#'your actions make perfect logical sense in your mind but come across completely differently to someone else'

[hex-of-els]

honestly miscommunication in a story is only annoying if it's being used for lazy drama or to serve an idiot plot, like miscommunication on a personality/individuals level is sooo fascinating??? stuff like a misalignment of love languages or communication styles, & stuff like "I can't understand the thought processes behind your decisions bc on the most basic level we're so unalike and we come from such disparate backgrounds that what comes naturally to you would not even occur to me" is like 👌 to me

[yanderes-galore]

This might be a weird request, and I don’t know if it falls under Freelancers or AI, but could you please do a platonic concept of the Meta from Halo RVB? Something like when the darling is around, he feels more human-like until eventually all the fragments start obsessing over them and associating them with that sense of humanity to the point where they decide they have to keep the darling with them at all times.

If it isn’t clear I have simped over every villain in this show a half dozen times each, I formerly apologize for the burst of requests and will now return to dormancy.

I... I think The Meta counts as a freelancer due to Agent Maine? You have a good point. Either way, not too weird, I can probably make a concept work along these lines.

Also, I don't mind. I love Red vs Blue lol. Been awhile since I saw the seasons featuring The Meta so I went off memory for the plot 😅 He acts the same/similar platonic and romantic but I tried to keep this just platonic.

Yandere! Platonic! The Meta Concept

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Violence, Kidnapping, Obsession, Murder, Possessive behavior, Manipulation, Mental issues due to AI fragments, Feral yandere, Threats, Stalking.

The Meta is certainly feral.

This is because Maine was always someone who had a violent temper and spoke more through actions than words.

Now? The Meta has a ton of different voices trying to dictate him on what to do.

He can't really listen to them all so he just focuses on two things.

He wants power and perfection.

Maine himself wants power.

The fragments want perfection, they want to be more human.

The original plan was to rebuild Alpha to feel complete.

Then The Meta comes across you by chance.

You may be another agent, someone aiding the Reds and Blues.

Maine is probably looking for power even if he is a bit distant mentally.

Yet when you try to distract him or even damage him, he takes interest.

The fragments may even recognize you as an agent if you are one and keep you in mind.

It appears they need to be mindful of you along with Washington and South Dakota.

A platonic view of you would be very similar to a romantic view of you when it comes to The Meta.

It takes a long time before it's situated within him.

Using cloaking tehcnology, he stalks you like a hunting animal.

Something about you sparks a strive to pursue you.

The fragments in his head certainly agree.

Gamma keeps saying they should manipulate you to their side.

Delta is trying to give logic and reason on how you'll act if they take you.

Theta sees you like a parental figure similar to York and imprints on you.

Omega is full of rage towards those around you and you for distracting their plan.

Sigma is also manipulative and has ambition. He's similar to Gamma, but says how you could aid them to be perfect.

The Twins agree with them and calculate how to make it all work.

For the most part the fragments are going to be controlling this obsession.

They're guiding and manipulating Maine as The Meta to chase you down.

Alpha is important for their plan, yes, but so are you.

In an attempt to achieve humanity, The Meta chases you like an animal.

He stalks you from the shadows, growling being heard yet you can never find the source.

It isn't until he eventually pounces that you realize you're in trouble.

The Meta will hold you down, restraining you with snarls as he tries to subdue you.

One way or another, most likely by damaging your helmet/head, The Meta will knock you down and out before running off with you.

He'll most likely be shot at on the way out, Washington refusing to allow him to leave.

During this The Meta does everything in his power to shield you from stray bullets.

The Meta is a beast who's obsessive towards his goal of power, perfection, and humanity.

By the time you wake up you can barely move, the area you're in is a temporary hideout of The Meta.

Your head throbs painfully and your body is hard to move.

Meanwhile The Meta is sitting beside you, watching you like a hawk.

Caring for you makes him feel human... makes him feel complete.

Once he finds Alpha, he'll truly be the best he can be.

The Meta is very animalistic in his obsession.

He's incredibly violent when angered and acts so possessive of you.

The Meta would attempt to be caring towards you due to Theta and Delta.

Meanwhile he's controlling due to Gamma and Sigma, using manipulation to keep you.

The fragments definitely guide most of the obsession.

Maine himself is somewhat there but he is mostly a puppet.

He just listens to them and they control his behavior.

Physical affection is a bit difficult for him.

His grip is tight but he is mindful of not crushing you through your armor.

Most of The Meta's communication is through grunts and growls.

Even when he's trying to be affectionate and calming towards you, it sounds so aggressive.

The Meta would kill anyone around you in an instant.

Both Maine and the fragments feel others with you are a threat.

They can't just allow someone to take their key to humanity, can they?

Which leads to The Meta hunting people around you to keep you to himself.

The Meta is probably one of the strongest RvB yandere.

This is due to his strength and durability, along with the feral nature.

The Meta may also express different "moods" due to the AI?

He's usually cruel and manipulative, behavior rather threatening towards you.

Other times he's affectionate and docile, but only around you.

The Meta struggles understanding companionship due to all the voices ruining his mental state.

Yet, he knows to be gentle with you.

It's strange how this big strong threat softens towards you.

You can almost consider the killing machine a friend...

Unfortunately such feelings are forced as his aggression and strength scare you.

[magicaldragons]

writing.

things i've learned throughout the years

speaking from personal experience, writing, whether it's for a fic or an original work, is a process that comes to everyone very differently. which is also why it took me a WHILE to figure out what worked for me.

you've definitely heard this one before, but: 1. do not worry about making your first draft perfect. it will seem terrible, and that's ok.

it's the most common writing advice i've always heard as well, and i always understood what it meant, logically, but it was a piece of advice that was very hard to follow.

the second i gave myself permission to suck, though – the moment i said "i'm going to write trash," is when everything started flowing so much more easily.

it helps IMMENSELY to just push ahead and write whatever comes to you in the moment. do not start searching up synonyms. (yeah, i see you) and if you hate a word or phrase, put a *** next to it and come back later. chances are, you'll change your mind after seeing it from a new perspective, or be able to come up with something to replace it with.

it's always easier to edit than write from scratch, so give yourself material you can edit.

2. write for yourself. write what you love – what you would read.

it definitely draws people in more than any formula you think works or a piece you deliberately craft for a specific audience.

3. as long as your writing is comprehensible, grammar means little in front of the emotion your work conveys

i've read so many works that have left such a profound effect on me, solely because i could feel the amount of heart the author poured into it, it's always easy to look past minor mistakes, as long as what the writer says makes sense.

4. most importantly, when you're starting on that path of developing your writing skills, don't show your work to anybody. hear me out:

i've written about seven stories (for various fandoms) that will never see the light of day – not because i dislike them, but because i now realize, i had to write them for me.

and these stories (and the evident progress in my storytelling skils across all of them) are what give me the most confidence when i doubt my skills.

you can always share your works in the future, but the first couple of times you venture out with a vision in mind, make yourself your audience, it prevents you from diluting your ideas with expectations of other people's perceptions.

+ and finally, a bonus point:

a lot of the writing process, is just discovering yourself, in various ways

i always used to hear writers say:

"my characters did this on their own" or "the story just wrote itself like this"

and i never understood, because MY characters never did anything of their volition, in fact, they refused to do what i intended for them to and it would be a struggle to write a scene sometimes

and again recently i had that same problem, where i couldn't for the life of me, figure out how to describe a character performing a particular action. i waited for days for any sort of inspiration or logic to strike me, but it wasn't working.

i surprised even myself though, when i highlighted the whole section and deleted it.

but as soon as i let go of writing that one scene the way i'd planned it, a completely new option presented itself, and writing THAT scene was so much easier.

so no. my characters never tell me what to do, but they tell me what they don't want to do, and the realization that common experiences in writing will manifest differently in different people, really made me realize that writing is something you should follow your instincts in.

technicality-wise, you will always keep learning and improving. growth never stops.

so it's important to do what feels true to you, and do it in a way that makes YOU feel comfortable, whether that includes taking risks, being spontaneous, or starting small.

that's when some of the best things are created.

[vennilavee]

poisoned apples

pairing: levi x reader- grad school/boxer au summary: you tell your parents about levi and they aren’t too happy. so you do the logical thing and break up with him.  word count: 4039 warnings: blood, fighting, angst, oc’s family is very annoying (her family is against her and levi being together), levi is lowkey creepy for like 1% of this story, SMUT AT THE END (18+) a/n: another installment of perpendicular heavily inspired by the first gen experience and dating...enjoy. and ty to @bbygrgu​ for catching when i made dad a mafia boss by accident

The first time you had told Levi that your parents wouldn’t approve of him, he had shrugged it off. What did it matter, anyway? He’s never known you to care very much about what other people think.

But your parents’ approval was different.

You’ve always been the apple of their eye, their youngest princess who could and would do no wrong. Even when you kept your grades up in high school, when you were the picture perfect daughter- they didn’t know what you were up to. You had maintained your image of innocence until the moment you could move out for college.

They didn’t know what you were up to behind the scenes in college. And now, in graduate school.

They didn’t know that you smoked with your boyfriend, that your boyfriend had split knuckles from boxing more often than not. But they also don’t know that your boyfriend works two jobs to support his sick mother, that he’s in the top ten percent of his masters in computer science program and will surely have a job lined up after graduation.

They don’t know that you love him. They don’t know how much he loves you- how he’d walk the ends of the earth for you. How he’s your pillar, your person. They don’t know that despite the cold steel of his eyes, he has the biggest beating heart of anyone you know.

Because you haven’t told them. You know your parents better than anyone- that they’ll judge him before they know him. 

You’ve been together officially for the better part of nearly a year. And officially, it’s been a little longer. Levi can tell when something’s on your mind by this point- from how your pout turns a little thoughtful and your eyes are far away.

He wraps an arm around your shoulders and rubs your upper arm. “What is it?” Levi asks quietly.

“Huh?” You ask, breaking out of your reverie and turning your gaze towards him. A fading bruise sits on his jaw, and you thumb the area around it tenderly.

“You’re quiet today.”

“Maybe I’m just tired.”

Levi raises his eyebrow at you, as if to wordlessly say “really?”

You’re silent for a few moments before sighing and leaning into his chest. “I think I want to tell my parents about you.”

Levi will never pressure you about things like that- he knows where he stands with you and you know where you stand with him. But he won’t deny the small upturn of his lips.

“I’ve already met your mom and your uncle,” You continue softly, “I think I’ll tell them.”

You’ve told Levi about your parents before- about how you had to secretly and cleverly maneuver through the invisible rules they had you under. How you still find trouble spreading your wings. How most of your childhood was mainly you being told not to bring trouble, that your parents had it hard as it was-

“Always knew it.”

“What did you know?” You roll your eyes at him.

“You’re naughty,” Levi smirks, “You put up this pretty princess persona. But I know you. You’re smart and vicious and not afraid to get dirty.”

“You sure? You know it’s nothin’ to me if you wanna wait,” Levi murmurs, nose in your hair.

“Yeah,” You nod, “I think it’s about time. I… want them to know you.

“I love you,” You say almost shyly and Levi drops a slow kiss to your lips in response.

And that’s that.

Needless to say, the next time you saw your parents a few weeks later you were planning on telling them about Levi. Nerves seized you- despite your attempts at convincing yourself that they’d be happy for you- that you’d found someone who loves you wholly and completely…. You can’t help but think that something is about to go wrong.

It’s over dinner that you’re planning on telling them. Your older brother and older sister are in town as well, and are helping Mom with setting the table as you wash the pots and pans.

This is where you grew up, and yet you’ve never felt so uncomfortable.

Once there are five plates of hot food and glasses of water in front of your parents and your siblings, you take a deep breath.

“I have something to tell you,” You say clearly, resisting the urge to pick at the hem of your brown corduroy skirt.

Four pairs of eyes turn to you curiously and expectantly.

“I’m seeing someone,” You say, your voice a little less confident than before. Mom gasps excitedly, bringing a moment of relief to your senses. Your siblings stare at you unnervingly, as if they can see right through you. Dad only looks at you with wide eyes.

You don’t know what to think.

“Tell us about them!” Mom says eagerly.

“Umm… well,” You stammer with heated cheeks, “He treats me well. We go to the same school, he’s doing a masters in computer science…”

That makes Mom and Dad’s eyes light up. You roll your eyes. Still, your siblings say nothing.

“Show me a picture,” Mom demands, stretching her hand out for your phone. Desperation for her approval clings to your heart like a synapse that never stopped surging. 

“He looks oddly familiar…” Mom murmurs with narrowed eyes, “Do you know him? Where do I know him from...” She turns her head to your brother and sister. 

They’ve never been particularly good at lying. Or rather, this time- they just didn’t want to. 

“That’s the guy,” Your sister says, not meeting your eyes, “The one we saw her with. The one we told you is in a fight club-”

Your jaw drops, and no noise comes out of your throat. Horror lines your tongue and you have to squeeze your nails into your palms to stop panic from flooding your veins.

But your brother is shameless and always has been. He looks you dead in the face, something cruel spinning in his irises and says, “His name’s Levi. Ackerman. We saw-”

“So you’re spying on me now?” You hiss, the full weight of their actions not quite hitting you, “You both don’t have anything fuckin’ better to do?”

Mom gasps at your language. You scoff at her, throwing a nasty look her way. She deflates only slightly- because she’s never seen such a look on your face before.

“You’re our baby sister,” Your brother says, and you stand abruptly from the table, pointing an accusing finger at him. “We only want you safe.”

“I don’t need your concern!” You hiss at him, eyes narrowed to slits and flames licking your words.

“If it wasn’t for us, you’d be parading around with a washout who boxes illegally! You should be thanking us,” Your sister says, returning your fire.

“No,” You seethe as tears of frustration spring into your eyes, “He treats me well, he’s so good to me. He respects me, isn’t that what matters?”

Before anyone can counter you-

“Enough!” Dad bellows as he stands from his seat. The heat in your belly extinguishes, but only barely. You tear your blazing eyes away from your siblings and to your father, about to scream right back at him. 

“If this is true,” Dad continues, “If this Levi boxes illegally-”

“He doesn’t have money either, Dad,” Your sister supplies. 

“Oh my god,” You screech, “You’re such a-”

“If this is true, you won’t be seeing him anymore. I don’t want to hear about this again. And if you think about seeing him behind our backs… we’ll know. And you won’t be getting that tuition money for school anymore.”

You’ve never hated them as much as you did right at that moment.

Your heart hasn’t felt the same since you were home that weekend. It’s been a few days, and you haven’t reached out to Levi yet.

You need to break up with him, you know it. You won’t risk your education on him, no matter how awful it is for your parents to very much blackmail you with it.

It hurts that you don’t have their approval. 

You’re delaying the inevitable. So when Levi shows up to your apartment on the following Wednesday with your dinner from your favorite Thai restaurant, you feel your heart shattering already. 

“Hey, princess,” Levi says smoothly, dropping the food to the dining table and trying to pull you into his arms for a kiss. You turn your cheek at the last minute, not able to look him in the eye. 

Levi immediately knows something is wrong- you’re never this silent. Your hands are pressed against his chest, almost holding him away from you. 

In the last year and change that he’s known you, he’s never known you to reject his touch. Not like this.

“What’s wrong?” Levi asks, cradling your cheek. Your lips are parted, a shaky exhale expelling from them. Your eyes are a little red and puffy.

You’ve been crying. You’ve been crying and he had no idea.

“Levi,” You mumble in a small voice. As if you’re trying to memorize the way his name feels on your tongue.

“Princess,” Levi replies, worry beginning to creep into him.

“I told my parents about us,” You mumble, the confession adding to the tension of the room, “And my brother and sister.”

He stays quiet, waiting for you to continue.

“I can’t… they said I can’t be with you. They said they won’t help me with school if I’m with you,” You mutter, feeling foolish as the words slip from your lips, “They don’t want me to be with you.”

Levi steps back from you exactly two steps and it feels like he’s plunged a knife into your chest. The loss of his touch echoes in the emptiness of your hands. You cross your arms across your chest unsurely. He stares at you in silence for a few deafening moments. Your ears might bleed from the silence.

“So what are you saying?” He finally asks after a minute.

“That I can’t be with you. I-I’m… I’m breaking up with you, Levi,” You finally muster out. Unshed tears sit in your eyes and Levi is too in love with you to resist comforting you when you’re this distressed- even if you’re breaking up with him and breaking his heart.

Levi gathers you in his arms and thumbs away your falling tears. You broke up with him, and he’s comforting you- the thought makes you choke out another sob.

You both stand like that for a few minutes, your tears staining his black coat. The silence between you both is palpable and suffocating. 

The only viable option you see is letting him go. But you don’t want to, god, you don’t want to- not when this man is your other half. When he’s your best friend, your favorite person, not when he gives meaning to the word love. 

Levi finally speaks.

“I won’t tell you what to do. But just know I’ll treat you right and you’ll never feel caged with me,” Levi murmurs, tendrils of adoration tinting his words, “I love you.”

He presses a long kiss to your forehead before leaving your apartment. His kiss feels unfamiliar, and when your knees buckle and you’re on the floor, a sobbing mess, you realize why-

It tasted like goodbye.

One month. Two month. Then three.

You’ve never been the girl helplessly in love. You’ve never been the girl who wouldn’t be able to get by without the reciprocated love from your lover. You’ve never been the type to spiral recklessly. You’ve always been fine after breakups and dates that had gone sideways.

You can live without Levi, but you don’t want to.

But loving and losing Levi hurts worse than any kind of pain. You see him everywhere on campus- a tuft of silky, black hair here, a glance of a similar looking backpack there… You even think you see him at the coffee shop that you met him at. If you were stronger, you’d avoid that coffee shop altogether. But you don’t want to let go of the memory of your first time meeting him, and you don’t want to let go of the opportunity to watch you both in your mind’s eye.

Everything reminds you of him. Everything brings tears to your eyes. You’re just a stupid girl in love with a man you can’t have.

You haven’t spoken to your siblings since that day, despite their many attempts to reach out to you. Texts, claiming that they were just looking out for you and that they loved you, went unanswered by you.

You can’t bear to speak to them. You think if you’d ever muster the courage to reach out to him again… You wonder what you might do. A small part of you hates that your family still has this grip over you- that you’re in love with a man who respects and loves you and protects you, and because they don’t approve- you can’t be with him.

You hate it. You hate that you succumbed to it. You hate that you hurt him- the heartbroken kiss he had given you has been replaying in your mind every day. Every night.

It still hurts as if it’s fresh, as if three months haven’t gone by since you broke up with him. You often wonder what Levi is doing-

After all, he hadn’t put up any type of fight for you. But you don’t allow those thoughts to get very far. It’s not like you had positioned it as something to discuss. You had made the final call and pulled the trigger on your relationship. 

It was because of you. Was it worth it? To break up with him? For your family’s perceived happiness?

The questions leave a dull ache in your heart. You feel as if you’ve been spoiled with his love, and you had carelessly ripped his heart into shreds.

Today, you’re walking to one of your exams in your building and you swear you catch sight of Levi’s hair in the atrium of the building. But it’s gone as quick as it comes. And you head inside, putting thoughts of Levi behind you to focus on your exam.

Levi has been distracted for the last three months. Even if it doesn’t show- even if he’s doing spectacular in school, even if he’s on a new win streak in the boxing ring- his mind is almost always elsewhere.

His mind is always on you. What are you doing? Do you miss him? Is your relationship with your family improving? Is it worth it?

He’ll never tell you what to do, or what decisions to make. He only wants you to make a decision with no regrets, if that decision is truly what you want.

But damn, he wonders if you regret this decision. Levi has always been good at compartmentalizing- he lives by the same philosophy. Make a choice with no regrets. He’ll never regret following your lead and giving you what you want.

But what if you hadn’t wanted it? And what if… he hadn’t wanted it either?

Levi sees you more and more in the last month or so- showing up to places that you both used to frequent as a couple and places on campus. The coffee shop, some of your lecture hall buildings. He remains in the background, as a shadow. Only to catch a glimpse of you. Are you happy? 

Your eyes are sullen, your smile dimmed. But he’s sure nobody can tell. Because you’re good at that- being the perfect princess.

He feels like a ghost in his own life. Is this living?

Levi has to move on. He loves you, his love for you still burns as bright as it did months ago. But he has to move on.

Erwin tells you that there’s a boxing match tonight. It’s the finals of whatever the equivalent of playoffs in the boxing world is-

“He’d like it if you were there,” Erwin says, voice uncharacteristically soft.

“So he can tell me himself,” You say somewhat bitterly, “We’re not...together anymore.”

You choke.

“You and I both know he won’t tell you himself. Not when you broke up with him.”

“So it’s my fault then?” You exclaim. Erwin only watches you with wary, calm eyes.

“I’m only telling you what’s true. You don’t have to come, but he’d like it if you were there.”

Over the last few weeks, really since the first night without Levi, regret has been settling in your bones. Had you made the right decision? Was it worth it, to be this unhappy? Just to maintain harmony with your family? You think if you hadn’t rushed to break up with him, you could have talked about it. Levi has always been level-headed, almost too level-headed (like the way he had just accepted you breaking up with him). 

You think you could conquer anything with Levi standing next to you.

You can’t stay away. So you’re in the stands of the ring, watching Levi warily. He looks good- he’s bulked up a little. But you can see the lines of weariness beneath his eyes. 

You still ache for him. You are still his. Seeing him this close only solidifies what you already knew. 

You are undisputedly his. And he is yours.

Watching him, throw punch after punch, and sidestep jab after jab… All for his mother. To support his family. 

Tears well up in your eyes. You want to be part of his family. The epiphany hits you like a freight train- but it’s a welcome one. 

You want to love him the way you know how. You want him to love you.

You wait in the locker room for him, anticipation surging up your spine as you pace around the locker room.

Erwin looks like he’s got a stick up his ass, and Levi doesn’t hesitate to mention it. Levi rolls his eyes and walks into the men’s locker room.

But nothing prepares him for the sight he sees in front of him.

It’s you. 

It’s you, sitting on the bench, looking as pretty as ever. Gold hoops hang from your ears, a sunflower yellow blouse with the top three buttons unbuttoned and a plum colored skirt hugs your hips.

You bite your bottom lip, tearing through your skin mercilessly. Your heart slams right out of your ribcage. His eyes are narrowed at you, drinking you in. 

He’s a man dehydrated and you are his oasis.

Before you can whisper his name, he beats you to it. “Why are you here?” Levi asks sharply. His voice is flat, but you can hear the undercurrent of anger in his voice. Hurt masked by anger.

“Yeah, I missed you, too,” You mutter, standing up from the bench. You keep your distance from him, feeling the iciness in his glare. “Erwin told me you were fighting today. Somethin’ about the playoffs. Just...wanted to see you.”

He quirks a thin eyebrow at you. “Wanted to see me three months later?”

You immediately get defensive, “It’s not like you were dying to see me, either.”

A flicker of annoyance, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You just let me go- you could’ve… You could’ve fought for me! You just fuckin’ let me go,” You exclaim in frustration, tears pricking your eyes.

“Don’t- you picked your family,” Levi says harshly, “When we could’ve figured it out together, you chose to be alone. Don’t put that on me.”

“I didn’t know what else to do! I thought I was doing the right thing,” You hiss, tears falling down your cheeks openly now. You’ve never been good at hiding your feelings from Levi. “You just let me go. As if the last year meant nothing to you-”

“The last year meant nothing to me?” Levi asks, his voice perfectly level. He takes a few steps closer to you and your breath hitches.

Your head is spinning. He hasn’t been this close to you in months- and yet it feels like no time has passed. 

“I love you,” Levi says quietly, “We would’ve figured it out. If the last year meant nothing to me then, this,” Levi darts out, grabbing your hand and pressing it to his bare left pec, “Wouldn’t be yours. It’s always yours, princess. But damn, baby. It hurt.”

“Levi,” Your voice is strangled, in pain, “I’m sorry, my love-”

“You made a choice,” Levi says pointedly, “Do you regret it?”

“Yes,” You breathe, “But I’m scared for us, for you-”

“We’ll figure it out,” Levi promises, cradling your face in his rough hands. He catches your stray tears with his thumb and presses his forehead to yours.

“I missed you,” You choke out with a sob, “So fuckin’ much. I’m sorry, I hurt you. I hurt us. I love you, I love you, I love you. I know we have so much to work through. But I love you, and I believe in you.”

“Let’s go home,” Levi mumbles, resisting the urge to drop kisses to your forehead, your cheek, your lips.

“Will you let me love you,” Levi rasps, cupping your cheek as he rocks into you slowly. The head of his cock brushes against your walls prettily, as if no time has passed since the last time.

He belongs here, inside of you like this. You mold to him and he molds to you.

Levi squeezes your waist, dipping his head for a harsh kiss. He kisses you as if he’s loved you for a thousand years, and he’ll love you for a thousand more.  He peppers soft kisses to your face and you moan into his touch, notes of his name escaping your lips.

“I love you,” Levi grunts as he rolls his hips into yours in movements of honey.

He’s not usually this talkative. But he knows you both need it. Levi sucks a mark, then another, over your tits and you tug your hands through his hair.

“Baby,” You whine, “Wanna give you everything...Love you, I love you, fuck, I’m sorry I hurt you-”

“You are everything,” Levi says, his nose in your neck, “Gonna give you everything, princess. Fuck-”

Levi nearly loses his rhythm at the gush of wetness that floods his cock. He groans and looks between you both, at the way his cock pushes into your wet pussy. This is where he belongs, in between your soft thighs.

You take Levi’s hand in between yours and squeeze. You think you could stay like this forever, with him moving so unhurriedly above you. His hips melting with yours, the broad expanse of his back pliant under your nails.

“Be mine again,” You beg, “Please, baby, be mine again-”

“Will you let me love you,” Levi asks again, gazing deep into your eyes.

“Yes, yes,” You moan, “Like that, baby- fuck, o-oh- Levi…” You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer to you as your tits brush against his glistening chest. You see the moon gazing at you through his irises.

You want everything, and he is everything.

You’re boneless in his arms, tucked into his side with the sheets covering your bare body. A leg is thrown over his waist and you rub mindless circles over his chest as he holds you close. Not wanting to let you go. 

Your breaths are soft against his warmed skin. Your eyes are still puffy, from crying but Levi always thinks you’re pretty. 

And having you in his arms, in his bed, after three months is an added plus.

“I meant it,” You mumble sleepily, “I love you.”

“What about your family?” Levi asks, squeezing the hand resting on his chest.

“I don’t know,” You say shakily, “I’m scared. But wanna figure it out with you. For you, it’s worth it. For you, everything is worth it.”

Levi only answers you with a soft kiss that makes your toes curl. He doesn’t know what tomorrow might bring, but he has you today. After this long, he has you for today. 

And tomorrow will come, the sun and moon will rise separately, but you’ll get through it together.

tags: @simpingmaize​ @captainchrisstan​ @bbygrgu​ @alrightberries​ 

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Kismet {8}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Plot, Tiny Slow Burn, Mild Cursing, Dialogue Heavy, POV Changes, Small Time Jumps

Words: 6.6k

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

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As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |

-Henry-

The minute he woke the next day and the alcohol had worn off; he instantly regretted his actions. His head was pounding and his nose stuffy, which was always what the morning after a drinking fest looked and felt like for him. the pain in his head made him painfully aware of everything he’d said to you. More than half of him wished he would have just held his peace and moved on, but the other side of him—the stubborn bull side felt nothing but satisfaction from what he’d done. It was time, especially seeing that you completely had the wrong idea about who he was and his character. He couldn’t help but wonder what you thought about your conversation, but instead of dwelling on it, he decided to push it to the side and do the logical thing. Move on.

 It was now five days since that conversation, and though it felt strange the first couple of days to not send you a message when you ran across his mind, he did it and adapted. He now was throwing himself into work because there wasn’t a shortage of it. Most days, he was in pre-production for Witcher two, and that in itself was a lot of work. Production decided to kick fight choreography up a notch because last season wasn’t badass enough. The choreography this season was definitely taking it up several notches, and it meant more long hours of training and even more potential for him to be hurt.

By week two post convo, he was steadily counting down to his vacation time. Training was kicking his ass, and the more and more days that passed, the more he thought of you. That wasn’t all though, the more the way he thought of you changed. In the beginning, he thought he was infatuated or possibly obsessed. When he was around you, he always felt as if he wasn’t in control. He felt like there were forces that were controlling your interactions and pulling a starry blanket over his feelings. He expected this time away to act as a purge, but it hadn’t, not in the way he’d anticipated.

 “Come on, her name is Becca, and she’s super cute,” Alisha said.

 “Why is it that all my brother’s wives want to set me up?”

 “Because we care. You’re too great of a guy to be alone,” Halley complimented.

 They all nodded, and his eldest brother painfully squeezed his cheek.

 “Plus, look at this face,” Nik teased, making all of them elate.

 It had been like this since they were kids. Nothing had changed.

 “I’m perfectly fine being alone,” he answered.

 “Doesn’t mean you should be,” Amee piped out.

 No matter what, he said it wouldn’t be good enough until he gave them what they wanted. He had no intention of doing it, though. He wasn’t sure if it was really his loathing of being set up or because he didn’t want to pretend to want anyone else. Whatever it was, it had him declining to their annoyance. He could stick it out for the next two weeks until he got out of London.

  -Aliya-

“You fucked up, plain and simple,” Amaya blurted out as she flipped through a magazine.

 You rolled your eyes and tried to continue writing notes to the song you’d just wrote. As sure as you were that it was pitch black outside, you knew she wasn’t done—not by a long shot. A minute passed in silence, but as projected, Amaya began again.

 “Just explain to me why you don’t want to be happy.” Amaya tossed the magazine aside, giving you her full attention. Still, you ignored her and kept your eyes glued to the note pad.

 “Liya, come on. At some point in your life, you’re going to have to be honest with yourself.”

 She was right. For the last few weeks, you’d spent a lot of sleepless nights doing just that. Since Henry’s call, you’d been forced to look at your situation in a light you’d ignored. It wasn’t that you were doing it maliciously. It was just easier and neater to see the worst in every situation hence the worst in people. You’d been the girl who dug deep for the best in people and only focused on that and their potential for too long. It made more sense from a survivalist standpoint to be different.

 You’d went back and forth and round and round your situation, and perhaps you were too quick to jump to conclusions. The bottom line was the things he said had affected you, more than you liked and more than you could ignore. A few days after his call, you saw his picture in The Sun. He wasn’t alone. It looked like he’d had a long night of partying. You deduced it was probably the same night he called you. Though he was obviously drunk, he still looked so damn good. In the last few weeks, you’d thought about him a lot. On several occasions, you’d taken up your phone for the sole purpose to stalk his Instagram or even scroll through your gallery to gawk at his pictures. Never though, did you attempt to call.

 The main reason was that you hated being the one in the wrong. You hated feeling like the asshole and what was worse was that you also hated apologizing. So, you bit your tongue, pushed your thoughts and emotions aside, and just hoped time would make it all fade. It didn’t.

 “Aliya!”

 Closing your notepad, you stood. “We’re going to miss the flight.”

 “Whatever! It’s a private jet. It’s your private jet.”

 You were already out of the room, which meant thankfully, you didn’t have to see her face. The drive to the private airfield was about forty-five minutes. For the entire ride, you could feel Amaya’s annoyance with you. she didn’t say one word. Instead, she kept her nose buried in her phone scrolling her life away. It was okay with you; you had plenty of work to do. Plus, you knew this wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

 Sure enough, twenty minutes into the flight to London, she was back at it. The difference between Amaya and Alicia was simple. Where Alicia liked to leave me be until she knew the perfect time to go in because she knew the perfect time would come when you would be more receptive to it, Amaya preferred to go in all the time. She was always on one hundred. You loved both your best friends dearly, and they both spoke to different sides of you, but sometimes you wished they were wrong a lot more often than they were right.

 When you got pulled into a phone meeting, you were grateful and even more so when it lasted for almost two hours. By the time you ended the call, Amaya was napping. Though you thought the silence was what you wanted, it was a blessing in disguise. It meant you now had peace and quiet to think, and your thoughts more often than not went right to Henry.

 When you landed in London and checked into the hotel, it was after midnight. Once you’d taken a shower and answered a few emails, you popped two sleep aids in hopes they would knock you out because you needed all your energy tomorrow.

  -The Next Day-

Hectic was an understatement for how your morning and afternoon had been going. One of the great things about being you was that when you got bored with one career avenue, you had three more to distract yourself with. For the last several months, you’d been focusing on your acting career and had been able to complete two films and three guest appearances. In between acting gigs you were also able to do a few modeling events, including Fall and Spring fashion week.

 What had fallen to the wayside was your singing career. It was almost time for you to fulfill your contractual obligations by releasing another album. You’d been focusing on writing new material for the last few weeks, and tonight you were putting on one of the last stops on a mini-tour your team had planned months ago. The travel alone was killing you. You were exhausted, even more than usual. With every show, you felt your body telling you it would soon be time to slow down or stop for a few months. You needed a break.

 “I should have flown in days ago. I hate feeling like this isn’t perfect.”

 “Aliya, it’s fine,” Alicia countered.

 The perfectionist in you didn’t believe her.

 “I promise. I wouldn’t lie to you. You have to go anyway. The show is supposed to start at six; it’s already three.”

 She was right. Though you hated it, you would have to cross your fingers and hope things looked cohesive. After finishing up the last-minute wardrobe adjustments and a quick pep talk with your dancers, you made your way back to the hotel to get in a little bit of pampering before having to get back to the center for prep.

 As you laid on the table and enjoyed your deep tissue massage, you allowed the worries to float away. There was nothing you could do about it now anyway. You were also sure it was perfectly fine, and just your obsessive nature taking over. Tuning everything out, you focused on your meditative breathing. Before you knew it, it was time to get back to the center to get into wardrobe and put on a show worthy of the hundreds that were spent on tickets. You were determined to perform your ass off.

  -Henry-

He couldn’t have gotten out of tonight no matter what. He’d tried. When Charlie announced to everyone that Heather had made plans for their adults' date night, he rolled his eyes. Now that he thought of it, it was around the time that Amee tried to set him up with that woman. This was supposed to be a blind date, and since he’d declined, he was here alone while all his other brothers were snuggling up and whispering to their significant others.

 Here he was an hour and ten minutes into your show, and he’d never had more fluctuating thoughts and feelings. At first, it was surprise; then annoyance, then it transitioned into awe until it moved to arousal and admiration. Now he was stewing deep in all of them, and it was not a good look. Your voice was incredible. He’d always known how talented you were. Your stamina to dance and sing blew his mind. Then when he watched those dance moves closer, it was impossible to keep his thoughts pure. It also didn’t help that the outfits you were wearing only fueled his imagination more.

 “What’s wrong with you? You said you liked Aliya Taylor,” Amee shouted over the music.

 Plastering a smile on his face, he nodded. “Yeah, she’s great. I’m tired.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

 When you came out for the final song in a flowing low cut white gown and barefoot, he staggered backward when he envisioned you walking down a flower aisle.

 “Fucking hell!”

 All eyes snapped to him, and the curious looks on their faces only had him needing air even more.

 “I—I’m gonna get a head start to the cars.”

 Not waiting for a response, he turned and walked through the crowd, not daring to look back at you.

   -Aliya-

Amaya and Alicia laughed together at something on Amaya’s timeline. No doubt it was some picture of one of her boy toys. You sipped from your flower decorated porcelain teacup while staring out over London to the Eye. Just behind it, Big Ben stood tall and proud as it chimes for four o’clock echoed through the city. This was a city you’d spent a lot of time in thanks to your grandparents on your father’s side. Not as much time as they’d like, but there was only so much free time you had. Big Ben and the Eye were two of your favorite things about London.

 You should have been on cloud nine after another successful show and checking another thing off your extensive to-do list, but you weren’t. You felt almost as gloomy as the rolling clouds in the sky that threatened rain.

 “You seem depressed.”

 Alicia’s voice had you turning back to them you softly smiled. “I’m not.”

 “You look it,” Amaya slid home.

 Rolling your eyes, you finished your cup of tea and gently placed it on its matching saucer with a shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you then.”

 Amaya then gasped with a smile in her eyes. “I know what it is. You’re finally missing your grade A prime beef of a man.”

 Snorting, you shook your head. “Oh god. Try again.”

 “You might be right, Mya,” Leece started placed her elbows on the table to peer at you closer. “This all started the night we had dinner with him. What’s his name again?” Both of them pretended to wrack their brains to remember his name, but they knew damn well what it was.

 “Ah, Henry,” Amaya cooed, making you roll your eyes even harder.

 “Both of you stop. You’re not funny.”

 “We approve.”

 “I second that,” Alicia added.

 “What? Really?”

 “Are you kidding? Yeah. Not only is he gorgeous, like drop dead gorgeous, but he is also super nice. Throughout dinner he was very courteous and sincere. You know I’m a good people reader,” Amaya attested.

 “He’s funny, and he seemed to be genuine with his efforts to get to know Mya and me. He also was putting in effort into proving something to you.”

 Sighing, you took a few sips of your water.

 “Honestly, I couldn’t find anything wrong with him.”

 “Really? Perfection?”

 You couldn’t believe your ears. Yes, you’d suspected they liked him, but the perfect word was just uttered. It was never spoken of, not by them.

 “Pretty much,” Amaya doubled down.

 “Wow.”

 “Tell me about it. Move on that before some other chick does. He will not be single for long,” Amaya added.

 For some reason, this was the first time you’d thought about that, and you couldn’t believe it. She was right. He was gorgeous, among other things, and women already fawned over him. He wouldn’t be licking his wounds much longer. A knot formed in your gut, and a sour taste in your mouth followed. Glancing away from their penetrative gazes, you looked around the restaurant and nearly dropped the water glass when you saw Henry across the restaurant laughing. This was the first time you’d seen him in person since your breakfast in New York weeks and weeks ago, and he looked great.

Your eyes drank him up, taking their time soaking up every detail of his face, the slight stubble that decorated his chiseled jaw, his perfectly imperfect smile, his hair that fell slightly longer than you remembered. When he spoke again, you watched his mouth move and quickly got lost. You didn’t have to hear his words. You knew how he spoke them. You knew the effect his voice had. At the thought of that effect, you peeled your eyes away and tried to keep them on either Alicia, Amaya, or the table. Of course, it was impossible. Your eyes continuously found him, and it was on him they remained until you forced yourself to look away.

 “What do you keep looking at?”

 Amaya glanced around the restaurant. You knew she’d found him because when she turned to face you again, her smile was as wide as a thief's.

 “Oh ho ho, looks like fate is on mine and Leece’s side.”

 “Stop. Be cool, act natural. Don’t make a scene,” you pleaded.

 “Look at that, same place, same time, just mere feet away.”

 From the tone of her voice, you knew she was tempted to fuck with you.

 “Stop, Amaya. Don’t.”

 “Why?”

 Trying to keep your voice down and the panic from your face, you pleaded again. “Just don’t.”

 Amaya studied you for a few moments before she nodded in defeat. Relief flooded you. Though you tried, you couldn’t get your head back onto lunch and off of him no matter how you tried. The three of you left shortly after passing his table on the way out.

 Thanks to a little free time, you, Amaya, and Alicia were able to soak up some shopping in London and before getting back to the hotel for a quick change, then dinner. Even though you tried to stop thinking about Henry’s face earlier, you weren’t the least bit successful, but you played it off like everything was cool. You didn’t know if you fooled either of them, but you really didn’t care. You were so ready to get the hell out of London.

  -That Night-

Big Ben’s chime for one in the morning ringing out all around you. It was yet another night of sleeplessness. From your seat at the window, you could feel the nice breeze. It still smelled like rain, but for whatever reason, the rain was staying away. Finishing your glass of wine, you sighed out and nearly leaped out your skin when your phone rang in the quiet room.

 “Hello?”

 “What’s wrong?”

 You smiled from the unexpected sound of your gramaw’s voice. It was like the concrete gate you had around your heart that was constricting it to the point where it was challenging to breathe loosened.

 Sighing, you leaned back, reclining against the surface.

 “I think I fell in love,” you whispered.

 “In love?”

 Hearing the words said back to you made you close your eyes and shake your head.

 “Yeah, at least I think that’s what I’m feeling. I can’t sleep well, not that I could before. I feel a little depressed, and I can’t pinpoint why, but when I think about it, I feel this way when I think about him. Not to mention, I think about him all the time. Christ, I even dream about him.”

 Pausing, you glanced at your phone to find his picture there. It was the last thing you’d been looking at before tossing your phone away.

 “I truly feel like I did something wrong, like I was wrong,” you confessed.

 “Have you talked to him?”

 Hitting your head back, you groaned. “Not since he called me and told me I’m missing out on him and gave me all the reasons why I should realizing I’m missing out.”

 You couldn't help but smile at his words as you remembered them.

 “Do you feel like you’re missing out?”

 Your Gramaw always knew the right questions to ask. She was one of the few that did, one of the few that you’d even listen to. Bowing your head, you sighed again.

 “Maybe. Normally I’m sure about someone and sure that I don’t need or want them in my life, but with him—I have doubts with my snap judgment.”

 “Oh no, snap judgments are never a good thing, Aliya.”

 You groaned hearing the disappointment in her voice. “I know, jeez do I know.”

 “What do you feel like doing?”

 You scoffed, if you knew that you wouldn’t be going through this struggle.

 “I’ll be to you in a few days. I’ll see you soon.”

 “Your heart, Aliya, not your head,” she cautioned before you ended the call.

 For the next thirty or so minutes, you paced the balcony of your room as you debated with yourself over what you were going to do. After psyching yourself up as much as you could, you bit the bullet dialing Henry’s number before you talked yourself out of it. After one ring, you almost hung up but forced yourself to stick through the terror running through you. Two rings passed, then three. At the fourth you began to lower your hand to end the call and then his voice echoed through the speaker.

 “Hello?”

 You froze drawing a blank and forgetting for a moment you had a voice.

 “Hello?”

 “Hello,” you whispered.

 The rustling on his end was loud but brief.

 “Aliya?”

 Swallowing the lump, you took a deep breath. “Yeah. Hi.”

 “It’s after one in the morning. Is everything all right? Are you hurt?”

 Your heart lurched, and a soft smile spread across your lips. “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m not hurt,” you assured.

 He sighed, then yawned.

 “I uh—I know it’s late or early. I know you, um, probably have something better to do than be up. I’m sorry if I woke you,” you half rushed and stuttered out.

 “You’re rambling, Aliya.” You stopped your pacing then and slapped your forehead.

 “Yes, I am. I do that when I’m nervous,” you blurted.

 “Why are you nervous?”

 Pausing, you gripped the rail on the balcony and used it to center yourself and get your nerves under control.

 “Well, I’m about to ask the man I told I wouldn’t be with to meet me somewhere at nearly two in the morning. I’m—sending major mixed signals.”

 Henry didn’t speak right away. Instead, he waited, making you chew your bottom lip as your anxiety increased.

 “Why?”

 “Wh—why? Why what?”

 “Why should I?”

 Stunned, your jaw dropped. “Oh, wow, out with the hard questions. Okay. Um—well—you should meet me because uh—it’s not often that I realize I was wrong or did something wrong and when I realize that, I like to say so.”

 Again the silence over the phone stretched for long moments. After a full minute of it, your anxiety peaked.

 “Still there?”

 Henry sighed. “I’m here. I’m thinking.”

 His voice sounded so deliciously deep. Either you had woken him, and this was his sleepy voice, or he was purposely giving you that sexy baritone.

 “By all means. Think as long as you need to. Um—I’ll be at the eye until 2:30. I um—I hope you show. If you don’t, I understand, really I do and no hard feelings.”

 Quickly you ended the call and panted as if you’d been running a marathon all in an effort to calm yourself down. It had been years since you’d put yourself through something like that, and you had a feeling it was only the beginning of you making amends.

Being Aliya Taylor afforded you some perks, and one was being able to have access to the eye well after closing. All it took was one call, well two to be exact, and voila, you were sitting in one of the cars anxiously waiting for Henry. You had no idea if he’d show, and the more and more time that passed with him not magically appearing, the more and more your brain worked overtime. The scenery helped a lot, but when you glanced at your watch and saw that it was almost 2:30, the scenery could do no more. Your nerves and anxiety had erupted like a volcano.

 “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

 Spinning, you saw Henry at the door still on the platform. You released a relieved sigh, realizing he hadn’t stood you up.

 “Good thing I’m not—anymore.”

 Henry stepped into the car and took a few steps to you but stopped when he was still a ways away.

 “London after two is not safe,” Henry informed.

 “I know.”

 The doors closed, and the contraption began moving.

 “How in the world did you get them to open this for you?”

 Smiling, you shrugged. “I may know people in high places,” you replied, which made him smile.

“This is one of my favorite places in London,” you announced as you walked around the car, taking care not to get too close. You didn’t know if you could handle it right away, and you had to feel him out to see what his coming really meant.

 “Why?”

 “You can see all of greater London from here and out to the countryside if you really look once you’re up high.”

 Henry also walked around the car, mirroring your intentions. Neither of you came close enough to touch one another.

 “How often do you come to London?”

 “A lot. I have some family here, plus I prefer the countryside.”

 “So you have some British blood,” Henry inquired, half a question, half a statement.

 “I had to. Only the Bris would dare think to send their daughters off to finishing school,” you quipped.

 Henry’s laugh filled the car, making you smile widely. He walked to one of the many windows turning his back to you. Slowly you looked over his broad back, taking in every detail. Your fingers could still remember what the dance of his muscles felt like underneath them, and they itched to feel them dance again. Taking a deep breath, you fiddled your fingers.

 “Uh--I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important by asking you here. Like I hope I didn’t impose on—anyone.”

 You were fishing, it was obvious, and you felt no shame.

 “Eh, who needs sleep anyway. I can sleep when I’m dead,” Henry replied with a shrug of those magnificent shoulders still keeping his back to you.

 “Were um--were you uh—sleeping—alone?”

 Your heart was pounding so loudly you could swear he could hear it. He didn’t speak or turn around. He just stood there torturing you. You wondered if he knew it was sheer torture what he was doing. Did he even care? The longer he remained quiet, the more you freaked out until you decided to backtrack all the way back.

“I’m sorry. Don’t answer that. It is absolutely none of my business. I don’t even know why I asked that,” you rushed out, rubbing your forehead from embarrassment before beginning to pace the car.

 That was when Henry chose to turn around.

 “I know a woman doesn’t say something she doesn’t mean, and usually when a woman asks a question, she wants to know the answer either to prove herself right or in hopes she’s wrong. What is it for you?”

 His voice made you stop in the midst of pacing to watch his mouth as he spoke. There was something poetic about how he spoke, and it always distracted you. Nibbling your bottom lip, you thought about how to respond. You were already tired of the verbal Olympics and talking around each other.

 Sighing, you rolled your eyes. “Henry--.”

 “You know that’s the first time you’ve said my name without the word goodbye in front of it.”

 That made you snap your mouth shut. Had it?

 “That’s not true,” you protested.

 “It actually is. I was beginning to think you like saying goodbye rather than hello.”

 You took a step to him. “That’s not true. I like saying hello way more than goodbye,” you defended.

 The neutral look on his face gave you no confidence to go on, so you rolled your eyes and continued to walk around the car. This would be harder than you expected, you thought.

 “I was sleeping alone. I’ve slept alone for quite some time now,” he informed just as you were looking out of the window to the city.

 “Look, Henry, I-,” you began again, but then henry cut you off.

 “That day in New York those weeks ago, I should have plain and simply laid it out for you. I should have told you everything. I was with Francesca--.”

 “Don’t, don’t, don’t. I honestly don’t want to know.”

 “But you need to know. There is no way you can begin to trust me or begin to let yourself gravitate to me the way you’re entire being wants until you know,” Henry slid out. Pressing your palm to your abdomen, you tried to slow the butterflies that began flitting.

 “I was with Francesca for about two years. The whole time I knew she wanted a family in life. She was always vocal about her wanting to get married young and have kids. I knew, but I never paid attention to it. I was away filming something for a while, and when I came home one weekend, I caught her with someone else.”

 Your eyes widened, hearing his words.

 “turns out she was beginning a relationship with someone else, someone who she thought would lead to marriage and kids,” Henry added. His voice held steady, but you could imagine the pain going through those memories again.

 “I’m sorry.”

 Henry shook his head, “It’s not necessary. After a few months of her trying to make amends, I thought we’d try again.” He scoffed then rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m a hopeless romantic. After months of trying, I knew it wouldn’t work, but I kept a relationship of sorts with her.”

 You understood. They were bed buddies.

 “I then met Abby, and what started as a fling developed into something more. Long story short, I got wind of a rumor she was using me for fame and money, so I distanced myself from her. after some time of her telling I had it all wrong, I decided it was easier keeping her around though my heart wasn’t in it. I wasn’t juggling them. I hadn’t slept with either of them in a long time. I just—I felt it was better to have someone who misses me and wants me than living the lonely actor life.”

 His honesty had you frozen. When he began to explain, you hadn’t expected him to reveal so much. You expected a bare minimum explanation, but what you’d gotten revealed so much more about him. You felt bad.

 “I guess allowing the attentions and affections to remain is just as bad as juggling them. I was playing with their hearts. I’m not proud of it.”

 Henry dipped his head, showing he felt some shame for his actions.

 “When I met you, I realized although I had these two women sort of vying for me, I was still lonely, but those moments we were together, I didn’t feel alone. I felt--,” he paused as if trying to find the right word. His hesitation made you look down.

 You knew what you’d felt.

 “When I met you, I felt someone I’d never felt before, something I don’t fully understand. I don’t know what that means, but I know I want to find out—with you.”

 Finally, able to release the breath you held, you took another, then cleared your throat. “I’m not juggling two guys. I was dating two guys, but not sleeping with both. I was with Liam first, and we had an okay relationship. We were busy, never saw each other and when we did it wasn’t for long. He um—he got annoyed and broke up with me. He said I was impacting his work, and he needed to focus.”

 You remembered how he’d said it too. He’d said it like you were the one to blame for the roles he’d gotten or hadn’t gotten.

 “I was fine with it, and during those five months apart, I met Jesse. We worked together and had fun and began dating. It wasn't anything sexual. Then Liam comes back and wants to pick up where we left off. I told him about Jesse, and he was fine with it.”

 The shock on Henry’s face almost made you laugh. Alicia and Amaya were also surprised they’d chosen that unconventional path. Amaya, of course, thought you should have kept it secret from both of them.

 “One day, Jesse sees Liam and me out, and it pissed him off enough to end things. Three weeks later, I lay it out for both that I don’t want to choose, and I don’t want anything serious. They were both fine with it, and so it went on. Six months later, I decided I needed to be on my own to focus on work and me. They didn’t like the decision. They call and text me to try to—rekindle something.”

 Henry scoffed, and you watched a soft smile tickle his lips.

 “I haven’t physically seen either of them in weeks, now maybe months,” you finished.

 Henry was quiet for a few seconds before he snorted.

 “They were mad.”

 “Angry?”

 “No, mad, bonkers,” Henry clarified.

 “Oh, crazy.”

 “Yeah. To be okay to share you, be willing to do something like that. I couldn’t do that,” Henry informed, making you smile in the process.

 “Well, men do crazy things.”

 “I can attest to that, but I’d never do something that crazy. I can’t share what’s mine. I won’t.”

 Your eyes locked, and your body swayed toward his. It was like he was metal and you a magnet. Everything in you wanted to be close to him. The more you tried to fight the pull, the harder it became to breathe. The harder it was to breathe, the dizzier you became.

 “I—I—I—I,” you began before gulping the knot in your throat down that was making you speak in a raspy whisper. “I don’t—know what this is.”

 Henry nodded.

 “I am not used to not knowing and being out of control,” you continued.

 “You feel less controlled too?”

 You couldn't help but to nod. Once you did, Henry took a step to you. You took a step back.

 “Hold on. I like control. I like control a lot. Anything that threatens that control is not for me.”

 Henry’s eyes lowered but only for a moment before he was looking right back into yours.

 “But—I really want to find out why you make me less controlled,” you finally admitted.

 The uncertainty on his face spoke volumes.  “What does that mean? Where does that leave this—us?”

 You chewed your bottom lip; you realized how ill-prepared you’d been.

 “Honestly, I didn’t think this meeting out that far. I only planned up to when you showed up. I’ve um—I’ve been winging it this whole time.”

 His smile started small but spread wide in seconds; then, he laughed loudly.

 “So you won’t mind me making a plan?”

 Oh lord, you thought, feeling his alpha pop out. You bit your bottom lip again.

 “What kind of plan?”

 Henry closed the remaining space between you. Every step he took had you shaking even more.

 “A plan that I’ve envisioned every night since brunch.”

Stopped in front of you and held you captivated by his gaze and the sheer dominating energy rolling off of him. The way he stood there taller than you made your mouth run dry.

 “Jesus, you’re freakishly short,” Henry teased in his perfect Englishman voice.

 Smiling, you shook your head. “I know, I debated wearing heels but didn’t—I wanted you to see me normal for someone reason I don’t under--.”

 Henry’s sudden movement cut you off. He dipped down the entire foot he overshadowed you and lifted you into the air to hold you flush against his body. Then he lowered his lips to yours, taking and keeping control of an intensely passionate kiss. A kiss you hadn’t known you craved until it began, a kiss you were not prepared for. You moaned against his lips, and that moan triggered his. Wrapping your arm around his neck, you clung to him, and every sensation you were feeling and even new ones he was awakening within you.

 Slowly, Henry pulled his lips from your, but he kept your body to his. You kept your eyes closed, relishing the lingering effects.

 “You’re shaking,” Henry whispered.

 “So are you.”

 You opened your eyes and gazed into his as he slowly lowered you back to your feet.

 “What else is part of your plan?”

 Henry's smile spread across his face. “For me to carry out any other part of my plan would be completely rakish of  me.”

 His smile was adorable, but still intimidatingly sexy.

 “I take it you’re not a rake.”

 “Not in the least.”

 “All right. So, alternate plan?”

 He smiled again. “Still pretty rakish.”

 With that, he brought his lips back to yours, but this time he didn’t pull back for several long minutes.

 Though you knew people in high places, it didn’t mean you could keep the eye open all morning. After three trips around, the two of you got off then walked around London holding hands and eating ice cream. It was such a weird sensation allowing someone to hold your hand. It had been a long time since you’d ever wanted to. The entire time you laughed and talked about everything and nothing at the same time. One thing was clear; neither of you was in any rush for your time together to end.

 But end, it had to. When Henry walked you back to your hotel, it was almost time for the sun to come up.

 “Home safe and sound,” Henry joked.

 “Yes, thanks to Superman.”

 “No, no, I’m just the man. Henry Cavill.”

 He held his hand out to you. Smiling, you rolled your eyes.

 “Now is when we get to this?”

 His goofy smile and shrug had your head skip a beat.

 “Aliya Taylor,” you said, shaking his hand.

 “Nice to meet you. Mind if I call you Aliya or Liya, that's all a mouthful,” Henry teased.

 Your laugh was loud, and you had to clamp your hand over your mouth, remembering what time it was.

 “Yes, you can call me either. Can I call you Henners or Hank?”

 “No. My friends call me that.”

 “So, I’m not your friend?”

 “If I have anything to say about it, which I do, then no. I don’t want you as a friend.” Henry replied, making you smile like a little girl at Christmas.

 “Then what do you want me as?”

 Your eyes lingered for a few seconds before Henry was pulling you closer to brush the back of his hand against your cheek.

 “For now, I’ll settle for my girlfriend.”

 The man was an expert at charm. You bit into your bottom lip and tried to stop smiling. “Girlfriend, wow. That’s a loaded title. What does it entail?”

 “Well, for one, it entails being your true self with me, accepting my true self, being there for me when I need you, letting me be there for you when you need me or when I need you, allowing me to be your strength when you’re weak, your hope when you’re hopeless. Allowing me to grow with you, learn with you. Giving me your time and attention, enough of it so what we have can grow. Trusting me and letting me spoil you rotten.”

 If he weren’t holding you against him, you would have fallen back.

 “Is that all?”

 Henry leaned closer kisses your cheek. “To begin.”

 “And if I refused to be this girlfriend you speak of?”

 “Then I’d just have to convince you,” Henry cooed.

 “How?”

 Right on que, Henry dipped his lips to yours. The second they touched, you moaned and held him close. Why resist when you could enjoy it, you thought. His tongue swirled with yours before he nibbled then sucked your bottom lip. When he pulled back, your eyes remained closed.

 “I’m convinced.”

 Henry pecked your lips once, then twice. “Good. Girlfriend.”

 Your eyes locked again, and you forgot all common sense for what felt like an eternity.

 “Eh-em—I have to be on a set in the morning.”

 “Which is now,” Henry filled in.

 Still hazed in the brain, you stuttered and smiled like a fool.

 “Mm, did I stay out all night?”

 “You did. I hope it was worth it.”

 Smiling, you kissed his jaw. “We’ll see,” you whispered as you backed away from him, making your way to the door.

 “Good morning, Henry.”

 He smiled again, watching you disappear inside the hotel. As you walked to the elevator bank, you couldn’t stop smiling or stop the butterflies that had been flying all night in your stomach. As you stepped onto the elevator and watched the doors closed, you recognized the feeling you felt as happiness. It had been absent for a long time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[highladyluck]

Here, have 4.5 pages of rambly Tuon meta. I wrote this to try to get a handle on Tuon’s character, and to develop the theoretical framework for a redemption arc for her. I’m hoping posting this doesn’t cut my motivation to actually write it...

Who is Tuon? Tuon Athaem Kore Paendrag, High Lady, Daughter of the Nine Moons; now the Empress of Seanchan (at least on the westlands side), Fortuona Athaem Kore Paendrag. To borrow some phrasing and framing from @websandwhiskers: She’s the pinnacle of Seanchan culture and an extremely functional tool of the state; responsible (both personally and institutionally) for psychologically and physically torturing people and enslaving them; she also has some compelling moral and personal qualities that she and the state have not yet managed to quash, which kind of makes it all worse, ethically speaking. She’s a villain whom the original narrative neither sufficiently condemns nor sufficiently redeems, married to one of the Big Damn Heroes in a match that’s both very odd couple and very complementary.

She respects people who stand up to her, as long as they aren't 'disrespectful' in the process- and the 'disrespect' is very situational, she'll accept things in private or in non-court settings that she can't let slide in court without losing face and therefore power. She cares very much about the legitimacy of authority, because it correlates positively with stability and is ingrained in her self-image, but she has an autocrat’s idea of what is legitimate. She assumes you know your own self-worth in relation to hers and are prepared to both display it and back it up. She has also internalized that other people's challenges of her are opportunities for her to prove her strength and fitness to rule, and she probably low-key seeks to provoke reactions now as validation/training, for herself and others.

She has rigid moral standards within the context she was raised in, and punishes herself first for perceived failure because if she does it first, perhaps she can avoid someone else doing it, with deadlier results. She has never been allowed to be less than perfect by her culture's standards- she can be (and has been) odd, but she cannot be flawed- and possibly expends all of her natural empathy on others instead of herself, because she can't afford that kind of indulgence herself, but she knows she owes it to lesser beings?

And as @websandwhiskers pointed out, she does have a lot of empathy within allowable contexts, and I think she is willing to push the envelope compared to her peers as long as she/the empire isn't directly threatened. That's what the kiss after Mat let the poisonous snake go was about. The snake was poisonous but not attacking, and not likely to attack unless someone escalated the situation, and Mat deescalated it. No harm, no foul. Mat responded to a fraught situation both logically and mercifully, in the way she imagined she would have if she had been in his shoes and known he same facts he did, and she rewarded him.

She’s competent and charismatic; I hesitate to say that she inspires loyalty in underlings because honestly with the damane it’s brainwashing (eurgh). But Selucia and Karede are both really into her, personally, even when there are societal inducements not to play favorites. Mat is loyal to her, though honestly Mat is loyal to like... anyone he’s responsible for, so maybe it’s more relevant to say that Mat genuinely likes her; at least, he likes the person he thinks he can coax out of her, and in terms of the persona she has more typically, I think he responds well to her competency and self-possession. The ability to project those things is probably a big part of what goes into charisma.

She thinks that the people who oppose her just don't have all the facts. She doesn't like to admit she's changed her mind; it looks like weakness; she's fine identifying it in others but not herself. Ideally she would pretend things have always been the way she now knows they are, and if she can't, she goes for the "Yes [fact], but [here's what I've decided is now germane to the argument at hand]." redefinition of the problem. She always thinks she’s right, though she does tend to leave some space between when she’s decided something and when she promulgates the decision, to allow for opposing arguments.

I think the original relationship Tuon has with omens is that she uses them to look for external justification from the universe for decisions she's already made. (I mostly like Sanderson's Tuon POVs, but I also I think Sanderson sometimes used omens as a 'make Tuon do OOC things for the plot' card.) Tuon's running dialogue with omens also shows that she's always observing the world and interpreting her effect on it and its effect on her. She loses her composure with omens when they are more concrete and less subject to her control (via interpretation), as with Lidya's fortune.

It makes sense that she's super controlling. It was how she was raised, and aside from having loyal/brainwashed companions (who are, themselves, a form of distributed control), being controlling is obviously the only thing that makes her feel safe. It's still interesting how it extends into a dialogue with the Pattern itself. Like Mat, she wants to survive and she wants to go her own way, and also like Mat she's caught up in the Pattern a little more tightly than others. I think she and Mat have both subconsciously decided that the only way to deal with what the universe wants you to do, when the universe is that powerful, is to say "Fine, I didn't really want to do that other thing anyway, let's learn how this path works and play to win."

She knows she makes bad decisions when angry, and I think in general she distrusts strong emotions, or at least tries to hold them at arms' length so they don't form part of her judgment. She's very very good at compartmentalizing, but as a result sometimes emotional stuff will come up and blindside her a little because she doesn't prioritize it or see it as a natural part of her decision-making. I think her emotions do influence her, usually subconsciously, but she's obviously a Thinking type. (Mat is also a compartmentalizer, but more somatic/emotionally focused; he's got his feelings directly wired into his body and together they make decisions that his brain then evaluates a second later, with running commentary that he never expresses to anyone else. They are both comedically un-self-aware, although Tuon is even less self-aware than Mat is, since at least on some level Mat knows he's been repeatedly traumatized even if he tries to pretend he isn't, while Tuon still thinks that her childhood was completely fine.)

Within the original narrative, I think her POVs are always a bit mysterious and her actions are always a little surprising. What’s impressive about that is that this is basically *always* true no matter what setting she’s in and what she’s doing. When you’re in her head you see her thought process ticking away, but RJ and Sanderson both have her constantly withholding important contextual details in her POVs, like Lidya’s prophecy (the hints are there and come out in bits and pieces, but she doesn’t reveal everything and slot it into context until 2 books later). Like with reading Mat, you’re aware that she obviously has reasons for what she’s doing and you even see her decision-making process, but because you’re missing the details, she remains opaque even though you’re in her head. (Mat’s decision-making process is more clear to the reader, but somewhat opaque to himself and definitely opaque to those around him.)

Meanwhile the things Tuon does share via narration or via action are always kind of buck-wild for the reader because her entire deal is such a culture shock. She’s obviously surprising Mat & co, but what’s weird is that she also seems to be constantly surprising her fellow Seanchan. Her scenes with her peers are usually punctuated with shocked murmuring in the background. They have trouble anticipating her, both because she keeps her cards close to her chest, and I also think because she’s a slightly different person from the one who lived her entire life in a cloistered murdersphere in Seanchan, and if she wasn’t a different person after leaving home, she’s definitely one after her kidnapping. But I think she is a fundamentally different person after leaving home, because of the structural parallels she has with Mat.

In Mat’s first POV chapter, he wakes up in Tar Valon with partial amnesia and a much stronger sense of self-preservation than he had before. As everybodyhatesrand points out (crediting but not tagging them since I feel like they wouldn’t appreciate being tagged in Tuon apologia), we have never been in pre-dagger!Mat’s head. We have never been in dagger!Mat’s head. Everyone in the books, throughout the books, is like “At least Mat’s still the same!” and yeah, he does do and say more or less the same things before and after the dagger. But we had to take it on faith that his personality is more or less intact pre- and post-dagger because we, the readers, only know post-dagger!Mat’s inner monologues. The Mat we inhabit in book 3? He’s been broken. The continuity between his old life and his new life has been disrupted (and will continue to be disrupted, including with an actual literal timeline reboot!) He immediately starts off to fix himself, others, and then eventually the world, so it’s motivating, but the hits really just keep coming...

Like Mat, Tuon’s first POV only appears after she’s left the traumatic environment that shaped her. We don’t know what travelling across the sea did to her sense of self (and we can’t really know since we don’t have that in-Seanchan-baseline), though we do know she’s changed after travelling with Mat (aside from catching feelings, I think she learned that the Seanchan are not always in possession of all the facts), and we know what becoming Empress did to her (she doubled down on duty and lost a lot of personal flexibility). I think there are major structural parallels between Mat and Tuon’s POVs because they’re both broken people who try their very best to act as if they are not broken. In Tuon’s case I think she just doesn’t know how broken she is. In Mat’s case, he knows, but he’s doing a weird balancing act of integrating lessons learned (healing!) while also, like, frantically trying to ignore or drown out the emotional cost of trauma (not healing!)

By the end of the series I think Tuon knows, but is not letting herself actually think, that being made damane is a) a real possibility for her, specifically, and b) that it is not, in fact, something she would willingly choose for herself even to serve the empire. I think this is different from the more intellectual disgust of the idea of herself channeling; that's abstract, and she imagines there's an actual choice for the person with the spark between channeling and not channeling, or possibly that there's an actual choice between learning to channel vs not learning to channel if you have the spark inborn. (We know that the actual choice if you have the spark is 'learn to channel properly or die'.) Tuon's out there like "If I were a marath'damane I would simply choose not to channel. RIP to marath'damane but I'm different".

She's never been a marath'damane in the sense of someone who started channeling involuntarily, and isn't interested in imagining herself as one, at least not when confronted by someone who is succeeding in making her angry. So even if you made her choose, as a theoretical marath'damane, between dying and learning to channel properly, I think she'd consider 'learning to channel properly' as 'becoming a murderer' and therefore the choice would be between dying and becoming a murderer. There's a clear argument to be made in that idiom that the marath'damane is 'becoming a murderer' in self-defense, which would have a different moral tenor (manslaughter vs murder). But Tuon strikes me as the type to say in an argument (and probably believe) that "The end result is the same & I would die before compromising my principles.”

I think in the confrontation with Egwene she probably internally justified not putting the collar on because there was a Seanchan audience and because the taunt came from an escaped damane, even though the actual reason was fear that it would work. She’s letting the circumstances invalidate the argument so she doesn’t have to think about it. I think if she were to let herself think about the authentic emotional response- and she probably has, I feel like she does a postmortem on all of her public discomposure- she would consciously know that her instinct was that it would work on her, and furthermore she would know that she does not want to be damane, even if the Empire would require her to be.

If she followed out the chain of reasoning, she’d know that if she were a damane, if she were actually leashed, she would be forced to channel. She’d know because she’s taken great pleasure in training and breaking damane, and she knows how to get damane to channel and how to break them. Therefore, if she were damane, she would know that she would need to be broken, and she knows how she would go about breaking herself. She probably thinks that her last act of free will would be to suicide if she possibly could. But I think that what she’s AFRAID OF is that she would actually convince herself that being the very best damane is all she wants out of life. And that's the scary, universe-ending thought she's avoiding the consequences of, because a) it’s about breaking herself (as Cadsuane points out, no one can easily think about breaking themselves) and b) the fact that she would need to be broken and that she doesn’t like the idea is a sign that she’s not the perfect avatar of the Empire that she thinks she should be.

I think becoming damane has been added- in the bare abstract- to her mental list of the price of failure. It's a very fundamental loss of control and identity, where all she has is resignation and brainwashing that- best case scenario- she does to herself. She's scared of it in a way she was not before, now that it's been made personal. Like Mat, she's going to shove that down deep and ignore the bad scary implications as long as she can, up until the point that they actually disable her or otherwise bleed out into her intellectual or physical world in ways that aren't as ignorable.

But while Tuon thinks she would die before compromising her principles, and even more secretly is extremely afraid that she *wouldn't*, I also think that like Mat, if it came down to it she would transform herself radically to survive *as herself*.

She’d realize that she has other principles, more human ones, underlying her socially acceptable and externally imposed principles of enforcing hierarchy and maintaining personal integrity. (Parallels to dagger!Mat being exorcised?) I think her basic motivations are that she should survive, that she should retain as much control/power over her own fate as possible, and that she should make decisions from a place of empathy rather than anger or fear. I think she would also realize that she does in fact value some principles over others. She would redefine the meaning of ‘personal integrity’ to separate it from what the state wants.

If she knew what was really driving her socially acceptable principles, and that there was a difference between what she really, fundamentally wanted & what she had been told to want, with encouragement she could prioritize the organic, primal ones and apply those to the external world. If she is a person, then everyone else is a person, and she should want for them what she wants for herself. I think she might get to the point of realizing there is an alternative path (of what looks like selfishness) but I don't think she's going to let herself be selfish (in this healing, positive way) without external prompting/confirmation, so this is probably where friends, positive role models, and finally omens come in.

[wordsablaze]

10~ the chance to see the light

tell me your problems (i’ll chase them away) Internal scars can be difficult to deal with but Eskel vows to heal any that Jaskier is weighed down by if it’s the last thing he does…

A/N: 2021 is lowkey already a mess so here some good vibes with these two dorks being almost the exact opposite !!

@random-nerd-3 @betaray-jones @w-s-kibela @cloudspeck @in-love-with-writing002 @screaming-flapjacks @havenoffandoms @lasaga666 @mayastormborn 

previous chapter

-

The market is loud.

So incredibly loud.

Eskel has rarely ever come across a market so loud and even if he has, he’s never stayed longer than just passing by for necessities or just travelling through to leave town. Crowded places can never exactly be a witcher’s best friend due to all the mutations so no matter what, Eskel always feels a little on edge in markets.

Jaskier on the other hand seems to be in his element from the moment they enter the crowds. He greets practically every merchant they see even though he buys nothing from them, which baffles Eskel, who’s used to often buying things he doesn’t remotely need from various people because he feels bad for wasting their time, but it seems to be the norm for Jaskier - he figures it’s a bard thing. And a pretty endearing bard thing at that.

Well, it’s endearing until Eskel bumps into someone, swivels on the spot as they both apologise to one another, and then turns back to find Jaskier gone.

“Jaskier?” he asks, but said bard is nowhere to be seen.

Eskel groans, his mind unhelpfully reminding him of the siren incident, and cranes his neck to look over the people around him to try and spot either Jaskier’s lute or his bright doublet. When he can find neither, he sighs and starts moving, mumbling apologies every time he has to literally push past the sheer number of people that he didn’t even think could fit in this town and hope none of them think badly of him for it.

He’s just beginning to think Jaskier had used the market as an excuse to be rid of him when someone crashes into him but instead of immediately jumping back, latches onto his arm with a surprising amount of strength.

“Eskel, there you are!” Jaskier grins, steadying himself but still not letting go. “I am so sorry for disappearing, I didn’t know you’d stopped walking.”

Eskel exhales slowly, nodding. “That’s okay. There’s just, uh, a lot of people here.”

Jaskier’s expression softens into sympathy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know it would be so crowded. You can never really tell which towns go for the morning rush until you’re part of it, unfortunately. Do you want to leave?”

Eskel blinks at being given the choice. He’d figured that, the same way he’d taken responsibility whilst hunting a siren, Jaskier would decide their plans whilst hunting a mirror. “No, that’s fine, just… let me know where you’re going next time?”

He means for it to be a joke but Jaskier frowns, biting his lip as he slowly lets go of Eskel’s arm. The small distance that creates between them doesn’t last long because Jaskier hesitantly slips his hand into Eskel’s, not quite gripping it properly but carefully holding his fingers in place as if waiting for approval.

As much as Eskel wants to provide said approval, he hesitates. “Are you sure? That’d send a pretty clear message that we’re… that you’re friends with a… with me.”

Jaskier smiles softly, somewhat sadly. “We are friends, darling.”

“But this is different and-”

“I know,” Jaskier interrupts, “but I can’t promise I won’t get distracted again and I don’t want to get overwhelmed with your witchery senses and all.”

Oh, so Jaskier is just being considerate. Eskel chides himself for thinking anything on the contrary and nods, returning Jaskier’s smile as best as he can because he’s not about to refuse him when he’s just trying to help. “That’s very kind of you.”

Another frown flickers across Jaskier’s face but he doesn’t explain it, only nods and gently squeezes Eskel’s hand as he firmly interlocks their fingers, so Eskel doesn’t question it, letting himself be guided to the different stalls.

If later asked, he wouldn’t be able to recall what anyone was selling at any of the stalls. What he would be able to recall is the way their hands may as well have been made for being held, the way he could feel a firm tug all the way up to his shoulder every time Jaskier turned to admire something or the other, the way Jaskier turned around with a look of concern if Eskel didn’t move fast enough when being pulled along.

He genuinely has no idea how much time passes before Jaskier comes to a complete stop with a rather dramatic gasp. “That one! Oh, Eskel, isn’t it lovely?” Jaskier asks, gesturing to a small, circular mirror.

The merchant seems a little sceptical to hand it over at first, presumably not a huge fan of witchers, but Eskel watches as his gaze travels to their connected hands before his doubt morphs into amusement. When he looks up again, he’s smiling and offers the object up with no hesitation, which is a little confusing but it’s not like Eskel is going to question it.

“Well, what do you think?” Jaskier asks as Eskel takes the mirror, squeezing his hand in what could be excitement or support but is appreciated either way.

It’s a pretty simple design, with one side smoothed down perfectly to create a reflective surface and the other side curved outwards with a flower carved into it. He shrugs. “It’s really nice.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Melitele save us from witchers and their limited reviews. It’s a rose, Eskel. It’s not just really nice, it’s perfect!”

Well, if Jaskier is so determined to continue comparing him to roses, he’s not going to complain regardless of how much he disagrees. And yes, upon further inspection the carving is an impressively delicate rose, so he smiles. “It’s really perfect?” he offers.

Both Jaskier and the merchant laugh, and Eskel is so distracted that he forgets to pay attention to how much Jaskier is spending on the mirror, on him. He’s drawn out of his thoughts when Jaskier tugs on his hand again, grinning.

“You’ll be happy to know we can leave now!” he announces. Although Eskel is more than relieved to finally get out of the sensory mess otherwise known as a market, he selfishly doesn’t want to let go of Jaskier’s hand yet.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” Eskel asks.

Jaskier shakes his head. “Not really, no. I replaced my lute strings not long ago and we just ate and I don’t really have much coin left anyway because the patrons of this town aren’t particularly generous so there’s nothing keeping us.”

With a sigh, realising there’s no excuse for them to stay attached any longer, Eskel releases his hold on Jaskier’s hand and starts walking back the way they came. He makes it about three steps before the scent of honey he’s so quickly become comforted by turns sour. Though when he turns to see what’s happened, Jaskier is smiling as if there’s nothing wrong.

“You forgot your mirror, Eskel,” Jaskier tells him with a nervous chuckle, holding out said object.

He takes it from him but that can’t have been the matter because Jaskier still smells the way Lambert does when Vesemir withholds his brewing privileges. Before he can ask, Jaskier brushes past him and speeds up so quickly that Eskel almost loses sight of him again before he manages to catch up.

“Jaskier? What is it, did something happen?” he asks eventually, by the time they’re nearer the inn and there are less people around.

Jaskier shakes his head but doesn’t stop walking. Eskel glances between him and the mirror, which he then pockets so he doesn’t break it, before sighing, confused. “Do you need more coin?”

That seems to have been the wrong way to go about fixing things because Jaskier turns on his heel and folds his arms, all but glowering at him. “I do not and will never need your pity coin, I am perfectly capable of covering my own expenses, thank you very much!”

Eskel wants to disagree, considering that Jaskier is currently wearing his spare clothes, but he also has the feeling that Jaskier wouldn’t take too kindly to him pointing that out. Instead, he just shrugs. “I’m sorry, bardling, I didn’t mean to imply-”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Jaskier interrupts once more, but this time he just sounds tired, his previous determination long-gone. “Just tell me honestly, was it really that bad?”

“What?” Eskel asks.

Jaskier gestures vaguely to nothing in particular and yet somehow looks surprised when Eskel doesn’t seem to catch on. He sighs quietly. “You know, holding hands?”

Wait, what? Oh gods, Eskel seems to have completely missed something here. And apparently Jaskier has too, because he seems equally as lost when he sees that Eskel has no idea what he means, his glum transforming into uncertainty.

“How about we go inside first?” Eskel suggests, which he feels is the most logical course of action since the inn is within sight.

The second they’re back in their room, having deposited their respective lute and swords on the floor, Jaskier whirls and gives Eskel a pointed look. “You let go of my hand. I think it’s better you explain why instead of me standing here and guessing.”

“I thought that was what you wanted,” Eskel says honestly, “you said you were helping me in the market and I didn’t want to take advantage of that kindness once we left.”

Jaskier scowls, but it’s clearly not directed at him because the next thing he does is launch himself forwards and throw his arms around Eskel, who definitely doesn’t stumble in a not entirely unpleasant shock, no sir.

“All due respect, darling, but you witchers can be so stupidly obtuse,” Jaskier mumbles into his shoulder and Eskel laughs, letting himself relax into the embrace and waiting patiently until Jaskier eventually pulls back, thankfully free of any sourness.

“Just to clarify then: this is permission to uhm, hold your hand even when we’re not in markets?” Eskel asks, swallowing down the awkwardness he can sense burning inside him even as the words leave his mouth.

Jaskier grins. “Yes, even the mightiest of witchers are allowed to engage in the more ordinary act of hand-holding.”

Although he’s sure his doesn’t have quite the same charm to it, a matching grin blooms on Eskel’s face. “You know, I thought it was rather extraordinary, actually.”

Just as Eskel had predicted, there’s about three seconds of confusion before Jaskier blushes and his grin once again widens in a way that seems impossible and highly dangerous. He’d say it must be another bard thing but he’s beginning to think it’s just a Jaskier thing and he’s almost afraid of how many Jaskier things he’s been keeping track of lately.

“You’re quite the flirt for someone so obtuse,” Jaskier informs him, raising an eyebrow.

Eskel shrugs. “Must be the company I’m keeping.”

“Hey!” Jaskier protests, but the accompanying giggle just makes it sound adorable. As soon as he thinks that, though, Jaskier smirks at him. “So you’re keeping me?”

Ah, not again. He truly has no idea how he’s meant to react to what he’s almost certain is flirting and unfortunately, that fact only seems to amuse Jaskier instead of discouraging him. Not that Eskel has any idea why anyone, especially this bard, would want to flirt with him in the first place.

“You’ve got your thinky-face on again,” Jaskier accuses him quietly, poking his chest. “Do you really have to think so hard on the concept of keeping me?”

Eskel finds himself shaking his head just a little too quickly. “No, no. I would be honoured to continue keeping your company, I just- I don’t know how to do this.”

Jaskier tilts his head to the right, raising an eyebrow. “With ‘this’ being what, exactly?”

That’s exactly what he wants to ask.

“This… this flirting thing,” he settles on.

“I wasn’t really considering it to be a thing so much as just the flirting,” Jaskier says, so quietly that it’s barely even a whisper.

Eskel can literally feel the way his eyes widen. He can also literally smell the way Jaskier begins to doubt himself so, without thinking, he reaches out and grabs the bard’s wrist, instantly regretting that choice when Jaskier flinches.

“I’m sorry,” he says, letting go immediately, “just, uh, just don’t leave yet. Please.”

With a slow exhale, Jaskier nods. “Yet?”

“You can leave whenever you wish,” Eskel clarifies, relieved when all Jaskier does is smile rather than take him up on that offer.

To his credit, Jaskier barely even moves as Eskel tries to compose himself. He rubs his fingertips together before just wrapping his arms around himself and shifts from one foot to the other but he doesn’t leave, giving Eskel as much time as he needs to choose an answer that doesn’t come across as something else that can be taken in the wrong way.

In the end, he just sighs. “I don’t- I mean, I haven’t been flirted at for longer than I can exactly remember. You’ll have to forgive me for not knowing the difference between the typical bardic reputation and the- and anything more… serious.”

“Bards can’t be serious?” Jaskier jokes, but it seems like an automatic response rather than his genuine response if the frown on his face is anything to go by.

“I wouldn’t know,” Eskel replies, very much wishing that he did.

Jaskier nods, reaching out for and taking both of Eskel’s hands. “I can assure you that despite also holding the uhm, the typical bardic reputation, I was being entirely serious about flirting with you.”

Eskel was a little afraid of that, to be honest.

“But if you don’t- that is, if it were to make you uncomfortable, I would be happy to uh, take that problem off your hands and stick to less serious flirting,” Jaskier adds, “or no flirting at all, even. That one may be considerably more difficult since flirting essentially becomes second nature in my trade but I can certainly attempt such an endeavour if it would ensure that we continue to travel together. And I’m aware you’ve already told me you’re happy with that arrangement but it only feels right to make sure in case-”

“You can stay sure,” Eskel cuts in before Jaskier rambles himself into a mess, “It doesn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“But?” Jaskier asks, raising an eyebrow.

Amazed at how the bard somehow knows he needs to continue, Eskel smiles a little. “But I don’t know how to flirt and be serious about it.”

And he genuinely doesn’t. Obviously. He’s a witcher, he’s more than lucky if anyone at a brothel wants to keep their eyes on him, never mind maintain a conversation, and even then, that’s only if he goes to one in the first place. It’s not like he’s never been flirted at before, but it’s a little hard to take any of it seriously when it’s usually accompanied by undertones of fear or curiosity or mocking jest.

“It’s not like I’m an expert,” Jaskier scoffs and immediately, inexplicably, some of the tension in Eskel’s body melts away.

“What about all those romantic ballads of yours?” Eskel asks, frowning.

Jaskier shrugs, his thumbs drawing tiny soothing circles on Eskel’s hands. “Just because I sing about relationships doesn’t mean I’m in one, darling.”

Eskel is honestly a little baffled by how that can be possible. He can’t imagine being blessed with someone like Jaskier and then deciding not to try and keep him around - which reminds him to violently berate his brother for doing so - but frankly, he’s pretty glad nobody else has because if they had, he’d never have been given the chance himself.

“You look nice in my clothes,” Eskel blurts and, going by the redness that bridges over his nose all the way to his ears, Jaskier mercifully seems to understand what he’s trying to convey.

“I hope you’re aware you’re not getting them back now,” Jaskier teases.

Eskel shrugs. “A loss I’m willing to endure.”

Jaskier laughs brightly, throwing his head back with his hair arching messily in the air above him, his hands tightly clutching onto Eskel’s to stay balanced, and Eskel doesn’t need to be an expert on relationships to know that he’d happily lose any of his belongings if it meant being able to keep Jaskier in his life.

Well, maybe not his mirror.

-

...in retrospect, i may have made them a tad ooc by projecting too much but hey, it be like that sometimes :)

-

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher sideblog: @itsjaskier | next chapter

[sailorgreywolf-legacy]

Legacy - Chapter 63

The sun was high in the sky, illuminating the sails of the ship from behind. Mexico could see every details of the stitching, which was in perfect straight lines. Though he did not know naval matters well, it seemed tidy to him.

Mexico was standing on the deck of one of his own ships, trying to ascertain how prepared he was to face a Spanish threat in the gulf. He knew that the attack was coming, since he had effectively guaranteed it with his conversation with Spain. 

He had no regrets about what he had said and what he had done; there had been no other option. He could never have accepted any of Spain’s advances, even if it had made more battles a certainty. The best he could do in the moment was to prepare.

There was not much of a navy to be had, even if there were merchant vessels that could be commandeered for the good of the country.

There was a problem that Mexico could not imagine an easy solution to: If they chose to requisition merchants or privateers, then it would mean that there would be even less certainty of trade.

Trade had already ground to a halt during the war, and the threat of Spanish ships just beyond his own territorial waters meant that many were not willing to take the risk. It was apparent to him that Spain was trying to strangle any avenue for him to support himself so that he would have no choice but to return. But, dislodging the Spanish presence would end that threat.

As Mexico looked from the sail to the rigging, he continued to contemplate how to solve the puzzle. The rigging looked like a spider’s web to him, and it felt as incomprehensible to him as his present problems. 

In all the years that he had gone back and forth between his own land and Madrid, he could not think of a time when he had looked up at the shape of a ship’s sails or the way that its rigging was knotted.

It had never been something that had interested him, and Spain had never taught him anything about it. He remembered that Portugal had always said that Spain was no sailor.

His own ineptitude meant that Mexico had never learned much about it. So, Mexico was not even certain what he was looking at. It could have been completely wrong, and he would have hardly known the difference.

This inspection felt like a way to busy himself with something that felt productive. But, it was having the opposite effect.

It felt like he had a very small number of ships, many of which needed to be devoted to commerce. He would have to choose one or the other, and it felt like he was choosing destruction by one means or another. He had to choose between an immediate shortfall or a slow weakening.

He drew in a long breath of sea air through his nose. He turned his eyes away from the rigging and scanned down the deck. The captain was looking at him with something like akin to carefully hidden concern.

He knew that Mexico was an officer under the emperor’s orders who was inspecting his ship. He had said nothing about how young Mexico looked, though the thought must have certainly crossed his mind. Mexico knew it was his apparent position of power that kept the sailors and the captain from saying anything to him.

Nominally, Santa Anna suggested that he should undertake an inspection as a way to establish what forces they had to fight Spain. But, Mexico felt like he had suggested it as a way to keep himself busy.

He turned to the captain, who said, “Does everything look like it is in order?” Mexico lied, “Yes, it does.”

He couldn’t have known for sure, so he had to put some faith in the idea that everything was correct. At least the deck was reflecting the overhead sunlight. That must have taken some disciplined scrubbing. The sailors also seemed ready to fight at a moment’s notice. That was reassuring enough.

He turned to the captain and asked, “Are you prepared to fight? We may need to call upon you soon.”

The man took a moment to look at his men and then over the horizon, like he was measuring the threat beyond it. Then he looked back to Mexico and said, “I am. Though I do not know if we have the numbers. You can be sure that we will fight with all we can, but there is a fleet coming.”

Mexico nodded in agreement, and said, “The emperor is aware of that and is working for a solution.”

It was half a lie. He had received a letter from Iturbide the night before, and it had hinted at making plans for rebuffing an invasion. The lack of details had been frustrating, because it felt like Iturbide was still keeping him in the dark. But, it had been clear that he was aware of the Spanish threat, and was preparing. That was all Mexico could ask for in the moment.

Mexico had also noticed that the emperor had taken an affectionate tone in the letter, which had surprised him. Iturbide had seemed eager to send him to Veracruz. However, after Mexico had been in Veracruz for a month, there seemed to be some tenderness.

He wondered if the distance had erased the memory of their last fight, and Iturbide was desiring some reconciliation. A more cynical part of his mind dismissed the possibility.

The emperor was capable of lying well, and Mexico was acutely aware that this may be a show of affection to manipulate him. He couldn’t help but wonder if Iturbide felt any real loyalty to him, or if it had been theater to win the crown.

“Sir?”, the captain brought him back to the present, as his mind had slipped to Iturbide and stayed there for a moment too long.

Mexico gave him an approving look and said, “You are doing good work, captain. Continue as you have been.” Then he took a deep breath and prepared himself to perform the same act on several more ships before he returned to Santa Anna.

He sat across the table from Santa Anna, trying to read the other’s expression. What Mexico could report to him about the state of the navy seemed to be good news. But, Santa Anna seemed to have a permanent half smirk on his face, like he knew some very amusing secret that the world did not yet knew.

Santa Anna said, “I am glad to hear it. We will need all of the ships we can get to defend ourselves. Unless the French really decimated the Spanish fleet.”

Mexico had not gotten enough news from Europe to know, since he did not have a good source of information. He had heard that the war with France had weakened Spain, but it was hard to guess what that meant. He responded, “For now, we should assume that he has the strength he had before the war.”

Mexico waited for some concern to appear in the other’s face, but it did not. Instead, he saw nothing but a sense of quiet confidence.

Santa Anna said, “How fortunate it is that you have me then. I am certain that I am a brilliant enough commander to defend you.”

Mexico raised his eyebrow and said, “Are you sure of that?”

Santa Anna smirked as he responded, “I am. Once I win, I am going to commission a portrait of myself as a hero.” Santa Anna added, “You can imagine it, can’t you? Me as your glorious protector.”

 Mexico couldn’t help but chuckle. He replied, in a tone that was almost light, “That could happen. Or the emperor will remove you before that, and there will be no glory for you. That would end your plans.”

He was amused by it all, and the seemingly boundless confidence. The mortal raised one of his eyebrows suggestively and said, “Oh, do not assume that I am that easy to get rid of.”

He gave Mexico a charming smile and added, “I have decided that I am devoted to you.”

Mexico scoffed. He didn’t believe that for even a moment. It seemed to him that a man like Santa Anna would never feel true loyalty. It was beyond him, Mexico was sure. But, he could not guess who felt real loyalty if he had been wrong about Guerrero.

Mexico said, “I think you are devoted to the fame and fortune.” Santa Anna replied with the same charming smile, “I think that the two can go hand in hand. I can show you that I have the talent.”

Mexico thought that almost sounded like he was planning some glorious action. He said, “Did the emperor give you any orders?”

He had no idea what Iturbide was planning, but it seemed evident to him that it would never include Santa Anna. The mortal replied, “I received a letter today. The emperor says that I am free to act if I see an opportunity. He is giving me the latitude to act.”

Mexico thought to himself, More rope to hang yourself with. He could see the logic as clearly as if Iturbide had told him. If Santa Anna succeeded, then Iturbide could claim that he had given him the ability to act. If he failed, then Iturbide would have better grounds to dismiss him as an incompetent commander. Either way, he could take credit for the outcome.

A weariness set in as Mexico thought about it. He felt so bitterly tired of these political games and Iturbide’s willingness to engage in them.

He was frustrated that Victoria and Guerrero were willing to put him at risk for a political victory over the empire. But, it seemed that the emperor was little better. He was leaving the defense of a key port city in the hands of a man that he did not trust for the sake of proving a political point.

Mexico thought bitterly that mortals were capable of thinking of nothing else. It was strange and exhausting to see these men in power fight, when it felt like Spain was drawing closer by the day.

if anything, Santa Anna’s self centered charmed seemed refreshing. It was clear where he stood, and what could be used to sway him.

Mexico took a deep breath, and tried to think of any response. But, he felt like the days of sleepless nights were hitting him in the moment. He said, “I am tired. The inspections today were exhausting, though I would say that they were satisfactory. I can give you more details in the morning. I am going to go to retire for the night.”

He hoped that he would be able to leave with that excuse alone. Surely the man would understand that a day of looking at ships and talking to captains would be tiring, though that was not the reason Mexico felt so tired.

He felt like he needed a moment alone to think, and then to sleep until this terrible exhaustion faded. Santa Anna nodded and said, “Get your rest. I am planning an attack to show the Spanish that we will not let them dictate when and where we fight. You will need to be well rested when I choose to make my move.”

Mexico nodded, as though he agreed with the idea. But, he had his own trepidation about Santa Anna acting on his own. He would have to hope that the man was as talented as a commander as he claimed. He stood and gave his commander one last inclination of his head before leaving.

Once he was in his room, and the door was firmly closed, he let out a sigh.

Closing the door felt like momentarily shutting out the headache of politics. It was momentary, but it was a reprieve. As long as he was here, there was no pressure to solve the problem of the continuation of the empire.

If he desired, he could simply sink into the pillows and forget them all. It was incredibly tempting to do exactly that and block out the world. He could pretend that Santa Anna wasn’t only a few rooms away.

But, that felt incredibly childish, like he was running from the problem. Even if he was tired, there was still work to do.

He walked to the desk, and picked up the letter from Iturbide again. He had read it over twice quickly the night before, looking for some explanation of his plan.

He felt like he should read it over again, in case there was anything he missed. He took the letter to bed with him, laying back against the pile of pillows. As he skimmed through the letter again, he was struck again by the tone of it.

It started with “Alejandro, My dear empire.” Then it descended into flattery, about how he missed Mexico’s presence deeply. There was the ambiguous sentence, “If it comes to battle, I know that you will fight well as you always have. I know that you are singularly talented.”

It seemed to him that Iturbide was trying to frame the choice to send Mexico to Veracruz as a credit to Mexico’s skill in battle. It was the kind of flattery that he knew was empty, but it also did feel somewhat validating that Iturbide was trying.

It was a marked difference from the tense reception he had gotten when he had left. He knew it was possible that it was all just a ploy to get back in his good graces. But, he preferred it to the barely concealed tension between himself and his emperor.

The tone aside, the end of the letter was the most interesting to him. Iturbide could not have been more clear in his wording. He stated, “I am only asking you to endure Santa Anna until I can secure another commander for the position in Veracruz. If you suspect that he is disloyal to me, then send a convert letter to me and I will deal with him. We will secure the future of the empire together.”

Mexico felt strange reading the words. As far as he knew, Santa Anna had not been disloyal to the empire, though Mexico had already planted the seeds for him to be. So, there was nothing to tell Iturbide about.

The emperor had not bothered to ask about Mexico’s own loyalty. Mexico could read it as an attestation to his absolute faith in his country. But, he was not so foolish.

Iturbide had more reason to suspect him than Santa Anna, since he was the one who was invested in the insurgents already. Even if Iturbide thought that there was a rift between him and Guerrero, he had reasons to suspect Mexico would be drawn back to the side of his old commanders. Unless he was really under the impression that by making sure Mexico was invested in spying on Santa Anna he was also making him more a part of the imperial regime.

He could imagine Santa Anna receiving a similar letter that directed him to look for signs of disloyalty in Mexico’s behavior. The question was whether Santa Anna would do so, or if he had even noticed. He seemed so preoccupied with himself and his plans that Mexico doubted that he had even noticed that his country had met with Victoria.

Mexico felt like it was reasonable to assume for the moment that Iturbide did not suspect anything that he had been doing. If he could keep Santa Anna in doubt about the emperor’s intention, then he could be certain that his actions would continue to be unknown to the emperor.

He read the end of the letter again and tried to decide what to do. If he could expect that Santa Anna was going to be replaced, then he wondered if it would be best to frustrate Santa Anna’s efforts to prepare for battle.

If he could succeed, then it would make him a popular commander, which would make him harder to remove. But, on the other hand, Mexico did not feel like he should aid Iturbide’s schemes.

He decided that he would do nothing to stop it.

Spain would take advantage of anything that he could, and he would certainly seize the opportunity if he thought there was disunity between Mexico’s leaders. It would be smart to take the initiative before Spain suspected that there was some reason for the delay.

Mexico knew that it was all contingent on being able to have the numbers to take that initiative. Without knowing what he would be able to muster on his side, or what kind of numbers Spain could still command, it would be difficult to plan any sort of attack.

Mexico put the letter aside and then rubbed his forehead where there was a headache blooming. He had no idea how to fix this myriad of problems, and the stress was beginning to effect him.

He knew that he should sleep, and it would make him feel better. He felt the longing to sleep next to someone. It felt desperately lonely to be by himself trying to solve these problems.

He knew who he missed, whose broad chest he wanted to cuddle against and sleep. He refused to think his name at all, because the yearning felt like weakness.

The worst, unbidden thought occurred to him. He had a way to contact Victoria, and Victoria almost certainly knew how to contact Guerrero. That thought led him to realize that he hadn’t tried to write to Guerrero at all.

After the man left, he had thought of contact as completely lost. But, given what he knew about Iturbide’s role in keeping Guerrero out of government, it seemed that he should have tried.

Guerrero had not abandoned him, it seemed. Victoria had even made it sound like Guerrero was keeping their relationship secret, even though he had reasons to be angry.

Mexico bit his lower lip and felt momentarily like he had been in the wrong. He missed Guerrero, and he knew he was missing a man who had lied to him. He felt guilty for shutting the man out so firmly, when it had all been based on his initial reaction.

He closed his eyes. The feelings were overwhelming, and he wanted them to stop. Thinking about his personal feelings in a moment when there was a political crisis was selfish, but he could not make them stop. The only thing that cut off the spiraling thoughts was sleep finally overtaking him.

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

Mexico was sitting in the small library trying to think through the same problems he had the night before. He had found a chess board and had put it on the table.

He took the chess pieces out of a velvet bag one at a time and placed them on the board like he was setting up a game. There was no one to play with, but it felt like something to do while he tried to think through his next move.

He felt like what he had on his own would not be enough to fight Spain, and most certainly not at sea.

He placed a pawn on the board, and thought about the options. He needed some kind of alliance to bolster his position and make Spain reconsider his aggression.

America had recognized him as a country, but had stopped short of offering actual aid of any sort. The thought of asking America for help did not appeal to him at all. He only had to think of the struggle of getting the blonde to leave his bed to convince himself that America should be a last resort. He did not need to spend time negotiating with America in the bedroom for support.

He placed another pawn on the board with a dull thud. There had to be another option. When he had rebelled, England had been willing to help fund him, but he didn’t think he could be certain of the same kind of support for a second time. Given the war in Europe, he wasn’t certain that England even had the money to spare. And given that England barely knew him, or had reason to continue his support, it was unlikely that he could help.

Mexico started laying down the back row of pieces, starting with the rooks. England had also not yet made any statement that indicted that he was going to recognize Mexico as a country. That made Mexico certain enough that England would not be a reliable ally.

He finished setting his own side of the board and started working on the other. In his mind, he was trying to think of Spain’s enemies, and which of them would be willing to take a chance on providing him with money or ships.

He could be certain that the rest of Spain’s former colonies could be counted as his enemies, but Mexico knew none of them liked him enough to back him. He was certain that Peru’s offer at the beginning of the wars had never been an offer of sincere solidarity. It had been a way to get Spain out of the way by giving him a better target. It had been like throwing Mexico in front of the raging bull to avoid the horns themselves.

Mexico let out a long sigh as he continued to place the pieces. He knew he couldn't count on the other former colonies. They had hated him when he was Spain’s favorite, and they would do little to protect him from Spain’s aggression.

If Cuba was in any position to aid him, then he might have been the last friend Mexico could count on. But, he was still a colony, unless there had been some push for freedom that Mexico didn't know about.

The thought that came next was that France was Spain’s greatest enemy. But, he knew that he could not turn to France.

He had already made vague promises to France that he did not intend to keep. Going to France would likely mean that France would expect him to fulfill those promises.

As Mexico finished filling the board, he realized that he couldn’t think of another enemy. He knew that Spain had never been interested in making friends with other empires, but that did not mean Mexico could solicit aid from his enemies. It felt like his options for support were running dry, and it was the moment he most needed it.

Relying on mortals was clearly not an option for him. They all seemed to have their own ideas of what needed to be done, and all of their reasons seemed selfish to him.

He felt like he should have known that his problem in time would have been his lack of friends.  He turned his mind away from the problem and glanced across the table.

He wished that there was someone there to play a game of chess with. He was smart enough not to wish that Spain was his opponent, though Spain had been the one who he would usually play again. He had played a few games with Guerrero during the war, but he also knew that he couldn’t long for Guerrero.

There was an ache in his heart at how alone he really felt. All those who he may have counted on were gone, and he couldn’t even find a partner for chess.

He let out a long sigh and put a hand to his head. He was about to let himself give into despair when he heard the door open.

He looked up to see one of the couriers standing there. He expected that there was either a message from Santa Anna or another from Iturbide.

He asked, “What is it?” The courier replied, “There’s a man here to see you.”

Mexico doubted that there was anyone visiting him who could be of consequence. He asked, “Are you certain that they are not here for the commander? Did he ask for me specifically?”

He tried to think of who it could even be. Spain would not be so bold as to come to him directly. The mortal responded with a nod and said, “He said that he wanted to speak to you, and that it is an urgent matter that he would like to discuss.”

Mexico sat back in the chair and said, “What does he look like?”

The answer would let him know if the mysterious visitor was. The man replied, “He’s blonde, and very tall.”

So, America had decided to take the choice away from him and return. Mexico felt like he should have expected as much and be grateful for aid if it was offered.

He stood up and said, “Take me to him.”

He adjusted the front of his jacket and hoped that America would be suitably impressed. He had not seemed hard to charm before. Mexico was certain that he would have to do exactly that: charm America into offering whatever resources he could.

But, the figure in the foyer stopped all of those thoughts. Even from a distance, he knew that the person was too tall to be America. The blonde hair was also longer, and the uniform was wrong for the American navy.

Mexico felt the frustrating sense that he knew the tall man standing in his foyer, but he couldn't quite place him.

Then the blonde smiled at him and a memory came back to him. It was an old one of court life, when he had to be very young. He remembered a man who had once been a part of the empire, but who had left when Mexico was still small.

Mexico said, without really thinking, “Oh, it’s you!”

As soon as it left his mouth, he was certain that it was not formal in the way that it should be. It was no way to greet a delegate from another country. But the other simply said, “I was worried that you wouldn’t remember me.”

Mexico shook his head, “I do remember you.” The blonde said, “Well, I will introduce myself for the sake of formality.”

He extended his hand and said, “Johann van Dijk. The Kingdom of the Netherlands.”

Mexico took his hand firmly in his own and said, offering his own name back out of politeness, “Alejandro Garcia Hidalgo.”

The name felt brand new as it rolled off his tongue, since he had only adopted it after the independence.

The Dutchman smirked knowingly and said, "You aren’t using his surname anymore." Mexico replied, “No, I’m not. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

He saw a look in the Netherlands’ eyes like a kind of understanding. For a moment, he felt like someone understood his decision without explanation.

He said, trying to focus on the needs of the moment, “I am glad to see you, but I was told that you had something urgent to discuss with me.”

Knowing that the visitor was the Netherlands, and not America made Mexico reconsider whether he was still able to ask for aid.

He hadn’t said a word to the Netherlands since he was a child. Spain had always insisted that the Netherlands was a traitor and should be ostracized as such. He wasn’t sure if he could ask for anything at all from him, since he felt like a kind of estranged relative.

The blonde said, “I do. I also have some advice, but I would like to talk to you in private.”

It was an unsubtle reference to Santa Anna’s courier, who was still standing behind Mexico. It was easy enough to know what to do. Mexico said, “Of course. We can talk in the library.”

He knew that the room would offer relative privacy, and he was intrigued by the prospect of whatever the Netherlands had to offer.

As they walked to the library, it occurred to him that the Netherlands had come all the way from Europe personally. Whatever this urgent discussion was, it was worth making a long trip to deliver.

Mexico closed the door and turned to the other man. The Netherlands said with no preamble, “You need ships and I have them.”

Mexico blinked twice quietly out of surprise. He had thought he would have to ask earnestly for any help. But this was offered so quickly that he wasn’t sure how to react to it.

He recovered and said, “You can’t possibly be offering me your navy.”

The blonde shook his head and said, “I unfortunately cannot. But, I am a neutral country and I can transport your commercial goods. You will need that to avoid getting stifled by Antonio. He will try to starve you into giving in. I would rather not see that happen.”

Mexico knew the answer immediately. He needed to have some aid, and being able to protect his commerce would be invaluable. The Netherlands continued, “That will make your own ships more available for defense.”

Mexico was grateful for the offer, but he found himself staring at the tall European waiting for a demand. This seemed to be aid offered with no conditions, and nothing was ever so simple.

He said, trying to get some clarification, “I would be happy to accept that. But why are you offering me this?”

The man raised one eyebrow and said, “It doesn’t make sense to you, does it? You expect everyone to want to take from you the same way Antonio does?”

Mexico nodded, slightly taken aback by the blunt delivery. He replied, “Well yes, I expect you want something in exchange for your help.”

He noticed that The Netherlands had started looking around at the books like he was interested in what Mexico had been reading. He said, looking at the book shelves, “I want Antonio to not get what he wants. That is enough for me. If I can spite him, then it will be worth my effort.”

Mexico tried to remember the details of the grievances between Spain and the Netherlands, and couldn’t quite summon the details to mind. Perhaps Spain had chosen not to tell him.

He watched for a quiet moment as the Netherlands was looking through the books. He didn’t remember the man being so tall, but he had been a child when they last interacted. And things looked different through child eyes.

Then, he said, “And what was the advice you wanted to give me?” Mexico felt like he would be willing to give the Dutchman any time he wanted in exchange for what he was already being offered.

He could already imagine the way that it solved all of his issues with ships. With his own ships free to defend his ports, it improved his odds against Spain considerably.

He owed the Dutchman at least a listening ear after such a generous offer. The Netherlands turned away from the bookshelf and fixed his gaze on Mexico. Then he said, “I am the only person who has ever successfully left Antonio’s empire. I know what it is like.”

Mexico bit his inner lip as he contemplated. He felt like the answer should have been obvious to him. He asked, “And what should I do?”

The blonde sighed and said, “It’s not going to be easy, and I am sure you know that already. You will have to be prepared for a long fight. Antonio bled me dry for eighty years. You have wounded his pride, and he will do anything to force you to come back. He sees it as an issue of pride.”

Mexico had known about the long struggle Spain had to retain the Netherlands. He had not been privy to Spain’s thoughts at the time, but he had been aware that it was happening.

He hadn’t thought of how it mirrored his own situation. Spain hadn't respected the peace treaty in that case either.

He said, “I am going to fight him with whatever I have.”

It sounded hollow, since he had no other choice. But it still earned him a look of warm approval. The other responded, “I am sure you are. I was impressed that you fought him for this past decade. I am certain he will drag you through another decade at least.”

Mexico felt momentarily glad that he could make the Netherlands proud. The Dutchman paused for only a moment before saying, “And another piece of advice I would offer is to know what you want from your independence."

That caused Mexico to pause and look at him like he didn’t quite understand. He knew that he wanted independence, and that had been the reason he had endured such a long war. He asked, “What do you mean?”

He was not certain that he could be any clearer in his intentions, so the advice didn’t seem at all necessary. Mexico felt almost like it was patronizing.

But, the Netherlands replied, “While I don’t know what you are thinking, I can speak for my own experience. I wanted to escape Antonio’s control so badly that I didn't think about what I wanted to be once I was independent. I hadn’t given it a single thought since I was putting my energy into leaving the empire.”

He stepped closer and kept his gaze on Mexico and said, “This is what I wanted to tell you in confidence, since your leaders will not like what I am going to tell you. But, you must decide what kind of government you want and pursue it. Mortals will all try to push you towards their own ideals. They will have their convictions, and they will tear you in different contradictory directions.”

Mexico felt like he understood, and it was disconcerting to hear his own experience spoken by someone else. He had thought that he had encountered particularly stubborn politicians. But it seemed that it was not unique to him.

The Netherlands continued, “Monarchists and republicans turned my independence into a civil war, and I hope you are able to escape that fate.”

Mexico felt himself biting his lip again. He knew he should maintain an unaffected facade, but this also felt like an opportunity to talk to someone who might understand.

The other’s blue eyes were reassuring enough, and he knew that the feeling of trust was coming from his good memories of the Netherlands from his childhood. But the man had not felt like a threat to him when he had just arrived in Spain, and he still did not feel like a threat.

Mexico knew the feeling was not entirely rational, but decided to take the chance anyway, and he said, “It has already started. They all want something different from me.”

The blonde nodded and then walked over to one of the chairs. He put his elbows on his knees, which gave the impression that he wanted to have a very serious conversation. He said, speaking in the tone of a patient tutor, “And what do you want?”

Mexico wasn't sure how to answer. He wanted the security of an established government, which Iturbide was offering to him. But, he felt a strong pull towards Victoria and Guerrero, and the kind of government they were offering him.

He also remembered what Morelos said about not trusting that much power to one man, and in theory he agreed. They were all proving how unreliable one mortal man could be.

Mexico said, intentionally evading the question, “I want Tony to accept that I am independent.” The Netherlands heard his implication and said, “And after that?”

Mexico didn’t have a prepared answer, so he said, “I don’t know. I want whatever will keep him away.”

The other nodded like he understood. He replied, “You don't need to answer that question for me. You should answer it for yourself before men try to tell you what you want.”

He paused before adding, “I will not tell you what to do. But, for what it is worth, I think you should consider a republic. You and I both know that monarchies are flawed. The Spanish monarchs were half mad. trusting your people isn't easy, but it is worth it.”

Mexico decide to take the chair across from him. The man had certainly given him a lot to think about. He said, “I think you have given me more than I could ever repay. You must want something in return.”

The blonde leaned toward him and said, “As I said, I want nothing from you. I want you to live well away from Antonio, since I know what losing you will do to him. He’ll be ruined as an empire. I could think of nothing I want more.”

Mexico saw the shadow as his jaw clenched on the words, and heard the angry snarl in his voice. He had never imagined that such animosity existed between Spain and the Netherlands. If he had known it earlier, he would have exploited it.

But as it was, he was glad that he had someone who was willing to help him when he needed it. He said, “If you are willing to tell me, there is something else I want to ask.”

The Netherlands’ grimace turned back into a small smile and he replied, “Go ahead. I’ll tell you whatever I know."

Mexico nodded. He knew that a European would have a better idea of how badly the war had effected Spain. It was what he most needed to know. He asked, “How badly was Tony's army and navy hurt by the war with France? I need to know what he has left.”

The blonde took a moment to think, and it looked like he was contemplating thoroughly. Then he said, “Well, I am not certain. But I know that he had a hard fight with France. He was fighting him with everything he had, and trying to maintain his hold on you at the same time. So, I think that he must have very little left. But, I think that you should know that his guerrilla warfare endeared him to much of the rest of the continent. It has frustrated for me to hear many praise his bravery in the face of French occupation.”

Mexico could not imagine how Spain had shown himself to be brave when he was busy inflicting repression on his colonies. No one would be sympathetic to Spain if they had seen what he had done to Hidalgo.

He understood what the other was saying though, and it was a prudent warning. He said, “So, you think I’ll find less help from Europe?”

The blonde nodded with a regretful look on his face. He replied, “Sadly, he’s gotten sympathy, and very few people are willing to turn on him.”

Mexico sighed to himself. He wished that they all realized how much Spain was manipulating them all. One act of heroism did not absolve him of anything.

Mexico nodded to himself and noted that he was lucky for the Netherlands coming to his aid. Unprompted, the blonde said, “They act like he wasn’t saved by his brother’s relationship with England.”

Mexico looked up at him questioningly and said, “What? What did Phillip do?”

He felt an unexpected twinge at the thought of Portugal. He hadn’t thought of him in years, and he was suddenly missed the comforting, mentoring presence. He should have sent a letter to Portugal since he had become independent.

He had very little idea what the Netherlands was talking about. He had seen Portugal and England together before, but never questioned their closeness.

But, the smirk on the blonde’s face and his frank language told him it was something very different. The Netherlands smirked again and said, “He convinced his lover to help Antonio free himself from Francis. Arthur never would have been willing to do it without the promise of those sweet green eyes.”

Mexico smirked to himself. He had never thought of it, but it didn’t surprise him that Portugal had a love life. Anyone would have been lucky to have him.  He said, “I had no idea that Arthur felt that way about Phillip.”

The other said with a very knowing look, “From what I heard, Antonio didn’t either. It was a shock to him.”

Mexico could imagine the look of inevitable shock and rage that must have been of Spain’s face. How it must have hurt that his brother was dating his mortal enemy. There were very few people that Spain hated more than England.

Mexico was amused at the very least. He said, “You should stay the night. It must have been a long journey.” The other replied with a smile, "I would be glad to.”

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

After a long night and a short goodbye, Mexico found himself wandering along the shore thinking about the question the Netherlands had put to him. He had thought about it through the whole of dinner and the night after that.

He had laid awake trying to figure out which of his thoughts belonged to Morelos or Hidalgo or Guerrero, and which were his own.

He looked out at the ocean and tried to make sense of what had been circling in his mind for hours. He thought about what the other country had said about trusting his people. He had said that individual people could be easily fooled, but the people on the whole would make good decisions.

it reminded him of what Morelos had said to him years ago. It had sounded convincing to him at the time, and he wasn’t sure when he had become so skeptical of the idea of democracy.

He could have no guarantee of who would be president if he did throw his effort behind a republic. When Morelos was his general, it seemed like it was a near certainty that he would become the head of state. In that case it had seemed like he could trust the president.

He glanced around at the people on the street. Could he be certain that any of them would make the right decision? Then, a nagging voice asked if he could be trusted to make that choice on his own.

He had chosen wrong so far in choosing to back Iturbide’s bid for the crown.

He contemplated as he walked, now turning back to return to the base of operations. If he could just come to a conclusion in his own mind, then he could act on it.

He turned his mind back to the question of whether anyone could be trusted to decide his leader. He had no certainty of who he would end up with after the masses decided.

If he could be certain that it would be Victoria, he would agree to it. The man was level headed enough that he would serve well as a leader, and Mexico would be willing to support him. But, there was no assurance that a vote would lead to Victoria having power.

There was an unpleasant shiver down his spine as he thought of the concept of Guerrero becoming president. He did not want to be forced to spend time with a man who had lied to him. He was no longer certain of what Guerrero had felt or meant. It was clear to him that some of it had been Iturbide’s manipulations, but that did not mean that Guerrero had been sincere either.

It was not so hard to believe that the people would choose Guerrero, since he was a war hero and was well loved. He was an easy man to love.

Mexico stopped his own train of thought there, trying not to allow it to reach its natural end.

But, on the other hand, he could be certain of who he would be dealing with if he chose the monarchy. It would be Iturbide, who he felt more and more alienated from by the day.

Then it would be his son who would take the throne. Mexico did not want to pass judgement on a boy when he was still young. But, the boy had fainted when he had heard about his father’s new position.

It didn’t seem that he had the constitution for leadership, and that the prospect scared him. His fainting seemed to indicate that he was scared of the idea on being the crown prince. Perhaps it was kind to relieve him of the burden.

Mexico sighed to himself as he saw the door again. He could see the direction that his own thoughts was going, and it seemed so obvious that he felt like he had been ridiculous for meditating on it for so long.

He knew that he was at least willing to give Victoria a chance to explain his plan for how to create a republic. He did not have to agree, not quite yet.

But, as he reached the door to the library, he had an idea for the letter he needed to write. Once that was done, it would be a simple matter of finding a boy in the market and returning a pocket dictionary with a certain letter folded in its pages.

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

Mexico came back from the market with a self satisfied smiled on his face. He felt like he was finally doing what Morelos had wanted from him, and had believed him capable of. It was nothing solid yet, but losing the weight of deliberation made him feel much better.

“You seem quite pleased about something.”

Mexico turned to see that Santa Anna had been watching the door as he came in, like he had been anxiously waiting for him to return. If Mexico thought Santa Anna had any loyalty to the emperor, he would have been worried that he had seen him.

But, he was certain that Santa Anna was not looking at him with accusation. He was especially certain of it when Santa Anna smirked at him and said, “I hope you aren’t about to tell me that the Spanish fleet has mysteriously vanished. I have the most brilliant plan to rid us of them.”

Mexico walked over to him, trying to act like he hadn’t been planning any sort of rebellion hours before. He said, “I don’t think they have. But, I don’t think I would be able to see that from here. If they were in the harbor, it would be easier to know what we are facing.”

Santa Anna replied, “No, that would be far too easy. I would be very impressed if you could see all the way to Havana.” 

Mexico was surprised to hear that, though it should have been obvious to him that Cuba would be the easiest place to prepare the attack. He responded, “How do you know they are in Havana?”

He met the mortal’s eyes and momentarily felt like he believed in Santa Anna’s strange confidence. It should seem absurd, but the completely frank and certain delivery was convincing.

Santa Anna placed one hand on Mexico’s back and guided him to a table where there was a map laid out, “I have my sources. Let me show you what I am thinking."

Mexico replied, trying not to sound too cynical, though he doubted that everything would be as simple as Santa Anna was making it sound. It wouldn’t be, if Spain had any strategy at all. He said, “I don’t suppose you have any idea how many ships he has? Did your source tell you that?”

It was critical information, and he was certain that it would be essential in planning a defense. He was hoping that whatever Santa Anna was able to know would fill that gap. All that the Netherlands had been able to tell him for sure was that Spain’s ability to wage war was far less than it had been before the war with France. But, he had not known anything specific about the numbers.

The Netherlands had already given Mexico so much without asking for anything. He wouldn’t ask for more.

Santa Anna shook his head, “Unfortunately, I do not. My source only saw that they were going to Havana. It would make our lives easier if we knew.”

He turned to the map and placed a marker in Havana. He met Mexico’s eyes and said, “We know that they are massing their fleet there.”

He pointed to the map, like it was unclear when he meant. Mexico nodded anyway, because he would rather that Santa Anna got to the point.

The mortal continued, “We don't have the numbers to take the fight all the way to Cuba. But, thanks to your Dutch friend, we have the ships to have scouts to watch their position. The moment we know that they are going to attack, we will mount a defense at a bottleneck.”

He pointed to a spot in the harbor where ships would have to pass in very close. Mexico understood his reasoning, since it would be easier to make up for any disparity of numbers if they set the terms of engagement.

He said, with slight amusement, "You're planning a trap? How dishonorable of you.”

He knew that his tone was not serious. Santa Anna responded with an amused smile, “Would you rather be honorable or be victorious?”

Mexico smiled back and said, “I think you know the answer to that.”

He felt distinctly aware of Santa Anna’s hand on his back as the man replied, “I think I understand you completely.”

Mexico took another glance at the map and tried not to think about the hand on his back. It wasn’t entirely necessary and he decided not to contemplate it. Instead, he said, “You nearly have me convinced of your brilliance, commander.” Santa Anna said, almost sweetly, “You can call me Antonio.”

Though the man meant well, Mexico felt like he couldn’t get that name to roll off of his tongue without thinking of Spain. But, he didn’t want to admit to that yet. He said, “Let’s not be too familiar yet.”

He turned his gaze intentionally back to the map so he didn’t have to see how Santa Anna was looking at him. He then said, “So, all we need to do now is wait.”

The mortal replied, “Yes, and I suspect it will not be long.”

He then added, with another knowing smile, “Even if it does, I will refuse to be removed by the emperor.”

Mexico scoffed, amused by the brazen statement. He could not imagine that Santa Anna would have any choice if it came to that. Iturbide would not take no as an answer if he issued an order.

Mexico said, “And how are you going to do that?”

He was amused to see what kind of answer the man would give. Santa Anna said, as casually as he said anything else, “I have my own soldiers who are loyal to me.”

Mexico raised his eyebrow in mock surprise. He said, “That sounds like treason.”

Any man with a sense of shame would have taken the opportunity to pretend that the statement was a joke. But Santa Anna seemed to make no such retreat. Instead he said, “Well, let’s keep that between us then. You don’t tell anyone what I just said, and I won’t question where you were today. Does that sound like a deal?”

Mexico thought for a brief moment that he had the proof Iturbide wanted. He could have easily written a letter to Iturbide, and won the man’s trust and esteem.

But, as he looked at Santa Anna, he felt no desire to do it. He had nothing to gain from it, and it would only lose him a commander. He already knew that he was not going to say anything about it to the emperor. Mexico replied, “I think we do.”

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

There was a folded piece of paper on the side table by Mexico’s bed that he was sure had not been there before he left. It caught his eye as soon as he entered the room like an unbidden intruder.

It was folded neatly like a letter, and by all appearances that’s what it was. But it was strange to him that it would be left without anyone telling him.

He glanced around like he was about to see a courier leaving. But there was no one there, and he was left with the puzzling question of where the letter had come from.

Perhaps they had brought the letter when he had been delivering his letter for Victoria, and there had been no opportunity for a discussion.

He picked it up and turned the paper in his hand, looking for any clue who it was from. But there was nothing more than a scribbled name on the outside. It was Mexico’s name, in a handwriting that he felt like he knew. But it couldn’t possibly be from the person he thought it was.

He opened it, and immediately knew who had written it before he even saw the signature. Cuba’s handwriting would always be familiar to him, even if this looked like it had been composed in secret. It was rushed and the words blurred together at points.

Mexico could imagine him so clearly in his mind’s eye. He imagined Cuba standing at the harbor scribbling notes about the numbers of ships.

The idea brought unbidden tears to Mexico’s eyes. He felt so touched by the thought that his friend would be willing to take that risk for him. They were far apart, and it had been years since they had even spoken last. But, despite all of that, Cuba had chosen to send him a letter.

Mexico’s heart ached, and he could feel the sting of tears in his eyes. He was certain that if Spain had found out that Cuba was taking any notes about the ships at all there would have been swift and brutal punishment.

If he could guess from the last time he had seen Spain that the man’s temper was certainly more volatile than usual. And no one would accuse him of being a level headed man even when he was in a good mood.

Mexico knew the risk that Cuba was taking, and he wished profoundly that he was able to thank him. He read through the rest of the letter, occasionally having to stop and puzzle through the messy letters.

It was a remarkably complete description of the Spanish fleet in Havana, down to the kind of each ship and their state of repair. Based on the description, it sounded like Spain had rushed repairs on several ships that had been involved in the war with France. Those would be weak, and easy to sink if Mexico was careful.

It also seemed that Spain’s naval capacity had definitely reduced, though only a fool would think it would be an easy fight. It was all the information that Mexico had been missing, and he couldn’t quite imagine how he had such luck.

Mexico put his free hand to his chest, over his heart. This must have taken enormous effort and care to write, and Mexico felt like he didn’t deserve this from a friend who he had not been close to for years.

He could also imagine how difficult it had been to sneak it across the gulf and to him. He wished he knew what kind of subterfuge it had taken for this letter to appear in his room without a trace of who had brought it.

He reached the bottom of the letter, and his heart hurt as he read the last few lines. They said, “From what I’ve heard, it sounds like you have a week or two to prepare. I wish you luck, my friend. I could not be more proud of you. I hope we can see each other again under better circumstances.”

Mexico wished he could do anything to express his gratitude for the warning and the information. He wished he could hug Cuba like he would have when they were children.

He folded the letter carefully, certain that he would keep it until he could see Cuba again. Then he raised it his lips and placed a soft kiss on the paper. He added softly, “Thank you, Carlos.”

[mrdemarlowe]

"The 333" Prologue: Betrayals

At the height of humanity’s ignorance, a war was waged.

The night sky morphed into a sea of darkness, as legions of Angels swarmed towards Earth’s land. The Angel’s invisible form only made visible by the trails of fire they left behind on route towards the highest populated areas on the planet.

This event would have multiple consequences for humankind.

To start, almost ninety percent of Earth’s land was destroyed and submerged into the oceans, leaving the remaining ten percent of land poisoned or too small to inhabit. In order to deal with this calamity, the survivors of humanity took to massive sea craft, hastily outfitted for long voyages, and began their long and difficult way through the world’s now dominant oceans. Where they would sail for close to twenty years before finally finding a home on land.

A second consequence of the “Rapture” (as some would take to calling it), was a mysterious mutation that occurred within living creatures and caused grotesque deformation and dampened physical ability within the afflicted. In time however, the survivors began to notice that the once prominent and disfiguring mutations were evolving to less visible, more enhancing mutations.

This would be the rough explanation for the creation of the Loma, a new race of humankind that had adapted with abilities.

The third and final consequence of our war had much to do with the first and second, this would make way for the subspecies of monster races to emerge from mutated manifestations of human consciousness. Of course, not many scientists were counted among the survivors of humanity, so even though not many knew the true origins of these races, this was the generally agreed upon explanation. All they knew, or needed to know, was the danger these races would bring for humans in the future.

The Carrier City, home to our race’s remaining people, would steadily drift closer to an unknown fate, and towards a place with divine implications, but demonic foundations.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the world from humankind, a different race emerged. This race had been created through the evil that man had poured into the land, through years and years of blood soaked battles.

Appearing in various corrupted forms, with demonic ambitions and enhanced abilities, the Demazo Race began it’s task to create a new continent in order to lure in any surviving humans for subjugation.

Thus, after almost twenty years at sea, humanity came across a massive land mass they had never seen before.

The scholars on board Carrier City boldly claimed this error on the navigation teams and captain of the vessel, Domillus Sysa. There were accusations of concealing land, or deliberate avoidance in order to sustain control over humanity.

In the end, a small faction of rebels would depart to make their own journeys on the new land, as Sysa’s group would settle in the northernmost territory of their new home. This territory was named Bernum, and was the first land to be discovered and claimed by humankind in years.

The continent humanity had landed on was named Lynn, after the late wife of Domillus, who had risked her own health in order to develop a treatment for some unknown disease that had plagued Carrier City early on in its voyage.

None disagreed, and a new kingdom arose from the ashes of a war not yet forgotten.

In the years to come, a new history began to unfold created from the actions of King Sysa and his bloodline, leading humanity down a new path of existence within the land of Lynn.

This is where we’ll start our story.

Bernum consisted of three distinct geographic features. It’s mystic forest of Demal Dora, which guarded the entrance from southern invaders, to it’s vast mountain-scape, which created a perfect foundation for Bernum’s eventual Kingdom with natural defenses, and its beaches down on the north side of Bernum’s border, which provided a great area for ports and fishing.

It’s within the first geographic feature, where a small campfire can be seen. Sitting around this fire, sheltered from a raging wind, were four men of varying age.

The first man Jacoby Simms, a grizzly man with silver hair and beard equivalent to the moon, who’s short stature warred constantly with his fiercely overbearing presence, sat idly stoking the flames. His hair and beard, both braided heavily with an assortment of gleaming metallic objects, glistened as it rubbed against his silver armor. His heart and mind were heavy this night, and no amount of drink or song was helping to appease his stress.

But it mattered little, his stress would not be transferred to his subordinates, he loosed a short soft sigh, and fixed himself upright.

“Anyone up for a Sysan Story?” He asked in his gruff but heavily accented voice. “I know one that’ll go great with a moonlit night like we have here.”

The smile on his face was clearly forced, but he had small hope that his crew had not noticed as he stood to begin.

“I’d rather you tell us what was said in Bella and Cyllym.”

This response came from Cassius Grau, a young man of twenty one years, who’s youth often went unnoticed under his wise and questioning eyes. But with his messy hair, and growing stubble, his questions and air of authority quickly vanished under the uncertainty of his power.

To his left sat the youngest of the four, a young man of nineteen, with short dirty blond hair, and a constant look of paranoia in his eyes named Elliott Alba.

Elliott scoffed quietly, before continuing his scan of the dark surrounding forest. “We aren’t high enough in the chain of command to understand these things.”

This was said almost in complete unison with the words of the last man who sat directly across from Cassius. Tristan Zuna, who had started with “You” instead of “We”, and was quite irritated at the mocking done by his pupil, finished his statement with a word of chastisement. His jet black pencil tip mustache and hair, which he kept in the slicked back style of old world Spaniards represented his refined and suave personality and his slick black armor complemented him to a T as well.

“I suggest you stop with the interruptions, and listen to your elders.” Tristan finished eyeing both pupils.

“Don’t be so rough on the boys,” Jacoby laughed, “they’re just nervous of war, and rightly so. But we can talk about that tomorrow when we report to the King. For now let’s recount the tale of Demarlowe Sysa, the fourth King of Lynn, and the wielder of the *Holy Roar*.”

“In those days, demons still ran the majority of Lynn’s southern half, and war between the races had been an ongoing struggle for the past Sysa King’s. But King Demarlowe was young, he knew that he had the strength his father had lacked in his old age. He knew he had the power to subdue the Demon race for good.”

Jacoby paused for effect, before continuing.

“It was on a night like this, with the moon in full view, that the King led his forces to retake Bristol and Fallpin. He discovered his Holy Roar, and with it he banished the Demon Prince to the deepest pit of hell.”

“I doubt things were that simple.” Cassius interjected. “The rest of the Kingdom’s territories were still united in it’s support of the King.”

“And they still are…” Tristan began to argue, but Jacoby stopped him with a wave of his hand.

“This world is ever changing, things come and go, and sometimes we humans crave things we can no longer have, or will never be able to have. This can make us do evil things.” Jacoby looked the boys each in the eyes. “If war becomes an outcome that we are to expect, it is our own fault as a race for our desires and flaws. We just need to trust in those who have a higher sense of divine purpose.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Cassius replied, a sinister smile forming at the corners of his mouth. “We should trust in someone with a higher purpose than just taxes, and technology. We need power and knowledge, with a system designed to cater to those who’ve obtained both. We need a new way.”

“Don’t you ever speak such treasonous words in our prese…” Tristan began to yell, but was cut short by Elliott’s calm whisper.

“Null.”

With this, the two older men found themselves unable to use their Lomatic abilities, and as the cold chill of fear rose deep in their chests they turned to see Cassius Grau rise from his spot with the sinister smile fully visible on his face.

“Lunaius et Espanza” he began in a strange foreign language, before switching back. “Kill each other, make it look like an enemy ambush, and die knowing you’re both failures as teachers. Your own students overpowered you.”

With an evil bout of laughter, the boys watched as their former mentors ripped each other apart while the reflections of the campfire danced inside pools of blood.

The first betrayal was finished.

The Next Day:

As the midday sun reached its place above Bernum’s cityscape, two tattered and frantic riders were seen approaching the Kingdom’s gates. Standing Guard today was Rose Petallis and Sylvia Lennox, two of the most promising Royal Guard recruits in their generation.

Rose, a sweet and logical girl, almost twenty years in age, with warm auburn hair and soft amber eyes, was the first to notice Bernum’s crest on the riders cloaks. This was also when she realized the identity of the men, as Cassius Grau and Elliott Alba reached the entrance.

Sylvia, who was much more aggressive in nature, brushed back her golden blonde hair from her light green eyes and shouted to the men below.

“Identify yourselves or submit to apprehension and interrogation.” She finished, still eyeing them suspiciously.

The pair waited a couple moments for any response before calling down again. This time, the question came from Rose.

“Cassius? Elliott? Where are Sir Jacoby and Tristan?” She asked each question in fast succession, worry clear in her voice. “What’s going on guys?”

“Stop talking!” Sylvia scolded, “Until we’ve confirmed their identity, we mustn’t reveal any important information.”

With seemingly no words coming from below, the two girls decided to head down for a closer look. When they reached the bottom they noticed something off about the two men.

They were bloody, with pieces of clothing ripped off in various places. The frantic energy had faded, and the two men now lay slumped over on their mounts. The scene looked slightly staged but the girls immediately recognized their comrades outside the gate.

“That’s the boys,” Sylvia observed, turning to lift the gate. “ Something must have happened down in Demal Dora. We must inform the King.”

As she finished lifting the gates, Sylvia noticed a brief glimmer of metal before a slice appeared across her jaw and cutting down the length of her chest. As she fell to the ground, life fading from her eyes, the form of Elliott Alba appeared in front of her.

“You really were so beautiful…” He sighed softly. “Such a shame.”

Then he plunged his sword deep into her gut, pulled it out and walked away, as Cassius finished off a struggling Rose with a swift snap of the neck.

Sylvia’s eyes filled with darkness as her vision faded, the last image seen replaying in her head. Cassius and Elliott, with putrid smiles on their faces, walking towards the castle. Their second betrayal complete.

Meanwhile, at the castle:

In the highest observation tower, a frightened and confused Darla Brand has just witnessed the betrayal of her comrades at the gate.

Her dark brown hair, usually worn down, had been tied back to prevent obstructing her view of the seasonal migration of the local birds, but what she had seen by the gates was a simple mistake of curiosity.

The fear and confusion changed to anger and a determination to inform her guardsmen of the incoming danger, but as she reached for the door handle she found it already turning. Once it opened, she was relieved to see her fiancé, Prince Damian Sysa, who had just arrived to surprise her with lunch.

“Cassius and Elliott are back,” she started, “but something is wrong, they attacked Sylvia and Rose. I just saw the entire thing from the observation scope, and they’re on their way here. I think something is going on.”

As she finished, she noticed the doubt in her betrothed ones eyes flicker slowly before switching over to trust when he noticed her gaze. She gave him a moment to grasp the situation before prompting him to action.

“I need you to trust me, go inform your father.” She begged. “I need to go and help the girls at the gate, but when you escape with the King, come and meet me there.”

With this, she raced off leaving Prince Damian to warn his father of the coming attack.

In a quick moment of thinking, Damian decided to utilize his ability.

A quietness filled the room as his eyes closed to this world into another.

The Luullo Void was a dimension built entirely on silence. Only those born with Luullo type abilities can access the void, but even among them few can freely roam inside it’s realm with consciousness.

Prince Damian searched quickly for any aura inside the void, knowing only one person who could help at a time like this. But to no avail, Damian could only reach out in hope.

Finally, after a few seconds, Damian reached the consciousness of his mentor, the only other man to have made conscious contact inside the void. Adamantis Black, his father’s right hand and the commander of Bernum’s Royal Guard.

In the throne room, located on the opposite side of the Castle:

Adamantis Black, a man of few words with dark black hair and a trimmed and kept beard to match stands across from King Darius Sysa, Bernum’s current ruler.

As he finished his report, he feels a pinprick of anxiety coming from the Luullo Void. Without hesitation he establishes connection, and as a first instinct scolds his pupil.

“If you can’t free your mind of anxiety, everyone will feel your presence here my young student.” He chastised lovingly. “We’ve discussed this issue before.”

He felt a mischievous smirk form on his face before remembering his current location. The king eyed him, clearing questioning the smirk.

“Your son has entered the void,” he answered without orders. “he is getting stronger, but as of yet has much to lear…”

He was cut off by a desperate Prince Damian.

“My Father… danger. Cass and El… attack. Protect the King.” His last sentence was short enough to come in clear and was the only one to catch Adamantis off guard.

Without hesitation the King’s commander charged for the door to secure the room, but was too late.

The door handle turned, and in walked a young man with jet black hair and a look of pure delight clear across his face.

“Hello father.” He addressed Adamantis, before spotting the King. With a quick bow he finished, “Your Highness.”

“What’s wrong Sebastian,” Adamantis asked, noticing that something wasn’t quite right with his son. “Do you know what’s going on with Cass and Elliott?”

“Indeed I do father,” Sebastian replied coldly. “In fact, I told them to do it. I made all of this fun happen today.”

At a point of almost hysterical laughter, Sebastian slowly begins to calm down as King Darius rises from his throne.

“Explain yourself now boy, or so help me, I’ll make you slap yourself into a coma.” The King started, an air of intense anger beginning to permeate from his every word.

“Empty threats at this point my King,” Sebastian turned his gaze more intently displaying his pleasure at his achievements. “Everything is as I’ve planned. The envoy from Cyllym to Bella claiming war, the spies in our capitol, even the assassinations in Aurora that closed the trade agreements with Bernum.”

Without another word needed, The King began to incite his ability the King’s Command, which allowed him to speak orders into fruition, however it would not activate, much to the King’s surprise and dismay.

As both Adamantis and King Sysa stared in horror, the walls began to fade away to a dark pitch black nothingness. Leaving behind only, the three men.

“Welcome to my Noir.” Sebastian spoke smoothly, as two more figures emerged behind him. “Glad you boys made it in time to enjoy the fun.”

As the figures began to materialize, the King noticed the faces of both Cassius Grau and Elliott Alba, grinning as if they had just spent the night with a commune of women. Each covered in blood without a hint of injury the King could discern.

“I take it you boys are going along with this then?” He asked, already knowing the answer. A sadness had already began to sit in his eyes and words carried heaviness at the thought of this treachery. “Why?”

“Simple Old man, it’s time for a new line of Kings.” Sebastian, who had now made his way closer to his father, began slowly. “Let’s not waste any more of it.”

Before he could react, Adamantis Black found himself deep within the Luullo Void once more. Yet this time felt different, almost permanent in a way. He saw far more clearly within the void than he had ever seen before. And in his final moments of life, he discovered the experience of being reborn into another.

As Sebastian Black’s blade finished it’s downward slice, Adamantis Black took his last breath, and his body hit the ground with a heavy thud.

The King could do nothing but kneel at his best friends side and watch as life faded from his corpse. An anger again beginning to form deep within his gut. With no hesitation, he began to curse Sebastian Black.

“You are evil incarnate, you shape yourself in ways to mix with innocence but you are corruption to your core. You will hurt those closest to you with no remorse, and trade power for bits of your soul. Yet your evil will be your undoing. It will consume you and erase your existence forever.”

As the King finished his fierce last command all three boys lunged forward. Each one plunging their swords deep into the King’s chest. And watched as his body landed uncomfortably on the ground.

“It’s a new Era boys, let’s make sure it remembers who we are.” Sebastian mutters proudly.

The blackness faded away leaving no trace of the incident that had just occurred, just a cruel smiling Sebastian sitting on the King’s throne. With his third and final betrayal finished, he commenced with his last objective.

“Inform the council of elders knows of the Prince’s treason, and make sure you capture them before they escape.”

With Sebastian’s orders, the two men disappeared to capture the prince, as Sebastian peered happily through his new throne room’s window.

A few moments earlier:

Prince Damian had felt the disconnection from his mentor before anything else, and once he had realized what that meant, began making his way towards the throne room. However he was stopped by a reestablished connection to Adamantis Black who spoke briefly through the Void.

“I am dead, your father is surrounded, nothing you can do, run, take Darla and the baby, live.”

As tears filled his eyes, Damian understood his mentors words, and he raced to find Darla and escape the castle grounds. He would never return to his home territory, and he rode away from it’s borders with tears in his eyes and hatred in his heart. He turned to give one last glance to his old life, then turned back and headed towards his new one.

In the years that followed, Damian and Darla would settle cautiously within the territory of Alorica where they would have their daughter Donna, and would stay hidden for years until sickness took hold of Darla and eventually, Prince Damian as well.

[makomori]

FOUR | OBSERVATIONS

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI x OC

Nishimura Yua has to take her nephew to his first rep practice with the Tohoku Tigers at Shiratorizawa Academy. Ushijima Wakatoshi is filling in for the assistant coach on said team.

She’s recovering from a nasty breakup and he’s reeling from a stunning finals loss against the Jackals.

Yua’s drawn to his composure and honesty.

Wakatoshi finds her warmth and tenacity intriguing.

It’s the start of a Brand New Story; can they heal from past hurts and endure new challenges in order to help each other trust and love again?

CHAPTERS

ONE | NEW TERRITORY

TWO | FAMILIARITY

THREE | INTRODUCTIONS

Length: 3.5k words

Yua goes in to event planner mode while Wakatoshi assesses Rui-kun's skills. And an innocent gesture throws both parties off balance.

If someone makes you feel, let them. | Reyna Biddy

Step one: Get Rui-kun to practice with one of the best wing spikers in the V.League.

CHECK.

Yua tried not to look too satisfied with herself, but that turned out exactly how she thought it would. Well, maybe not exactly, but it was close. A big part of her job was facilitating meetings between two parties and setting up this pepper session was no different. In fact, it was easier because she didn’t have to read between the lines with Rui-kun and his Wakatoshi-san. They loved volleyball and that more than enough for them to connect.

After Wakatoshi-san left her to practice with an almost-bouncing Rui-kun, Yua placed her overcoat and backpack on the sidelines. Good thing she decided to wear her favourite pair of stretchy, high-waisted jeans and a black t-shirt; she’d be bending and twisting to get the net set up properly. Plus, stretchy meant she could eat whatever she wanted without feeling guilty.

Two of her closest friends at Date Tech were managers on the volleyball teams, so she often got roped into setting up and cleaning up whenever they needed extra help. And by the looks of things, Shiratorizawa’s equipment wasn’t too different from she was used to dealing with.

With a little, “Hup!” she carried one pole across the gym, placed it upright, and did the same for the other. Next, she hooked the cord on the wheel at the top of the pole and adjusted its height before looping the end in the crank box. Once she used the crank to get one side somewhat level, she dragged the net to the opposite pole and repeated the process until everything was taut. The last thing she had to do was secure the bottom corners of the net with the loose strings.

Step two: Set up the net.

CHECK.

Satisfied, she walked to the back of the gym to examine her handiwork. Nice and even. Not bad, considering she hadn’t set a net up since high school. Hopefully, that would hold up for their three-hour practice. But the more she admired her handiwork, the more she felt something was missing. Ah, the antennas! They were laying close to the equipment closet, so she nearly missed them.

“Ushijima-sensei!” Yua called. The tall man looked over at her briefly before receiving Rui-kun’s strong spike. She grinned. His swing had become more powerful since the last time she saw him play a year ago. She couldn’t wait to see him spike freely in a game.

His sensei remained unfazed. But he said something to Rui-kun that she couldn’t hear. But judging by the look of pure joy on her nephew’s face, she guessed it was a compliment. She walked over to them, partly because she was nosey and wanted to hear what they were talking about, and because the sensible part of her sent a reminder that it was rude to yell a question to someone you had just met from across the gym.

But the selfish part of her wanted to see the Adlers’ Left Cannon in action.

Wakatoshi-san was certainly a fearsome individual to behold when he was on TV and constantly spiking the shit out of the ball. But he was softer in person. She meant it when she said he was sweet. The look of amazement on his face was priceless; he probably didn’t hear that too often. But her respect for him deepened as she heard him speak to Rui-kun about dealing with failure.

Learning to bounce back from something that didn’t work out was invaluable lesson not only volleyball, but in life. She knew that because she was trying to bounce back from having her heart broken. She didn’t know how her recovery would turn out, but that would be a problem for her future self.

Yua decided to watch them pepper for a bit before she asked about setting up the antennas. Wakatoshi-san was just a bit taller than Tak-kun, who towered over her five-seven frame at six-foot-three. The sleeves of his white warmup sweater were rolled up and she did her best not to ogle at his leanly muscled forearms and obnoxiously large hands while they were speaking earlier. But she didn’t feel guilty about giving him a once over because he did the same to her. She was used to clients scrutinizing her and passing hard judgements, but she didn’t sense any of that negativity from him. Only curiosity. Which, in turn, made her curious about him.

Now, his face resembled what she saw on TV. Sharp angles and a singular, driven look in his dark golden eyes. He was barely out of breath, which was impressive because she was certain that he’d been practicing on his own for at least forty-five minutes before they arrived. And while most people would be easy going during a pepper session, he was purposeful and meticulous. None of his movements were unnecessary or wasted. The boys would certainly be spoiled if he decided to stay on for the season.

Wakatoshi was highly aware of Yua-san’s presence the whole time she was working on the net, and he was surprised at how fast she completed its setup. She moved with ease and confidence, and he once again had to stop himself from staring, this time at her curvaceous form. She said that her brother was a player, which could explain why she was so comfortable in this setting. Hm. If sensei was still having trouble finding a manager, Yua-san could be a solid option for the position. However, he was troubled because he was always focused where volleyball was concerned. So, trying to maintain his concentration while she watched him from a few feet away was difficult.

He was used to being watched by thousands of screaming people when he played in huge arenas, so he couldn’t figure out why one person’s attention was so unsettling. But then again, he didn’t know very many people like Yua-san. He felt the urge to show off in front of her, which surprised him because he wasn’t a flashy player. He needed to do something to draw her interest back to Rui-kun.

Yua, ignorant of his swirling thoughts, finally asked, “Should I set up the attack antennas, too?” She knew that the antennas were mandatory for official games but wasn’t sure if Saitou-sensei wanted to use them during practice. Wakatoshi-san surprised them both by catching the ball. He turned to Yua and she raised her brows slightly, a questioning look in her eyes. She almost laughed because could feel Rui-kun pouting because she knew he was having a great time peppering.

“Not yet,” he rumbled in that ridiculous baritone. Yua fought the shiver that raced up her spine. He sounded more attractive in person, too. “I can set them up before the practice game.”

“Ushijima-sensei, did I do something wrong?” Rui-kun’s earlier thoughts of rejection crept back, but he was relieved when his coach shook his head in the negative.

“No, Rui-kun, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m happy to see that your form is solid overall.” The teen’s face lit up at his sensei’s compliment. “Now that the net is up; I want to see what your spikes look like. Yua-san, do you mind helping me with this drill?”

Rui didn’t need to be told twice. He was at the attack line before his sensei or aunt could blink. Wakatoshi chuckled. If the rest of the boys were half as energetic as Rui-kun, he and Saitou-sensei would be run into the ground before the end of the day. But that was always a good problem to have. Passion for the game was necessary for a healthy team.

“How could I say no to that energy?” Yua laughed as they walked to the net. Wakatoshi-san pulled the ball hammock along so they wouldn’t have to run for the ball every time Rui-kun spiked. “I haven’t seen you play in a year, so let’s see how much you’ve improved.” When she stood beside Wakatoshi-san in the setter’s position, she was once again reminded at how short she was. Actually, no, she thought with a huff. He was just absurdly tall.

“Sensei, Yua-chan can set for me! She’s really good!” Wakatoshi-san tried to hide a knowing look and grin, as if Rui-kun’s admission confirmed something he thought about her. Her eyes narrowed but she decided to let that go for now.

“Rui-kun!” She protested with her hands set firmly on her generous hips. She scowled up at Wakatoshi, and he thought she looked charming even though he felt ferocious energy coming off her in waves. “Wakatoshi-san, I’m not a player. I’ve been Tak-kun’s pepper partner since we were kids, but I’ve never played in an official game.”

Wakatoshi’s eyes gleamed playfully. “This isn’t an official game. Just a drill. If you set, I’ll be free to observe Rui-kun’s approach and attack. Even if your set isn’t perfect, I can see what he needs to adjust and make suggestions right away.”

Step three: Set for Rui-kun in front of the Ushijima Wakatoshi.

CHECK?

Yua could tell he was enjoying the position she was currently in, because she was having a hard time denying his logic and Rui-kun’s pleading face. She chewed on her bottom lip for a few moments before deciding. “Oh, all right,” she sighed, shooting the two of them a mock glare. “But only because it’ll help you improve.”

“Don’t worry about the set; I’ll do my best to spike it!” Rui-kun stood a few feet behind the attack line, his body already set for an approach. Yua smiled at him, thankful that he was trying to make her feel better. Setting was the last thing she thought she’d be doing today. And in front of a professional, no less. She’d just have to treat it like all those times she practiced with Tak-kun in the backyard. No biggie. 

“Set the ball high, and about two feet away from the net. That will give him time to adjust his approach if he needs to.” Yua blinked and followed Wakatoshi-san’s outstretched hand when he pointed to the spot in front of her. She didn’t realize that he had bent down to her level because she was so focused on getting the first set right. His voice, close to her ear, was deep and reassuring. It helped calm her down. He then stood to his full height and tossed the ball to Rui-kun. “It’ll be easier to set if he tosses to you first.”

“Is this your first time coaching, Ushijima-sensei?” She asked teasingly as he positioned himself just off the court, right on the attack line. It was the best place to observe Rui-kun’s technique. She rubbed her hands together before shaking her fingers out a few times.

Wakatoshi nodded. He hoped that he was doing a decent job at imparting the advice his coaches had given to him in the past. “It is. I’ll most likely be coaching after I decide to retire, so this is good practice.”

“You had me fooled,” she joked, lifting her arms in a setting motion. Her hands were positioned just above her forehead with fingers curled, shaped like a ball. Not bad. “With your tips, I feel like I could set in a game right now.”

“Yua-chan,” Rui-kun piped up, a whine in his tone. “Are you ready?” He was itching to hear what sensei had to say about his spiking technique.

She shook her head and clapped her hands once. “Sorry, sweetheart! I’m ready now.”

Wakatoshi had his arms crossed when Rui-kun tossed the ball to Yua-san. She concentrated, positioned her hands for the set, and used her arms and wrists to send the ball almost perfectly to the spot he indicated for her. His attention then shifted to Rui-kun so he could assess his approach properly, but by the time he turned, the teen was already soaring through the air.

Rui-kun’s right arm positioned high, with his elbow above his ear. His left arm was outstretched but quickly came down to his side as he used that momentum to propel his right hip and shoulder forward. His hitting arm was relaxed when his right elbow drove forward above his head to start his swing. As a result, his right hand was loose, and bent fingers opened naturally from the intense acceleration. His now-open hand connected with the ball just above his head, and a deafening crack echoed through the gym.

Wakatoshi’s eyes widened when the ball careened straight down the line and landed with a satisfying THUD on the other side of the court. He gaped at the teen who had just landed in front of him. A near-perfect line shot at his age? No wonder sensei wanted him on the team.

“Ah, gomen!” Rui-kun exclaimed, jogging backwards to reposition himself behind the attack line. “That was out. Let me try again!”

“Rui-kun, that was amazing!” Yua couldn’t believe that he had improved this much in a year. From what she could tell, his vertical increased by a few inches, his mid-air form was cleaner, and his swing was faster and harder. She looked over at Wakatoshi-san, who’s sharp eyes were filled with approval.

“Well done,” the ace declared with a nod. “But curl your fingers down a bit more. You’ll be able to send the ball to the back corner next time.”

Rui nodded energetically and caught another ball before tossing it back to his aunt. She set a bit higher this time, so he slowed his approach before swinging his arms back and leaping into the air. When his hand contacted the ball this time, he made sure to curve his fingers down. The ball landed snugly in the back-left corner, just like sensei said it would. After landing, he immediately turned to his mentor with unbridled excitement in his eyes.

Wakatoshi smiled and nodded again. “How did that feel?” He knew all too well about the satisfaction of landing a solid kill. Rui-kun’s instincts were strong. He was able to adjust and execute a subtle instruction quickly. Of course, there was always room for improvement, but he liked that Rui-kun was immediately willing to try again after his first spike was critiqued. Some players stayed stuck in their heads for too long and that hindered their ability to improve. He knew that firsthand.

Rui-kun stared at his right hand. The force of the hit was still vibrating in his palm and fingertips. “That felt amazing, sensei! How did you know that all I had to do was curl my fingers down?”

“Experience,” Wakatoshi chuckled. “But that comes in time. I have a feeling your skills will increase greatly during this season.” Perhaps he’d talk to sensei about taking on another assistant coach. It was good to be around young players who were hungry to learn as many skills as possible.

Yua smiled as the two of them talked in detail about the approach, with Wakatoshi-san occasionally demonstrating and positioning Rui-kun in front of the net. Both looked comfortable and relaxed in their element. This is what she was missing in Tokyo. Work had her moving at such a fast pace that she didn’t have time to experience genuine human connections. She worked with people all the time but got lost in the fray more time than she could recall. And the longer she watched her nephew learn from his idol and now mentor, her heart was happy that she was able to experience this with him.

Moving to Sendai was a good choice. And maybe her road to recovery wouldn’t be so bad after all.

By the time Saitou-sensei arrived at 12:40, Wakatoshi-san had made several adjustments to Rui-kun’s form. Yua quietly stepped away and made sure that the rest of the equipment was in place for the start of practice. Her nephew was quickly absorbing everything taught to him, and she knew that he’d be practicing non-stop when he got home. She couldn’t wait to meet Saitou—

“Konnichiwa!”

Yua turned at the kind voice and smiled. Saitou-sensei was tall, though not as tall as Wakatoshi-san, and sported a buzz-cut and glasses. “Hello, sensei. I’m Nishimura Yua. It’s nice to meet you.” She bowed. “I hope you don’t mind; I brought Rui-kun early so we could warm up, but we luckily ran into Wakatoshi-san.”

Sensei brow furrowed. “Nishimura?” He murmured. Then his brows raised. “Are you related to Takeshi-kun?”

“Unfortunately, he’s my brother,” Yua laughed. “He’s a middle blocker at Waseda now. And he’s always told me that you’re his favourite coach.”

Saitou grinned at the Nishimura likeness. From the dimples to the mischievous glint in their eyes. “I used to see you in the stands at our games. Tak-kun said you were his biggest supporter.”

“Not by choice,” she groaned. But her tone was light. “It’s just the two of us, so we ended up becoming involved in each other’s hobbies.”

“That’s never a bad thing,” Saitou chuckled. He was glad to hear that Tak-kun was doing well in Waseda. They had won the Intercollegiate Championship three years in a row.

“I agree,” Yua said, her eyes misting slightly. She missed her brother. “I learned a lot from watching games with him or whenever we’d pepper together.”

“I hope he can come up to visit. It would be nice to catch up with him.”

Yua hadn’t seen Tak-kun in a few months, so she was excited to catch up with him, too. “I’ll let him know; I’m sure he’ll be able to come up soon.”

Saitou nodded and looked over at Wakatoshi-san and his young charge. Rui-kun was currently working on his vertical with Wakatoshi-san watching him intently. “I’m excited to work with Rui-kun. His instincts and awareness are incredible for his age.”

Yua’s heart warmed at the compliment. She only had a glimpse of what her nephew was capable of. She could only imagine the player he’d be by the end of the season. “Thank you for giving him the opportunity. I know he’ll only get better with you and Wakatoshi-san training him.”

Before Saitou could answer, he saw some of the players walk through the gym doors. He bowed quickly to Yua. “Ah, excuse me. More students are arriving. I hope to see you again soon, Yua-san.”

Yua nodded and waved at him. She started walking toward the net, hoping to say goodbye to Rui-kun, but he dashed past her, yelling excitedly at his friends who had just arrived. She shook her head. That energy was all Tetsu-kun. She moved toward the sidelines, remembering that’s where she left her overcoat and backpack before she set up the net. But she frowned when she didn’t see them there.

“Allow me.”

Yua looked to her right and saw her overcoat suspended in mid-air, ready to be worn. She glanced up and saw Wakatoshi-san standing next to her, patiently waiting for her to loop her arms in the sleeves. A blush crept up the back of her next when she saw him flick his eyes up and down her body. She might have just broken up with Kaz, but she’d be lying to herself if she said she didn’t find Wakatoshi-san attractive. She turned and slipped her arms in the coat sleeves, grateful for the brief pause.

Before Yua turned to face him, he ran his fingers across her shoulders, smoothing out any creases in the back of her coat. She bit back a gasp. His touch was strong, sure, and her skin tingled through the thick layer of cloth. When she did turn, he held out her backpack, which looked even smaller with his long fingers wrapped around the straps. She stared at his calloused hand briefly before taking her bag. Their fingers brushed, and her eyes widened when pure energy raced from his fingers and up her arm. She pulled back, startled. His face mirrored her expression of astonishment.

What the hell was that?

They stared at each other for a few moments, oblivious to the growing level of noise in the gym. Yua couldn’t tell what he was feeling or thinking, but his dark golden eyes were stormy as he tried to process what happened.

One thing was certain; something irrevocable had passed between them.

Yua was the first to break their standoff. His eyes were too intense for her right now. “Can you tell Rui-kun that I’ll pick him up by 4:15? I know it’ll take some time to clean everything up.”

Wakatoshi-san held her gaze for a bit longer, and she found herself holding her breath again. Slowly, his eyes softened. When he finally spoke, she was relieved to hear the playful lilt return to his voice. “Things would go faster if you came back early to help.”

Yua scoffed and squeezed her fingers tightly around her backpack. “I-I think you’ll be able to handle that without me, Ushijima-sensei.”

He tilted his head and smiled. Yua decided then that a smiling Wakatoshi-san was more dangerous than a serious Wakatoshi-san. “I’ll let Rui-kun know. See you later?” Her stomach flipped at his hopeful tone.

“See you later, sensei.”

[sign-from-god-complex]

things are better here with you

or, the three times Virgil almost proposed and the one time he did

Summary: Patton deserved the perfect proposal. Virgil only hoped he could give them that.

Pairing: Moxiety with background logince

A/N: This is a sequel/companion piece to better things are here with you!! You probably don’t need to read that to make sense of this but it would probably give you some helpful context. Anyway, I’ve been working really hard on this fic for almost a month so I really hope you all enjoy it.

AO3 Link

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Virgil flopped onto the bed, burying his head into the pillow to muffle a groan.

He’d received Roman’s text last night—a welcome and long-awaited confirmation that he’d finally pulled his head out of his ass and realised Logan was as in love with him as he was with Logan. Unfortunately, that text came with some fine print. The bet they’d made, tipsy off of strong spirits and an even stronger sense of love—one that both would barely admit to if asked—had two sides: a confession and a proposal. 

And given the confession Roman had already undergone, it wasn’t hard to guess which side he stood on.

Virgil hadn’t necessarily intended to procrastinate the proposal for as long as he had, he’d simply been nervous—nerves he knew, as always, weren’t entirely justified.

Patton loved him. Virgil had less reason to doubt that love than he did the world ending tomorrow or the boat they were on sinking or Roman burning the house down while they were away or any number of other things Virgil worried about on a daily basis. 

A proposal was just so permanent, so serious, and despite knowing in every part of his being that Patton was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, he wasn’t prepared for Patton to not feel the same. Logically—god, listen to him, he sounded like Logan—he knew there was no reason for that to be the case but he and logic hadn’t always been on the best of terms.

“Honey? You alright?”

Virgil pulled his head up to watch Patton slip into the room, towel wrapped around their shoulders and skin still glistening with moisture from the pool. He swallowed, his mouth dry, and attempted to give a response through the very gay haze that had overtaken him—preferably one which wouldn’t make Patton suspicious. If he was gonna do this, he was gonna do it right; he couldn’t spoil the surprise so soon.

Sitting up, Virgil ran a hand through his damp hair, shaking away the last drops of water. “Uh, yeah, I think I was just getting a bit overwhelmed? There’s a lot of people around, you know?”

He cursed himself for sounding so unsure but luckily Patton just smiled—kind and sweet and gosh, he was so in love with them it was unreal.

“Well, you could have just let me know, love,” Patton murmured, taking a seat on the bed beside him. They placed a kiss on Virgil’s forehead, alighting his face with a blush and making warmth bloom in his chest—soft and glowing. “I would have come out and joined you sooner.”

“Yeah, uh, I know, you just- I don’t know, you looked like you were having fun. Didn’t wanna ruin it.”

They sighed lightly. “You could never ruin anything, promise.”

The way Patton was looking at him was so gentle and loving, the entirety of their soul bared in that gaze as if they had nothing to hide—not from Virgil; not ever. It almost made him want to propose right now, to get down on one knee in the cabin they were in and try his hardest to explain to them that their love was returned tenfold, that he couldn’t imagine what his life would be like without them.

Patton deserved better though. Patton deserved… Well, frankly, if you had asked Virgil, more than he could ever give them but certainly more than that. Patton deserved an emotional, well-planned speech; Patton deserved to be wooed and romanced; Patton deserved the entire world and more.

If Virgil was going to propose, he was going to do it right. So, instead of falling to one knee, he pulled Patton in close, pressing their lips together and tugging them both to lay back on the bed beneath them. 

And Virgil started to scheme.

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

“I just feel like it would be nice, you know?” Virgil said, slipping on a dark purple blazer. It was one of the few dressy pieces of clothing he’d brought with him on their trip, knowing that this exact situation was always a potential outcome and wanting to be prepared. “We’re here, so we might as well take advantage of everything.”

Patton screwed up their face a little bit but didn’t argue. “If you’re sure, love.”

Virgil knew his partner was just looking out for him—the main restaurant on the boat was frequently busy and definitely more upmarket than either of them were used to—but if he was going to propose here it had to be somewhere nice. That's what Patton deserved.

He’d spent all his free time in the evenings—after Patton, ever early to bed, had fallen asleep against his chest—brainstorming and planning for the perfect proposal. He had a speech written out, a few different locations and settings theorised, and he did it all without Roman’s help, thank you very much. All and all, he was feeling pretty accomplished.

Zipping up Patton’s dress for them, Virgil pressed a soft kiss to the back of their neck, delighting in the way they giggled at the action.

Patton’s laugh was joy personified, no shame or fear or distrust hidden within it. He was in awe of them, every single day of his life—almost jealous of the way Patton loved with every fibre of their being and yet too enamoured with them to ever articulate as much.

Once Patton had assured that their hair and makeup looked alright, Virgil took their hand and pulled them out the door of the cabin, trailing them towards the ship's restaurant. 

Small talk on their way was almost stilted—the ring box tucked away in his pocket all that Virgil found he could focus on—and when they were finally seated, Virgil had worked himself up into something of a state. Tense muscles shifted, pulling open the menu and scanning the wine list as if he knew even the slightest thing about wine.

"Honey," Patton began kindly, pulling Virgil's gaze up from the menu he hadn't really been processing anyway.

They looked hesitant, almost, their mouth twisted and so, so pretty—painted in that perfect shade of pink which made Virgil want to tug them in and ruin all their hard work. Reaching out across the table, they took a hold of Virgil's hand, turning it over and trailing patterns over his palm in a way that was far too distracting.

"I know you wanted to take advantage of the fancy restaurant and everything but this is all a bit much for me, I think.” They gave a small smile and Virgil felt some of his nerves melt away. “What about we just go back to the cabin, order room service and watch movies on your laptop instead?"

Slowly, Virgil nodded. He wanted to feel disappointed but, in reality, he was simply relieved. The idea of proposing in front of so many people was terrifying and though he was willing—for Patton, Virgil found there wasn't much he wasn't willing to do—he didn't think getting down on one knee in the middle of a panic attack would be very romantic.

Possibly not one of his best ideas.

Patton smiled softly, watching Virgil's shoulders drop as he let out a breath and relaxed for the first time that evening. Grabbing his hand properly, they dragged him past the front desk and out the door—not even bothering to explain their absence.

And as Patton fell asleep on the bed beside him that evening—halfway through a Harry Potter film, clad in onesie pyjamas they always insisted were essential for movie nights—Virgil figured… well, there was always tomorrow.

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

It was early in the evening as Patton and Virgil strolled down the ship, breathing in the beginnings of the cool night air.

Despite this being a proposal plan, it wasn't quite in the forefront of his mind—Virgil far too distracted by the peaceful look on Patton's face. They had their eyes shut, hand clasped gently in his, trusting him completely to lead them to wherever their destination was.

Their pace was slow, one foot in front of the other. Virgil didn't want to rush them—this was all about taking your time and being in the moment, after all—but at the same time he was slightly anxious that he'd underestimated how long it would take them to arrive and they were going to miss it and everything would be ruined and Patton would break up with hi-

"Love?" Patton questioned, "Are we there?"

Virgil realised with a jolt that in his panic he’d stopped walking and picked up the pace again, pulling them in through a doorway and further towards the front of the ship.

"No, just- just a little bit further."

Patton squeezed his hand reassuringly, humming their response.

It was less than a minute before Virgil pulled them up to the door, dark wood obscuring what lay beyond—for Patton, at least; Virgil had been integral in setting it up. He dropped their hands between them, still staying close enough to them that he could feel the warmth they exuded radiating against his skin.

"Okay, you can open your eyes now. It's just through this door."

Patton's eyes fluttered open, blinking a few times to adjust to the light before focusing back on Virgil and giving a nod. "Mmm, okay, ready."

Pulling open the door, the two of them were greeted by almost a little cove, fairly lights borrowed from the restaurant strung up around them making it feel almost magical. Everything was cast in shades of pink and red from the sun just beginning to set on the horizon in front of them, pulling long shadows across the ground and illuminating the look of complete amazement on Patton’s face.

It was breathtaking. 

Whether Virgil’s awe was due to Patton or the view, of course, it’s entirely impossible to say.

"V, oh my goodness!" they gasped, taking a step forward, so, so cautiously, as if this was nothing more than a hallucination that could disappear before their eyes, "How did you even organise this?"

Virgil bit his lip. "Uh, it took… some convincing, yeah, but… you know. You're worth it."

The shy smile that spread across Patton’s face was accompanied by a blush, soft and pink and delicate as a dusting of icing sugar across their cheeks.

Entirely unable to help himself, Virgil pulled them in closer, cupping their face and pressing a kiss against their lips. It was feather-light—almost nothing more than the suggestion of physical contact—and Patton giggled, filling Virgil's chest with sunlight and his heart with love.

Hand in hand, the two made their way over to the sofa that he’d set up for them earlier, piled with cushions and champagne set out on the table in front.

He poured them both a glass, noting the way the fizz didn’t even compare to the bubbling feeling in his chest, the feeling Patton inspired in him each and every day. Distantly, he thought about saying as much but at that moment Patton leaned into him, tangling their limbs together and resting their head against him; it sent a wave of affection crashing over him like the ocean in a storm—unexpected and strong enough to knock him off his feet—and he found himself unable to speak at all.

The sun was dipping down beneath the horizon now, the silence calm as the water beneath them.

Virgil was swirling slow patterns into Patton’s skin, listening to their breathing as it melded in with his own. The wind chill was slight and yet even as the stars appeared, lighting up the night sky, Virgil couldn’t imagine anywhere warmer than this—wrapped up in his partner, blanketed by the love he was so grateful to know.

Snaking his hand down into his pocket, Virgil thumbed over the top of the ring box, tensing ever so slightly and yet so aware that Patton could probably feel every motion he made. Finally—the night covering them, keeping him safe yet edging him on—Virgil took a breath.

“Patton?”

There was a beat. No reply.

Drawing his eyes away from the night sky, Virgil glanced down at his partner. Patton’s eyes were closed, eyelashes barely fluttering and lips gently parted. Undeniably asleep.

There was a moment where Virgil wanted to laugh, to break out into hysterical giggles mere inflections away from sobs, but he didn’t want that to be what his partner woke up to—just thinking of the concern they would undoubtedly display already making his chest ache. Instead, he sighed softly, the breath just barely moving strands of hair away from Patton’s face and he untangled himself from their embrace.

It took Virgil a little bit more effort than he would like to admit to bring Patton into his arms, lifting them up from the couch so they could return to their room undisturbed. He also was not quite as smooth as he had hoped he would be and as soon as he’d reached the door—barely managing to open it without dropping them entirely—Patton squirmed in his grip, making a slightly discontented noise as they became vaguely aware of the situation.

“Shh, I’m just taking you back to our room,” Virgil whispered, words barely an echo in the space around them, “Go back to sleep.”

This seemed to satisfy Patton as they buried their head further into their boyfriend’s chest, gripping at Virgil’s hoodie and causing his brain to short-circuit in the wake of just how cute Patton was.

“This was good,” they mumbled, words muffled and slurred from exhaustion, “Love you s’much."

Virgil closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling slowly and deliberately. His eyes were shiny when he reopened them and he blinked a few times, trying to keep any tears at bay.

“Yeah, I love you too.”

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

Virgil ran a hand through Patton’s hair, smiling as his partner responded with a sleepy whine, shuffling further over in bed to wrap themself around him. They were like a little octopus or a koala bear, clinging on so tightly as if Virgil could disappear at any moment—as if there were anywhere in the world he’d rather be.

It was the last day of their cruise. Later, they'd be pulling into port to Roman's overexcited welcomes and Logan's dry snark and Virgil would have to explain that no, they weren’t engaged and yes, Virgil was exactly as much of a coward as everyone thought he was all along.

It had been stuck his mind since the moment he woke up—Patton’s chest still rising and falling in time with their breaths, leaving Virgil alone with nothing more than thoughts.

He knew it was ridiculous but he couldn’t help but feel like maybe it was all a sign. None of his proposals ever seemed to go right so maybe it was for a reason; maybe they weren’t supposed to be married, maybe Patton was destined to find someone better than him—someone who could match his sunshiny disposition in a way he deserved.

The grip on his torso slackened slightly and Patton pulled away to meet his gaze, sweet and loving and still on the edges of sleep.

“Virge, darling, what’s wrong?”

The words were soft and quiet, settling lightly in the air around them. It felt so tender and so gentle that Virgil could almost feel himself folding, softening into Patton’s grip with tears in his eyes, mumbling his explanation but he refused to let this be the way he proposed. 

“It- it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Patton frowned—not mean but upset nonetheless—and Virgil felt something in him tighten.

“No, not just right now, something’s been on your mind for days at this point. You don’t have to tell me, hon, I just… I worry about you.” After a beat of no reply, Patton sighed, almost abashed—as if they had any kind of reason to be embarrassed. “I know it’s silly, you’re supposed to be the anxious one in this relationship, I should-”

Virgil held up a hand, cutting off Patton’s nervous rambling. “No, no, just- give me a second.”

There was a beat. Patton just lay on the bed, gazing up at him with so much love and concern in their eyes Virgil felt breathless with it.

“All this time I’ve just- I’ve been trying to make this perfect for you, you know?” Virgil asked, knowing perfectly well that Patton couldn’t understand what he was talking about and yet feeling like he had to get something out there or he’d simply explode. “You deserve perfect.”

Patton giggled—fond and a little confused. “Silly, I don’t need perfect; I’ve already got you.”

And what could Virgil possibly say to that?

“Marry me?”

Patton’s expression changed in the blink of an eye, their eyes widening, mouth dropping open in shock—shock but not revulsion, not horror; they loved him, he was sure they did. He had no reason to be afraid, no reason to be scared and though it was intrinsically his nature to be anxious, all Virgil could feel was all the love he had for them in return.

“What?” they asked, their voice hoarse and disbelieving, tinted with shades of hope Virgil prayed he wasn’t imagining.

He scrambled up, reaching to grab his hoodie from the edge of the bed and, from its pocket, Virgil retrieved a box—a small, black, velvet ring box.

And on the floor of their cabin, Virgil got down on one knee.

“Oh.”

The exclamation was breathy, awed, a smile spreading across their face and tears filling up their eyes. Pulling themself up from the bed, Patton moved to sit on the edge—clearly trying to resist falling to the floor to join him before he’d even finished speaking.

“I had this whole speech planned out, you know? Cause I’d been thinking about this for ages, even if I’d only worked up the courage to actually do it recently. God, you’re just-” Virgil cut himself off with an incredulous laugh. “You’re amazing, Pat. You’re my best friend, the person who knows me better than anyone else ever could—ever tried to. I’ve been in love with you for longer than I can even remember being alive and I don’t want there to ever be a time where that isn’t true; I don’t ever want to be without you.

“So, Pat—sunshine, love of my life—will you marry me?”

It would be a lie to say Virgil had never seen Patton smile this wide; Patton smiled all the time for more reasons than Virgil could possibly count. Little kids playing on the street to a bumblebee landing delicately on a flower outside their window could inspire a smile from them and truly, Virgil adored that.

There was just something about this smile.

Maybe it was the way it was coloured with incredulity—brown and blue and white and gold, shimmery and unwavering—or the way it was focused solely on him like the single beam of sunlight on a cold winter day.

Maybe it was the way Patton was dropping to the ground in front of him, cupping his face and kissing him with that smile again and again, bright and giggling. Maybe it was the tears in their eyes, the choked off sobs from too much emotion and too much love as softly, sweetly, Virgil wiped them away.

Maybe it was just Patton.

“Is that a yes?” Virgil asked, the smile in his voice entirely evident. The ring box was set off to the side now, Virgil’s want to cradle Patton’s face in his hands, to hold them in his arms and never let them go obscuring his sense of order in situations like these. 

Patton feigned thought for a moment, their hand coming up to rest on their chin. “Hmmm, I don’t know…”

At Virgil’s joking glare they simply laughed, bringing their faces so close together Virgil would barely have to surge forward to kiss them. They didn’t move though, just looking into Virgil’s eyes with an expression of absolute adoration and maybe it was a little silly, a little ridiculous, to be gazing at each other like that but Virgil could not find it in him to care.

“Yes,” they sighed—soft, breathless and so in love, “Gosh, yes. There isn’t anything I could want more.”

Later, when his fiance’s head is resting on his chest, their ring glinting softly in the light streaming in through the curtains, Virgil would only have one thing left to do.

To ‘Prince Pining’: hey, buy some champagne. i think it’s time to celebrate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard @shadowsfromthesun @teadays @sandersships @camcam774 @autism-goblin @deadlyhuggles6 @romanthestarstruckqueer @whispers-stuff-in-your-ear @rainboots-are-for-snobs @sanders-and-sides @spirits-in-my-thoughts @kee-and-co @autistic-virgil @stop-it-anxiety @figurative-falsehood @jadedfantasies231 @poisonedapples @sanders-screams @another-sandersidesblog @do-not-just-see-observe @mychemicalpanicattheemo @thomassandersenthusiast @localagendergrape @fandomsofrandom @gattonero17 @airiervessel@idosanderssidespromptssometimes

and @max-is-tired you asked to be tagged in this one too!

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

IPKKND & Angst - Top 9 Scenes

Angst: A feelings of anxiety and frustration that isn’t specific.

In the serial verse, this is exactly why “kyun dard hai itna, tere ishq main?” (why does it hurt to be in love with you?)

Words fall short to praise the writers, actors, production team for the moment they were able to express anguish and sentiments through the facade of denial and ignorance. 

“Angst is not the human condition, it’s the purgatory between what we have and what we want but can’t get.”  ― Miguel Syjuco, Ilustrado

1. The first promo. Nafrat paas aane na de, mohabbat door jaane na de. This is angst, personified. 2. She tells she’s leaving for Lucknow, forever. He hears she’s leaving him, forever. (S1, E45) 3. He tells her it’s his engagement, and whether it happens or not, how does it matter to her? She tells that it doesn’t matter, with tears stinging her eyes. (S4, E10) 4. When he compels her to marry him. And she agrees. (S6, E4 - S6, E8) 5. When he passionately dances with his wife. The woman he supposedly hates. (S6, E33) 6. "Khushi, please stop crying. Khushi I... I love you.” (S7, E27) 7. “That I love you damnit!” (S8 , E30)

8. “No, Arnav ji will come. I have faith in him. Today is our wedding.” (S9, E30 - S10, E2) 9. “Arnav and Khushi will always stay together.” (S10, E30)

Read more for in-depth thoughts.

“Nafrat paas aane na de, mohabbat door jaane na de.”

“Hate prevents us from growing closer, love forbids us from growing apart.”

This promo had me hook, line and sinker. It was refreshing to watch a rich romance drama, sans any fanciness, that delved deep into symbolism and almost added a sense of forbidden in their love story. In the first image the power play - the financial and status difference is highlighted (brilliant framing) because Khushi literally looks up to Arnav, him unaware of her. And you’re sure that this might be an innocent love, a hidden attraction that is not returned. 

Yet, once Arnav leaves the elevator (and is aware that no one is looking at him), he turns to catch a glimpse of her. So he was aware, very much so, of her gaze. And boy oh boy, the feelings aren’t just returned - they’re intensified! And it’s this continuous push and pull that sets the course of IPKKND. She is wary of his approach, but does not believe his arrogance is all to him. He rebuffs her, but is always pained by her despair. 

She wishes to love him, despite his apparent flaws. He wishes to hate her, despite her apparent perfection. 

Let’s take a moment to appreciate that the shadows of rain fall on her, putting the torn photograph together. She treasures it and holds it against her heart, her eyes wide, afraid and lost. 

While he is in the middle of nowhere, drenched in rain, holding a photograph in his hands. Unable to look more, he crumples the photograph, his eyes tightly shut as if he’s crushing something that’s causing him immense pain.

*chef’s kiss to this promo*

What does a person want apart from two rich characters in a rich storyline with rich layering? You are not just invested in the day the confess their love to each other, rather the journey that takes them there. 

*dreamy sigh*

"Nafrat hai na aapko humse? Humari aukaad se? Humari shakal nahi dekhna chahte hai na aap? Toh khushi ho jaiye, hum aapki nazron se hamesha ke liye door jaa rahe hai. Lucknow jaa rahe hai hum, hamesha ke liye.” (S1, E45)

“So you hate me? My status? You don’t want to see my face, right? Then rejoice! I’m going to be out of your sight, forever. I’m leaving for Lucknow, forever.”

This sounds like a woman wobbling on the edge of feelings for a man. And it awfully sounds like a breakup (which is funny because the story hasn’t even started, or technically it did when their eyes met?)

One of the most interesting thing about this exchange is the way Khushi words her departure. She never says “I hate you,” or “I am leaving with my family to go back home,” or “my stay in Delhi has come to an end.” It’s almost like as if she lived in Delhi all along as was leaving to a new city because of him.

Her departure is attached to his hatred. To her, her status, her face - three things that has hurt Khushi the most. She literally says that she’s going away from his sight, forever.

It’s no wonder Arnav hears something else, that she’s not going home, she’s leaving him. In most waysIPKKND has been heavily biased to Arnav’s point of view - so when she declares the bg score quickly shifts to a soft, instrumental Rabba Ve.

The impact? His world stops for a second and he literally just says one thing, trying to get a hold of her, “Khushi, you can’t leave like this. Khushi!”

This conversation haunts Arnav till no end. He spends every moment henceforth playing everything wrong that he did with her. 

This episode is my favorite because their inner struggles are so visible.

When Lavanya asks Arnav if he loves her the way she is, Arnav looks at Khushi’s desk and says “Yes, I like you the way you are.”

This is the first time Arnav and Khushi develop their sixth sense towards the other - something that manifests deeply over the months to come. Khushi tells herself not to look at Arnav but she does, and is unable to look away. Her feet gives away at his voice, her logic abandons her (talk about pushing a door outward when it opens inward).

When Shyam, over the phone, tells her how much he thinks about her she’s immediately alarmed until he covers his words. With Arnav she’s not afraid of the physical intensity but of his anger, definitely his anger.

It’s the first time Arnav sees how much he affects her, negatively as well.

And their romantic, delicate moments is a scene stealer. Her self respect does not allow him to take his extended hand. His awareness of her pulls him to return her dupatta to him, a gesture that means so much. When they’re both quiet, something else happens altogether.

And then both are disturbed by the thoughts of each other. She’s stunned by his softness. She had noticed when he stopped his rant. And the first woman Arnav thinks of when Anjali tells her about love is Khushi. It’s his anger and personality that prevents Khushi from thinking more about Arnav. 

And it’s also his personality and beliefs (that are now on very shaky grounds) that stop Arnav from accepting the corner of his heart that has, unexpectedly, softened for Khushi. He only allows himself to completely think of her when he’s alone.

*double dreamy sigh - eating butter popcorn for the sigh*

“Khushi meri sagai ho ya na ho, kal ho ya ek saal baad ho, tumhe usse kya farak padta hai?” (S4, E10)

“Khushi, whether I get engaged or not, whether it’s tomorrow or the next year, how does it matter to you?”

The first thing that Khushi replies if, “Why should it matter to me if it’s your engagement?”

It’s not a no. It’s a question she asks him in turn. What does he expect? Why is he asking her this? Why… when it’s too late? And she quickly covers it up with “No, it makes no difference.”

It’s a lie. The minute she looks at him she knows he knows it’s a lie. Big props to the background scorers. We know the question hits Khushi hard because it’s the question she has been avoiding all along. We know that even though Arnav knows it’s a terribly hidden lie, he cannot help being hurt - a big credit to the soft, painful background score apart from the fantastic actors.

And when Khushi justifies her actions with scattered sentences and tears stinging her eyes, Arnav knows the truth. She knows the truth. And they both wait for the other to acknowledge it. And they both know neither can do so. 

The most beautiful, painful and almost tragic part of this scene is that they’re both completely aware and struggling with the weight of their denial. His desperation, perhaps, is a mirror image to Khushi’s desperation when she wanted to know why he nearly kissed her on Diwali. But his desperation is also triggered by the fact that she is engaged to another man. 

One might also wonder that once she can validate her emotions, perhaps break her loveless engagement (which he correctly assumes is forced), then he might get the strength to break his? One might also wonder that Khushi, at this point, has lost all hope for whatever it was between them - yet at his prodding she can only hope if he can ever speak up his mind. And his inability to do so pushes him farther away from her. 

One of the loveliest things about Arnav and Khushi is that they can be interpreted a thousand ways. In one way Arnav’s fury post that scene does not really come from him believing that he does not matter, but rather on her denial. And he’s clearly not thinking clearly. Not ever since he learned her engagement. And Khushi, on the other hand, seems to have accepted her gloomy future, and seems to be sinking onto the thorn she has held onto. 

If you see one of the promo posters, the creatives modified it to Khushi holding a thorned rose that injures her hand (so it’s bleeding) but her gaze is transfixed to the man behind her who’s staring at her too. 

I think that is Arnav and Khushi’s journey. Poetic tragedy. 

A story you’re almost afraid will not have a happy ending. A story where everything wrong happens. So it’s only a bigger pay off that they do end up together, in their happily ever after. 

And honestly, Khushi’s refusal to accept her feelings post their marital status kind of prevents Khushi from seeming immoral or as the ‘third’ woman in Lavanya’s life. Also - I love Anjali at this time who is really the only person constantly worried about Khushi’s lack of happiness for her impending wedding. Not even Lavanya senses Khushi’s despair. 

*I always, always tear up at this scene.*

“Haan ya na? Haan, ya na!” (S6, E4 - S6, E8)

“Yes or no? Yes, or no!” 

The elopement episodes legit kill me. It’s so painful, and it’s painful because it was avoidable! And it’s all built of misunderstandings! There’s so much regret and what ifs that stem from here that this phase alone has inspired so many fan fictions across the world. 

This moment reminds me of Shakespeare’s Othello on how Desdemona was painted as a lose woman by a jealous Iago. And convinced the Othello who had loved his wife endlessly that she was having an extra marital affair with Othello’s best friend and right hand man, Casio. 

In IPKKND, Casio and Iago is built into one Shyam Manohar Jha - a man Arnav trusts immensely. A man so manipulative that it’s almost impossible to believe his vile side until we see it ourselves. It often makes me wonder what if we, the audience, never saw the conniving side of Shyam Manohar Jha? It’s frightening to realize that like Anjali, a lot of us might have had difficulty to understand what could be the truth. 

There are so many reasons why this episode hurt. Khushi expected a proposal. Arnav wanted to propose. And it wouldn’t just be a confession of love, it would be marriage - it was hinted all along with the mehendi, haldi, new bangles for a bride to be and his duty as a damaad to look after his in laws’ relatives. He had behaved so innately as if he were already married to Khushi that it hurt to see their dreams of marriage come true, as a nightmare. 

The push and pull between pain, empathy, betrayal is heartbreaking. Also, I believe it is also one of the few television shows to completely highlight the reason for a sudden, forced marriage. Yes, Arnav technically ‘gains’ agency of Khushi by claiming her as his wife - but that is never physical. 

To be physically close to her is what they both wanted and dreamed off so it’s the first thing he shatters between him and Khushi. They wouldn’t be in the same side of the room, forget the bed. 

Barun and Sanaya’s performance is impeccable in these sequences. Arnav’s constant shift from a cold, calculative monster a man whose heart breaks on his beloved’s tears is so visible. Khushi’s disbelief, to heartbreak to helplessness and ultimate ruin pulls the most of us to run and hug her for the longest time.

When Arnav asks Khushi to marry him, the pose is romantic - with her pressed against him, dressed in the similar shades - much like how they had danced a few nights ago. But it’s all a nightmare, the green tint adds the feeling of nausea, despair and gloom. 

Of course, most of the anger shifts to an Arnav who torments Khushi endlessly for the months to come but most of my hatred at this point is fixed on Snake Jha instead. That man, singlehandedly, destroyed the most beautiful relationship out of his own villainy. 

And if there’s anything I’m unsatisfied with in this serial, it’s how Arnav and Khushi never end up punishing Shyam directly for ruining their individual lives (and for perennially harassing Khushi over a period of seven months). 

When he passionately dances with his wife. The woman he supposedly hates. (S6, E33)

“Bheegi bheegi si hai raatein bheegi bheegi

Yaadein bheegi bheegi baatein bheegi bheegi

Aankhon mein kaisi nami hai,

Aa ha ha ha ... aa ha

Sapnon ka saya palkon pe aaya

Pal mein hasaya pal mein rulaya

Phir bhi yeh kaisi kami hai

Aa ha ha ha ... aa ha Na jaane koi kaisi hai yeh zindagani, zindagani

Hamari adhuri kahani.”

The nights are drenched, so are the memories, the conversations. My eyes are strangely damp. A shadow of my dreams flashed before my eyes. It made me laugh, it made me cry. And yet, there’s something missing. No one knows what this life is. The one of our incomplete story.

This is the song that ran in my head when I watched them dance, painfully similar to way they danced when they were deep in love, in their Teri Meri. The steps are hauntingly same, but the emotions are vastly different. 

For me in this moment Khushi is taken aback at her own feelings. She was so sure she had killed every memory, every feeling of that fateful night when he had danced straight from her fantasies into her heart. And boy she was wrong - those feelings rose back with a vengeance. 

And for Arnav, it’s funny how the dance almost seems like a move to claim Khushi for himself, to exercise his possessive right over her in front of that vile Snake. 

Once they start dancing though, everything fades away apart from the burning intensity they have for each other. This is something private. It’s the thin line between love and lust that they have always walked on. 

His eyes are sharp yet intoxicated, drinking her face like nothing else. Her body is soft, and fluid, melting at his slightest touch. The wonder never leaves her eyes, neither does the sudden hunger. 

Although the idea of the Delhi main Bali and Snake giving her roses *ewww, why didn’t she make an excuse!!!*  and a part of me really wished that Khushi wore a pink saree instead of a salwar (she carries those so well - in that sexy, naive way!), and I wish that Snake disappeared from the planet - this dance was worth it. 

The contrast between Akash Payal’s honeymoon night versus theirs does provide some much needed comic relief, it’s in the little moments such as a lit matchstick or them sharing a couch that kinda shows that the after effects of the dance lingered long in their heads. 

Would I have been happier to have seen them directly carry out the palpable tension and angst that simmered during the dance to the privacy of their room? YES

Would that be possible on Indian television? Probably no

Do I respect the writers’ decision? Yes

Is this a perfect combination of angst and sexual tension? Heck yeah, why do you think I’m writing this! 

Why do I love this scene - it has everything synonymous to Arnav and Khushi; the angst, passion, conflicted emotions and a hope that the fire hadn’t dimmed out. 

*totally fanned myself and mentally thought that they were gonna blow up in flames or sexual frustration or the angsty thing of this whole situation at this point*

"Khushi, please stop crying. Khushi I... I love you.” (S7, E27 - S7, E28)

This was not a confession of love. This was a man’s last words. Arnav knew he would never get another chance to speak to her. As they say, death often brings about the biggest realizations and the biggest regrets. Yet again, this was a situation that could have been avoided. 

If he listened to her.

If he had trusted her. 

If he had allowed her to take him back home. 

The ‘what ifs’ were too much. There was nothing more for Arnav to lose. And he couldn’t die without telling the only woman he ever loved that he never hated her. That he only, ever, loved her. Nothing else mattered. 

On the other side Khushi had lost every hope of ever getting her love returned. His acerbic words and accusations had clawed her insides so much that logic, reasoning and even his hatred had fated away. He had to have known that she had always loved him. But she was so afraid to say anything that she could only cry when she heard his voice. And even before she could say what she wanted, he said the impossible. 

He loved her. 

Despite everything. 

The angst is so heavy over here because Khushi’s joy and Arnav’s tragedy are so well put next to each other. On one end Khushi is floating with the thought of being loved and on the other Arnav is drowning for the very same reason. It’s one thing to verbalize your love, and another to never get the opportunity to live it. 

True, Arnav wouldn’t have confessed his love if his life wasn’t in danger. He definitely would have come to that conclusion long after. It’s just that his brush with probably death broke away every hesitation, fear, doubt, betrayal he faced. 

And nothing apart from an ‘I love you’ would’ve rendered Khushi speechless. It’s also disheartening that she realizes he would have never told her the same if things were normal. 

The frustration, the pain, it’s beautiful! 

Also one thing I found very interesting is that he cuts the call before Khushi can reply to him. Maybe her shock, her tears, her happiness (now that they are immensely in sync with each other), reveal that his feelings were returned (yup I’m an optimist!)? Maybe that’s why they didn’t need to say anything to each other apart from knowing that they’ve both been blind (once they meet each other into that legendary hug)? 

It’s interesting that out of all the things that haunt him when he’s kidnapped - it’s how he reacted after knowing her version of truth. And Khushi, dear Khushi, she sees everything at his one confession - and perhaps it tells us all what she ever wanted to hear all along. Just like Arnav could forgive her everything at the possibility of never seeing her again, Khushi could forgive his anything at the slightest chance of him loving her back.

Also, one quick side note - I love how this parallels to the first promo. There Khushi held the torn photo together and held it against her heart. Here, Khushi’s belief in their broken relationship gets a 180 turn and she grasps her phone against her heart. There Arnav crumples the worn photo and closes his eyes in pain. Here, he cuts the call and grips the phone and closes his eyes in pain, again. 

Full circle much? 

*nope, totally didn’t cry when this happened, just some water leaks on the glands outside my eye ok*

“That I love you damnit!” (S8 , E30)

Isn’t it funny that the two most angsty moments in the show are the two times that Arnav ‘confesses’ his love to Khushi. And in fact it’s not that he’s confessing his love, it’s something they both know, it’s always more than that. 

Totally negating the fact that there was an awkward-almost-forced-no-communication-what-the-heck-hate-it that-they-look-hot-weird-consummation sequence, let’s jump to Khushi overtly persisting Arnav about the necessities of marriage and rituals and Arnav finally breaking it to her that he loves her.

Given what happened (when he blamed her for everything wrong that happened in Anjali’s marriage) it’s perhaps easy to understand why Khushi would, again, need verbal assurance of who was she to him and what was her place in life.

In her mind it makes absolute sense that even if he proclaimed several times that he is her husband and she is his wife after that, she needed his words as his actions and words have contradicted a lot over time. 

In his mind everything also makes sense. He married her (terribly, might I add), things were going better, they have shared a bed and are used to each other’s physical spaces and were always pretty close to kissing, if not sex (to be canon compliant, we can always imagine a much more eager Khushi and less creepy Arnav actually ready to bang in the hut). 

So over here, in this scene, it’s the height of their frustrations and their differences in ideologies. Arnav has been a man of actions, Khushi has been a woman of words. 

We can see how different they are, fundamentally and in a way it’s hilarious because both want the same thing. It’s kinda crucial to see that despite wanting the same thing - they really can’t understand each other at this point. He wants her to act. She wants him to say. And neither are getting the other in this process. 

And even though he yells at her and stares at her with this intense release of their bubbling emotions - it was hot. Strangely it was because we’ve all heard of the calm before the storm, this was more like a calm after the storm. 

And what’s sweet is that Khushi is always stunned. She stares at him and slowly lets it sink in about what he said. (I wish Arnav stuck around than swagger walked away because she went back into the room and positively glowed).  So although this might not be my most favorite angst moment, the time when they just stare and Khushi goes through this phase of shock, understanding and a ‘why-didn’t-you-tell-me-before’ and he goes through irritation, understanding and then back to annoyance is the last bit of angst that they have against each other. 

And for some reason, he does leave before he can hear her reply. Again. 

*they looked so, so hot. Can’t believe this episode was nearly ruined by the forced suhaagraat. So glad she gets to tell him ‘I love you’ in this same outfit.*

“Jiji, agar woh waapas nahi aye toh hum kya karenge? Agar woh waapas nahi aye toh hum kya karenge?!” (S9, E30 - S10, E2)

“Jiji, what will I do if he never returns? What will I do if he never returns!?” 

In this context it can loosely be translated to what will happen to me if he never returns as well. 

Oh God these episodes tug my heartstrings so much. As I said, everything terrible seems to be happening to these two. And just as they resolved every bit of doubt between themselves, fate played them into the hands of the things that mattered most to them - family.

One of the reasons why I truly love this episode is because how ferocious Khushi is. She loves him, after the massive journey they’ve had, and heck will she allow anyone to destroy that. Her paranoia, fear and almost maddening level of love was such a refreshing change. 

It’s not that she was just sobbing - no, she was constantly shifting between anger, denial, cries, yells, silence - everything. She nearly lost her mind at the thought of never getting him back again. And YES! This is my most favourite Khushi - the passionate, determined, vulnerable, strong, vocal Khushi. 

And Arnav, oh God I truly cried for him. His struggles, his tears - I loved that he collapsed and cried his lungs out. I loved that he kept on trying to make sense of his life and collect the pieces of memory floating around to give an answer. 

The angst, the fight against the past, the ultimate payoff - completely worth it. He made the right decision and he was still shaken by everything. Khushi, despite yelling at Dadi when that woman had the audacity of orchestrating this event, still murmured her apology to Arnav - respecting his family relations. They’re both quintessentially who they are, but at this point of time they understand each other in a completely different level.

(Which is why the future tracks don’t make much sense. Neither does the situation of Ek Jashn because no way would Arnav forget this day, out of everything.)

This day could have gone so, so wrong. But it does not. The angst of the two episodes builds up so well that I was crying when Arnav met with an accident - because he running his way back to his Khushi. The symbolism is flowing so heavily in these scenes. 

It’s literally what keeps on happening in their lives. Khushi keeps her hope until it’s impossible and Arnav proves her wrong (delightfully so) by saying the most important things to her or even by making the most important decision. An optimist and a responsible decision maker - life looks good for them. 

Kudos to the sound team for the way they handled the music - especially when Khushi rubbishes her thoughts of the broken bangles, is over excited at Arnav’s arrival and rushes down the stairs to meet him (breaking every single ritual cause rituals actually didn’t matter) and despite all the joy the dread in the background score is so good and effective. 

Would I have liked if Arnav kept his hair up, if the phere flashback was omitted cause we just proved that pheres weren’t the issue and if the frothy pink white background was something different and darker - even like just the simple mandir as the mandir wedding aesthetic was prettier - definitely. BUT, that’s just minor irrelevant details. 

*lets out a soft breath when Arnav kisses Khushi’s forehead after they marry... yes, angst is gone... totally gone. Thank God*

“Arnav aur Khushi hamesha saath rahenge.” (S10, E30)

“Arnav and Khushi will always stay together.” 

Damnit, I’m getting emotional! Look at what the last angsty moment is between them. The first time I sensed angst, it was the impossibility of them getting together. And now, it’s the impossibility of them living apart. 

That’s exactly why I am in love with this series - this is called growth. 

I so sincerely wished the rest of the Aarav track was dealt with this much of maturity instead of the stupid comedy that was off putting. But you have to give the props to the writers, actors and production team for coming up with this soft, slightly angsty, emotional moment about the two characters who are so true to their nature yet fear another external force pulling them apart. 

It’s a beautiful insight to the future. That Khushi would accept her vulnerabilities. That Arnav would reassure her and have his life knocked back into him when she would be next to him. That Arnav and Khushi would discuss everything together, now their differences remained superficial and their understanding was skin deep. 

They understand all that without saying much. No humor, no belittling Khushi, no family harping on Arnav 2.0, no Khushi losing her maturity/intelligence/brains and no Sheetal becoming besties of Raizada for no reason.

This scene is such a beautiful moment between the both of them - precisely why the Mrs. India track felt like such a terrible downfall in their relationship. It didn’t make sense based on what was established in this episode. 

Arnav and Khushi need each other. There’s no ego, no pride, just a deep level of understanding and a connection that rivals almost everything else. Over here Arnav isn’t angry at Khushi for making crazy connections, he’s speaking the possibilities with her and how futile her fear is because they are married and in love - she should be with irrespective of the consequences.

Over here Khushi isn’t hiding her thoughts or lying to him, she’s exposing her fears and worry. As an orphan she feels the necessity of making sure Aarav has a parent - especially if his father is hearty and alive. And she allows herself to be strengthened from the faith Arnav has in them and himself. 

This one scene immediately made me empathize with both Arnav and Khushi. This is perhaps one of their very few soft conversations that happen on screen. Is there anything called soft angst? That hug made me weak in my knees. That’s love folks, that’s love. That’s how we envision Arnav & Khushi in future. 

*imagines the soft kisses and moments these two might have had. Cries because it’s fluff meets smut and feels and damn they’re gorgeous*

PHEW! THAT’S THE END AND THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH FOR STICKING ONTO THIS ONE! One last, final, quick note - all of this is obviously from my point of view and no way am I even right in perceiving the show - everyone has their own opinions so feel free to add notes! 

[inadaydream99]

hi! can i request a stray kids reaction to them accidentally forgetting y/n's birthday? you can choose how y/n reacts. thanks you so much!

Hi thank you for this request! 😁 I hope you enjoy this! I really enjoyed writing the different ways each member could react to this scenario 😁

Chan

You had been sat around your apartment all day. Waiting.

You huff with your face in your hands as you try to keep in the tears that are threatening to spill. There has never been a worse birthday you think as you wallow in self pity. You hadn’t received a single call or text from your boyfriend saying happy birthday or even acknowledging you and it was starting to upset you.

It’s not like chan would have forgotten on purpose, he isn’t like that. He’s just busy and hasn’t had time. You try to come up with any excuse that is logical as you look up and stare at your phone. Hoping that maybe if you look long enough it will light up with a notification.

After a ridiculous amount of time you give up. It’s pointless now anyway, it’s too late. The day is wasted. So deciding to cheer yourself up you occupy yourself by watching some movies. Your company? Lots of snacks.

You wake up to someone softly nudging your shoulder and whispering your name, your eyes half open, taking in your surroundings. It’s evidently the next morning, judging by the daylight, and you are still on the sofa.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing sleeping on the sofa?” Chan asks in mild amusement. You adjust yourself so you are sitting up, a frown on your face as you look at him with as little emotion as possible. You want him to know you are annoyed.

“I don’t know. Maybe I was waiting for someone and fell asleep.” You harshly speak, venom in your tone as Chan looks at you in confusion.

“What do you- Oh! No. Ah I’m so sorry, I completely forgot your birthday didn’t I?” Realisation slaps chan in the face and all he can feel is guilt overtake him.

Seeing how genuinely shocked he is at forgetting you feel a little mean at being so harsh. Of course it wasn’t on purpose, he’s been busy working hard and you are just stroppy over missing one birthday. In the grand scheme of things it’s not really that important.

“It’s ok, I know you didn’t mean it.” You sigh in regret and look up to meet his eyes which are sadly looking at you. You reach out to take his hand, a smile appearing on his face at your action.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Chan says and you nod your head, a small chuckle escaping your lips at how endearingly cute he is.

Woojin

Woojin rushes around in the kitchen, pots and pans clashing together and food chucked all over the worktop as he frantically try’s to make you a nice dinner.

You see, Woojin had forgotten your birthday and woke up this morning to you in complete happiness, until he told you that he hadn’t arranged anything.

You told him that it was ok, but your face said the complete opposite, disappointment clouding your features as you tell him you’re meeting with some friends anyway.

But Woojin wasn’t satisfied with that, he wanted to do something special for you. He wanted you to come home and gasp at what your amazing boyfriend has done for you. So he set to work.

Woojin hears the front door shut and footsteps walking down the hall. He quickly places the last few plates onto the table he has decorated and waits for you to enter.

You gasp as your eyes take in the sight. The smell of the food on the table overtaking your senses and making your mouth water. Approaching Woojin you place your hands on his chest.

“You did this for me?” You ask, looking up at him in awe. His embrace tightening around you to pull you closer.

“Happy birthday, I’m sorry it’s a little late.” He whispers down at you, the close proximity making heat flood to your cheeks. Woojin takes you hand in his and leads you to the table, pulling your chair out for you as you sit down. Woojin may have forgotten at first, but he definitely didn’t disappoint with his surprise.

Minho

Minho felt dreadful, walking along the dark street on his own. His mind running in overtime as he heads towards the supermarket. He needed to make it up to you.

You hadn’t been speaking to Minho, ignoring his calls and texts all day. The reason being that when you told him that he forgot your birthday, which was the day before, he got all defensive saying that he has been busy and it wasn’t his fault. Blaming you because he was mad at himself.

Initially, you weren’t bothered that he had forgotten, but what had sent you into a rage was his attitude. He shouldn’t take his anger out on you.

Minho knocks on your front door, a bunch of flowers in his hand as he anxiously waits for you to answer. He holds in a breath when the door opens and reveals your tear stained face. If he didn’t already feel awful, he definitely did after that.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have blamed you because I forgot your birthday. I’m a terrible boyfriend and I know this isn’t enough to make up for how I’ve been, but I can only start by trying.” Minho confesses, sadness heavy in his tone as your glossy eyes look at him. He holds out the flowers to you and you stare at them for a moment, debating on weather to accept them or not.

You silently take them before meeting his eyes once again. They are pleaing for forgiveness, for any sign that you aren’t mad.

You smile soflty at him before pulling him into a hug, your head buried in his chest. Minho lets out a sigh of relief and wraps his arms around you, a smile spreading across his face at your forgiveness.

Changbin

Changbin didn’t know what to say. The way you are looking at him with such an innocent expression only making him worse.

“I can’t believe I forgot. Are you sure it’s your birthday today?” He asks in confusion as you nod you head as you giggle at your forgetful boyfriend.

“I’m pretty sure. Don’t worry though, I didn’t think you remembered so I organised for us to go out instead.” You infrom him with a cheeky grin. Changbin knew that look too well and he grew suspicious.

“What have you done.” He asks trying to come across as relaxed when you can tell he’s freaking out inside.

“Revenge.” Changbin laughs as you pull a devilish face and grab his hand, pulling him out the front door. Let’s just say that chagbin hates scary movies, but you love them.

Hyunjin

“It’s today?” Hyunjin gasps in shock as you tell him it’s your birthday.

“Yep.” You causally answer as you smirk at him.

“Why didn’t you remind me. I could have done something special for you.” Hyunjin whines like a child. You laugh at his behaviour, it’s so ugh!

“Because I don’t want to be older anyway. But I do want to go down to the park where we used to hang out, like old times?” You raise a brow waiting for your boyfriends responce.

“Are you sure? That’s not very special.” Hyunjin questions as you take his hand and interlace your fingers.

“Trust me, there’s nothing I want more.” You beam up at him.

Jisung

You are laying on your bed, eyes glued to your phone screen, just piecefully enjoying some quite time to yourself when Jisung barges into the room and stands next to your bed, looking down at you unimpressed.

“Are you still mad at me?” Jisung questions as you don’t make any effort to acknowledge his existence.

“(Y/N), answer me!” Jisung whines as he nudges you. Still nothing.

“Come on. I’m sorry!” He pleas as he flops on top of you, flattening you to try and get a responce. Any responce.

“Jisung stop.” You flatly state, you don’t try to move. At this, Jisung becomes annoyed and snatches your phone out of your hands.

“Hey! Give me my phone back!” You complain as you reach out to try and grab it.

“Not until you stop ignoring me. I’ve apologised 100 times about forgetting your birthday. I want forgiveness.” Jisung speaks as you push him off of you and sit up to look at him.

“Fine. Now give me my phone.” You huff, your eyes narrowing at your annoying boyfriend.

“That doesn’t sound like you really forgive me.” He mocks, a smirk on his face which agitates your even further.

“I forgive you, please give me my phone.” You sigh, your harsh expression softening as you give in.

Jisung chuckles and hands you back your phone, taking your other hand in his as you laugh at both of your childish antics together.

Felix

“Well, I’m an idiot.” Is all Felix can say as Hyunjin tells him it was your birthday yesterday.

“I can’t believe you forgot.” Hyunjin laughs at Fleix’s responce. He is right though, how could he forget. You didn’t mention anything to him this morning and you have been acting completely normal all day.

“I need to explain myself.” Felix cautiously approaches you as you sit on the sofa.

“What do you mean?” You ask confused by his sudden strangeness.

“I completely forgot your birthday. I’m officially the worst boyfriend to ever exist.” He sighs and looks down at his lap. You place your hand on his cheek you get him to look at you again, a sympathetic smile on your face at seeing how disappointed he is in himself.

“It’s ok. I don’t care about things like that. I know you care about me, you show it everyday.” You softly speak. Felix feels warmth spread through his chest at your words, it’s so full of affection he can’t help but become shy.

“Well, I’m really sorry anyway.” He mumbles with a contented smile as you cuddle up together on the sofa. Happy in each other’s arms.

Seungmin

“Can we move it to tomorrow instead?” Seungmin cheekily asks and you laugh at your silly boyfriend.

“Unfortunately not, but we can celebrate tomorrow.” You reply in amusement.

Seungmin was greatful that you weren’t bothered by his late realisation that it’s your birthday. You could tell by his expressions that he felt bad for it slipping out of his mind, but the willingness to make it up to you was more than enough in your opinion.

“Why don’t we spend the rest of the evening together? I just want to have a quiet night in.” You suggest. Seungmin nods in agreement and pulls you towards him, hands around your waist.

“That sounds perfect.” He beams as you look at each other in complete awe.

Jeongin

“You’re so old, do you still need to celebrate birthdays?” Jeongin jokes as you playfully hit his arm. Your boyfriend is very cheeky all the time, but he can get away with it because he is adorable.

You find it hard to stay mad at him, espically when he can make you laugh so easily. So when he realised he forgot your birthday he wanted to make sure you weren’t mad at him. And how did he do that? By calling you old. Yes, some people have very strange ways of showing affection and this is how your boyfriend shows his.

Of course, you weren’t fussed anyway. This day is no different to the next in your opinion. But seeing the genuine concern on Jeongin’s face made you feel a little guilty about telling him it doesn’t matter. It clearly did to him, you could see he was covering his sadness with jokes.

You decide that the best way to make him better is to offer to cancel your plans with friends so you can spend time together. But when you tell him this idea, Jeongin is completely against it.

“I’ll plan something special for tomorrow. You have a great time out tonight.” Jeongin embraces you as you are about to leave. You place a quick peck on his cheek before pulling away and opening the door.

[wolfenm]

Wei Wuxian’s story fixed what Tony Stark’s broke ....

Prefacing this to say that I do love RDJ and Tony Stark and Marvel, etc (though, for many reasons, I still refuse to see Endgame). But I was just struck a moment ago by how much more I adore Wei Wuxian, and how much better / more satisfyingly I feel he was handled on a couple of story points that are similar to Tony’s. SPOILERS for the MCU to-date, and for The Untamed / Chen Qing Ling (and technically Mo Dao Zu Shi, but I prefer the show’s depiction of the character, over the book, so this is written with the show specifically in mind).

One thing I’ve argued with people about in the past is how, I feel, it was character assasination to have Tony Stark get / stay angry at Bucky (and thus Steve, for defending him) for the death of Tony’s parents. Hell, when I ficced Bucky being found before Civil War, I had Tony see getting Bucky’s mind back as the perfect revenge on HYDRA! So I was thoroughly baffled at Tony going apeshit against Bucky in Civil War. I loved that movie in general, but that storypoint felt hella contrived just to have some excuse to depict an “iconic” moment from the comics (from a plot I likewise felt was a bit too contrived / threw Tony under the bus for drama, but I digress).

I’m sorry, but I refuse to believe that Tony Stark, the man who created BARF, wouldn’t grasp, sooner or later, that Bucky was fucking MIND-RAPED by HYDRA, and was thus as much a victim as Tony’s parents. And so I then ficced Tony coming to his senses and using BARF to help Bucky … only for me to subsequently be disappointed again on that front by the MCU canon. (I also refuse to believe that Tony couldn’t understand how and why Steve would put his love of Bucky before everything and everyone else – Tony had two {or three, if Happy counts} people like that in his life during Civil War {Pepper and Rhodey}, and then Peter and Morgan. Digressing again, sorry.) But people have been all, “It totally makes sense for him to be like that!” – even though he’s supposed to be a good guy, a hero!

I’m even more disturbed by the sentiment I’ve often come across that Tony *needed* to die to complete his arc of learning to be selfless. Last time I checked, he already tried to sacrifice himself in The Avengers, when he took a nuclear warhead through a wormhole! I’ve seen so much hate towards him for all he did in Age of Ultron, but THERE, his actions actually made sense to me, more or less (even if I didn’t exactly agree with them): he *thought* he was doing a good thing. I could see the logic in his conclusion, and things COULD have turned out well, if not for certain data points he’d missed / him being overconfident. Atonement is about cleaning up your mess, not specifically about dying – especially if you still have people to live for!

So then we have Wei Wuxian. Like Tony Stark, he’s brash and confident and inventive and can sometimes run roughshod over people – and certain things he does are highly frowned upon by others. He comes to regret, at least for a time, the controversial path he carves for himself (like Tony regretting being a weapons manufacturer).

But when a group of innocent people, survivors from the Wen Clan – the same family as a couple of the show’s villains, but a different branch – were being mistreated and even killed because everyone else felt they were as guilty as the true villains (for not standing with everyone against the evil members of their clan, never mind that they had been threatened by them too – Bucky under HYDRA, anyone?), Wei Wuxian – who, mind, had gone on a murderous spree to slaughter the truly evil Wens via malicious means – sacrificed everything, getting exiled by his clan, and living in poverty and under threat, to defend those innocents. Even after feeling extreme wrath towards his mortal enemies, he understood right and wrong enough to not paint everyone with the same clan name with the same brush. He could have *just* saved Wen Qing and Wen Ning (to whom he owed a mountain of gratitude, even though his clan brother Jiang Cheng, who owed the same debt yet didn’t stand up for them them, faulted Wei Wuxian for putting them over his own clan), but no – Wei Wuxian went against the world, *even his loved ones*, to do the right thing, saving all the survivors of Wen Qing’s people from deadly servitude.

And then there came a point where Wei Wuxian’s world was ablaze. It’s understandable that Wei Wuxian was initially furious with Wen Ning’s part in what went down (Wen Ning killed Wei Wuxian’s brother-in-law, unknowingly under someone else’s control, but that wasn’t discovered until much later), but Wei Wuxian still was immediately horrified and extremely distressed by the idea of Wen Ning giving his life in atonement (and later, Wei Wuxian was endlessly concerned for Wen Ning).

Anyway, Wei Wuxian had reason to believe it was his OWN fault that certain horrible things happened (he didn’t know about outside interference by someone with murderous intentions and little concern for collateral damage). And so, Wei Wuxian committed suicide, feeling that the world, including his "lifelong confidant"/"soulmate", was better off without him and his disastrous creation (the Stygian Tiger Amulet, which he’d actually controlled better than he’d thought, but the concept of it did end up being misused by others, so …).

BUT THAT WASN’T THE END OF HIS STORY. In fact, as all versions open with the announcement of his death, in media res, it’s technically the *beginning*! Years later, he’s resurrected, solves a series of murders, acts as a mentor for some youths, learns a lot of truths (including what had really happened with his brother-in-law’s death, and that there were those who’d actually loved and missed him when he’d died), and presumably goes on to a bright future – a LIFE with his soulmate, putting his talents to further use for the benefit of humanity. He doesn’t pay the ultimate sacrifice to stop someone else’s mess (like Tony does with Thanos) – his death never made him a hero, just was a tragedy. In fact, many people in his world had said “good riddance” when he’d died, but we learned that they were demonstrably wrong in feeling that way – we were supposed to be sad over it, and relieved when it was undone, and thrilled at his second chance, feel a great wrong had finally been righted! Not feel that it was the best possible outcome!

(Even some of the people I’ve talked to who DO agree that Tony’s end was a tragedy, not deserved / needed for his character, still seem to have WANTED it, felt somebody dying was the best way to end Endgame, and I just can’t relate AT ALL. To me, his best end, the best way to write Tony out so RDJ could retire from the franchise, would have been him just retiring to the lab, as promised to Pepper, and maybe consulting by phone now and then.)

Considering Wei Wuxian went on to save all the clans from annihilation, it’s a good thing he DID come back! And considering how he solved mysteries and saved a few people after THAT, it’s a good thing he didn’t die saving the clans, either!

So poor Tony. Poor Pepper. Poor Morgan. Poor Peter. And poor us.

Thank the gods (and the novel author, and the Untamed showrunners, and actor Xiao Zhan) for Wei Wexian (and his Lan Wangji, his Lan Zhan), healing my little fan heart after Marvel devastated it!💖

[9uk]

Where Are You?

⌲ summary : Kim Taehyung. That is the name of a nobody in school constantly carrying a camera around with him. Also, the name belonging to the guy who carried your last words

⌲ pairing : thirdeye!taehyung x reader

⌲ word count : 10k

⌲ genre: pinch of fluff, heavy angst

⌲ warnings : themes of depression, suicide, self-harm and paranormal activities. character death. taehyung can see ghosts that is.

⌲ a/n: this is quite different from what i usually write but i just needed to get the plot that has been bothering my head for months out of me. nonetheless, enjoy & feedback is always welcomed.

The way life works is a true wonder.

 Expect the unexpected, predict the unpredictable. It's all bound to happen one day, at a certain point of time in our very lives. You just have to catch that split moment, the millisecond on the dot—where a mini twist in your words or actions can bring about a very drastic change. It can be a tiny alteration that causes the downfall or rise of a situation. The choices we make for ourselves or others, is very much alike to a heavy dew sliding off a leaf and carelessly falling into stagnant water. The mini waves of the impact send the lily pads nearby dancing, a floating hibiscus petal to drift further into the unknown and push a sleeping fish a centimetre away from entering the opening of a heron's beak. It's the butterfly effect, minuscule yet major. Be it a coincidence or some cruel twisted joke god decided to play on you—you solemnly swear you heard a voice of another being in this house. A house you were supposedly alone in. It could be the cannibal. There is more than a fair share of emphasis placed on 'supposedly' because at this very moment, you are certain as heck that you are not the only one in here. Here being the old crooked house that sits alone by the edge of the second highest hill in town, standing obstinate to the ground despite the occasional flooding showers and hurricanes your region suffered. The old folks claim that the house belongs to a war veteran whose entire family starved while waiting for their sole bread-winner to come home. The man never made it back to his doorstep where his three children and spouse awaits, hope draining with every growl of their stomachs and in complete oblivion to the impending fall to the grave. Every so often, the family of five could be sighted behind the murky windows. However, there are also mediums who concluded from ridiculous superstitions and calculations of the house's location that a possible dead body could still be inside, and its vengeful spirit is bent on seeking retribution for the plain injustice of their murder. Depressed souls would see it as the way to the end, Blank minds and torn hearts enter the house with nothing but one wish—death. The number of suicides that occurred in the house is a little over a hundred—one hundred and three spirits to be exact, nothing more, nothing less—loitering within its four walls. There were instances of teenagers stepping foot into the forbidden site with hopeful hearts for a thrill and a video camera in hand, seeking for juicy content to gain views and be the first to break the belief — the bunch of kids were reported missing on the news a few hours after. The statistics are somewhat the building blocks to the infamous reputation it holds today. When the police went inside to search for the families' missing loved ones, it did not work out at all. In fact, the number rebelliously increased, the police force losing yet another one of their colleagues. 

That's when they decided that everyone is prohibited to enter, unless they carried a death wish. It is almost like the Suicide Forest in Japan, tarnishing those who visit with a conflicted soul. Even the authorities chose to not touch the house, claiming it was still on a long-term lease. And under whose name? 

They would never reveal.

The house became something everyone refuses to lay finger on, or even talk about. The ominousness it contained drove humans miles away, like a sleeping dragon not wanting to be bothered the slightest bit. It's almost like a door to a parallel universe or something. You did your homework regarding the possessed piece of property. The internet's local ghostbuster website shares more about the rumours circulating the house. 

You can't escape once you make it through the two front doors. This is as clear as day already, the number of missing bodies serving as solid evidence. Questions however, still bugged at your mind.

Why exactly is that? Were all the window sills locked? Or is the door just created to be one-way? Sometimes people are so caught up with their fantasies that they forget to look at things more logically. 

A cannibal was living inside. This is just a mere speculation, but it was not impossible. It seemed like the most rational explanation one could provide to the disappearance of people. Leftover bones can be easily cremated, destroying all traces of the deceased. But you had rather resort to jumping off a cliff or simply overdosing to kill yourself—than to ferociously be feasted on by your own kind. 

It was some kind of portal to another world. Although these kind of things were not scientifically proven, it was still a valid suspicion because nothing ever made sense about that creepy house. Maybe people went in and get sucked into another dimension or flung into hell. Maybe the books were right. As well as the shows and movies on television. Everybody was afraid, of what the gaunt and creaky relic held between its paint-flaked walls and dirt-smeared window panes, why people went in and never got out, why citizens were constantly missing—but the discovery couldn't be anything more valuable than a life. But you clearly cared a whole lot about yours, because you are not even batting a lash when you tell your friends that you were going to check the cursed place out. All you receive is the dropping of jaws and the heavy pleas for you to not go, because apparently ten years ago a man as bold as you executed the similar plan you had and- "Guess what Y/N," Woo-gi leaned across the table, the bowl of mashed potatoes shifting forward a little. "He died. Unnatural cause of death. His body was never found and the saddest thing is that the family couldn't even give him a proper burial or send him away in peace." Her attempted blazing eyes fixes on yours, and her fingers creep to the knife resting on the surface of the table cloth.  

Woo-gi is making the best efforts to get you to empathise with the family of the deceased man, knowing that trick works perfect on your soft putty heart. Lifting the cutlery up, she brings it down and mercilessly stabs into the piece of char-grilled pork chop for effect. There is a shredding sound of the piece of meat being torn apart by your dear pal. The vegetables at the side jump up in shock. "Gone. Just like that."

Her voice is a cold, menacing one which intended effect worked perfectly on your rather timid self, the bumps on your skin appearing unwillingly.

Her gaze finally drifts to the dish plate and leaves yours, allowing you to ponder over her words. In her final attempt to scare you out of the hasty decision, you only chew on your corn salad nonchalantly. She was right, it was a deadly risk but you wished you treasured your life as much as a normal person would. You didn't have any care in the world, dead or alive. So why not make the reason of your death be 'died exploring a haunted house', how cool and mysterious would that be on the headlines? "Sounds like a dream come true for me," You sweep the coleslaw you have no interest in to one side, isolated from the rest of the dish. Gone forever, just like that? You have been spending the past few years of your life sinking into the mattress and hoping the blankets would swallow you whole and cease your existence—what made her think that you would be afraid of something like that? Then you realise that your friends have no clue about your disorder. In fact, no one did. In their eyes, you were this outgoing girl who cracked plenty of jokes and lived with a happy family. At times, you would go overboard with your imagination but that's something people who felt constrained and suffocated often possess. Their stale life is the cause of their fantasies and aspirations running too wild.

But nobody would understand. She shakes her head and sighs, exasperated. It was like there were no words in the dictionary that can come together to bandage the open wound in your heart, or get rid of the black sticky substance bugging your insides since day one—even as a close friend, the most she can do is to pray for the best for you. No one can really help you out of this sunken pit, the route is yours to take.

"I'm telling you one last time," Woo-gi lunges forward to grab both of your hands, eyes glistening with worry, trying yet again, her utmost best to stop you in your dangerous expedition. For the last time. "Don't go."

Life works in mysterious ways, and you're the kind of person who would stubbornly step on a freshly mopped floor and try walk across it despite having a bright yellow caution sign shoved in your face. Maybe this would be the turning point in your life. A life which encompasses of...well, nothing much. The world's too tiring of a place to live in. And that is also why, you are in said haunted house, face to face with an unexpected human being. "Hey," Every drop of blood in your body freezes. It's the first thing you hear before a piercing scream leaves your chest, rattling the window panes. The sudden call startles the shit out of the shivering mess you were, your body jumping backwards out of reflex. You shun away from the piercing light being aimed straight into your eyes, arms coming up to block the sudden encounter. Cannibal? Cannibal! You shrieked and jumped back further upon realisation, making a beeline for the doors. Both feet took you there as fast as they could, the wooden planks beneath your heavy stomps threatening to snap. Except when you reach for the handle, the first rumour is proven to be true. The doors wouldn't budge. You shake them with all your might, only left with creaks and a stubborn obstruction to your fleeing. Your heart pounds wildly against your chest, with the knowledge that the monster is a few feet away from your panic-stricken form. "Just give up." The low voice appears behind you, the hairs on your back shooting up and your hands frozen. Why were you even so afraid? You wanted to die anyways. Nothing is able to coherently come out of your parched throat, only able to quiver in fear. "Do I really look that ugly?" The tone is derisive, so human-like and you think you may have overreacted. Whipping around, you are only met with bright white as a beam of light is pointed directly to your face. You may have been mistaken. But that doesn't stop you from feeling threatened. "Put that away." You commanded and once the shining path of white is directed to the ground, your hands slowly descend from shielding your face. "Kim Taehyung?" "Y/F/N?" The both of you speak out in unison upon the recognition, despite the low lighting playing as an obstacle. It was dark, but you can almost make out the look of shock on his face as he takes a moment to register your existence right in front of him. As for you, relief overwhelmed the surprise you felt and for once, you were thankful to see Kim Taehyung. A fair bit of questions were going through your mind now, and your heart was close to jumping out of your mouth any time soon. But somehow you managed to stay relatively calm. 

As long as Taehyung was standing there, looking at you with a face of confusion, you wanted to end your life faster to escape the interaction with this guy. Or to explain what in the world you were doing in a horrid place like here. God wouldn't let you die in peace, he had to let you bump into Taehyung minutes or hours—nobody knows—before your anticipated death. The only thing going through your mind is how you have to explain why you were inside the most forbidden house in town. Then, another thought flickers in your mind. What was he doing here then? It couldn't be... For some reason, he stands there, still astounded by your presence. Wait no, it had nothing to do with your presence. It was you. Just like how having a guest in here came off as no surprise to him, but the fact that it was you... You feel like you rendered him speechless, disbelief widening his eyes and parting his lips. He was acting strange. Just a few moments ago, he was telling you so confidently about the fate of the doors and now there was a 180 degree change in his vibe. He kept staring at you, the moonlight flaunting a light shimmer to his black orbs and you felt queasy under his relentless gaze—like he held some sort of power over your empty soul. You couldn't decipher just what is it in his eyes, your head hurt as you tried to think.

It was never the same case in school though. While you exuded an aura of confidence wherever you walked, leaving a trail of your floral scented shampoo and fruity perfume, Taehyung would keep his head low and try to blend in with the shadows. He didn't smell like anything, nor did he frequently speak. 

To his pals, at the very least. The moment you hear the name Kim Taehyung, the first word that comes to mind is eccentric. You weren't exactly someone to judge people in this manner, but you know him barely—only to the extent where you can only think of an adjective like that to describe him. You've seen him more than a couple of times around in school—always carrying a vintage camera around—but have never spoken a word to him. For an obvious reason, he was located in the best class—the one where the top students are—while you are in just another average class.

He was just another schoolmate to you. The both of you have never interacted during your whole journey in high school, except for that one time. However, you have only heard things about him. Unpleasant things that make your blood boil a little, because you feel like everyone should be treated equally no matter the circumstance.

One would say, "Kim Taehyung? You mean the guy who sits in the garden for an hour after school, waiting for a butterfly to land on his pinky finger? I mean, who even does that?"

Another would comment, "He's constantly talking to himself and his polaroid films, if that is even possible. Other than that, he either talks to flowers or trees. Sometimes, he eats by himself and then he raises his spoonful of rice to feed the person sitting opposite him—only that there isn't anyone there. Some girls screamed and ran away, even their boyfriends were scared of such a person. That is mainly why they didn't do anything bad to him.”

You didn’t have much thoughts about the guy, but you admired how he could be himself without the fear of being excluded from the norms of this society. He could find the comfort in being alone, and that was the type of peace you wish you possessed.

That one day, things blew out of proportion. It was a normal Tuesday, nothing extraordinary but school and sleep. You were seated with your usual group of friends during lunch, when suddenly a yell breaks through the canteen, followed by several laughters induced with pure evil. Almost the entire cohort turns to the infamous corner—just a small turn into the back kitchen where the trash is taken out by the vendors—the place where many students are dragged in there and come out with a  blue black to the eye and nasty purple patches all over their limbs.

The whole cafeteria slowly fills with hushed whispers and serious gossiping, heads turning to one another unable to drop the topic for now. Yoongi walks out from the corner, followed by a few of his friends of a milksop. Wussies, you silently remark on their terribly feigned outer strength and masks of bravery. Nothing but imbeciles, you curse them in your head. Yoongi and weaklings plop right next to you, the eyes from the surrounding tables discreetly catching up on the interaction between the both of you. "Y/N! You look gorgeous today." He tries to place his hand onto your waist but you quickly shun away from him. The small action itself caused the whole canteen to blanketed with silence, every pair of eyes now focusing on the drama that was about to unfold between the notorious gangster and his proclaimed girl. "Don't fucking touch me you disgusting piece of shit." You have had enough. The menacing words seem to pierce through every wall in the school, every person at the scene being informed of your opinion towards Yoongi all this while. You stand up, pointing a finger of accusation directly at his face—to which he flinches at, caught off-guard by your swift movement. If you had the opportunity to get away with it, you would have dug your nails into his eyeballs and gouge them out of his eye sockets, then feed one each to the weaklings by his side. Instead, you take a deep breath. Small gasps leave everyone's lips and he panics—ego bruised by your harsh rejection. Yoongi was your boyfriend. You've been tolerating him for quite some time now, all for the sake of your parents. Without this relationship, your dad would have never been able to clinch the business deal with his father. All it took was a couple of sweet phrases and fake smiles, you couldn't be bothered with the rest of him other than the profit he could bring to your company. Yoongi on the other hand, seems to interpret the relationship in a very different way. He seems to have grown fond of you and naively believed that love between the two of you is real. You never put a single thought or effort into the relationship with Yoongi, not wanting to mislead him any further but some guys just can't seem to get the message, despite the many obvious hints you've dropped. You never ask him out.

Or when he does, you would only politely decline. In school, most of the time you stick like glue to your friends and try to avoid him and his rambunctious clique at all costs. Your dear friends took empathy in you and helped you out of certain situations concerning Yoongi at times. Somehow your boyfriend's pleasant way of proving his worth was to step on the backs of people who seemed inferior to him to climb his own ladder of pride. 

It was like after each time he nailed someone to the ground and kicked their guts out, Yoongi feels like he reached another level of achievement. It's sickening to the thought and you want to have nothing got to do with that narcissistic asshole. This behaviour of his begin not too long ago, a few days prior when he marked his first victim. You were puzzled, but you didn't probe. He bullies physically and mentally, using their screams and pleas to feed his ego and push himself higher up the ladder. He started torturing anyone who ticks him off or come in his way to no end, and you think you may just be next albeit being his supposed girlfriend. 

The conduct only made you despise him even more. Come to the thought of it, the things you do for your parents include self-depreciation and the loss of any shame left in your skin. You can feel the anger slowly twisting in his veins, radiating off his now clenched fists. Contrary to his untamed anger building within him, his friends are slowly retreating from his side, trembling in fear at your spit of acid. You chuckled, almost despicably—both at the cowering of his tough underlings and the way he almost peed his pants at the mere fling of your index finger. He realises that you are mocking his fragility and there are a couple of muffled giggles ignited in the crowd—his temper starts to get the better of his mind as the emasculation finally dawns over him. Before he can lay a finger on you, you are already a step ahead of him—grabbing the cup of hot tea off the table and splashing the boiling liquid onto his uniform, scalding his body. You thought you had might as well went all out in punishing a rascal like him. Your friends reach for your arm, trying to hold you back from going any further in dealing with the jerk and you throw the cup onto the ground, causing it to shatter into fragments—the sound of the porcelain splitting and cracking into pieces haphazardly rings through their ears. You'd like to refer it as a clear warning to everybody witnessing the event—to simply not mess with you.

You wished to be left alone.

While he screams in agony at the possible second-degree burn, you waltz away from the commotion nonchalantly. You think that that scumbag ought to have a taste of his own medicine someday, and if no one else dare stuff it down his throat, you would more than gladly do so. You find yourself striding off—to the hidden corner behind the stalls. And there, you discovered the bloodied body of Taehyung. With a broken camera by his side. A boy like him deserved more than this, no human should ever be hurt as badly as this—especially for no reason at all but one's inability to control their emotions, and the poor decision to vent it out on others can make horrible things happen. You kneel down by his side, checking the wounds inflicted on him. Fishing out a packet of tissues you always keep in your pocket for emergencies, you wipe the blood stains off his abused skin. He's in too much pain to express his surprise at your assistance, grunting as you pressed the tissue against the wound. When the bleeding on a certain cut has stopped, you offer him the support of your arm to let him sit up straight. Taehyung holds onto your forearm and pulls himself up from the ground. He groans as he does so, his back clad with bruises and soreness. 

You noticed that he was stunned into a daze, probably at the grasp of realisation that someone was actually helping him. But you ignored his feelings, just shifted your attention fully onto the fixing of his injury. You recall having a plaster tucked away in your purse and you quickly take it out as well, secretly laughing at its design—hot pink with Hello Kitty. 

Taehyung doesn't miss the sound of light escaping your lips, and he himself bites down on his lip to hold back a chortle at the girlish visual of the bandaid—temporarily pushing the questions behind your intentions away. You actually felt glad you could bring a smile to his face with something like the childish print of a bandaid. Nonetheless, you peel it off and gently place it over the deep cut on his forearm as he tries to control his wincing. "Hey, it's alright. You can cry out for all you want," You smoothed the plaster flat and tight on his skin. When you lightly slap the face of the Hello Kitty to tease him, he lets out a yelp—something that sounds puzzlingly adorable coming from him. "Here, have this." You fish out a piece of candy from the other side of pocket, handing it over you the victim. The amount of surprise he shows never ceases. You let out a short laugh, "I know you're not a kid, but still..." You smile up at him. "Just take it as a form of apology for what I caused you to go through." Taehyung doesn't move a muscle, just sillily blinking at your actions. You take his hand and shove the sweet into his palm, closing his fingers around it. 

For a brief moment, both your eyes meet. 

There is an unexplainable exchange of thoughts running through each other's minds and it was close to feeling like the two of you shared something in common. Taehyung was ostracised in school and probably the life he had out there judging by his abstruse personality and unfathomable behaviour. He was a prisoner out here in the real world. 

Freedom, but yet he can't truly express himself without being placed behind bars in the eyes of others. 

You are guilty of doing so in the past, when he was nothing but a lingering, mystifying shadow that held no importance in your life. That's exactly what you did to him—judge and rule him out of the ordinary. All you feel for him is sympathy, and that isn't anywhere better than the culprits themselves if you weren't about to step out and lend him a helping hand. Regret washes over your system as his dark pupils venture into your soul.

 You were not as innocent as others perceive you to be. Bystanders were the invisible strokes of support to the metal bars that locked him up. His hand, although held by you, was trying to cling onto your grasp and not wanting you to leave. You would consider yourself a lucky chap indeed, having born into this world with food and shelter, kin and kith. In fact, rather luckier than the rest to be able to own what you like and not solely what you need. Above all of the materials your parents could afford, you were trapped in incongruity of being a prisoner of your own. You didn't know what you were passionate about in life, and to live without passion is akin to being dead. You just did well in your studies because the society deems that degree certificate as a strong foundation in your job. But you truly did not know if you really enjoyed burning the midnight oil to continuously mug or if the elation of attaining a perfect score on your assessment is pure, or just for the sake of your insatiable parents. Education is key. Well definitely, to a certain extent and you have witnessed how far your own set of parents are willing to go as long as you achieved soaring colours of distinction. 

Sleepless nights, wandering mind and a stagnant heart. Sometimes the urge to pretend to be ill to escape the torment of school. Sometimes the subconscious act of bringing the kitchen scissors to your wrist and slit... You want to collapse to the ground and never be able to wake up again. You wished a drunk driver would accidentally run you over and end everything for you. Then nobody would know about how tired you were of this pointless life. You were a prisoner of yourself too. With no doubt, you and Taehyung are definitely similar in many ways the world can't see. "See you...soon, I guess." A soft chuckle emits from you like that happening would be a miracle, but the expression does not reach your eyes. Your eyes that were blocked by a wall of defence to your vulnerability of an emptiness. She is broken. A whisper goes by his ear. She needs help. The raspy voice travelled to his other ear, making him shiver slightly but unnoticeably. Taehyung could feel it too but he was in no place to ask about your wellbeing. He could only stare and wonder. The eye contact was broken off, before your hand recedes from his, carefully. He catches the way a faint smile ghost on your features as quickly as it appeared. A bittersweet kind of happiness. But he doesn't say a word, even after your figure grows smaller with every step you take back to class. What you missed, is the shutter of the camera lens, floating in the air. "Hey, don't touch that!" He snatches the device back and winces at the stretch he feels in his back muscle.

"Y/N." The wooden planks beneath him cursed out loud, warning sirens of his voice turning stern. Besides his low voice and creaks of weak wood and nails, there is only a dripping sound from some leaking pipe. "What are you doing here?!" It is the second time he has raised the question to you, but you only keep silent, eyes searching the room for answers. 

Why hadn't you disappeared or get eaten by some ferocious beast yet? Taehyung was only complicating your attempt of suicide. You tried to keep your head clear when you first pushed the rusty front door open, disallowing the memories to flow into your mind.

 It was a blockage to all forms of happiness in your life, to prevent your pathetic self from backing out. But Taehyung, an actual human being, catching you in the act of wanting to kill yourself just shot a dose of reality into your numbing heart and racing thoughts.

  "Uh..." You wet your lips.

 "What about you? What are you doing here?" You turn the cameras back to him. It would not be shocking if he came here to take his life as well. Taehyung purses his lips in serious contemplation before candidly answering. "I can see ghosts," He looks down like it was something to be ashamed about. 

That wasn't the case for you. You were completely taken aback by his confession but you found it extremely intriguing. "Oh—Wait what?" One thing about the revelation was that it for sure explained a lot about the way Taehyung acts. You trust his words, but you don't know how to link it to the fact that he was standing right in front of you in the living room of this damned house. Raising a brow at him, you wish for him to elaborate further. "I uh, heard r-rumours circulating around in school, that uh," He pinches his brows.

 "You were going to come in here. So I kind of decided to see if it was true." You were amazed by his candidness.

"And it is." You mused.

It was heartwarming to see that someone actually bothered to risk their life to come look for you. Then again, Taehyung is a guy filled with secrets. God knows, but maybe he is the owner of this house. When his eyes capture yours for one more time, it drowned you into the whirlpool of emotions he was feeling. 

Something like denial, frustration and lastly, regret. The eye contact is never broken. Like Taehyung was staring so hard at you to try and figure the different parts of you out, to evaluate every inch of you and you squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. "Why are you looking at me like that?" You croaked out, beginning to feel very creeped out despite the tinge of softness laced in his eyes. "You—Urm, you—! Argh!" He only hesitates even more, turning into a stuttering mess. You jump back in surprise at his reaction. Lost and confused as to how to provide you with a suitable reply, he yells and pulls at his locks of hair. It was when he proceeds to fall to the ground on his knees and seemingly begin whimpering into his palms, all surprise turned into worry for the guy. You kneeled down and called out to him. "Shit—Taehyung!"

"What do you seek, young man?" "Your whole point here is to know and advice me." Taehyung bites back. "Very well. An unsolved mystery, something concerning a girl and regarding the old house just down the street." He shuffles his cards and keep them away neatly. It seemed like those tools will not be of any use to Taehyung, and he clearly understood why the man's face have fallen drastically—it isn't a simple case a few cards can crack. You were not only beautiful, you were inculcated with kindness, you held a type of pureness lost by many as they grow up, you spoke in a manner that is highly respectable and the crowfeet that form at the side of your eyes whenever you laughed too hard couldn't get any more adorable. He shifts uncomfortably on the hard wooden seat, and gulps anxiously. "Was her body found?" Taehyung doesn't know. 

He doesn't know where the hell you went or what the fuck you were doing, he only knows that when his eyes flew open, he felt the cold of the night stinging on his skin and an empty space next to him. You were no longer in his arms and the next moment he is springing up from the worn out couch and beginning his search for you. He looked every nook and cranny of the house for you but to no avail. The only resort left got him sitting across a renown psychic. But even the expertise in this region seems to find this case uncrackable. "No." He tilts his head, bringing out a rock of some sort. Taehyung sees it as a mere rock but not to him apparently. "This is the Magic Stone." His fingers fidget around with the purple coloured object. He does this continuously, causing Taehyung to perk an eyebrow up at his claim. The psychic burrows into deep concentration, a conclusion forming in his head. Then, all movement ceases. "Her soul has to bring you there herself."

 The medium's advice sounded strained, like it was the hardest thing to come to a conclusion like that. It's a clear excuse when he says the reason of those teardrops rolling down his cheeks are caused by the wind.

You want to reach out and pat him on the back in hopes of alleviating his pain but you quickly retract it back as the muffled sobs through his fingers grow even louder. All you could wonder at that point in time was whether something bad was happening to Taehyung. Maybe the demons in this house were taking him away first.

Maybe he is really going to die. Then, with every drop of care drained from your exhausted body, you placed your hand on his clothed back with a strong determination to do your best and ease him (into the underworld most likely) without any pain. "Are you okay?" Only for his cries to stop abruptly when he feels your hand smoothing over his back. Hastily, Taehyung removes his hands from his face and turns around to look at you. His eyes were red and swollen from all the desperate weeping, saliva of sorrow pooled in his mouth as he watches you with a kind of anguish and concern. It mirrored the look you gave him when you saw him lying on the ground, beaten up. This is where the two of you are similar. 

Prisoners, but of two entirely different reasons. You drifted your gaze to his elbow and notice the striking dash of pink. The band aid still being there was what solidified the certainty that this was all real. This wasn't some kind of twisted dream. And that would only mean one thing. Because your hand did not manage to rub his back, for the paleness casting over it only sank into his body, deep into his spine—only for his body to be in one piece as you fast to recede it like you had just touched a strong flame—unable to feel anything touching your palm even when you made that physical contact with him. "Taehyung... why..." You inspect your hands carefully. Your skin was never this white. All the hairs on your forearm had disappeared as well, your whole body lacking any hint of life. It felt surreal. Like something that would only occur in dreams. 

"Why can't I touch you?" Maybe if you try pinching yourself, you would wake up. Maybe this was just one of your daily nightmares from stress. It was when you started aggressively pinching the pale skin on your arms, thighs, waist—you realised you could still feel yourself. The only difference being that it was so, so cold. It was similar to touching an ice pack, frosty and nothing much else. 

Cold. That's how you feel and the perplexity that hit you all at once began transforming into larges beams of anger, sadness and helplessness. You wanted to cry as loud as you could for help. "Why do I feel so cold?!" You refused to believe anything your senses were telling you. Everything your naked eyes were showing you. 

Lunging forward, you run your hands all over Taehyung again and hope to actually feel something tangible. 

To your dismay, your fist only goes through his heart like he was made of air—no, like you were made of air. 

You were the dead one here.

"The police have searched the whole compound of the town and spread the news of the missing school girl country wide. In the past two weeks of finding the teenage girl, Y/F/N is still unable to be located. If you have come across—Zap." Taehyung clicks the button on the remote control and flings it to the other end of the couch in frustration. He ruffles through his hair, hoping for hints of you to magically pop up in his head. The thing is, the both of you had barely spoken to one another. Plus, he had a tough time speaking to the people at his-and your-school. One week. One whole week since the disappearance of your body. The police are proven to be fucking useless and incompetently unreliable, he mentally notes. He figured that the fastest method to locate you, would require him to act out on his own. The list of things that can happen to your body goes down a long scroll that even Taehyung himself is unwilling to imagine. He wants you to at least, still be in one piece when he finds you. He uses the term body, because your soul is for sure loitering somewhere in town. It can't go too far from your body, a rule he remembers by heart. So, it wouldn't be entirely impossible to detect where your corpse would be. Think, think, think! He repeats like a mantra in his bursting head. Where would you go if you were this free, lingering spirit? And then he recalls.

"You're up here again."

He pushes himself up onto his usual spot—a high wall surrounding the perimeter of the rooftop, granting anyone up here a perfect view of the school field and vast blue sky. The job of the wall is to prevent any students from falling over and have their bodies crush to pulp when they plop to the ground floor. But Taehyung doesn't play by the rules. Where is the fun in that? He often questions anything that has to do with system and order. As a person who lives by pure intuition, Taehyung brings himself to the top floor for the second time after just doing so the day before. It could be the voices whispering encouragements for him to pay upstairs a visit, or maybe it had to do with a very strong gut feeling tugging at his chest. Nonetheless, he was here.

The boy from yesterday is situated at the exact place as before. His skin was terrifyingly pale—but not translucent—and the cracking of his bones could still be heard whenever he swinged his legs. He must have just died a few days ago, Taehyung concludes. The boy doesn't acknowledge Taehyung, nor does he reply.

"What are you doing here?" Taehyung cranes his neck a little to face the boy properly—who in turn was staring at his feet with a strange amount of attention. Then upon following his line of sight, Taehyung realises how small and young the boy was—his own legs were almost twice as long as the kid's.

"My brother," He finally speaks, but only softly.

Taehyung digests his answer for a moment, before cautiously popping the second question. He knew better than to ask why the boy had died, it would probably even send the kid into a fury and then to hell, which was the last thing Taehyung wanted to happen to him. "If you don't mind me asking," He nervously grips the edge of wall.

 The boy tipped his chin up slightly, intrigued by his words. His big round eyes came into view, leaving a heavy load to weigh at Taehyung's heart. His eyes, still freshly glistening and vibrant with blackness illustrated the bright and long road that awaited him in his life, only to be torn apart by whatever fatally tragic accident he was met with. It's a pity. It's a pity how some promising futures can be so easily robbed of in a blink of the eye. It is not a frequent occasion where tears pricked at Taehyung's eyes. He closes them for a second, before getting the question out. "Who is your brother?" The boy now turns to fully face him, legs still swinging regardless. His eyes looked way bigger and innocent than Taehyung had thought they would be. And it doubled the pain beneath his ribs.

It's suffering to bump into an innocent soul. He had rather someone who acted the way they deserved their death. The boy switches his stare on Taehyung now, silent while his orbs grow shinier. "I'm sorry in advance," The child looks like he was about to burst into tears. Taehyung felt the same. What was a sweet boy like him even apologetic for? "Min Yoongi." Taehyung blinks in surprise. The boy was gone. A series of giggles echoed in the stairway and without another thought, Taehyung hops down to hide himself from whoever was there. He does not recall any platform being built after the wall. He simply knows that if he falls over from such a risky position, he would die. He heaves a deep sigh of relief when the platform does not crumble into pieces under his full weight. He thinks it must be the doing of the boy. His smile is cut off when the footsteps and voices grow louder, noticeably two female students just hanging out. Unlike being rash as himself, they only prop their elbows on the wall, admiring the scene as that. Which he was grateful for, otherwise he would definitely get caught for loitering around carelessly. "Finally. Something great about this shit hole." Taehyung sticks onto the wall like a lizard, trying his best to be away from the edge. "Honestly, the perfect spot to take fresh breather," the other voice makes an appearance. "No one ever comes up here unless you want to be making a serious offence." A flock of birds crosses the sky and Taehyung secretly hopes they don't share the tiny space with him. "For peace and quiet, I'd give anything." The first voice replies. He silently nods in strong agreement. And he recognises it as yours, because of that one time you were called up to present a book review in Literature class. Your voice was distinct yet soft, you spoke with a sense of urgency to bring your point across and yet still manage to maintain your composure in your tone. He must say he’s never been this impressed by a presenter before.

And here he is, hearing the same voice again. This time, much quieter and lower compared to in class, but it leaves him beyond intrigued of the next content spilling out of your mouth. "Then, where are you going to get your dear peace and quiet after this semester?" The second girl with the higher pitched voice asks. "Hm, great question." The first girl ponders and probably stares into the horizon.

Then she replies, after the earth spins a full round. "Somewhere with sand and salt maybe." She answers seriously, after much consideration. "Can't you just say the beach? You idiot." "Whatever. Just checking if that peanut brain of yours is working." A gasp can be heard. "You better run before I catch you!" Their shoes leave heavy footsteps on the concrete and their voices gradually fade away.

Taehyung feels bad for eavesdropping onto their conversation, but it was something he couldn’t help even if he did not want to.

Speaking of which, Taehyung hasn’t thought about what he’d like to do during spring break. Maybe he’d bring some flowers and offerings for Yoongi’s brother and the others always by his side. Without being seen, that goes without saying.

They’d be over the moon to receive flowers because no one is really there for them. Or have simply forgotten about them. Taehyung wonders if anyone would bring him flowers when he passes on.

Still, Taehyung felt a seed of envy being planted inside of him, wishing that he could go to the beach or park during the season of blossoms with friends and genuinely have a good time. He has never gotten the opportunity to hang out with any normal human ever since birth. He told a friend he trusted about his ability of seeing things normal people couldn’t and the boy went about telling everybody about his confession which led to the beginning of his ostracisation

Weirdo. Freak. Those were the names he eventually got accustomed to being called as.

The seed of envy grows. The both of you are lucky enough to be discussing about where to head to for vacation, something he couldn’t do.

Lucky enough to be going on a vacation. Not everyone has that blessing.

He wish he could be like everyone else. Lead a normal life, have friends, and be wealthier. This way, he wouldn’t have to struggle so much.

For a moment, he wishes that he could replace the position and live the life of anyone else. 

Like the girl who can play the violin. 

Like the boy always sleeping in class.

Like the school’s janitor.

Like Yoongi. 

Like you.

"Hey you! What are you doing up there?!" Someone like a security personnel yells at him from downstairs. Now, how the hell was he supposed to get back up there?

You must not be far. His feet dents the soaked sand beneath, leaving prints that queued in line to be washed up by the incoming waves. With the ends of his pants rolled up, he spins around aimlessly to search for you. It was fortunately a weekday, which allowed the beach to be emptier. And that would make the task of spotting you much easier. He strolls along the coast, patiently kindling his instincts to take him wherever you were to be. It feels almost surreal—the texture of the grainy sand rubbing against the sole of his feet, the gentle whispers of the arriving waves, the wind slicing through his thick hair, ruffling it like feathers—how peculiar it felt to realise that he is alive, being hyper aware of all five (or six) senses.

The tangibility of things would signal that he is actually a living human, but something intangible is missing in him and it makes the whole experience of being alive feel so...detached. Every part of his body felt like it didn't belong to him—it was his toes coming in contact with the sand and not him, it was his hair dancing with the wind and not him, it was his legs moving on their own accord and not Taehyung. This is what happens when you interact with supernatural beings for the whole of your life, he thinks.

"Hey watch your step!" A shout intrudes his thoughts. Taehyung pauses, retracting his feet back. The small kid carries on building her sandcastle with her companion. Watching their busy hands, Taehyung tries to figure out who exactly was the one who warned him. Regardless, he whips out his camera to take a shot of the girl building sandcastles. "Yay! It's done!" The girl pats the top of the castle and runs towards the benches shrieking in contentment, failing to withhold the excitement of breaking the news of the small achievement to her mother. The other girl however, only smiles at Taehyung and vanishes. He runs his eyes across the ground. Just below his toes, there laid a tiny baby turtle. It scurries, towards nowhere, seemingly unable to acquire the skill of waddling on the fine sand like all his other pals. A meter ahead, his friends totter in clusters towards the entrance of the sea. The poor buddy struggles hard to walk properly, let alone find the correct direction home. He suddenly grows conscious of the couple of seagulls chilling by the water. But he was too preoccupied with the aim to find you to bother about the weak creature. As he was just about to dismissively stroll away, something tells him to make a turn and save that baby animal. He should make a difference when he can. He definitely should. He could actually salvage a situation. A life that is. He jogs back faster than the predator birds could, quickly finding the turtle again and gently picked it up. The shell looked too big for its body and its two big ebony eyes popping out of its sockets gazing at Taehyung—are filled with gratitude. Or so he assumes. The creature makes some kind of fuzzy noise—of happiness—when it is put down onto the sea line to join its siblings. The rambunctious clique waddles their way into the ocean, gliding across and surging into the water, one by one, delightfully. The seagulls trots away, lunch stolen. He continues his trail. Slowly, a pier approaches. And similar to Yoongi's brother, a girl sits at the end of the wooden platform all by herself.

She radiates frozen, cold heat and as he gets closer, the temperature dives. He carefully crafts his steps towards the lone spirit, begging the planks to not creak too loudly in fears of scaring her away. With every inch he gets closer to the girl, the clouds present in the sky turns darker, accompanied with the flush of even more greyness which eventually overlays the initial coat of cyan. The familiarity of the uniform boosts the confidence in him to call out your name. "Y/N?" She stands up—indeed the girl reported missing—and Taehyung was glad it was you. The troubles fogging his mind seem to have cleared at the plain sight of you. He was relieved that he had at least found your soul. It was another thing to find your body though, and that is the main objective here. Connecting your body with your soul would be the final resort in sending you off in peace. He had a day left. Twenty four hours before you wouldn't be able to leave in peace. Before your pure soul would dissipate into a fiery pit of wrath, abandoned in the darkest abyss until you transform into a vengeful spirit. All the hatred, pain and misery would be instilled in your afterlife that is deadly inescapable. These overwhelming amount of negative emotions trapped in your soul would then leave you in this state, forever. The sight was inexplicably depressing. Just a few days ago, you were real to the touch. He could feel your fingers smoothing over the plaster on his arm. He could see the satisfaction radiating off the smile you flashed at him before, leaving. He could smell the light cherry blossom from your shampoo flowing in the air. He could hear the base of your sneakers hitting the floor as you paced your way to class. Yet now, the wood underneath wouldn't make a sound as you got up.

Your lips were chapped and your crusting skin was faded. Compare to a few days ago at the house, you looked much worse and haggard.

The corners of your mouth quivered, itching to bring forth expression but unable to do so. You couldn’t even smile. You couldn’t even cry if you wanted to.

Now you were toeing the line that crossed the real world and heaven apart.

Somehow he feels like it is partly his fault. Maybe if he had tugged onto your wrist and asked you to stay back a little longer. Maybe if he was quick enough to catch you after school. Maybe then, you wouldn't have had the chance to end your life. Caged by your fingers, was a head of pink.

"I heard that pink carnations stand for the remembrance of the dead," 

His brows furrows at your words. How is it that you were able to comfort him so easily, while he is here having a difficult time to even form words to express his grief. But he was sure that like him, you didn't crave for sympathy at all. 

Maybe if he had clung onto the empty look in your eyes, thinking more than he should, stepping out of his comfort zone to care for you. Then perhaps, this situation would never take place. Then with a heaving chest, he clenches his teeth to embrace the fact that you are no longer existent in this real world. It was pointless to think about all the possibilities that could have dodged this situation.

"I hope someone remembers me." 

Uncontrollably, a bead of tear seeps out and rolls down his cheek. His nostrils flare up as the sadness and realisation overtakes every cell in him that was fighting against the tide of sorrow. His heart feels like someone plunged their fist into his bare chest and ripped it out. Thrown onto the ground and stomped into pieces.

Lips quivering, Taehyung fights back the devastation and gathers the last scrapes of sensibility in his mind, using all the energy his rationality could afford—brings the camera looped around his neck up to his eyes, and snaps.

Through the lens, a pink carnation levitates above the pier, the ocean a transverse blue spread across the rectangular panel, accentuating the vibrant colour of the dainty flower.

The camera lowers, along with his head.

He was sobbing by now, all the while you gently hold the flower and stare at him with the same hollow eyes. “Why?!” He grits out between cries. 

"Why..." The later one comes out in broken, incoherent snippets.

You are really not here anymore. With him.

"I'm weaker than you think," You breathed out with a faint smile following the confession. His heart clenches and twists into a tight knot, pulling at his conscience.

"And don't you worry, I will return to my body." 

The fact that you were still trying your best to maintain cheery for him despite being dead twists his heart viciously. The world is too cruel to you, and to him. An angel like you deserves to seek your happiness in a better place like the skies above. The visage of you is becoming transparent, signalling your departure. Taehyung musters all that is left in him to take a step forward and press his palm softly to your face. He could not feel anything but his hand was just there, for support and consolation.

"I will remember you." 

His words of affirmation sets your heart at ease. You finally understand how they would all say, that the true pain does not lie within the process of dying, but in truth lies within the witnessing of those who love and care for you, break down. After climbing out of your state of denial at your own death, you have come to terms with that fact and wish for nothing more than to end the whole suffering. It lurches at your heart seeing a guy like Taehyung who you were not even that close to, crying like he had just lost a precious belonging. Like the world had just lost a precious belonging. You hoped that people remember you. For all your hard work in this world, for all the full marks you attained, for all the certifications you achieved, for all the smiles you have bring and the band aids you have placed on others. You hope that when people think of you, it is nothing but filled with goodness. There were, no regrets to say the least.

 Your body may not be in its best condition, but the accident pulled your death off pretty well. It left you with no second thoughts, no last words, just a brutal blow to your side and head. It killed you with perfection, leaving no hesitation and last words—just met with the end in a solid second. You're suddenly worried Taehyung gets into trouble again.

"If anything, I'll protect you alright?"

Taehyung chuckles unbelievably through sniffs. 

"We'll meet again.”

Your final words splinters apart, the bottom half of your body already beginning to dissipate. You gradually dissolve into the thin air—the cold mist and you becoming one— and the skies clear up in no rush. The carnation drops to the wooden floor with a thud. 

I will remember you.

It was a chilly night, an expected downpour to attack in about an hour. His curtains danced to the rhythm of the wind, flowing about violently. "The body of the missing school girl has been recovered after a hiker going for his morning exercise smells rotten flesh in the woods. The police suspect that the girl may have jumped off a cliff from above as an attempt of suicide." Taehyung shifts his attention back to the mac and cheese turning cold on his lap. At one point, the winds were so rough that the vase sitting on the top of his dresser wobbles in jeopardy before another ferocious blow arrives through his window and topples the glass over, onto the ground. Shattered into fragments. Water spills out and the pink carnation flows along on the liquid like a dead body in a river. He internally groans at the mess he has to clean up afterwards, but it is only for a short moment before his attention is snatched by the voice of news anchor on television once again. "However, the forensics department has confirmed with the backing of further detailed analysis of the crime scene, that there were skid marks indicated on the road at the edge of the cliff accompanied by scraps of car paint evident on the victim's clothes." The carnation on the ground blackens, curls up into a crushed stalk of wither.

[talesofthebnha-marvel]

Tales from Peter Parker Foreign Exchange Student: Scorpion and the hunt for the Hero killer

Somewhere in the Naruhata district, in one of the many condemned buildings in the area is currently being resided by the infamous villain team, the Sinister Six!

A group consisting entirely of Spider-mans rogues formed under an always-consistent even number. Though its members have rotated there burning hatred of the arachnid hero remains the same. Mysterio, Chameleon, Shocker, Sandman, Scorpion and Vulture are the current members of the group. Currently they are residing in the land of the Rising Sun as a favor to Mysterio involving an as yet unspecified plot for lucrative gain. Yet unbeknownst to the Sinister Six, Spider-man is also stationed in Japan as a student of U.A. High. Eventual a collision of rivals will occur, for now the members of the Six explore there new surrounding some partaking in extracurricularactivities.

Mac Gargan, alias the Scorpion looking is over a large board. On it is pinned with various newspapers and several threads crisscrossing each other like a web.

"Scorpion!" The vulture shouted from above as he descends besides Scorpion.

"What do you want Toomes?" Scorpion asked annoyed having his concentration broken.

Vulture sneered at Gargans dismissive tone.

"Our meeting with the local crime informant, Giran has been rescheduled for now Dmitri suggest we should acclimate to our new surrounding." Impatient to a response, the Vulture makes a quick turn around to see Scorpion still ignoring him.

"The least you could do Mac is make some conversation, what on earth are you researching 'Hero Killer'" Vulture scans the papers.

"Yeah its about this crazy who's been going around offing heroes or injuring them bad towards early retirement." Scorpion explained turning towards Vulture finally.

"And what offer him membership Macdonald, were already at max capacity of sociopaths with you in our group we don't need another one." Vulture mocked.

"Very funny jack-ass, but this ain't about recruitment."

"Than what exactly?"

"The WHY?" Scorpion responded to Vulture.

Vulture seemed perplexed but he reminds himself that Scorpions logic always made sense to his twisted mind.

"Every article is always the same, always asking the wrong questions." He continues.

"Who is he? How is he doing this? When will the Pro heroes stop him, (spit)." Scorpion mocked.

"No one ever asks the 'why' of his motives that's the real story the real scoop." He grins.

"Imoressive, if a bit pointless but he's a serial killer Gargan not much to glean from that. Said Vulture.

"These ain't no random killing Toomes this guy clearly has a conviction and its kinda bringing the detective side out of me, THERE!" he motions his tail on the map as he walks past Toomes grabbing his coat and hat.

Toomes looks at the city map Scorpions tail banged on the board as he sees the mark on the city, Niihama.

Its soon night in the city of Niihama, with Scorpion staking out on rooftop. Several food wrappers and soda cups are littered around him as he peers across the landscape with his binoculars. On his left a crude yet working customized police radio is broadcasting your standard police reports, all noise to his ears waiting purely for calls towards Pro heroes.

"Hrrm, what was it that Kraven always said 'to become the hunter you must think like your prey.' Scorpion recalled internally.

"This should be the place that 'Hero Killer' was last scene and knowing these 'heroes'. Scorpion said with a venomous tone at that last word.

"Them Pros will be rushing off during a crisis, I just need wait for one them to wander off into a dark alleyway and that's when Mr. Herokiller will strike."

Eventual a hero team burst into the scene as they begin a rescue operation by a nearby burning building. One of the heroes note something in an alleyway as she ventures alone.

"Bingo" Scorpion said elated.

Sometime later

Limping and bleeding out, the female hero costumed in a beetle inspired design finds herself exasperated and panic as the Hero Killer approaches. Garbed in an attire of a ninja, with mixture of red and black while his face is covered in several bandanas no doubt to reel in his unruly hair. He slowly moves in a katana in hand as he licks the blood from blade. The heroe's movements are quickly frozen in place unable to move desperately crying to herself

"Why can't I move?!" She screamed hoping her panic tears would be heard.

As she finds herself face first to the ground she can see the killer ready to thrust the blade until…

"HEY!" shouted the Scorpion across the alley as Stain looked up to see the yeller.

Reacting without thought, Stain quickly throws one of his daggers with almost lighting speed. However the Scorpion quickly counters with his mechanical tail sending the blade back as it pass his owners face right by the side of the wall. Unfazed, Stain held his ground staring at this stranger.

"Oh thank you hero please save me fro-"

"Shut up, I ain't here to save nobody especially some Beetle poser." Scorpion insulted as he cut her off using his tail to knock her out.

"I came to see you ' Hero Killer!'

"My business is not with you villain, leave me to my work or I share her fate." The killer threaten.

"Oh I ain't here to stop ya pally, I'm just a simple foreigner is all, I just got ask ya something is all." Scorpion explained.

The Hero Killer saw no ill intents from this stranger yet he could feel his aura of treachery and insanity lurking behind that false sense of camaraderie. For now he played along in order to gauge this new face.

"Very well foreigner, I am Stain ask your question and leave me to my mission."

Scorpion was a bit taken back by this 'Stain' character and pissed off. How dare he makes threats to me, Scorpion thought. But he remembers to keep his cool, he's Mac Gargan the detective first and Scorpion second on this case.

"Okay Stain, the names Scorpion." He introduced.

"I've been looking ya over for some time now trying to figure your M.O. all them heroes you killed or injured no relations what so ever. Yet one thing is common there all heroes. Its clearly not about the money, no real motive for payback and clearly puck and choose who lives and dies." Scorpion explained trying to inflate his ego as a detective.

"GET TO THE POINT!" Stain grew impatient.

Scorpion frowned holding back his gritted teeth from showing from Stains yelling.

"I was getting to that 'friend'." Said Scorpion losing his demeanor.

"Why? What are trying to accomplish offing off these loser heroes?" Scorpion asked in a serious tone.

Stain smiled a cold smile as he sheathed his sword.

"You are correct, I seek no monetary gain nor have these so called 'heroes' wronged me in the past." Stain confirmed Scorpions deduction.

"I seek out the false heroes that solely use there powers for wealth and fame, putting the needs of the people second for there own ambitions while ignoring there obligations as public servants first." Stain explains.

"Its an insult that they call themselves heroes, I have made it my mission to cleanse this world of false heroes, I will never stop for only All Might is worthy of the title hero! Only his sense of justice will I allow to bring about my defeat!" Stain continues as he slowly ramps up his rant.

"Does that answer your curiosity?"

Scorpion felt a bit taken back by the hero killer almost as if Stains aura swallowed him whole, trying to hold his ground Mac composes himself taking a quick breath to ease his nerves.

"And people say I'm crazy." Scorpion mocked.

Stain narrowed his eyes at Scorpion, annoyed by his flippant tone.

"Listen I hate these wannabe heroes as much as the next guy, but at the end of the day no chump can just live off good will and samaritan service."

"People gotta eat, pay taxes and all that other bureaucratic crap we can't all live up to that high horse ideal of the perfect hero crap, so you can stick your bull% $# college thesis up your $$ pally loser!" Scorpions retorted.

"Thanks for wasting my time." Scorpion walks away as he turns his back spitting at a trash can in a disrespectful manner as he makes a leap to the neareat fire escape ladder.

"Come back please, DON'T LEAVE ME!" The pro hero awakens begging for Scorpions help.

"F $# OFF LOSER!" Scorpion continues move on unmoved by the heroes cries.

"Foreigner villain, what does he know of our way in the end they will all learn." As he prepares to lunge his blade, Stain halts his action as he hears the voices of the oncoming team members of his victim closing in. Disappearing without trace he says to himself.

"Another time a different place, perhaps I'll visit Hosu."

Back at the rundown apartment, an enraged Scorpion storms the front entrance annoyed and pissed off.

"So how did it go?" Vulture said with a dry uninteresting tone.

"Pretentious looking ninja turtle with f #$ing delusions of grandeur!" Scorpion replied with a pissed off attitude.

"Sounds lame, you kick his ass?" Sandman asked.

"No"

"You steal his wallet?" Asked Shocker concerned.

"No!" Scorpion said again.

"So in other words a complete waste of time and effort, I'll be needing a receipt for your purchases." Chameleon prioritizing his funds.

"F $# off you losers, it wasn't all total loss." Scorpion grinned.

"Oh so their was a silver lining to this wasted ordeal of yours than?" Mysterio echoed behind his dome.

"People always underestimated me thinking I'm just some joke like you dorks, (except you Sandman.)" Sandman responds with a middle finger.

"But this event just reminded me, I'm still a damn good detective!" Scorpion unveils several headshot photos of different pro heroes.

"I've got a lot of dirty secrets to expose on these "so called heroes" and what better practice is there than in Japan!" Scorpion said ecstatically.

—–

Based on Tumblr @alexdrawsagain comic

Peter parker: foreign exchange student