise, his mind going both blank and reeling…

Then only does Arthur finally get drenched and hit on the shoulder.

Arthur blinks. Twice.

What has just happened isn’t normal, at all. Only - only magic could make such a thing possible!

Arthur looks around, instinctively - scanning for a threat.

He is alone; the corridors are empty as far as he can see, and he hears no voices, nor steps.

Which is good, because no one is attacking him then.

Which is the worst though - because if there is no one around… then the only person responsible for what he has just witnessed must be - is - HIMSELF?!

Arthur gasps again; this time in panick.

His first instinct is denial. But he knows what he saw. And somehow, it just makes sense, doesn’t it?

It’s not the body of the Prince that whoever switched him and Merlin is after. It’s his mind…

Put him in the body of a servant, give him magic, and sooner or later (and most probably sooner) he is bound to die by his Father’s law. What is he supposed to say in his defense? That he IS the Prince, in another body which had been given an ounce of magic on the sole purpose of getting him executed? Who would ever believe him…

In the meantime, the schieming sorcerer must have judged that a servant in his body may be too delighted by the upgrade in status to be a threat to his plans and would gladly unknowingly collaborate, on top of being totally untrained and incompetent at any of his duties.

Then? One only has to kill the King, either by making him ‘ill’ or using the same trick again and - for sure - Camelot is doomed to get wiped out from the map by the first band of Saxons passing by (and most probably enticed to pass by very soon after its King’s death): its only true heir gone, and the supposed one obviously improper to defend it. All of it without casualties on the attacking side, and without anyone knowing how it all came to be, which means no one, even loyal to Camelot, would have a reason to stand against the new regime put in place.

Arthur is more afraid than he has ever been - and he has been in combat enough for that fact to mean something. He feels crushed; defeated, even before the battle - and honestly? He has never despised himself that much. No matter that he has never felt both so unprepared and so intrinsically useless - and not even able to trust himself: surrender is simply inexcusable. Camelot depends on it.

Besides, Arthur owes it to Merlin to fight, right. It’s after all Merlin’s body that’s to die along his spirit. Oh! The villainy, the cowardice in this attack! Use an innocent victim as a vessel to be sacrificed. Sorcerers definitely have no sense of honor indeed.

So. Arthur is angry now. A much more suited mindset, he decides - as long as he doesn’t allow it to blind him. And he won’t. Merlin’s body depends on it too.

Arthur takes a deep breath. He has been taught strategy even before he could talk, right? Time to make a plan of action.

First. He is not as alone as Camelot’s enemy has calculated him to be. He is, in fact, not alone at all. He has Merlin.

Loyal Merlin; not only willing but even devoted to getting back into his own servant body rather than happily playing the prince. Magic familiar and open-minded Merlin - which means Arthur has not only someone who won’t judge him nor fear him to confide in about his new endangering (and in so many ways) abilities, but also someone who might have some basic understanding of it; since he was Will’s friend? Heart-in-the-right-place Merlin: too kind, maybe (but he can at least get aware of it enough in order not to be lead only by it); but naturally just and fair Merlin. Brave, fierce, tenacious Merlin; too reckless though (but again: he can at least get aware of it enough in order not to be lead only by it). Ressourceful Merlin, fast-learning Merlin: he would master his body’s strength, eventually; and Leon would be here to lead the Knights in the meantime… Arthur takes an oath. Even if they fail to find a solution to their problem, Camelot won’t be left unprotected. Come what may; even the worst? Merlin *will* be ready to take his place. Having Merlin’s unique edges smoothed out feels wrong; but it just has to be for show, right?

Second. Well, there is no really second yet; at least not more than what they have already planned. They need to find some books - and pray that they will be useful. And Arthur will just have to be particularly attentive about not repeating the kind of blunder he just did with witnesses present.

Yes. Merlin. Books. Start at the beginning; and with luck, it might just work out in the end.

Arthur cleans up as best as he can, using and wringing his soaked tunic in the buckets, then runs to Merlin’s room for a set of dried clothes. Turning up to retake his place at 'Arthur’’s side while drenched would only draw unwanted attention…

.

So. Basically? Yep. This is a magic-reveal unreveal fic. But. I mean… It’s Arthur? Also: this fic (to me) is canon (fitting) - so it just can’t be a reveal fic. Bonus: it explains too why Arthur doesn’t get the courage-magic-strength trio hint later on. He thinks Merlin is magic; but only because there is some residual trace to sense from when his body had magic (aka this fic), not that he actually has magic still at the time… Arthur can be at the same time very aware yet very unaware, and he can be so very biased and decided to see things his way, no matter how circumvoluted, right? (Also, of course Arthur thinks in fact then that HE is magic in the trio: he was after all the one inside Merlin when his body had magic; and Merlin IS courage - Arthur has such a low self-esteem to start with…)

On a side note: Arthur would actually trust Merlin with Camelot (even despite his limits). If that doesn’t tell you all there is to tell then I don’t know how to express it. *SIGH* *GROSS SOBBING* (Gwen though is  innately  made to be Queen - but Arthur doesn’t know that yet. He isn’t wrong about Merlin though - for Arthur’s memory? Merlin would do his best to be a great King too, you bet…) *GROSS SOBBING AGAIN*

.

VIII. MERLIN’S CHAINMAIL (ARTHUR POV)

“Merlin! My boy! You’re soaked! Did you provoke Arthur again and end up under the well for it this time?”

Great. Gaius sounds half amused half concerned. Does actually *everyone* think him to be a brute?

Well; nevermind. Merlin knows better; for sure - and that’s what matters. Merlin is never backing away, Merlin is never really complaining nor saying no; Merlin just watches him with mirth in his challenging eyes: I dare you. Of course Arthur HAS TO then… It’s like… kind of a private wordless conversation only the two of them understand. But honestly? Arthur wouldn’t trespass Merlin’s limits - if anything, Arthur would probably even feel guilty, if Merlin ever made one known…

But then, Gaius is patting his shoulder, pushing him towards 'his’ room; and Arthur is stunned silent, as he can’t help but relish on the (for him unusual) affectionate paternalistic small gesture.

“Get changed. Get warmed up. You’ll tell me later. I haven’t heard the bell signaling the end of the pleas, it is already so late? I’ve just finished Sir Kay’s potion, and it should be drinken warm, as you know; so I’d better be on my way. We’ll prepare Uther’s draught and the balm for Little Kathleen’s knee when I’m back. Also, I’m afraid I’ve ruined my coat; if you could work your magic on it next time you’re mending Arthur’s clothes, I’d be very much obliged?”

And then Gaius is gone, and Arthur is still stunned, but now for another reason - it was but a polite turn of phrase, of course, and Arthur knows Merlin just isn’t capable of miracles, as proven by the state of some of his shirts - beyond mending; but Gaius would better not use some idioms that carelessly around the palace - who knows who might hear and takes things the wrong way… Arthur shakes his head as he hurries to change, feeling sorry for letting Gaius down, but not planning to stay around until Gaius comes back - he wouldn’t know anyway how to prepare his Father’s nor Kathleen’s medicine, right…

Arthur opens Merlin’s cupboard.

There are only two folded set of clothes (neckerchief included indeed), and Arthur just takes the one on top.

He’s about to close the door when his eyes fall on Merlin’s chainmail.

/

The first time Arthur had told Merlin that he had been assigned to lead some patrol, Merlin had right away asked:

“When do we leave?”

Arthur had been surprised, then had tilted his head, apprehending Merlin while explaining that coming along was to be Merlin’s choice; and not per se his duty as palace manservant. They usually asked for volunteers; there was extra coin to be earned and such.

Merlin had only repeated:

“Sire; when do we leave?”

Arthur had been surprised again, but definitely pleased:

“Tomorrow at first light.”

“I’d better start packing right away then. What do you need?”

After having listed their necessities, Arthur had mentioned that he would have a chainmail sent to Gaius’s for Merlin to wear. Merlin had countered that he had no wish for carrying extra weight around as it would only slow him down in his chores; and that he would rather wear his everyday clothes. Arthur had said it was folly to go unprotected - they would patrol the borders, and thiefs and saxons could fall on them - and Merlin had finally relented some and agreed to wear a chainmail he would self adapt as he wished above some clothing but under his tunic. Arthur had been suspicious when Merlin had turned up the next morning without even a cap showing out, and had actually moved his neckerchief aside to make sure Merlin was wearing metal under his tunic…

/

Without hesitation, Arthur takes the chainmail out too, deciding he should wear it under his clothes. After all, the longer Arthur might succeed in hiding his new abilities, the more chances there are that the one responsible for their troubles might choose to turn to more expeditive measures of his own. Killing a servant might go unnoticed for awhile, and would work just as well in case whoever had planned this got tired of waiting for Arthur to betray himself and get executed. Which means that Merlin’s body is just walking around as a mark waiting to get hit… and Arthur should do his best to protect it. Merlin’s chainmail is barely worth its name; but it does cover his chest, belly and back, at least.

Arthur makes it back to the Great Hall right on time for the end of the pleas. It was the moment they had planned to stage for Arthur’s injury; but Arthur discretly but authoritatively signals 'no’ with his head. It would be too risky; what if while falling he instinctively uses magic again - in front of the whole court? Merlin gives him a curious look but follows his cue anyway, thanksfully. There is still enough time to create an excuse before training; and they can still tell he fell even without witnesses anyway. It would have been a nice added touch at make-believe, but Gaius vouching for them should be enough on its own, right?

As they walk in silence back to Gaius’s quarters, Arthur feels Merlin’s eyes upon him, boring and questioning. So when they pass by his chambers, Arthur takes the opportunity for privacy. Once behind closed doors, Arthur leads them to the most private corner, as far from the door as possible. Then he takes a deep breath, and turns towards Merlin to explain… everything.

He hasn’t got the time to start though before Merlin hushes out, worry evident in his voice, pointing to Arthur’s side where a hint of metal is visible if you pay attention - and Merlin always pays attention, doesn’t he:

“Sire? Why are you wearing my chainmail?”

.

AN: It’s canon after all that Arthur doesn’t force Merlin to come along - he lets him leave before Camlann, right? But yes, this is just me giving some sense to the 'just let’s Merlin accompany us everywhere without any kind of protection’ unacceptable general policy. So. Merlin *has* some protection. We just don’t see it. Okay? And the few times he’s actually in armor on patrol, it’s because they need a decoy or something… Also, just so you know: Merlin of course thought that Arthur would probably think that he didn’t want to be seen in a chainmail because he didn’t want to look like a soldier in order not to seem a danger nor a target, but Merlin just couldn’t care: he HAD to be an unconspicuous nobody - it made it easier to protect Arthur with his magic if no one really paid attention to him. And to end with a cute note: whenever they ride out ? Arthur always checks that Merlin wears his chainmail - a fact Merlin can’t help but always secretly revel in…

.

IX. REVELATIONS (MERLIN POV)

Arthur looks anxious - which only makes Merlin worry more.

“I found out… why I was put into your body. I’m sorry, Merlin. I wear your chainmail because your body is in great danger; and it’s all because of me… again. ”

“Wha-”

Arthur cuts him with an imperative gesture from his hand, voice hushed - even though it echoes in Merlin’s ears like a shout:

“I have- I mean you have… Magic!”

Merlin’s breath catches; panick rising. Arthur knows! Arthur knows?

Arthur seems to read his struck expression though as simple denial.

“Yes, Merlin; you heard right! Magic! I saw water and wood floating above my head - floating, Merlin! - That’s the only way to explain it! But I have no idea how it gets triggered, I have no idea how to control any of it - I fell and it happened, I guess, instinctively? Now you understand why I couldn’t have us stage a fall… If people find out? *When* people find out? My Father will have me - YOU - beheaded!”

Merlin’s eyebrow furrow. He doesn’t understand. If Arthur knows he has magic? How come Arthur looks *contrite* instead of angry; afraid *for him* instead of afraid of him? Not that Merlin is complaining about the fact that Arthur obviously doesn’t wish to see him beheaded, of course; his evident worry is even heartwarming, in a way… but heartbreaking, too, as Merlin can’t help but feel that Arthur’s reaction must be induced by some reason that he doesn’t comprehend yet but that has little to do about him having magic at all…

Arthur then fully explains his theory about their attacker using his body to get to Camelot by erasing Arthur, then Uther, and marching against a Camelot lead by an unprepared servant playing Prince. Merlin is shocked, and shaken. Because indeed Arthur’s reaction isn’t about him having magic at all, but about Arthur feeling responsible for his body’s impending doom. But what hurts the most yet is the heavy guilt that settles upon Merlin’s chest - crushing, constricting, inescapable - as he realizes that in fact everything is his fault! Arthur’s thinking may be flawed on one account; but the rest of it makes sense, indeed. And so Merlin cannot deny that Arthur has been targeted and put into his own body because whoever did this actually knows that he has magic.

And so Merlin feels panick rising again, and even worse than before. It is already complicated enough for Merlin to hide his powers - and he has had practice at it since his birth. How could Arthur ever successfully hide them for long… And to think that *HE* might be the cause of Arthur’s death? It’s worse than anything; worse than everything. And it’s devastating. Merlin can’t hold Arthur’s gaze anymore.

Arthur probably thinks he is overwhelmed by the surprise of his body being a target though.

“And I’m sorry - again, Merlin - but I can’t go and hide at some random remote place until I’ve worked out how to subdue it at least, if not suppress it. There is no time. I can’t leave Camelot; not when it’s so endangered.”

Merlin feels like screaming: Arthur shouldn’t apologize; Arthur shouldn’t feel guilty - It’s all on him!

“It’s all right, Arthur. I know you’re right: we have to stay here. After all, our best shot to end this mess is to find guidance in some books; and our best shot to find said books is staying here.” (Also, you bet Merlin isn’t willing to leave Camelot either because he is going to consult with Kilgarrah… Merlin had planned to go to the Great Dragon at the first occasion right when he had realized they had switched bodies; but he now can’t help but wish for the night to come even sooner.)

Arthur looks surprised by Merlin’s easy acceptance as he lets out: “I was going to point that out too?”

Arthur seems to hesitate an instant, taking a deep breath; but then, probably finally enticed by the fact that they still are on the same page apparently, he hushes out words that Merlin had never imagined he would ever hear, even in his wildest dreams.

“Now that’s settled… Do you have any idea that might help me keep it in check? I mean… Back in Ealdor? Did your friend Will maybe ever share something with you that we could use? Anything?”

Merlin’s mouth falls open; but nothing comes out of it. He realizes just how surreal it must have been for Arthur to utter those words. But Arthur looks decided, as always. He means it. And that’s when Merlin realizes Arthur is in fact ready to *learn*. Arthur still doesn’t trust magic, and definitely doesn’t trust his magic now that he has some; he only sees it as a treacherous condition. But he is willing to face it outright, instead of wishing or pretending it isn’t even there to start with. And Merlin realizes that this isn’t only proof of Arthur’s mighty heart; but that it also might actually be their saving too, with some luck?

And so Merlin just HAS to take a chance. Anyway, Arthur *needs* him; and how could Merlin ever let him down to start with… Besides, what if it made Arthur realize that magic isn’t only to be feared; that magic can be good, too, actually?

“Maybe you shouldn’t learn how to keep it check, but how to have it *work*?”

Arthur opens his mouth now, either in shock or to retort - or both; so Merlin hurries to push his point.

“Hear me out, please. Even when we do find an helpful book? The spell we’re under must be very powerful - I mean, have you ever heard or thought this could even be possible? - so we might still require magic too in order to perform whatever will be mentioned in the book? So yes, your new abilities are supposed to be our doom; but maybe we can turn them to our advantage? You have MAGIC, Arthur. If you can control it and use it - on your terms? Maybe that’s just what we need to solve our problem?”

Merlin waits. And Arthur isn’t taking the opportunity to repel his idea. Silence goes on; and still, Arthur isn’t refusing. If anything, he looks… thoughtful, even if doubtful. But there’s resolve, too; and maybe, even, a spark of hope? So Merlin just takes the final plunge.

“As you said… I might have… some basic notions about it? It’s worth a try, Arthur. What do you say?”

Merlin’s heart is pounding so hard it’s going to break his chest for sure, as they hold gazes for a long time - Merlin silently pleading for Arthur to just trust him. Then Arthur gives him a firm nod.

“I say this is probably folly but we have to try, indeed. So. You train me? And I train you.”

Merlin tilts his head, unsure about the second part.

“There are things I want to teach you, Merlin”, Arthur explains; pleads even. “In case we stay stuck in each others body no matter what we try; in case your body should- I know it’s a lot to ask, especially as I apparently keep making your life a hell just by existing? But will you please let me prepare you to take my place, if necessary?”

Merlin’s breath is knocked out of him. Arthur would trust *him* with *Camelot*? But Merlin cannot even contemplate it. Arthur cannot be gone; musn’t be gone; will not be gone. Merlin’s voice is fierce as it simply refutes the prospect.

“Sire, it won’t come to-”

Arthur lays a hand on his shoulder.

“It would mean a lot to me.”

And what can Merlin do then, but promise - and mean it:

“Anything, Arthur.”

The hand leaves his shoulder, but Arthur’s eyes stay fixed on him.

“Thank you, Merlin.”

And Merlin takes another oath - this one to himself. They’ll work it out. They’ll make it work. They will.

.

They both feel guilty for endangering the other more than they are worried about themselves *heavy sigh*

.

X. TRAINING (MERLIN POV)

Gaius is working on finishing Uther’s draught when ‘Arthur’ surprisingly comes in without knocking.

“Sire? Do you need-”

Merlin hasn’t prepared a speech on their way (how do you announce this anyway?) So he just blurts it out, as Arthur comes in after him and takes place at his side.

“We need your help, Gaius. Our bodies have been switched. (pointing to himself) Merlin. (pointing to his body) Arthur. We awoke like this this morning.”

Gaius looks stunned - of course. Then, for the shortest of times, he looks unconvinced; but this is after all Camelot, where strange things always happen, indeed - and not only Arthur would most probably have better things to do than playing along with Merlin’s pranks; but also Merlin wouldn’t have the heart to make *such* a prank to start with - not to him. So Gaius looks concerned now, gaze jumping with worry between Merlin and Arthur, holding Merlin’s eyes with a question in his eyes - and Merlin knows what’s worrying him.

Merlin can only give Gaius though a fragile smile to assure him that he is all right along with an apologetic look in return. He isn’t sure Arthur would want anyone else knowing about the magic too, so he will have to wait for a private occasion to explain everything to Gaius. For now, he just sticks to the plan.

“Arthur is expected to train soon, and we thought you could give us a way out of it. No one should be aware that Arthur isn’t Arthur until we’ve fixed this.”

Gaius doesn’t even hesitate.

“Of course (nodding to Merlin). I’ll go and tell you injured your sword arm (nodding to Arthur).”

/

Gaius goes out, mentioning coming back later to make Little Kathleen’s balm. Once the door closes, Arthur says he wonders what Merlin has in mind for 'training’. So Merlin decides he should help them both at once.

Merlin looks around for something basic, and his eyes light up when they fall on two bowls - not only basic but also potentially useful, if it works? He sets them on the table in front of Arthur: one stays empty, the other one get filled with water.

“Here. Try to make the water move into the other bowl.”

Arthur looks at the bowls, then at Merlin; incredulous.

“I’m not sure- I mean, even if I make this work, how am I supposed to put ourselves back into our bodies that way? How can I perform whatever must be performed if I am out of the performing body?”

“This is just a beginning, Sire. This is just a way to have you… feel your magic? Find it, and use it as you wish, when you wish. But if you need a valid reason, I promise this will be useful too, when you’ve mastered it.”

Arthur seems perplexed. Merlin confides, voice low as if sharing a secret: “We won’t have to disturb the fish anymore?”

Arthur is apparently too stressed out to even smile, sadly. But he gives Merlin a satisfied nod. “I’d better start trying then, huh.” A helpless sigh follows though. “Any hint about how to feel it to start with? Where to find it?”

Merlin hesitates. Not only because he wonders how much he can tell without Arthur realizing he knows too much, but also because he struggles about how to put into words what he has always simply felt. He has never had to search for it; it had always just been there. But maybe he can describe it by telling what he doesn’t feel, since he’s in Arthur’s body?

“Don’t search for 'where’. It’s not in one place; it’s everywhere. Not only in your body; literally everywhere - earth, air, water, fire. Like a… warm… tingling… flow? When you’ve found it, try to concentrate on it, focus on it, in order to direct it towards what you want - with your hands, your eyes, your voice; whatever works?”

Arthur’s brow has only deepened from the explanation, and Merlin can’t help but sigh:

“I’m sorry. It’s gibberish. I don’t know how to explain-”

“What you can’t know”, Arthur cuts him with a wave of his hand. “Of course. I have to find it on my own. Thank you for trying, at least?”

And so Arthur goes to sit at the table, facing the two bowls, while Merlin starts on the balm for Little Kathleen’s knee (hopefully for the last time, as her recovery seems to be going well, thanksfully) - both to feel useful and to give Arthur some kind of privacy. His moving around though must be disturbing, because Arthur switches place, turning his back to him. But it gives Merlin the freedom to check over his shoulders from time to time without risking to meet Arthur’s eyes.

/

This isn’t working though, Merlin can tell, by the time he’s done preparing Little Kathleen’s balm (he waits for Gaius to check if he got all doses and ingredients right though before finishing; he has only done it once) and a sleeping draught (for the guards guarding Kilgharra’s tunnel) (Gaius has had him prepare Morgana’s draught several times already, and has explained how to up the doses while keeping it safe): Arthur looks nothing but tensed, when he would need to be relaxed in order to feel… Trying too hard is nothing but counterproductive.

That’s when Merlin realizes he’s been going at it the wrong way. Arthur is not him. Arthur is *Arthur*. And when Arthur is at an impasse and needs a clear head? He trains. Activity helps him focus. Exhaustion helps him forget. To find his inner ground, Arthur must be physically busy; not sitting hunched over a table looking at two bowls.

Merlin eyes again his surroundings: spoons should work. Gaius has them in lots of size, both wood and metal. Merlin bundles them all in his tunic, and calls for Arthur as he passes in front of him.

“Let’s try something else. You can work on the water later on.”

Arthur’s eyes follow him questioningly up the stairs. Merlin sets his collection down, then holds a spoon up.

“Try to stop it from falling to the ground.”

Merlin let the spoon fall. It hits the ground, of course; but Arthur surely looks now interested by the new challenge. Merlin smiles, and lets another spoon fall.

After five rounds, Arthur gets up and gathers the spoons before handing them over to a crouching Merlin, instead of having Merlin going down, and up, and down, and up… A few rounds later still, Arthur picks up a spoon he has missed on his way and calls out for Merlin to catch it instead of walking back. Merlin misses it though, and it lands on his arm. And that’s when Merlin thinks his new idea can even be perfectioned.

He takes the offending spoon off the ground and holds it at the ready, eyeing Arthur, waiting for him to understand. And Arthur does, of course.

“Merlin? Are you threatening me with a spoon?”

Merlin grins wolfishly. He throws, and Arthur easily dodges, laughing.

“How long have you been waiting for such an opportunity?”

“Forever?” Merlin lies, before throwing another spoon, which Arthur blocks with an upraised arm.

Merlin can’t help but scowl: “You’re supposed to make the spoon divert its course; not block it or move out of its way.”

Arthur has actually the decency to look apologetic: “I know. Sorry. Reflexes.” Then he smirks. “But please, indulge yourself and do go on.”

And Merlin does. And it’s glorious somehow, how they are suddenly both intent and carefree, spoons clattering everywhere on both sides as Arthur now throws the spoons back to Merlin too. Hits land on both sides too, as they both throw quicker and harder.

/

At some point, the door opens and a spoon hits… Gaius.

“Sorry”, Merlin lets out, hurrying down to check he hasn’t hurt Gaius.

Gaius looks at the both of them with incomprehension, but Arthur explains even before Merlin has even opened his mouth.

“We’re actually working on something, Gaius; not destroying your chambers. (the slightest hesitation - but if Gaius is to be their ally then Arthur has decided he should know, well, everything, it seems) I have been jinxed too, on top of the body swap. It appears I have been given… magic; to be my doom - and well… Merlin’s body end.”

Gaius looks sort of disapprovingly to Merlin at the M word, but his gaze softens somehow, even though it turns outright anxious, as Arthur further explains his theory about their attacker’s plan.

“So, now you know it all, Gaius. And we also need your help for something more than giving me an excuse not to train… We need… information. I thought… You and Geoffrey go way back, right? Maybe you could persuade him to lend you a few special books?”

Gaius nods, eyeing Merlin.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Arthur nods back.

“In the meanwhile, I have to understand how it works, in order to prevent anyone finding it out until we’ve found a way to lift the spells?”

“Of course. Just let me take what’s necessary and I’ll leave you to it.”

Merlin then shows Gaius his previous work (safely tucked away in his room after the first round of spoons throwing - and yes, it also gives Merlin the opportunity to silently let Gaius know where his book is hidden, so that he will be able to retrieve it later on and present it to them as coming from Geoffrey or something). Gaius proudly tells he got everything right and gathers it all into a bowl.

“I can finish the balm in the kitchens. I’ll be back to bandage your arm though later on, Merlin; our Prince is supposed to be injured, and our King will want to check on his son right when he comes back from today’s hunt and hears about it.”

/

They start again where they had left, but nothing magical ever happens still, and after some time, Arthur exclaims in annoyance: “Maybe you should use knifes?”

And Merlin understands the logic; but Merlin just… can’t. He counters with an idea of his own.

“Maybe I should tie you up on a chair so that you can’t dodge them anymore?”

And Arthur gives a shrug… then goes to sit.

Merlin finds some rope and tie Arthur’s legs and chest to the chair. He hesitates, then tie only Arthur’s left hand behind the chair.

“In case it helps if you aim”, he explains.

Then Merlin is facing Arthur again. The spoons hit; one at a time. But Arthur glares at them - never at Merlin; and so Merlin goes on.

And then… (they’ve been going at it for so long that Merlin has stopped counting rounds) a spoon finally *stops*, mid-air, before simply falling vertically to the ground instead of keeping its course.

Merlin’s mouth falls open as Arthur keeps looking at his hand in wonder.

“Did you see-”

“Yes!” Merlin can’t help but shout happily.

Arthur meets his eyes, looking even more resolute than before.

“Again.”

Arthur doesn’t stop lots of spoons (yet, hopefully); but he regularly stops or redirects one.

And then, Arthur looks at his hand, and then at him, both in wonder.

“It *is* warm!”

And that’s definitely progress in the right direction, if Arthur has *felt* it.

The look they share is actually hopeful, for the first time since this began.

/

After some time, Merlin decides they should take a pause. Arthur still has to prepare him for tomorrow concil too, right?

So Merlin starts asking about what he should know for the coming concil right while untying Arthur’s legs.

“Will was definitely lucky to count you as a friend.”

Merlin’s eyes jump to Arthur’s in surprise; not only from the compliment, but also from the repeat mention of Will. Before today, Arthur had never mentioned Will, since they had left Ealdor.

Arthur doesn’t notice. Or - more probably - Arthur notices but goes on anyway; he is nothing but brave after all.

“I never had a friend, but I believe friends are supposed to help each other out, right? And well, you’re good at helping out, is all. And I know I have little to no right to talk about him; but I think you should know that I’m grateful, and that he has my respect, Merlin.”

Merlin is utterly speechless. Arthur has finally found, it seems, a way to shut him up. And to get him teary-eyed to boot. Merlin lowers his eyes to the ground.

“I believe he was a kind man. I mean- He must have been, of course - I don’t see you befriending someone cruel or-… But even taking only my own judgment into account?  I suppose he could have probably done more harm than a whirlwind. But he didn’t. He wanted to defend, more than to attack; there is nothing malicious in that. It’s unfair his kindness caused his end though. Sometimes, maybe, it’s necessary to be the first to strike; even if you can never know how actually well-founded that decision then is; and you have to live with it.”

Merlin feels guilty, again. And angry. Does Arthur have to remind him that Will’s death is his fault? For all his magic? Merlin is indeed nothing but *useless*, indeed. He works on finishing to untie Arthur as quickly as he can.

Arthur must have read the inwards directed angry shake of his head for something else though, as he lets out a somewhat apologizing sigh.

“I realize I’m very biased, Merlin; because if he had used his powers in a harmful way? I would probably have been the first to accuse him of being a monster. (pause) But he hasn’t. And I haven’t searched for any magical powers - yet here I am.”

Another sigh; nothing but helpless this time. So Merlin *has* to look up. He has failed Will. He won’t fail again. He won’t fail Arthur. Arthur’s gaze is lost inward though.

“Sire”, Merlin pleads, hunting Arthur’s eyes then locking onto them.

Arthur fidgets; Merlin can’t help but note the oddity and rarity.

“I just- I realize this is the strangest thought to have while we are yet again under a sorcerer’s threat, but… Maybe not everything is always as black or white as I’ve been told all my life? Maybe not everyone with magic is actually evil? … Will? Me? … Again, maybe I’m only very biased. Because who knows then how many might have been wrongly punished- (a heavy sigh; wondering and remorseful this time, as Arthur shakes his head, apparently thinking about his Father’s deeds as his own - as he has allowed them to come to pass without opposition for so long…) But I *have* to believe that it’s possible to have magic without being corrupted by it. I mean… What if it sticks? Even after…”

“Arthur”, Merlin starts again as Arthur’s voice falters - even though Merlin still has no exact idea about what he wants to say; at least not in what order. Arthur’s genuine regrets and palpable fear are boring a hole right through his heart; just as Arthur’s words about Will and about magic (it is a step in the right direction; no matter how small) spread warmth through it too. Merlin’s possible soothing or grateful words in return all feel just tangled and messy and worthless and not enough and-

Arthur clears his throat, then softly exhales as he finally looks away: “I don’t really know what I’m trying to say, Merlin. Except… I’m glad you’re here?”

Maybe Merlin has conveyed what he couldn’t put into words through his eyes after all…

/

And then Arthur stands up, and his voice is back to his usual, assured tone.

“Now. One problem at a time, right? About the concil tomorrow…”

And Merlin listens, you bet.

.

So yep, yet another 'I’m glad you’re here’ (MY HEART). And spoons just had to be involved, indeed (I’m weak, blame 5.03)

#merlin #merthur #bbc merlin #merthur fic #bbcmerlin #merlin fic #the body swap #the once and future fic #text #fanfic #fic #my own two spells

[probably-lucifer]

This is an excerpt from my fanfiction “Building A Home” on AO3 that will likely be what I use for the last chapter. Hydrangea Lotus Potter is Harry’s twin whose name I had a lot of trouble with.

After the end of the war.

Ron and Hermione walked around afterward searching for Harry, Hydrangea, and Draco who had disappeared shortly after the battle ended, about fifteens minute into their search the trio were found sleeping in a near circle around a tree, one that reached so high it didn't truly seem to end as far as Hermione could tell, but then again, magic was strange sometimes. Draco was Harry was sitting up straight head against the strangely tall tree, with Draco in between his legs, one leg up to provide the two balance, and Hydrangea curled into the both of them with her arms curled around Teddy, who had finally been retrieved from Severus near the end of the battle.

"We should wake them up 'Mione," Ron said, though he made no move to do so, though he did yawn as well. "I don't think they'll wake up Ron. I'm so tired, maybe I ought to take a nap with them, join us?" She said both sat down on the trunk of the tree, as Ron settled on her shoulder she thought to herself that everything felt right.

Only a second or two later did Fred and George and Lee appear in what was in an awfully large clearing, full of warm fragrant flowery scents and a rather large tree if a bit familiar tree, "Could use a nap boys, this looks good a place as any." Lee said, gesturing to the five kids already there. Fred nodded once and move to sit next to Ron, Lee next to him, and George next to him Fred and George both leaned onto Lee, who tilted his head down and fell into a gentle rest.

Moments later five more stumbled along to the siren song of the wind through the beautiful trees, Blaise, Pansy, their girlfriend Ginny, Blaise's boyfriend Neville, and their lovely friend Luna.

"We should join them," Blaise said as he moved to lean on Harry's side, sure that Harry wouldn't mind. "Yes, that sounds nice," Pansy said as she laid in Blaise's lap pulling her uniform hat out of her bag and handing Blaise a wide brim panama black hat. Luna gently guided Neville along to the tree as their friends fell asleep against a Warriors Nest.

A tree Neville had read about back in his fourth year, a tree that only appeared to warriors in need of rest, and healing. It would take care of them, and keep them safe, and there was absolutely no way to fight against such a powerful thing, unless you were Luna, but then, the fae are like that, though he didn't doubt that she would casually rest among them the entire time as well, because, Luna was like that.

"Don't worry Neville, all will be well," Luna said in that dreamy voice of hers. He wonders sometimes if her voice is as magic as the rest of her as he sits own and lifts Pansy's legs onto his, as Luna curls onto his shoulder,  just before he falls into a deep slumber he tilts his head up to the sun, and sees a phoenix sweeping the grounds. He has no need to wonder who she searches for, sends out a whistle soft as the wind, and is asleep before she lands.

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

Years go by, almost nineteen since the battle ended on that cold winter's day, almost nineteen years since The Twin Commanders, and Their Generals were found against a Warriors Nest asleep. No one could be sure if they were happy the war was truly over, or if they were sad that the thirteen children they'd found were the leading commanders and generals of an adults game of War.

Molly Weasley took over as Charms teacher, prodigy that she'd been she was an even greater professor, she commonly brought snacks for her class to eat while she explained theory as she found it helped limit talking, and, in her deepest hearts, it helped ease the pain of having so few mouths to feed. She visited her children, many that they were every day, at the end of the day, weather permitting as per her husbands requests, to clean off the random debrief, and tell them about her day as there's always something interesting happening in Charms, even if that something is, for once, nothing. She thinks sometimes, that they can hear her, there were all those rumors after all, and once, she swears she heard a disgusted murmur of maroon that sounded so like her Ron she cried. Still knitted him a maroon sweater though, at this point it's tradition.

Percy Weasley headed the department of Muggle and Muggleborn Integration, were a very select group of people are sent to observe the households of Muggleborns, and either have them taken into one of the many orphanages, or introduce them to the wizarding world a year (or more depending on magical strength and whatnot) before their children are set to attend Hogwarts. It was a fantastically well-run department. Though he made sure everyone thought he only visited on Holidays and birthdays he went to the tree in the forest whenever he felt particularly stressed, or after a nightmare kept him awake far too long. His husband is the only one who knows, though he dutifully pretends he has "No idea where Percy's run off to, what do mean?"

Oliver Weasley-Wood was quite proud of his husband Percy, and their children (Of which Percy is certain have duplicated, but he's not entirely certain nor does he want to be a bad dad, plus the children are always, or at least mostly always, happy whenever he picks them up from primary school on his way home from work, and thus, hasn't asked.), and his Quidditch team The Appleby Arrows, of which he was Captain and Keeper of. He visits The group whenever h has a particularly interesting Quidditch match, and he also visited the night before he (Very publicly) proposed to Percy. Sometimes he thinks they laugh a little, they do.

Sirius Lupin-Black and his husband Remus Lupin-Black are each pioneering the department of magical creatures, and vastly improving the way magical creatures are treated, Sirius originally started doing so to improve things for his husband and came to realize he’d found a passion he hadn’t considered before. Pulling one over on stuffy old racists purebloods. Remus quite enjoys teaching alternating between Hogwarts and Cambridge with his best friend Nymphadora Tonks the mother of his and Sirius’ child, Teddy Lupin-Black. Each is saddened by the loss of their children greatly and visit almost as often as Minerva, and Molly. They always end up crying a little.

Narcissa Malfoy often brings gifts and accessories made from the flowers and plants in her garden, she sometimes hosts tea with all the mothers' of their saviors, even leaves a chair open for Lily Potter, who she knows must've been an amazing woman to create such wonderful children. She brings Lucius every holiday, even though he barely speaks a word on those days, and every birthday, where he leaves presents he saw that reminded him of the little rugrats that occupied his halls so often.

He does not say it, but occasionally he and Severus sit under a nearby tree and speak of anything and nothing. It is calming for the two of them to feel the volatile magic of their thirteen wards. Narcissa never brings it up though.

Minerva McGonagall took to being headmistress with all the grace of her animagus form, she still hadn't aged a day it seemed. She was still strict but kind, watchful and wary, curious and intelligent. Every Saturday evening she ventured into the forest to tell her children stories of her week. She is well aware that she is heard, she is well aware that they are fine, but she is also well enough aware that she misses each and every one of the little shits.

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#fanfiction #Harry Potter #draco malfoy #Hermione Granger #Ron Weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #lee jordan #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #neville longbottom #Luna Lovegood #molly weasley #oliver wood #percy weasley #narcisa malfoy #lucius malfoy #severus snape #(He's not an abusive POS in this fic I swear) #(He's still cranky though) #minerva mcgonagall #sirius black #remus lupin #nymphadora tonks #teddy lupin #first draft