#(granted i am still not doing well for obvious reasons but I am certainly better than I was).

[mexashepot]

Idk who needs to hear that but you can definitely make friends at older ages as well. Do not lose hope.

Life is not over when you turn 20.

I have made some very profound friendships after the age of 25 and I am sure that even once I turn 30 I will still make new friends.

That was not what I thought though when I turned 20. I stopped making new friends then (something that had come very easily and naturally to me before that) and I was deeply saddened by that fact thinking that that's it, from now on, new people will no longer make it into my life.

I am so happy to have been wrong.

Do not lose hope, life is not over once you get older.

[separatist-apologist]

Still A Sunbeam

Summary: As a child, Elain Archeron is pushed into a pond by the heir to the Day Courts throne, Lucien Spell-Cleaver, and vows she'll never forgive him for it. But as an adult, Elain finds that if she wants out of an arranged marriage to a Spring Court prince, she will need Day Court's help. More is at stake than a decades-old rivalry, and when their home is threatened, Elain and Lucien will have to set aside old differences and work together

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Read on AO3

Smoothing things over with Killian was surprisingly simple. Elain brought him directly to her bedchamber, sat him on an elegant couch, and offered him her widest, brightest smile. Ordinarily, Killian was no fool. He was hard to manipulate, cunning and suspicious even under the best of circumstances. Elain understood that granting him access to where she slept softened those instincts. Killian was on alert, but for wholly different reasons. His leg bounced up and down beside her, green eyes darting toward the archway where her bed lay, clearly wondering if she might let him in there, too.

If she slept with him, he’d claim her so thoroughly she’d never escape him. Fae males were territorial and Killian was certainly no exception. This would be delicate—practice for Summer. 

“What ah…” he cleared his throat, clearly rethinking whatever he’d been about to ask. “You and the Day Court prince—”

“Lucien?” she asked, unable to keep the derision from her voice. Killain’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. 

“He seems—”

“Arrogant?” she supplied, thinking of how he’d shook her. “Spoiled?”

“Possessive,” Killian said, twisting just enough to look at her. “When you fell, he snarled at me.”

“Well, I assure you it has nothing to do with hidden affection,” Elain told him honestly. “His mother has made him swear to start being nice.”

A muscle worked itself in Killian’s jaw. “Elain, if you wish to learn more of Prythians politics…I could instruct you.”

“I need to be away,” Elain told him gently, placing her hand on his knee. “Both of my sisters have been instructed in other courts.”

Killian shook his head back and forth. “Nesta and Feyre aren’t you.”

“I’ve made a bargain with the Lady of Day,” Elain told him, if only to end this argument before it ever truly began. His expression flattened, shoulders slumping with defeat. 

“Oh?”

“A year of my service,” she murmured, wondering how she’d get out of the obvious affection shining on his face when that year ended. If Killian suspected that Elain had made that bargain specifically to avoid him or he thought that was a normal thing not worth questioning, he didn’t say.

“So I am to share you with Day Court?” he all but whispered instead as he scooted closer. Elain felt too tight and out of her depth. His eyes were fixated on her mouth as his hand came to caress her cheek. Elain knew what was coming and knew pulling back would be a mistake. More than anything, Killian had to believe nothing was amiss. That she had fainted from the heat and over exerting herself. 

But as he came closer, dragging the scent of dew coated grass and a lilac wind, all Elain could think was don’t–not like this.

Not with you. 

But it was Killian’s mouth pressed against her own a mere moment later. The kiss was soft—polite and sweet and, if she was honest, not terrible, either. As far as first kisses went, it could have been far worse.

And still, much, much better. 

It pacified him, if nothing else. When Killian pulled back, triumph blazed in his pine colored eyes. “I’ll wait,” he whispered, thumb sweeping across her cheek. Dread pooled low in her gut because Elain believed he would. He’d wait, like he’d been doing her entire life. What was a year in the scheme of immortality? 

She was beginning to believe she’d never escape the fate barrelling down—that she could delay it a few years before Killian swept in like the golden prince he was and finally, finally made her his wife. 

Elain nodded, hoping she looked appropriately shy. 

Killian swallowed, and then kissed her again. There was just the faintest amount of urgency to his mouth, to how his lips were moving against her own. He tasted warm and bright and when his teeth nipped at her bottom lip, Elain couldn’t stop the gasp of air from rising from her throat.

Killian pressed his advantage, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with the softest groan of pleasure. 

Elain couldn’t pretend the shock of his tongue on hers, stroking gently, wasn’t doing something to her, too. Her eyes fluttered close as she gave way to instinct and allowed herself to enjoy the heat coiling in her chest. Kissing was nice, pleasant even. Elain was warm, and when Killian pressed closer, she didn’t care to stop him.

 No one had ever touched her like this and despite it being Killian, she found she wanted him to keep going. She liked when he pressed his knee between her legs or when he began to push her backward into the couch. His kisses had become deeper, almost frantic in their urgency. Like he needed to do this before something shifted.

Elain’s mind was pleasantly blank, wholly focused on being kissed. Maybe, she reasoned with herself, marriage wouldn’t be so terrible. If they could do this, at least, maybe—

A loud thudding on the door pulled Elain from her traitorous thoughts. A growl slipped from Killian’s teeth, but he pulled back all the same. She could see the outlining bulge straining in his pants. It was enough to turn her cold. One kiss and she became mindless with lust? Ready to let him claim her and ruin all her careful plans? Elain hated that she could scent not just his arousal, but her own, and hated all the more that Killian was smelling it, too. His eyes were dark with want even as he adjusted himself, the picture of a courtly gentleman while Elain quickly stood. Her head was throbbing again, reminding her that she needed to lay down and shake off the vision of bloodied, feral Lucien.

She went to the door to find Arina on the other end. “Are you—” Arina’s nostrils flared. Her eyes widened as she looked over Elain’s shoulder to find Killian sitting cross-legged on the couch. Elain didn’t dare look back.

“Am I…?” she prodded.

“Busy?” Arina asked. “I—something has happened with the Autumn princes and I could use some respite.”

A heavy sigh sounded behind her. Elain closed her eyes as Killian’s boots clipped over the marble. His fingers ghosted over her bare shoulders as he said, “Go. I should meet with Helion while I’m here.”

Arina’s eyes flashed, as if to say, she doesn’t need your permission. 

Elain twisted, tilting her face so when Killian’s lips came back to her face, they only touched her cheek. 

“I’ll see you later,” he murmured, squeezing her slightly. Elain offered him an easy smile and then was gone, freed of his touch and her traitorous body’s response. Arina, a female Elain just barely knew, and hardly knew well, reached for Elain’s wrist to propel her faster. 

Arina was pale, and when Elain jogged closer, swore she smelled the familiar, metallic tang of fear. Fear and something else—something warm and comforting like the smoke of a bonfire curling toward a crisp, star freckled sky. Coated in amber, like whiskey, and wrapped around Arina’s own vanilla and lime scent Elain was already familiar with. Perhaps she’d been with a male just before the day began and his presence still clung to her skin.

It unsettled Elain, though. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as though some ancient, primordial part of her recognized that scent and balked—wanting to get far, far away. Elain was breathless, wondering what Arina could possibly want with her even if she was grateful for the interruption. 

“Wait,” Elain said, digging her heels into the smooth marble beneath her for all the good it did—which was none. “Where are we going?”

“I—” Arina took a gulping breath. A host of emotions flickered across Arina’s face before she smoothed it out. Elain waited, gauging her carefully. “Do you want to get a drink with me? In the city, I mean? I have an apartment down there, we could spend the whole evening away from the palace and the drama of Lucien and his brothers.”

Now that was promising. She could avoid Killian the rest of the evening and join in the festivities in the city instead. He could hardly be angry with her over it. After all, he said he had things he needed to accomplish, too. Why should Elain rearrange her schedule?

She didn’t want to be caught alone with him again. He was too clever and Elain too unpracticed. She suspected Killian knew it, too. That he knew exactly how to touch her, exactly where to put his mouth, his fingers, his body, until he’d overridden all her objections. Elain took a breath. She’d agreed to nothing. 

“Yes,” Elain replied, offering Arina another bright smile. She’d power through the throbbing in her skull and her aching bones for the time being. 

“Perfect. Now?” There was nothing keeping Elain given she’d failed in her task of greeting Eris Vanserra. She’d see him another day, ideally with a clear head. Elain felt as though she was messing everything up—bringing Killian to her bedroom was supposed to be Summer Court practice and yet she’d nearly found herself pressed beneath him.

Touching Lucien was supposed to calm him down and instead she’d only made him angrier, had made him hate her more. Maybe the life of an emissary wasn’t for her. Maybe this whole thing was a waste of her time.

“Come on,” Arina said, lacing her fingers with Elain’s. The warm jolt of Arina’s palm pressed against her own was comforting. Elain let Arina tug her forward, clasping hands like the best of friends. A strange yearning punctuated Elain’s thoughts–she’d never had an actual friend. Feyre had Morrigan up in the Night Court and Nesta didn’t seem to care for companionship but Elain did. Elain craved it, and still it eluded her. The ladies in Spring didn’t care to be actual friends, where gossip was always at a premium. If you weren’t careful, you’d find all your secrets used as currency for any number of things. 

Elain couldn’t prove Arina wasn’t that sort of lady, too. It didn’t stop hope from blooming in Elain’s chest when they exploded into the oppressive mid-day heat. Arina looked over her slim, golden shoulder and offered Elain a dazzling smile.

Elain compared the hope welling in her chest to how she’d felt when Killian had been kissing her.

There was no comparison. 

LUCIEN:

“What would it take to make Arina my wife?” Lucien asked his father without preamble. His mother looked up sharply from her place in front of the vanity while his father pinched the bridge of his nose.

“An act of the Mother goddess herself, Lucien.” “Since when do you have feelings for Arina?” his mother questioned, setting her hairbrush aside so she could turn fully to look at him.

Never, he thought despondently. Marriage to Arina was a shackle for them both. They’d have to give up their fun at court, would have to sell their marriage as a love so great it trumped a mating bond. Centuries of pretending, even. A life wasted and the chance for what his parents had gone—and Lucien was willing to risk it, all the same.

“She’s not fit to be a Day Court princess?” Lucien demanded instead, crossing his arms over his chest. Helion looked as if he might explode, having entertained all four of Beron’s terrible sons all day. It was clear he had no patience reserved for his own.

“No, Lucien, she sure as fuck isn’t given Eris reeks of her scent.”

His mother’s brows shot toward her hairline. 

“Do you think I’m stupid?” His father pressed, twisting at the golden cuff along his bicep. “I’m not starting a war over this. Not again.”“So Eris just gets to claim her?” Lucien demanded.

His fathers eyes flashed gold. “She’s still my subject. She can reject the bond—but have you considered, in all your infinite wisdom, that she may very well decide to accept it?”

“No.” Lucien said it flatly, ignoring how his mother’s eyes were so bright and glassy.

“Eris has a mate?” she asked, her bottom lip trembling. Not with fear or disgust, but happiness. 

It burned Lucien how much his mother still loved the Vanserra’s. They didn’t deserve her affection, her hopes—her anything. 

His fathers expression sharpened dangerously. Do not ruin this for your mother. 

Lucien couldn’t stand it. Turning on his heel, he left his parents to hash out what would happen with Arina, knowing full well he’d drag her to the temple and marry her in secret if he had to. Lucien blew out a breath, slamming the chamber doors behind him loud enough his fathers echoing snarl warned him to act grown and not like a child. It didn’t help that Killian was just around the corner reeking of Elain. Lucien didn’t know why her scent coating his skin bothered him so much.

Perhaps he was just spoiling for a fight. He glanced toward the Spring Court prince, stalking away in the direction of Elain’s bedroom. Fine. What did he care, anyway? To involve himself was to imply something might be happening between them and the last thing Lucien needed was doe-eyed Elain clinging to him.

Lucien prowled out into the night, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to feel a little normalcy. The humid air clung to him while a warm sea breeze ruffled his hair. 

Hello prince, it seemed to say. 

Lucien’s life was quickly falling apart around him. He was angry—moody and on edge which was unlike him. Rash, and impulsive like an untested male. More than that, though, was a restlessness that had crept through him, rumbling through his too hot blood until he wanted to scratch at his skin. 

Disappointing his parents felt like the ultimate failure. Even Eris managed to stay in his mothers good graces—but his father was so clearly at the end of his rope with Lucien. How long before they sent him away, like so many other High Lords did with their sons? Some test to humble Lucien, to make him appreciate all he’d been given? He’d heard what the High Lord of Night had done to his heir and was certain he didn’t want to be involved in anything half so grueling. 

Lucien took a breath of air and began making his way down the path cutting toward the sprawling city of Rhodes. Lights illuminated the dark, making it seem as though the sun had never truly set—which it would stop doing in a couple months during the longest parts of the summer. Music overtook his senses, drowning out even his angry, self-loathing thoughts. Instead, his heart began jumping in time with the beat. The smell of sweat and liquor hung in the air, exciting him more than he was willing to admit.

Down here, Lucien was no one important. He began weaving through throngs of people mingling and dancing and kissing for the city square where the majority of the people and festivities were being held. Lucien wanted to be in the thick of things. He wanted to lose himself to wine and music until he was little more than a fanged creature—until he could convince himself to slink back home and apologize to his parents.

Again. 

Tables lined the sidewalk, squashed between shops and restaurants still open for business. Brightly colored awnings fluttered beneath strung up fae lights, illuminating the sandstone stress beneath. Musicians played while people danced and drank or sat around eating and talking—all celebrating his mother, who they loved. Lucien snatched up a cup from a grinning woman selling them for a coin and had been about to prowl about for suitable company when a flash of gold caught his attention.

Arina, right in the thick of things, was dancing. Not with a male and certainly not his brother—but Elain, who lacked all of Arina’s easy, swaying rhythm. Judging from the flush on Elain’s face and Arina’s open mouthed laughter, the pair were drunk. Lucien smiled before turning for a decanter of cold water and a lot of food. He managed to snag one of the last tables, spreading out his offerings before darting for the crowd. If he was gone too long a crime of opportunity would occur, and he’d only brought so many coins with him. 

It was easy enough to drag Arina off the ground, hauling her up onto his shoulder before she could stop him. He ignored Elain entirely, still grinning when Arina’s fists collided with his bare back.

“Lucien!” she barked, for all the good it did her. He plunked Arina down in a chair, feeling slightly guilty when he caught sight of Elain hovering at the edge of the crowd. Sighing, he gestured for her to come sit, certain he’d regret letting her tag along. He didn’t want to be too close to her. Not when her very presence set the hair on his arm standing on edge.

“You’re an ass, Lucien,” Arina breathed, pulling Elain’s chair closer to her own. “I’m trying to avoid Vanserras.” Elain’s expression lifted, eyes bouncing between the pair of them.

“I’m not a Vanserra,” he reminded her.

“Oh, but you look like one,” Arina said drunkenly, unaware of what a blade her words were. Elain’s eyes snapped to his face, her lips parted as she recognized what a blow that was. Arina didn’t notice, chugging a glass of the water Lucien had brought. It was humiliating to be subjected to Elain’s pity and worse to know that Arina was avoiding him because he looked like Eris after Lucien had just asked his father to marry her. 

Was he stupid? 

He started to rise, for all Arina cared. Turning, he didn’t know where he planned to go or even what he wanted to do. Only that he needed to get away before he said something he couldn’t take back.

“Hey—wait!” 

Elain caught up with him despite her short stature. She looked as if she might grab him before she thought better of it. Lucien reached for her bare arm, curling his fingers around her skin. It wasn’t like before—her eyes widened, but there was no gasp of fear, no immediate collapse to the floor. So much for the theory that he’d brought on her vision.

It was just bad luck. Lucien withdrew his hand, uncomfortable and taut with her sweat soaked skin beneath his palm. 

“What do you want?” he asked, staring down at her. Elain was—well, she was stunning in the moonlight. Bright and alive in a way he didn’t think he’d ever seen, and the scent of salt combined with the flush over her tan skin was making Lucien too aware of how close she was to him. 

He still remembered how he��d come to the image of the curious eyes peering up at him. “What was that all about?” she asked him breathlessly.

He sneered. “Did she not tell you? I suppose you’re not as good of friends as you thought.”

“Jealousy is ugly on you,” Elain snapped. “It was just a question.”

“What’s going on with you and Killian?” he demanded, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. Fuck, what was wrong with him? 

Elain shrugged, a tightness stealing over her expression. Killian smelled like her, but Elain smelled like honey and jasmine, like the salt from the ocean and bright sunlight. Hackles raised, Lucien asked, “Do you need me to get rid of him?”

Elain brightened. Taking a small step toward him, Elain replied, “Could you?”

Gods, with pleasure, he thought. Finally, something he could do that might make him feel useful again. ��Easily.”

“Yes,” Elain told him, looking—well, looking as if she didn’t completely hate him. “Yes, I’d like that a lot.”

He offered her a tight nod, unsure why he felt such pleasure at the thought of doing something nice for her. Amid the revelry and the noise, Lucien felt strangely settled. The anxiety that had been coursing through him calmed, making him rational again. He ought to have thanked her for whatever spell she’d cast, for giving him something to do that made him feel important again. 

He turned, intending to walk away wordlessly. This time, it was Elain who reached for him, catching his wrist in a feathersoft touch.

“I don’t think you look like a Vanserra,” she told him earnestly. 

He was tempted to ask what she did think he looked like. That was madness—was a fool's errand. He didn’t care, besides.

At least, that was what Lucien told himself when he made the journey back up to the palace alone. When he didn’t seek out his usual company.

When he fell into bed, still thinking about her eyes.

[losingfayth]

i'm in love with my ex-girlfriend

"oh, wow, good for you. what a unique experience. i've never heard that before."

okay, yes, fair, but also, like... i wasn't really "in love" with her while we were dating. we only dated for a few months, and we threw the terms around, but it was more wishful thinking than anything else. when we broke up, though, i didn't get over her. then, as time went on...

i'm in love with my ex-girlfriend

i wasn't sure about it at first. after all, we both recognize that we have some sort of special connection with each other. i've felt the connection with one or two others in the past as well. i was hesitant to say "love." maybe my therapist's phrase "hung up on" is more accurate. but then, last night, i was reading (a book she suggested) and looked up to the empty spot beside me on the sofa. i imagined her sitting there, also enveloped in some novel, taking a second when she saw i was looking at her, and flashing me the big, goofy smile she does when she wants to say "i'm having a nice time but i don't genuinely feel like smiling, so imma do a goofy one so you know i'm having a nice time." it's more like baring her teeth than a smile, really. all mouth, no eyes. kinda like that emoji. it's adorable.

i'm in love with my ex-girlfriend

this, of course, presents some problems. after all, we are each others' ex-girlfriend for a reason. the most prominent reason being that, while neither of us felt a strong romantic love for each other during the course of our relationship, she was in love with someone. that someone being her ex-boyfriend. that's all well and good (well, not really) but she refused to break contact with said ex. she was intending on spending time with that ex in person. i set a boundary. she broke it off. she stayed with him and his family over the holiday.

i'm in love with my ex-girlfriend

i am so incredibly fucked

even just thinking about it now is getting me so incredibly worked up. i'm having actual physical reactions to the thoughts. i can feel the discomfort travel through my spine, into my neck, down my arms. this ex of hers became her ex because he, very suddenly, started treating her very badly. emotionally and verbally abusing her, primarily. we started dating almost immediately after the two of them broke up. i knew it was a stupid idea. of course i did. but have you ever felt that electricity with somebody? have you ever had new life breathed into you with every word from their lips? i'd had crushes before. i'd had crushes on friends before. but this girl... she lit a fire in me when i never even knew i could burn.

i'm in love with my ex-girlfriend

i am so incredibly fucked

we decided to move forward as friends. i told her i would stop lying to her to make her feel better (something i was in the habit of). of course now i can't really be honest, can i? i can't very well waltz up to her and say, "not only have i not gotten over you, but i'm in love with you!" it's a lie by omission, sure, but it's still a lie. i did tell her she had to start treating me like her ex-girlfriend and not just a friend. i told her i didn't want to hear about her dating life and i most certainly didn't want to hear about her ex. now i'm stuck in this limbo. is she seeing anyone else? is she seeing him again? i think it's somewhat obvious that i still have feelings for her, between the demand not to hear about her dating life and the numerous declarations of "i've missed you so much" when we talked for the first time in a while last weekend. granted, i was going through a lot in the rest of my life and she hasn't been the most present friend, so i expect she could assume i was just in a vulnerable place and glad for the company of somebody i trusted. because i do trust her. she's the one person i do trust, ironically. it's been a really, really rough few months, and she's been the only person to really try and see it through with me.

the only person i trust is my ex-girlfriend

i am so incredibly fucked

it is ironic because a few months ago she was the one person in my life who i didn't trust. but difficult times often show you who people truly are, and in my difficult time she revealed herself to be a treasure to me. my hero. my knight in shining armor. my weed smoking, english teaching, skyrim and animal crossing addicted knight in shining armor. also, very inconveniently, my ex-girlfriend. so what's a girl to do? well, according to my psychiatrist, my therapist, my classmate, and my coworker, i should cut her out of my life. it's not healthy to try and remain friends with her. she broke my heart and i'm not really in the best place right now if another heartbreak rears its ugly head. last week i had a full on breakdown, drinking alcohol for the first time in a year. the past few months have been peppered with me being a little too loosey goosey with the dosage of my anxiety meds, leading to at least one or two days i don't fully remember. not just for funsies, by the by, but because of genuinely horrid shit that i had to put up with, along with generally overworking myself as a junior in college with an internship and a job, desperate to make it our the door with my degree before i turn twenty-seven next year. i was really at the end of my rope. i was ready to be done. then my ex and i talked for the first time in a few weeks, and i realized that i'd fallen in love with her throughout all of this. what's more, at the end of my rope, with no other real friends, an abusive family, no joy in my life, no hope in the future, no faith in myself, a chilling thought came upon me.

my one reason to live is my ex-girlfriend.

i am so. incredibly. fucked.

so, what's the plan? how do i move forward from here? well, as far as she goes, we've made a commitment to try and talk at least once a week on video call (we live in different states and the drive is doable but not great). we've made plans to get together once her semester is over. we're going to a concert together in may and talked about going camping together. i'm really hoping that either my feelings fade or her feelings flourish during this time. i'm really, really hoping for the latter, but i don't have much control over that. i have been learning some songs on the guitar that i'm hoping to impress her with. i'm reading the book she recommended. i'm playing her favorite video game. i don't really have the strength of will to do anything for myself right now, so doing things for her is a good motivation for me to get out of my rut. i'm enjoying the book and the game on their own. i like learning the guitar. it's just that the depression has gripped me so severely of late that i lost all ability to do these types of things for me. so instead i'm doing them for her. at least for the time being.

i'm in love with my ex-girlfriend

some things are clearly getting to me more than they should. for example, the book she recommended was dedicated to someone with the same first name as her ex-boyfriend. the one she was (and possibly is) still in love with. i figure she didn't notice, or if she did, she didn't think about it, because why would she? it has nothing to do with the book. it's purely a coincidence. but i had to wait until the next day to start reading the book once i noticed. i obviously still have some things to work through. i'm trying to do that through writing, and after a long debate about if/where i should publish said writings, i decided on here on tumblr. tumblr is not my domain, by any means, but it has the long-form text post support that i'm looking for and is filled with other angsty, mentally-ill queers, so i'm in good company. one of those queers i know for a fact is my ex-girlfriend, but she blocked me here when we broke up and never remembered to unblock me. i'm sure she would if i mentioned it (yes, really), but i really don't want her to (not cope) because i can't stand the idea of stalking her social media for things to make me upset, nor can i stand the idea of her stumbling across my ravings and shooting me a message saying "hey, uh, i found your tumblr post..." i don't really want to know how she really feels towards me right now, because i have a strong feelings she's not feeling the same way as me.

she's not in love with her ex-girlfriend.

i am so incredibly fucked.

[titanicfreija]

Crucible Feed Alpha7: How To Git Better.

QUINCY: Hello, fighters, and welcome to a guest segment we were going to call 'How to Git Gud' but the guest requested we change it because they didn't want to get anyone's hopes up.

GUEST: That's not how I said it.

QUINCY: It isn't. Instead, I'm going to allow our guest, Daragon, tell you what they said and what they meant.

DARAGON: Thanks, I guess. Are you a Guardian?

QUINCY: Retired. I'm asking the questions.

DARAGON: Yup. But what I said was that I didn't want anyone to think that this will definitely help. My advice worked for me, and I hope sharing it will benefit others, but ultimately, it isn't for everyone. Some already know, some can't do it, some can do it but to absolutely no avail. It's just tips.

QUINCY: I see. So, without further ado, we have Daragon, also known as Wa2UWant in the arena, offering tips and advice that helped them improve in the crucible.

DARAGON: I don't have an order to these, I just wrote them as they came to me. So the first bullet point is to watch your radar.

QUINCY: Watch your radar? That's it?

DARAGON: Seems simple, right? Still took me too long. I had a nasty habit of hard-scoping, so I hardly remembered it was important.

QUINCY: I take it this was part of that lesson.

DARAGON: Yep! Too many times did I lower my weapon and see my circle turn red. Hop up and back as fast as you can, is the answer there. But enemies aren't the only reason-- knowing where your allies are can be just as important, especially if someone has a benefit to share.

QUINCY: Radar shows precise locations of allies and general direction of enemies, for non-combatants.

DARAGON: You have to make sure you're paying attention to your visual, too. I heard someone call it radar blindness-- they walked right past a crouched enemy.

QUINCY: Oh, no.

DARAGON: Watch for the little red dots-- they are looking down sights and they can see you. There are a couple of arenas that have false ones. Mind any alerts your Ghost is placing on the visuals, like grenade locations. Mine tells me when I need ammo in my big weapons, too, and I ignore it all the time, he hates it. Look where you're being shot from and shoot back or take cover. Pay attention.

QUINCY: Those seem terribly obvious.

DARAGON: I needed one then the other, and I still slip up.

QUINCY: Alright, what's next?

DARAGON: Learn your arenas! This is the hardest of my tips by matter of volume. There is a lot to learn, between the number of arenas and things to learn about them.

QUINCY: Like what?

DARAGON: Size, point locations and all the ways to get there, lanes, blind spots and cover options....

QUINCY: Doesn't sound too bad.

DARAGON: My handwriting is just bad, I'm not done. There's doors and other openings, two-story locations, bottlenecks, ammo boxes, and dead ends and back corners.... And that's not all but it's all I wrote down.

QUINCY: You weren't kidding.

DARAGON: No one should expect to pick it up easily, but Lord Shaxx will grant access to anyone who asks, just to wander around and take notes if you want to study. He loves seeing that stuff.

QUINCY: I can vouch for that.

DARAGON: If you can learn it well enough, the skill lends to flanking -- running around to a side to help your allies. Teaches you places to hide, where to turn when the radar pings toward a wall. Where they're taking cover. All kinds of stuff. Oh- and speaking of cover...

QUINCY: Yes?

DARAGON: Take cover when you're reloading! Keep cover when you move! Cover is good! When peek shooting, you're supposed to step back when you're hurt or need to reload!

QUINCY: I take it this is a common mistake?

DARAGON: I can't pretend I don't do it. I'll try to line up the shot by eye while I reload. Don't do that.

QUINCY: Do you have any other advice you still need to take?

DARAGON: Hands down, I need to get better at running. I am so bad about trying to stay longer than I should. I don't need to blitz but I certainly don't win drawn out fights with my chosen range.

QUINCY: When should you run?

DARAGON: Before you start- where's your Light? How loaded are you? Wheres cover for you? For them? Where are your blind spots? How bad can they flank? Do you have the weapons for the range? Have you already lost this fight before? Repositioning is good for any doubts.

QUINCY: And after the fight starts?

DARAGON: How bad are you outmatched? Weapon type matchup for the range? Cover options for the fight or for running? The calculation is not an easy one, but it's literally life or death.

QUINCY: I see you've got two bullet points close together for this next one?

DARAGON: This is a little too inspecific to really be helpful but it's something I know a lot of people never learn to do.

QUINCY: Oh?

DARAGON: Play to your strengths. I have seen so many people try to push themselves into stuff that not only isn't their thing but isn't even fun for them, just because they heard someone say it was good. Don't do that. Learn yourself and use your kit to enhance what you're good at and cover your faults until you can learn to cover them yourself.

QUINCY: I know you said it was inspecific, but do you have any good directions to get anyone started?

DARAGON: Like I said, learn yourself. What's your talent? Are you good at laning? Blitzing? Fast or steadfast? Did the arenas come easy to you? Figure out what weapons or armor complement that. Troubleshoot your losses-- do you have problems countering certain tactics or weapons? Struggle in short or long range? Always getting flanked? Figure out what's wrong and work out a solution-- reconfigure your tactics, weapons, stay out of areas that lend to them and take from you. Find perks that work for you, regardless of popularity, that's another one I see a lot. People will run weapons with mods they never use or never get to use because they're no good with them. Headshot mods aren't good for people who aren't good with headshots.

QUINCY: Another one that seems fairly straightforward.

DARAGON: Easy lesson, hard to take to heart. Knucklehead Radar is my best friend with my LDS habit, but I didn't want to for far too long.

QUINCY: I see. What's next?

DARAGON: If I come back, I'll do a breakdown of gun archetypes and frames, maybe, but that'll be too long now. Instead, I've got some terrible news-- I still have the same old advice as normal.

QUINCY: Lower your expectations and keep trying?

DARAGON: Yes, but when I say it, it'll sound much better.

QUINCY: Oh really?

DARAGON: Be kind to yourself. You're learning. You can't get better if you give up.

QUINCY: That was much better, yes.

DARAGON: Don't force yourself to do it if you're not having a good time. Learn how to have a good time and lose. Even the best people lose sometimes. Everyone has shitty days when they walk away spitting slugs and teeth. Everyone. Forgive yourself for those times. Even if it's every time. And finally....

QUINCY: Finally?

DARAGON: Do it. Get in there. Fight. Don't psyche yourself out. If you don't have fun, leave, but go in scared if you're scared.

QUINCY: That's it?

DARAGON: Yep!

QUINCY: We might ask you back for those type breakdowns.

DARAGON: Cool!

@wolvereaux @annieruok94

[alrightrandy]

new year, new plans

what's this? a geniune alrightrandy blog post that isn't just random slop? …finally.

all jokes aside, i'm well aware that i haven't necessarily been ultilizing this site – as well as other platforms im on, as much as i wanted to. however, considering the new year has just begun i believe it's time to make some form of change around here.

i just want to preface this by saying that, all through out last year, i've ran myself into some personal turmoil that led me to essentially lack any sort of focus to work on any hobbies. it's hard to explain, i feel like i have done a lot but at the same time i clearly didn't have much creative output as much as i wanted to. and again, it didn't help that i was also juggling with stuff in my personal life too.

i guess the point i'm trying to make across here is that, i haven't properly found a right balance for myself, both creatively and irl-wise. and i certainly didn't have a proper sense of direction either… but i'm hoping to change that this year!

through out the end of 2023 up until the mid january, i've went through a pretty prolific event that kind of sparked a slew of motivation and plans to really get myself back.

in summary, around the holidays a phone of mine completely bricked itself for some random reason, making it practically inaccessible for me to use. and keep in mind, i'm still saving up to get myself a laptop, so i really had no other personal devices besides that phone.

thankfully, i did manage to get a new one – however, the point is that me being phone-less for a brief moment was very "humbling" for me. not only it was the only device for communication and having a creative outlet, but it just goes to show nothing should be taken for granted. ANYTHING can be lost in a matter of seconds, a simple reminder that i really needed to get myself together.

and with that, everything brings me to here. i've somewhat finally came up with a plan to hopefully boost some motivation within me, and also have a better commitment to my creative output.

to get the obvious stuff out of the way, in reguards of my youtube channel – as well as anything reguarding about dj'ing and music. i am going to try my best to put a heavier focus on these since its something i'm still a complete beginner at. it's a new hobby i've recently picked up, and it only makes sense for me to try to lean onto it a bit more. matter in fact...

i just recently put out something onto my channel!

i'm going try to put out at least one mini mix on a monthly (or bi-monthly) basis. hopefully it will not only expand my portfolio as a dj, but i geniunely think this could help with my issues with commiting to something. plus, i think it would definitely bring in some life to my channel since i still have no clue what direction i want to take it in.

don't get it twisted, i still want to experiment with all sorts of different types of videos. however, i can't make any promises if any of it will reach the light of day. at least with these mini mixes, they will hopefully still appear consistently even if i have nothing else to upload. idk, i think its a decent enough idea to sink time into.

now, reguarding everything about creating artwork and ultilizing my platforms. it's still somewhat uncertain, however if you checked my pinned post i have recently updated it with new sites you can check me out on!

but in short, i will also try to branch out more and maybe even network myself to finding ppl / communities. and along the way, i will also try to get back into creating art since i really have been putting that on the back burner. again, no promises but i have been putting some thought into it! (i'm looking at you Newgrounds and Bluesky…)

i'm reaching my text limit, so this is all i have for now. i'll catch you guys on the flipside, i really do hope i do better this year. knock me out if this post ages horribly lol

happy 2024!

~🐇

[phantomram-b00]

(spoilers for season 2)

Don’t mind me, I’m just manifesting Agnes Nutter’s power and still keeping high hopes for these two lovable sillies while sharing my predictions.

I will say, I think my prediction for season 3 (I swear they better pay their writers/actors-) is that, these two will definitely deal with their own battles, especially aziraphale, let me explain, I think his heart is in somewhat of a right place. However given time again he and even Crowley seen how heaven is shown to be just as bad as hell; it make sense why Crowley wasn’t exactly supportive. It just Aziraphale is while he’s wearing rose color glasses; he almost choosing to be ignorant not just from trauma but also that in his heart he want to still hold on that he can make things better for not just for humanity but for Crowley as well. Because who wouldn’t want to make thing better for their lover/bestfriend. I do have a feeling that especially after the argument/kiss from Crowley; it definitely will sink in with him with just how much he’ve deeply screwed up. Sure he might try to push them down and try to still hold on to his very last hope, but I feel as much as he try he will actively think about it and realize that how deeply he choose wrong. (Sure once heaven again show their toxicity it’ll definitely be the final straw for him). So with both those battles, he most definitely gonna struggle, especially as flashback of crowley ensues reminding him that his love for crowley is much stronger or really more ineffable than heaven itself. Especially as Aziraphale can’t bare being without the one person that not only cared but genuinely love and always stood by him when no Angel did. (I also have an headcanon that he most definitely fell in love harder and does reciprocate Crowley feeling, I know that part is canon I think, but of course if it wasn’t for what happen, I feel aziraphale would’ve absolutely would’ve said “I love you too” instead of what he said)

Crowley will most certainly will deal with the heartbreak of aziraphale for of course obvious reason, but however I feel what break him the most is that, Crowley most likely knew this outcome would happen even if he confessed first. This is the same Angel that whilst knows heaven is the same as hell in a sense with different font but even so have the “heart of gold” if you will and still stay loyal to them even after everything, just Crowley hoped that even after season one, Aziraphale would finally see why Crowley isn’t in favor of heaven. But of course, he’s an Angel. I do feel that while he understandably angry and hurt about aziraphale, his feeling for him wouldn’t change for a bit, he still love aziraphale, this is the same Angel he fell in love with since the beginning of time, since they met again at the garden of Eden, even share crepes with. As the one Queen song will say, Aziraphale is his “love of my life”. Nothing can change but forgiveness will definitely won’t be easy, even when I know aziraphale is genuine. Forgiveness take time, thing need to heal, I know overtime he knew he can’t stay mad at the same Angel whom gave him light like the stars he created back at episode 1 of season 2. Though I would like to think that, whenever Bentley plays “love of my life” by Queen or “I love you so” by The Walters Crowley balls his eyes out thinking of aziraphale.

Granted, whatever Neil Gaiman will do with season 3 will be amazing! And I am very much looking forward to it, I’m just speaking of predictions, and having high hopes that ineffable husband will get together, hell I’m still crying about these two! But I can’t give up hope just yet, these two are ineffable and I stan for them! Fill free to disagree with whatsoever, or agree with me whatsoever, the world is your oyster mates

[angelkurenai]

Oh baby dear - Chris Evans x Reader

Title: Oh baby dear

Pairing: Chris Evans x Surrogate!Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: After a trip that gives the chance to Chris to take a long-overdue break from his job, he comes back home with his mind made up to change his life. And even if it weren’t for the trip itself or meeting you, even though he had no idea if he’d ever see you again, he was determined to not wait any longer. Feeling ready to become a father he starts looking for a surrogate mother, only to end up finding you of all people.

“Son of a guy. You meant it.” brown eyes were wide, and for the first couple seconds no other sound could be heard in the room. It almost felt like the words could echo in the room.

“You're really doing this.” the man's voice was filled with just as much shock as was painted all over his face. At least the woman behind him was more calm, sipping on her drink with an ease that would have been troubling, especially in such a case, if it wasn't known that she had long ago heard the news.

“I wouldn't have brought it up in the first place if I wasn't seriously considering it.” the other man in the room couldn't take his eyes off his friend, trying to gauge his reaction the second it came through. It was bound to be the most honest one, no second thoughts, and he only needed his friends' honest thoughts. Not that, and he was sure of it, the other man would intentionally tell him anything but the truth.

“You- wow.” the shocked expression was still there but there was no mistaking the smile that was slowly but surely appearing on his face “Seems like Evans is finally joining the club, who'd have thought? That's what I call one heck of a year, quickly Scarlett note the date down! It's going to go down in the history books, I tell you. Oh you're in for one hell of a ride, buddy! Wait you knew about this, didn't you?” he turned to the woman but shook his head soon enough “Never mind. You're gonna have to look for a godmother but I do get to be the godfather, right? I really need to start making preparations, nine months are not even remotely enough. I gotta-”

“Take a deep breath and calm down, Robert. That's what you gotta do. Otherwise this kid won't get to meet its one-of-a-kind godfather. And we would never want that to happen, would we?” the woman interrupted his rambling, a teasing smile on her own lips as she noticed Chris himself chuckle.

“Oh goodness forbid that could ever happen.” Chris laughed some more, his chest feeling lighter than it had in the past couple days “And besides that, there has not been a surrogate found just yet. Papers got approved only a day ago, it will take more time than that.”

“You say that as if the second every woman finds out you're on that kind of market, won't volunteer to have your baby. Heck, I know most of them would gladly volunteer to do it the old-fashioned way! You'll see, you will be getting news very soon.” Robert brushed his friend off and got up from his seat, making his way to the mini bar to grab a drink for himself “Which means, I really gotta start preparing everything because a) this is Evans' kid and b) I'm the godfather and it'll get only the best!”

Scarlett couldn't help but laugh, while Chris shook his head with a chuckle, before she added “As you can see, he is going to be more trouble than the kid.” she ignored the look that was shot at her from Robert and kept going “But, speaking of it, I never asked: Did you never really consider adoption?”

“For most of the time that's what I had in mind, yes, but-” he sighed, easing back in his seat “I asked about it and my chances were sadly very low, given my job and everything, not to mention how lengthy of a process it all was. Sebastian was actually the one to suggest it and you know I haven't been able to stop thinking about it ever since. Granted, it is just as hard to find a surrogate who is also willing to be the biological mother but I feel like I have more to hope for this way.”

“You have every reason to be hopeful, I'm sure this will work out just fine. Besides-” she offered her friend a warm smile “There is no other man that I can think of that could be a better father than you. This child will be very lucky.”

“...The part of Robert being the godfather excluded?” Chris added with a smirk, eyeing his friend who narrowed his eyes at him, before both Chris and Scarlett burst into laughter.

“Life isn't perfect, what can you do?” she grinned as she took a sip of her drink.

“I'll try to be the better man, as always, and not comment on any spiteful comments against me. You're just jealous I am going to be the world's best godfather. Anyway, that wasn't what I was going to comment on.” he plopped back on his seat and gave the blue-eyed man a sly smile “Sebastian you say but I'm wondering: was it him or that summer trip to Italy that really prompted you to become a dad? Maybe a certain someone you met there? What was her name...”

“Don't-” it was all he had time to get out, his eyes wide and voice very warning; but there was never any stopping the man when he wanted to speak his mind.

“Ah yes.” Robert grinned widely “(Y/n).”

“What- Who?” Scarlett frowned, tilting her head to the side “How come I haven't heard of her before? I thought you told me everything about Italy.”

“She's nobod-”

“Probably the love of his life. Something like his soulmate. One he talks about a lot in his sleep, hence why I should hold more parties and have you guys over. The info I get is golden. Anyway, think of it as the star-crossed lovers but one where he isn't the Lana Del Rey young and beautiful, you know? Heard she's something like a med or psych graduate or something. So come to think of it all, Italy, soulmates and age difference, this is like another version of Call me by your-”

“And that's it for you. Enough words spoken for one day.” Scarlett said, not hesitating a second to place a hand over the man's mouth who admittedly didn't give up even if his words were only an incoherent mumble after that.

Chris' eyes were wide and there was no mistaking the way he wanted to not talk about it, as if there was some unparalleled sadness that came with the mention of your name, a deep ache and at the same time yearning perhaps because he missed you, just like there was no mistaking the tint of pink that was on his cheeks.

“That's-” he cleared his throat, avoiding looking at his friends in the eyes because he knew how easy it would be to tell that even so many months later the feelings were fresh as much as the day he had to leave, the day he left a part of himself on the airport with you – a part he knew real well he wouldn't get back again, certainly not from any other woman he got to meet. That missing part of him, even if the rest held all the beautiful memories dearly to itself and felt truly blessed, he knew was obvious. It was all on his face that he was missing something, even if he'd gotten so much. And he knew she would see it, it all became so obvious when he thought of you.

He shook his head when he realized he had taken longer than needed to reply “It was way too long ago, I can hardly remember it now. Hell, as if barely anything happened to begin with. She was just-” a lump in his throat, too painful “I made a good friend, a really good friend yes, who helped me see my life in a different way. Helped me make my choice and see the things that really matter. Couldn't keep in contact and yes that's a bit sad but- That's all there is to it, nothing more nothing less.”

Scarlett regarded him for a couple seconds, even as he tried to keep himself busy with getting another drink, before she finally spoke “If you say so.” she nodded her head “At least we now know who we owe this to and who to thank for our family growing, don't we?”

“Then-” Robert's smile was softer, yet also sad, as he raised his glass a bit “Let's drink to that, if not your baby just yet. To (Y/n)?”

“To (Y/n).” Scarlett nodded her head “For helping you make the best decision of your life, wherever she may be now.”

Chris hesitated, the unspoken truth of you not only being the one to help him make the decision but also be part of that decision, part of the family he wanted to build, was ready to break free from his lips but he held it back “Wherever she may be.” he said in a low hoarse voice, raising his glass as well “To (Y/n).”

He had not allowed himself to say your name in a long time and thinking back to it, the effect had been evident not only in his chest, in his heartbeat, but also in his lips, how painfully strange it felt when all he had been doing was think about it for months to no end, down to his throat that closed up with emotion. And he had allowed himself to say it not only so that he would make sure his friends would drop the subject but also because it had been a long time, he felt the need to and he knew that he wouldn't get the chance to do so, not anytime soon for sure.

And yet, only seconds ago, the name had left his lips for the second time in barely a couple days.

His brain could barely keep up with the fact, all the information he had to currently process seemed to make things even harder. Saying your name this time certainly had the same effect, his throat closed up and his heart leaped to his throat, but it felt like it was for an entirely different reason. He blinked several times, trying to make sure that what he was seeing was also true, to make sure that it wasn't wishful thinking and that him holding his breath had not reduced the levels of oxygen to a point where he couldn't even see straight. Truth be told, he felt pretty lightheaded.

“(Y/n) (Y/l/n).” he repeated your name for the third time, the third time in only a couple days his mind nearly screamed at him, but it didn't feel the same this time.

“Yes, I would say she seems like one of the most, if not the most, suitable candidate for you case.” the woman behind the desk gave him a warm smile but his brain was still currently stuck on the word 'candidate'.

“I'm sorry. There seems to be some misunderstanding here and I- I don't know whose part it is on, but-” he licked his lips, trying to swallow over the lump in his throat “When you say- What you're trying to say- I'm sorry.” he shook his head and let a couple seconds to pass in silence; he knew she wouldn't ask before him.

Taking a deep breath he decided to speak, even if his voice was hoarse he hoped she could make out the words “Candidate for what?”

The woman frowned a bit but it was gone faster than it could register, as she spoke in a calm voice “Your case. To be not only the surrogate you are looking for. See, her current, and according to her permanent from now on, residence is in New York City and very close to the residence you have listed as your permanent one. It is important, you understand, if we take into consideration that she will be the biological mother of the child. You might want the child to be able to stay in touch with her, and vice versa, so the close proximity does help. Of course that is always up to you, but in most cases we've seen it hap-”

“When did she sign up for this?” he asked, barely able to keep himself to wait for her to finish her sentence.

“Pardon?” she blinked and only then he realized how he might have sounded.

“You're right. I apologize, that came out as wrong.” he cleared his throat again “What I mean is... does she know who I am? That she- she's signing up to be a surrogate for my child.”

“Every surrogate must be informed, of course, of you as you are informed of her. She too must know whose child she will carry, don't you think it's fitting? But if you are uhm-” she hesitated “Concerned about other children, then, you need not worry. It's not my place to say this but it seems like-” she smiled a bit, almost knowingly “That you have already chosen, so I believe it wouldn't really be against any rule to say this. Consider it an extra bit of information.”

'Seems like you have already chosen.' would be a vast understatement. It was like every cell in his body was screaming 'Yes', chanting it over and over again that he was seriously worried he might have projected it somehow. He could barely control the words that came out of his lips anyway. If anything, the second he had come across the file with your name he had been glued to it, his eyes and all of his attention orbiting around the single file as if he was Earth and you were his Sun. Not far from the truth either.

But it also must have shown- No scratch that. He was sure it had shown because he had done no effort to hide it, too stunned and happy and eager and giddy and blessed and so many other things, to try to hide it. And she had clearly noticed.

“So, no, she has not mothered another child. As a matter of fact, Miss (Y/l/n) is doing this for the first time.” the woman leaned back in her chair “She came to us with the belief that there was too much sadness out there and, amongst other things, she decided to do this little one thing to help someone out. To make someone happy. I believe she didn't really have any further expectations out of this, no further plans, other than wanting to do some good. We only informed her of your case and she said she'd like to help, nothing else.” she shrugged softly “For any further reasons behind her choice you could ask her, I suppose. If you do think she could be the right choice to be the mother of your child, then-”

“She is.” he said, maybe a little too fast, but he didn't care. He didn't find a single part of him that cared for how eager he looked at the prospect of you being the mother of his child. Granted, it wasn't exactly how he'd imagined it but it was so much more than he ever thought he'd get, of what he thought he deserved, when he had told you goodbye that summer.

He cleared his throat again, trying to straighten his back and look as formal as he should in the suit he was wearing. He offered her a small smile “She is the right one. I think I've decided. I-” he paused, glancing at the pile of files and therefore other candidates which he had absolutely not even taken a glimpse at and he hoped she wouldn't comment on it “I've thought things through, yes.” because no man could make such a decision so hastily, he knew, and yet he looked like he just had “I'm glad for all the candidates it means a lot but uhm Miss (Y/l/n) seems to be indeed the right one. I think she will do just fine yes.”

“Wonderful.” she smiled more, nodding her head “If it means anything, she seemed happy when she was presented with your case.” oh if only she knew just how much it really meant to him, ask his wildly-beating heart and everyone would know just how much “Now, you understand that while you seem pretty sure and confident with your choice, you will have to give it some more time, more than anything to get in touch with the surrogate herself and discuss through any specific terms you might have. We will be the ones to set a meeting. Of course there are legal issues that need to be taken care of, but you're a lawyer yourself so you probably know that better than anybody else already.”

“Y-yes uh of course, yes, legal terms. Mr Wilson will represent me on the matter of course. But you said-” he folded his hands over his lap and threaded his fingers and it was either that or let his nerves show “Meeting her? Will I get to meet her in person soon or...?”

“That, Mr Evans, is completely up to you, how ready and sure you are, how much time you need and how fast you want things to progress.” she said as if she'd had this conversation many times over and she probably had “It could be within a week, a month, or, if you have no doubts, within three days the soonest possible. So, do you need time to think over-”

“The soonest possible. I'd like-” he nodded his head, straightening his suit's jacket “I think it would be best if I could meet with her the soonest possible. She's just what I was looking for.”

[nat-20s]

fill of @jonmartinweek day 6 prompt- flirting AND jealousy, though much heavier on the jealousy than the flirting. Set in a classic “season 5 jmart time travel bac to season 1″ au

~*~

“Mr. Blackwood-Sims, if I didn’t know any better, I would assume you’re trying to proposition me.”

“Mr. Sims-Blackwood, I would never. For one, neither of us are inclined towards those sorts of activities, for second, we’re both married men. What would my husband say?”

“I believe your husband would say he never specified exactly what you were propositioning, and he would be more than amenable to kissing, preferably sometime in the next few seconds.”

“Mmm, suppose I’ll have to find him and take him up on that, then. If that’s really how he feels.”

“Trust me, it most certainly is.”

Christ, would those two shut up already? Granted, it’s late enough that they probably think they’re alone in the archives, but, still. This is, technically, a work place, and Jon would’ve preferred not to have accidentally gotten an eyeful as he made his way past the open door in the breakroom. Now, the image of (supposedly) a future version of himself sitting on the couch, with (supposedly) a future version of Martin straddling his legs, using one hand to cup his face, and the other to run his hands through that Jon’s longer hair, was seared into his mind, and he hated it. Look, contrary to what people who don’t know him very well seemed to believe, he’s hardly a prude. He’s more than fine with descriptions of physical intimacy, as well as public displays of affection. If he’s being honest with himself, deep down, he doesn’t even care all that much about professionalism, especially considering it is after hours.

But of course, he’s not being honest with himself, because then he’d have to admit that it bothers him that it’s them. He doesn’t know what to call the acrid burning in the pit of his stomach, the too tight ache in his chest, that’s present whenever the fun house mirror versions of himself and Martin are besotted with each other, but he knows it’s there. It doesn’t help that he’s the only one that seems to be bothered by it, the only one that frowns at the flash of wedding rings or the orbit those two always seem to occupy around each other.

Or, no, he’s not the only one. Occasionally, while witnessing the two of them being...the Two of Them, he can’t help glancing over to Martin. Lo and behold, Martin also doesn’t look thrilled about all of this, usually skewing more towards confusion or, oddly enough, resignation. At least, that’s what Jon thinks he sees there, it’s one of the few times where he can’t fully get a read on Martin.

Still, as much as Martin might share in being somewhat perturbed, as anyone who meets their “future selves” should be, Martin doesn’t seem nearly as upset as Jon is. That brings him back to his current predicament of feeling that level of upset, but not being able to determine the root cause of it.

It is not that he’s jealous. It’s not! He does not feel a pang of envy at seeing someone who looks extremely similar to himself loving openly, and being openly loved in return. He doesn’t find his thoughts drifting to the imagined feeling of lips pressed to his temple or arms around his waist or fingers running through his hair. He certainly hasn’t looked down at his left hand and been disappointed by the fact that its bare. He doesn’t even want those things, as he’s been telling himself for a number of many lonely years. One of these days he might even believe it.

Fine. Fine. Maybe, but only maybe, there’s a part of him that’s jealous. Maybe there’s even a part of him that despairs, because try as he might he can’t connect point A to point B, can’t see the steps he would have to take to be like that other version of himself, and he knows his Martin (well, not his Martin, but..) will never look at him like that, will never see him in that light. And, damn it all, it hurts, so if they could kindly stop ru-

Oh. Wait. He can’t hear them outside his office door anymore. Huh, perhaps they-

“Knock knock.”

Startled out of his...contemplation, Jon looks up to find himself looking back. Sims is leaning against the door-frame, with mussed hair, swollen lips, and pupils blown wide. Jon loathes him and wishes to be him in equal measure. In a move he usually would’ve thought more characteristic of Tim, Sims doesn’t wait for a response, instead sitting himself across from Jon and saying, “Figured you’d still be here.”

Trying not to sound too much like he’s speaking through gritted teeth, Jon asks, “Did you now?”

Sims gives a lackadaisical shrug. “With any luck, you’re not going to become me. I not sure you can become me, at this point, diverging paths and all that. However, we do share the first 28 years of our lives, and I certainly didn’t believe in the concept of a work life balance, so why would you?”

“Is there something you wanted?”

“Yes, actually. I want you to ask out Martin, your moping is getting insufferable, and considering how much of our misery has been entirely outside of our control, you shouldn’t put up with what is in your power to fix.”

Jon blinks. Jon processes. Jon stammers. “I-what?! I am not, you can’t just-. Martin doesn’t even like me, and if you really were the same person as me, you know I’m not all that keen on him either.”

“Uh-huh. Is that why you can’t stop thinking about his hands?”

“I do no-”

Sims puts a hand up in surrender, though the smirk doesn’t entirely drop. “Sorry, sorry, I know that’s rather unhelpful. What I mean is, you’re already loved, right now, as you are. No, that love is not coming from Martin, but it could be,t because he doesn’t dislike you.  He doesn’t know you, because you have done everything in your power to make sure he doesn’t. You also don’t know him, even though you’re interested in him, because you’ve been trying not to be. It’s stupid. Get to know each other. It’ll probably work out.”

“I...is that how you did it? Because this seems like an objectively terrible idea.”

Sims snorts. “God, no. It took a coma before I was able to untangle my own feelings. The whole point is that you won’t have to take the same looping, painful path that I did.”

Jon wants to reject it outright, almost does, and yet. “Fine.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, really. Why?’

“Nothing, just. We’re usually a more stubborn on these sorts of things. I was expecting more of a fight.”

“Mm. Normally, I would be, but I’ve been forced to watch two rather obvious proof of concepts waltzing around in front of me, and agreeing will hopefully get you the hell out of my office.”

Sims studies him for a moment, then a surprised smile spreads on his face. “All right then.”

Jon makes a dismissive hand wave, and Sims obliges, and he spends the rest of the night trying not to think about what he’s agreed to.

~*~

The next day, about half an hour before the end of the work day, Jon calls Martin into his office. From his tight shoulders and carefully blank expression, it’s clear Martin very much does not want to be there. Great. This is going to go so well.

Jon gestures for him to sit, Martin does, and he dives in. “As we both now know, I don’t have the ability to fire you. In all reality, even though I am, on paper, your boss, I truly don’t have any power or authority over you.”

Martin leans back in his seat, letting a heavy pause fall between them before saying a stilted, “Okay?”

“So, I want you to know that I am about to ask you a question, and you have complete freedom and choice over your response, without fear of any negative consequences. Alright?”

“Um. Sure.”

Jon takes a breath, slowly lets it out, and bites the bullet. “Would you like to get dinner sometime?”

Martin stares. Then he squints. Then he studies. “Oh. Jon, you...we’re not them, you know that, right?”

“I’m aware.”

“So..why?”

Jon lets out a sigh, and tries to gather his thoughts in a way that makes sense to either of them. “Well, though I myself have some trouble with the concept, they’re not..entirely removed from who we are, and there’s enough foundation there that I have reason to believe we might...get on? Maybe we don’t, maybe we end up being friends, maybe we end up like them. That’s already enough to pique my own curiosity, but, alternate future versions of us aside, I mostly would just like to get to know more about you, and I’m hoping you might like to get to know me better as well.”

Martin’s shoulders relax, and he chews on his bottom lip for a moment before replying, “Okay. Yeah, why not?”

“Oh. Oh! Great! Does this Saturday work for you?”

“Works perfectly. Let’s give a shot.”

The first date is..fine. A Bit of a mess, but fine. The second date, however, is the best Jon’s ever been on. It’s so wonderful, in fact, that he doesn’t even mind when he catches Blackwood passing a fiver to Sims the day he can’t stop smiling at work.

[skellebonez]

Hey! This is my first time doing this ! But can you wirte a scenario where in Winter's cursed AU where MK's parents try to come back and get custody again?( With prompt 14 and 45) With protective monkey dads? Have a great rest of your day! 💕

Thank you so much, I hope you like this as your first fill! It was very enjoyable to write since I had this idea months ago but never had the chance to put it down. But you’re gonna get a little more than just protective monkey dads! This is set pretty far into @winterpower98 's AU so he has a lot of people behind him.

Am I scaring you?/You may technically be an adult, but you’re still my child.

It didn’t take much guessing to figure out exactly what had made MK look like he wanted to run for the hills the second he picked up his phone. There were only a few very specific scenarios that could make him react like that now. But it was the way his face hardened and his whisper yelled into it that made Pigsy realize exactly who they were dealing with without the young man saying who it was.

Again.

“This is the third time you’ve gotten a new number for this,” he said, trying to keep his voice down. “I’ve told you already, the answer is no.”

"Tang," Pigsy whispered, nudging his favorite freeloader to get his attention better. "Go keep an eye outside. The last time they did this they showed up an hour later. If they do we're shuttering the shop early."

"On it," Tang said with a nod, standing with another nod to MK as he left.

"I am an adult, you cannot do anything to- yes I'm sure. Yes... yes, because I have a lawyer now mom!"

MK’s tone of voice made Pigsy smirk proudly. Had this been a few years ago MK would have had so much difficulty even just talking back to his parents, going quiet and shrinking into himself. Now?

He was standing up straight, speaking firmly and calmly, raising his voice a bit even. In the years Pigsy had known the young man he had changed drastically when it came to his parents. His and Tang’s attempts to raise his confidence and teach him to speak up for himself had certainly helped in that regard, but his attained abilities and strength as the Monkie Kid had no doubt given him a boost as well.

Not to mention the knowledge that not only did he have two father figures behind him... he had four (granted, Pigsy had mixed feelings for many reasons about both of them, but he’d warmed up to them when he saw how much MK had grown attached to them). Add Sandy, Mei, and Red Son to the mix?

He had a powerful group behind him to support him in whatever he needed.

"What do you mean you're already here?" MK said suddenly, drawing Pigsy's attention back from his inner thoughts.

"Whoa, hey, I said you can’t go in there!" Tang's voice suddenly rang through the entrance as someone pushed him backwards into the shop. He stumbled, almost falling flat on his rear and just barely catching himself on the counter. "You've been banned from this establishment and you know i-"

"MK," the woman who entered said as she closed her flip phone shut with a snap.

A man entered behind her, matching her in simple modern fashion. He shared MK's hair while the woman shared his eyes. It was obvious who they were to anyone seeing the three of them together.

Tang turned, shooting Pigsy a quick sorry that was met with an easy smile and a nod before the chef scowled at the two of them.

"... mom, dad," MK replied, slipping his phone into his pocket. He stood at his full height, back straight and no sign of hesitation on his face. "I told you, I'm not coming home."

"And we told you that we realized we made a mistake," his mother said, voice soft but with a softly uncertain undertone to it. Like she didn't quote believe her own words but was convincing herself otherwise. "Please, let us make it right."

"You had plenty of time to make it right all the times I tried to contact you before I became the Monkie Kid," MK said easily, practiced and firm. "Besides, I'm an adult now. You can't force me to do anything I don't want to do."

"You may technically be an adult," MK's mother said with a sigh, reaching out to grab his shoulder. "But you’re still my child."

Pigsy jumped in front of her, a sharp glare his only weapon. He knew better than to threaten these two, much like some of his more rowdy customers, but he would still put himself bodily between the young man he viewed as a son and anyone making him uncomfortable when he had the ability to do so.

"If you so much as breathe on my kid-"

"But he's not your kid now is he, pig man," MK's father sniped back, venom dripping from ever word and making the entire restaurant freeze in response.

"Excuse me," a new voice called out from behind them, a figure pressing a firm hand on his shoulder. "What were you saying to my brother?"

The reaction was instantaneous. MK’s father jumping to the side with a yelp, turning to come face to face with a less than pleasantly smiling Sun Wukong and a scowling Macaque behind him, neither bothering to keep up any semblance of a human disguise at the moment.

"I believe my student made it clear to you multiple times that he is an adult who can make his own decisions about who he wants to live with," he said coldly, moving to stand beside Pigsy with his fur raised and teeth barred in a way that could be mistaken for a smile. It certainly wasn't one if you knew anything about monkeys, though.

"Scram," Macaque chimed in, voice lower and far more threatening than anyone else in the building as he took a step forward. Though his words were fewer his tone was stronger and held just as much weight.

MK's parents took a step back in turn, stepping back into the entryway itself.

"Y-you may be his mentor," MK's mother started, her tone losing the odd uncertainty under it and gaining a frustration and confusion instead. "But I'm his mother."

"Who left him to his own devices and didn't even try to show interest in reconnecting until he made something of himself," Macaque snapped, snapping his teeth together in a warning bite as he took another step forward with a growl.

His parents stumbled back out of the shop, eyes wide and watching as MK was surrounded on either side by 4 others. Pigsy and Tang on his right, Wukong and Macaque on his left.

"Am I scaring you?" Macaque asked with a chuckle, letting out a noise of surprise when Wukong's tail touched his arm.

"I think he's got this now," Wukong said with a soft smile.

"Mom, dad," MK said with his voice still firm and sure. "I'm not coming back home with you. I'm an adult and you can't force me to come back. And if you keep trying like this I'll never give you the chance to let me chose to on my own."

The duo looked at their son, his father's eyes wide in shock and disbelief and his mother's eyes much the same with an undercurrent of... something. Something none of them could really place.

"I think we s-"

“You are not good people!" MK's dad snapped, standing up to his full height to tower over everyone else. "I caution you against this! This is your last chance to accept the damage you’ve caused! And if MK does not go back with us I will have no choice but to take further action! I will be contacting my lawyer to open a lawsuit against you and further more this will ruin your life with insurmountable debt!”

He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest in his assured victory as everyone else stared at him in shock and disbelief. Including his wife, who looked even more incredulous than any of them.

"D-debt?" MK eventually managed to get out, an unbelieving smile forming on his face. Before he started to laugh and march forward. "Debt? DEBT!? FUCK your debt! We'll take our chances DAD, Monkey King has a treasure trove and the best lawyer in all of China so take your debt and STUFF IT!" He raised both middle fingers toward his parents before jumping up to grab the handle of the shutter door and slam is shut before either of his parents could rush back in.

"INSURMOUNTABLE DEBT!" He yelled one last time, almost manically before sitting at a nearby table and covering his face with his hands as he burst into laughter. "I-I just- you can't threaten the Monkey King of all people with financial problems how am I related to this man!?"

The two pairs of parental figures looked at each other before laughing themselves, finding it difficult not to follow in MK's lead given how ridiculously that tense situation ended.

"You handled that pretty damn well, MK," Wukong said with proud smile as he ruffled his student’s hair.

"It's a lot easier when I know I have a bunch of dads and pops to back me up," he replied with a smile.

[xiyao-feels]

i've seen takes that jgy started playing turmoil before the staircase, aka wwx comments that it would take 3months for turmoil to kill nmj (ch64) so obviously jgy started playing it a long time ago, causing all of nmj's anger, all of that was his fault.

but also the novel says that jgy made a decision on the stairs or gave something up then a few days later played for nmj (ch 49) and like...idk what that could be except for killing nmj, is there something else this could be?

is wwx right? is mxtx bad at timelines? is nmj kick 3 months in the past, what is the time between 49 and 50 (when nmj dies in 2mo)

idk this whole thing is fuzzy and if you have any clarification or insight i'd like to hear it

-🦊

Fox anon! I'm glad to hear from you, and I hope you're doing well. I'm sorry I took so long to answer this—I was trying to be thorough, you all can judge whether I succeeded.

Now, I think the first thing to note here is that WWX actually and explicitly observes the Song of Clarity working when JGY is playing for NMJ before the stairs (ch 49):

Since then, Jin GuangYao would travel from Lanling to Qinghe every few days, playing Sound of Lucidity to help quell Nie MingJue rage. He tried his hardest, without speaking even a single word of complaint. Sound of Lucidity was indeed effective. Wei WuXian could clearly feel that the hostile energy within Nie MingJue was being suppressed. And, when playing the guqin, the way that the two conversed and got along even had a hint of the peace they had before they fell out. He began to think that maybe the so-called busy reestablishing the Cloud Recesses was just an excuse. Perhaps Lan XiChen simply wanted to give Nie MingJue and Jin GuangYao a chance to ease their tension.

(emphasis mine)

I think this is pretty conclusive. WWX's observations on the spot override his conclusions after a) being extensively soaked in NMJ's anger/resentment (ch 48-50) b) the entire drama afterwards at Jinlintai including being stabbed through by Jin Ling (ch 50) and c) resting and recovering for four days (ch 63).

Moreover, let's look at what WWX actually says in chapter 63:

Wei WuXian, “Jin GuangYao’s spiritual energy isn’t high. He wouldn’t have been able to take someone’s life with just seven notes. And killing him this way would’ve been too obvious. He definitely wouldn’t have chosen a song so powerful. But, if he could use the reason of playing the Song of Clarity for ChiFeng-Zun to calm his temper and continued to play it for three months, would the song be able to act as a slow poison and catalyse ChiFeng-Zun’s outburst?”

He's asking LXC questions about Turmoil, because it's new to him and he doesn't understand everything about it. I think it's pretty clear here that he's starting from how long he saw JGY play for NMJ, and asking if that would be long enough, rather than definitively stating that it would have to take three months; nor is there anything in LXC's response ("… Yes") that suggests three months is any kind of necessary minimum.

So those are the facts at hand. And imho if you look at the text in the later Empathy, there's a great deal of supporting evidence as well. There's the moment you mention, where JGY seems to be making a decision:

Nie MingJue, “Then why don’t you sacrifice yourself? Are you any nobler than them? Are you any different from them?”

Jin GuangYao stared at him. A moment later, as though he had finally either decided on something or given up on something, he replied calmly, “Yes.”

He looked up. In his expression were some of pride, some of calmness, and some of a faint insanity, “I and they, of course we are different!”

I agree with you, he's deciding to give up on NMJ—and if it's something else, what is it? If JGY isn't giving up on getting through to NMJ here, what function does this line serve in the text?

And I think it's worth noting here, as I've noted before—when JGY is talking about how different his and NMJ's positions are, he says "Your background is noble and your cultivation is high"; and the "Your background is noble" part is 你出身高贵, with the 高贵 being the "noble" part. When NMJ is asking him "Are you any nobler than them? Are you any different from them?" the "Are you any nobler than them?" is 你比他们高贵吗—so the "noble" part is, again, the same word, 高贵.  Given that JGY has just spent a great deal of breath explaining that he is different from NMJ precisely because of his less-noble background, this is very much a pair of questions that might quite justifiably make JGY feel like NMJ is just completely not understanding anything he is saying here at all. 

Besides that moment, there is the way he approaches or interacts with NMJ, which is quite noticeably different after the stairs. If you look at the beginning of the stairs, he's trying to convince NMJ to let the XY thing go: he says that if XY is locked up for life and can't hurt people, this isn't too different from him being executed, and then when NMJ does not accept this, points out that it's JGY's father's command and he cannot simply go against it as NMJ wishes. Once JGY loses his temper, he is still presenting arguments for his position—which granted is now approximately "you're being a hypocrite and you don't understand things", but he is still arguing for it—that is, he is still trying to reach NMJ; he is acting as though on some level he believes he can get through to him. 

But in attempting to convince NMJ about XY, he is not acting like someone who expects that NMJ is right about to die; because if he were expecting that, he could simply say whatever he likes to put NMJ off, knowing that he won't actually have to pay up. Similarly, in attempting to get through to NMJ via argument, however angrily, he is not treating NMJ as purely an object to be manipulated; NMJ's beliefs matter to JGY separately (I am not saying /only/ separately) from what those beliefs lead NMJ to do. To put it another way: he cares about what NMJ thinks. This too is something that prevents JGY from simply telling NMJ whatever he wishes to hear, and this, too, is lost at the stairs.

For after the stairs, telling NMJ what he wants to hear, and just telling NMJ something that will put him off because he knows or hopes he won't have to pay up, are exactly what JGY does. When he shows up at the Unclean Realm a few days later, he tells NMJ he's here to acknowledge his mistakes and that he's realized NMJ is "doing this" for him; he promises to bring NMJ XY's head in two months, and tells NMJ he can do whatever he likes with him if JGY does not. This is a significant change in behaviour from before the stairs, and in consideration with all the other evidence it seems to me that this is because, post-stairs, he no longer values what NMJ thinks of him, and he is now gambling on his killing NMJ before NMJ kills him.

The only area where he does push back now is NMJ's treatment of NHS, I suspect because he worries about what NMJ might do or continue to do to NHS in his remaining two months of life.

So: I really do think the evidence is pretty clear that JGY starts with Turmoil after the stairs, in that it is directly signalled by the text and in that all the evidence around it backs this up.

That said, I have seen other objections raised by various anti-JGY folk, and while some of them have more merit than others I think it's worth taking the time to go over them.

-JGY couldn't possibly have prepared the Turmoil music in the few days between the stairs and him starting to play for NMJ after.

Yes, I agree; he must have had it prepared earlier. But that only means that he had it prepared, not that he was using it, and while there are certainly people who will only prepare a weapon if they are sure they will use it, I really don't think JGY is among them. He might also have prepared it as evidence for his father that he was working on solving the problem.

-WWX didn't notice a difference between the music JGY was playing before the stairs and the music he was playing after; therefore, it must be the same music.

Honestly, I think that WWX just didn't notice. It's explicitly described as very subtle, and indeed he can't tell the difference between the altered passage and the rest of the song (ch 63):  

Wei WuXian withdrew the flute from his lips, “It really is this section? But I don’t find this section different at all.”

And he again observes how similar they are in chapter 64:  

And he combined them so well. They sound as though there were the same. His musical talent is indeed excellent.

His repeated observation that they sound just the same suggests that he could very well have failed to notice, I think, and indeed he would have heard the altered version more often.

There is also another explanation, entirely compatible with JGY only using Turmoil after the stairs. WWX says of JGY playing Turmoil that he must have "used little spiritual power" during the Clarity sections, and "only exerted power" during the Turmoil section (ch 64). So if we think WWX would definitely have noticed the difference, there is an explanation for how he nevertheless very clearly observed NMJ's hostile energy suppressed by the music; JGY might have been using his power during the (much longer) Clarity part, and only used a very little during Turmoil. Personally, I think that it fits better with the overall emotional arc if JGY didn't change the music he was playing until after the stairs; but I accept this isn't ruled out as a possibility.

I feel obliged to note that at one point, after I was challenged on the issue of JGY changing the music after the stairs and pointed out WWX noticing NMJ's hostile energy being suppressed, as above, I was offered as an explanation for the passage that JGY couldn't possibly have abruptly switched to Turmoil right away when he started playing for NMJ, because NMJ would have noticed that he was suddenly feeling worse; and that therefore WWX clearly feeling NMJ's hostile energy being suppressed was not really evidence that JGY was playing Clarity and not Turmoil before the stairs. But I disagree with this, on two counts.

First, it is not clear to me that NMJ would in fact notice. He does not seem to be very self-aware about the effects of the sabre curse. He explicitly denies it at the stairs, for example: "I am not [in turmoil]. I know what I'm doing" (ch 49). After he burns NHS' things, when JGY asks him if he's told NHS about the sabre curse yet, NMJ asks "Why would I tell him so soon?" even though at this point he is quite clearly being affected (ch 50). And when he kicks open the door to kill JGY in chapter 50, he seems not to think about the curse at all. Of course this last is moments before he qi deviates and dies and is therefore perhaps not representative, but it fits with the general pattern; I don't believe we ever see him consider whether his anger might be because of the sabre curse, and indeed he is hardly given to questioning the righteousness of his anger in general.

Secondly, and more abstractly...WWX observing the hostile energy being suppressed—"clearly feel[ing]" it being suppressed (ch 49)—may not be /literally/ incompatible with the idea that JGY changed music after the stairs. But a story isn't just a collection of facts, and I think by far the most natural interpretation of this, in context, is that JGY is playing Clarity and not Turmoil. Which is not of course to say you can't have a resistant reading here, but I think it's generally good practice to acknowledge when your readings are resistant readings, and especially if you have a resistant reading not to say it is the only possible reading of the facts.

-JGY has no motive for playing for NMJ other than wanting him dead.

If we assume rather that he doesn't want him dead, he pretty clearly has a motive to help keep NMJ's temper under control, both on a personal level (so NMJ doesn't attack or embarrass him) and on a political level (so NMJ doesn't lose it and embarrass JGS). I would also like to note that although it was some time ago, and it seems likely that even before the stairs JGY's feelings about NMJ are not as positive as once they were, we have seen JGY go to quite heroic lengths to save NMJ's life before, when he saves him from Wen Ruohan by misdirection and assassination then drag/carries his unconscious body rather than leave him there and make good his own escape.

-The stairs and the fan burning both happen before JGY starts playing for NMJ after the stairs; NMJ wouldn't do either of those things in his right mind…

I agree; the Nie have to deal with the sabre curse. I think it's worth pointing out, too, that aside from Clarity we don't see NMJ take any measures to try to deal with the curse, either directly in addressing the curse itself, or by preventing himself from acting excessively under the influence of the curse; it shouldn't be surprising, then, that the curse can cause such drastic incidents.

-…and the sabre curse wouldn't be strong enough.

This one really confuses me as an objection, I'm going to be honest. We can be pretty sure NMJ would have qi deviated eventually, Turmoil or no. NHS says this in chapter 26:

"The sabers of our past sect leaders were all heavy with hostile energy and killing intent. Almost every single sect leader met a sudden death from a qi deviation explosion. Their irritable tempers also had a lot to do with this."

(As a side note: the missing paragraph in the ER translation right after this has I think occasionally led people to the conclusion that it is the qi deviation and such that WWX suggests is similar to demonic cultivation, as opposed to the sabres turning murderous after the deaths of their owners—you can see the Taming Wangxian and the MDZS Translation versions for the full context of the exchange.)

So NMJ was almost sure to qi deviate eventually! Moreover, he would have greatly strengthened the sabre spirit through his extensive use of Baxia during Sunshot, and after the war he continues to pursue cultivating with the sabre, without, I think, any sign of moderation. And it seems likely that he is already showing recognizable symptoms of the curse by the time JGY starts playing for him alone, as Clarity seems intended to slow the progression of the curse and also like something relatively newly introduced—they don't seem to have been doing this since Sunshot just in case, or anything. So how then could we be sure that the sabre curse on its own would be insufficient?

-NMJ wasn't at all violent before JGY started playing for him

This is simply not true. Unfortunately we don't see much of him outside of Empathy, but looking exclusively at things that happen before JGY starts playing for him:

His reputation in Sunshot is about his destroying the Wen, contrasted with LXC's which is about saving people (ch 48):

During the Sunshot Campaign, stories of praise were told about all three of the Venerated Triad. The ones of ChiFeng-Zun were about how he swept over all obstacles, leaving not even a trace of the Wen-dogs after he finished. ZeWu-Jun—Lan XiChen—however, was different from him. After the situation of the Gusu area had settled down, Lan QiRen was able to defend it with great tenacity. Thus, Lan XiChen often travelled to aid others, saving lives from danger. In all of the Sunshot Campaign, he had countless times recovered lost territory and assisted narrow escapes. This was why people were ecstatic whenever they heard his name, as though they gained a ray of hope, a powerful trump card.

The description of his reaction to seeing MY kill the Jin captain pretty strongly suggests his initial reaction was to attack MY on the spot (ch 48):

Nie MingJue saw all of the scene. Without saying a word, he unsheathed his saber by an inch. A sharp ring pierced through the air.

Hearing the familiar sound of unsheathing, Meng Yao immediately trembled. He spun around, his soul almost evaporating, “… Sect Leader Nie?”

Nie MingJue pulled all of his saber out of its sheath. The body of the sword glared brightly, yet the blade itself vaguely glinted in the red shade of blood. Wei WuXian could feel the billowing anger from him, along with emotions of disappointment and hatred.

Meng Yao knew Nie MingJue’s character more than anyone else. He dropped the sword with a clang, “Sect Leader Nie, Sect Leader Nie! Please wait, please wait! I can explain!”

Even after he's listening, he ends up grabbing MY by the collar and lifting him up (ch 48). 

When he's explaining what happened with MY to LXC, he announces his intention to kill MY if he ever sees him again (ch 48), and after MY kills WRH, saving NMJ's life in doing so, and is carrying him out afterwards, he grabs his sabre from MY's hand and tries to kill MY again (ch 49). He only stops when LXC physically blocks him, and changes his mind after LXC explains that MY was in fact a spy, and I think it's worth noting that WWX believes that MY would probably have died under NMJ's attacks before LXC arrived if NMJ hadn't been heavily injured (ch 49). We're also told the brotherhood oath 3zun swear is unusually violent, in a way JGY suggests, and which LXC notably does not refute, was decided by NMJ (ch 50). Finally, while this summary of NMJ's interests is arguably from WWX's perspective, it is still notable that the only two things he's apparently interested in are "training his saberwork and killing Wen-dogs" (ch 49)—which is to say, the study of violence, and a particular and fatal application thereof. 

(Totally unrelated fun fact: I was looking at the entrance to the Phoenix Mountain Hunt for this too and apparently NMJ is seventh on the young cultivators list (ch 69). The more you know!)

I want to be very clear that I am not saying that all of NMJ's violence is unreasonable or not understandable. But that it can be reasonable and understandable does not mean that it is not violent; and it is certainly not the only reaction a person could have to the events he's reacting to. Contrast LXC, as someone rather on the other end of the spectrum.

-If NMJ were violent, JGY wouldn't risk his life killing him via Turmoil (and therefore NMJ must not be violent)

Even aside from the extensive textual evidence for NMJ's violence, I don't think this holds together. As shown above, I think it's quite clear that NMJ was in fact always a violent man, but there is absolutely no question that he's violent to JGY in his last months of life, and if you think JGY started playing Turmoil for NMJ before the stairs, then it's really extremely clear that JGY was willing to risk NMJ's violence in killing him! I think the clash between JGY's desire to live and the evident risk to his life from killing NMJ with Turmoil actually supports the position I am arguing here. Assuming we are agreed that JGY is attached to his own life, and as it's clear that as NMJ approached his end he was a danger to JGY (regardless of how that end was induced!), why was JGY playing him Turmoil?

I think the stairs make it clear to JGY that his life is not safe while NMJ is still alive. Using Turmoil, therefore, becomes a gamble he is willing to take, though still an enormously risky one: on the one hand, it appeases his father and enables him to promise NMJ he can do whatever he likes with JGY if he doesn't kill XY in two months (ch 50), a promise he obviously and understandably has no intention of keeping. But on the other hand, if NMJ doesn't die within the two months, he probably will simply kill JGY—and more than that, given his focus on JGY, he may kill JGY anyway, for some much more trivial reason. Indeed, this is exactly what almost happens just before NMJ's death, when he kicks open a door and attempts to kill JGY on the spot because JGY was complaining to LXC about NMJ's treatment of him; if LXC hadn't blocked NMJ's sabre, JGY would almost certainly have died (ch 50). But as risky as this gamble is, it is still a better bet than waiting around and hoping LXC always saves him when NMJ tries to kill him—especially taking into account the risk from his father should he do so.

-The stairs incident was good for JGY and bad for NMJ, which is evidence that JGY arranged it on purpose

...I have a lot of things to say about this position. None of them are very nice. However, as I am in fact trying to argue in good faith, I will attempt to address it as an argument.

I think this comes from a confusion of the fandom reaction to the stairs with the in-universe reaction to it. To people now, yes, looking at this makes NMJ look bad, and inspires sympathy for JGY. In-universe, however—when NMJ publically assaults JGY and tries to kill him, when he calls him Meng Yao, when he shouts he's the son of a prostitute, it's not /NMJ/ who looks bad. NMJ of course is righteous in his anger; really he's only putting that boy in his place, don't you think? I knew Chifeng-zun didn't really accept him. Etcetera. It /weakens/ JGY's position, because the cultivation world does not have the same beliefs and priorities and value judgements that we do!

Certainly if he'd actually managed to kill JGY he would suddenly have found that he had killed JGS's beloved son, the only remaining son of the Jin, a war hero, his own sworn brother who had saved NMJ's life etc etc etc. But only because then there would have been political advantage in it for JGS, and quite substantial political advantage too, and he wouldn't have to deal with JGY being around anymore. As it stands, all NMJ's actions at the stairs do for JGY is tell the world that he is vulnerable and weak and disgusting. The only significant person in-world who would find JGY more sympathetic after this incident is LXC, and frankly a) he is already deeply in sympathy with JGY and b) we don't see JGY playing it up—after LXC's appearance at the stairs rather he minimizes and soothes things, and even when we overhear his complaints to LXC around two months later he is talking about what NMJ thinks of him, and not the physical danger NMJ poses.

I will also observe that while JGY does end up losing his temper, he starts off soothing even through NMJ's first attempted assault, and only loses it after NMJ calls him Meng Yao and says "your whole thing stopped working on me since a long time ago" in front of everyone; this attempted conciliation seems an odd thing to do were he in fact trying to manipulate NMJ into assaulting him, trying to kill him, embarrassing him and weakening his position in public. You could argue that NMJ would be more angered by JGY's attempts to be soothing than he would by JGY's directness, and thus the soothing could be read as provocative, but this simply isn't backed up by the text; while NMJ was obviously already angry before JGY lost his temper, he nevertheless escalates significantly after JGY talks back.

Moreover...I think what NMJ actually does and tries to do at the stairs, in terms of violence, is sometimes not fully grasped.

The first thing he does once they're properly outside is try to hit JGY, though fortunately JGY manages to dodge. When NMJ kicks him down the stairs, even aside from calling JGY the son of a prostitute, JGY ends up rolling down more than fifty steps and acquiring a head wound—/another/ head wound, because he already had one, apparently from the physical abuse he receives at Jinlintai from Madam Jin. And finally, NMJ actually /unsheathes his sabre/ and, after LXC approaches, announces his intention to kill JGY:

Lan XiChen, “Brother, sheath your saber first—your mind is in turmoil!”

Nie MingJue, “I am not. I know what I’m doing. He’s beyond hope. If these keeps on going, he’ll do the world harm for sure. The earlier he’s killed, the earlier we can relax!”

(ch 49)

When I say that NMJ almost killed JGY at the stairs, I am not just talking about kicking him down the stairs, although that certainly could have killed JGY. I am talking about drawing his sabre on JGY with the intention of killing him. JGY would very likely have died if LXC hadn't thought they were taking too long and come to see. 

JGY can certainly take enormous risks when it's necessary—but for a risk like this he would have to be gaining something extremely significant, and I remain unconvinced he was gaining anything at all, let alone anything worth the cost.

-NMJ's actions at the stairs and his burning NHS' things are completely unrelated to any of his previous actions and motivations.

In fact, although they're certainly both significant escalations, I think that in both cases NMJ's motivations and actions draw extensively from preceding characterization.

Consider the stairs. The direct classism is certainly new, but there are several other elements that have already been established as part of NMJ's characterization: the tendency to violence, the investment in JGY behaving correctly even while ignoring incorrect behaviour around him, the approach to justice both in his particular and frequently-retributive idea of it and in his commitment to that idea, and a failure to understand the realities of JGY's position.

The violence I discussed above, and the failure to understand JGY's position has I think been discussed sufficiently elsewhere and besides would be a full post in its own right. As to NMJ's approach to justice, you can see both idea and commitment to it in his anger to the men speaking badly of MY (ch 48) and his appreciation and promotion of MY for his accomplishments (ch 48); his initial intention to kill MY after he catches him killing the Jin captain (ch 48), his subsequent insistence that MY turn himself in to the Jin (ch 48) and his intention to kill MY for his betrayal after MY tricks him and escapes (ch 48); his initial insistence that MY should pay for killing the Nie cultivators, even as he acknowledges that MY saved his life and says he will kill himself after he kills MY (ch 49); and of course in his insistence that WQ and WN should pay for their complicity with WRH, even in the face of LXC and JC's defense of them (ch 73). And in describing LWJ as "absolutely [unable to] stand wrongdoings, possibly even more than Nie HuaiSang’s brother" (ch 30), WWX implies a great deal about the extent of NMJ's inability to stand wrongdoings. Of course, not all of these instances involve NMJ seeking violent retribution as justice, but a significant portion do—about half—and it is certainly a recurring theme. This approach to justice, I should add, is certainly involved in attempting to punish JGY for his misdeeds by killing him, but it is also part of why he is so upset in the first place: in NMJ's view of things, holding XY in prison instead of executing him for his crimes is failing to see justice properly done.

The investment in JGY behaving correctly, even while caring less about the behaviour of other people around him doing the same, is likewise an established character note. WWX concludes that NMJ's desire to guide JGY is one of the main reasons he agrees to the brotherhood (ch 49); we see his disapproval of JGY associating with XY, who already has something of a bad reputation, at the Flower Banquet (ch 49); at the conference after WWX rescues the Wen, when JGY backs up his father's lie about what WWX said about JC, NMJ seems to mark it more heavily than JGS' initial lie (ch 73). And then, of course, there is this, from the scene just before JGY starts playing for NMJ (ch 49):

In reality, it wasn’t that Jin GuangYao could calm Nie MingJue’s anger, but that since Jin GuangYao came, all of Nie MingJue’s anger would be directed at him alone, having no time to scold others. Thus, there was nothing wrong with saying that he was Nie HuaiSang’s knight in shining armor.

While NMJ's actions at the stairs are certainly not something he'd have done without the sabre curse, and again the direct classism is new, it nevertheless very much ties in to his preexisting characterization.

What about the burning of NHS' things? Again, many elements of the situation derive from NMJ's preexisting characterization; in this case, his tendency to release his anger on physical objects, his desire for NHS to be a strong cultivator and his angry displeasure with NHS' actual interests and capabilities, and his threatening to burn NHS' things.

Although prior to the burning of NHS' things it seems to be usually a momentary lashing out, NMJ definitely has a history of releasing his anger on physical objects. When he is annoyed at the men speaking badly about MY, he knocks down (or carves up? the English is unclear) a boulder at the front of the cave (ch 48); when he decides not to kill MY after LXC explains MY was their spy, he carves a boulder in half (ch 49); and he cracks the top of a table by bringing his palm down on it in the scene just before JGY starts playing for him (ch 49).

As to NMJ's desire for his brother to focus on and do well at cultivation, and his displeasure at NHS' actual areas of focus, this is perhaps one of his most consistent beats of characterization. We see it in our introduction to NHS at the Cloud Recesses lectures (ch 13); in NHS' plea for WWX's help with the test (ch 14); in LXC's message to NHS from NMJ and NHS' reason for staying in CR instead of going to Caiyi Town (ch 16); in WWX's reminiscences about NHS after discussing the "Man-Eating Ridge" with the "know-it-all of Qinghe" (ch 21); in NMJ and LXC's discussion when NMJ brings LXC NHS' sabre during in Sunshot (ch 48); and of course in the scene just before JGY starts playing for NMJ, both in his initial anger at NHS' preoccupation with the fans and uncertainty about his sabre's location, and in his dismissal of NHS as a "good-for-nothing" even after his temper had faded (ch 49).

The threatening to burn NHS' things, on the other hand, I believe we only see once, and really in the form of "instructing NHS to burn certain specific things of his"; but it is in the very scene before JGY starts playing for NMJ, as NMJ tells NHS to burn the fans he has just been going over tenderly before JGY interrupts (ch 49).

Indeed, I think that scene in general is very much worth a look here, for what it has and for what it doesn't. On the one hand, we do see NHS' fear of NMJ—he literally falls to his knees in terror, and stutters even after getting up! But he also seems fairly comfortable after the worst of NMJ's anger passes, and when NMJ sends him off he goes not to his room as instructed, but to the living room for the gifts JGY has brought him. Yet many of the elements of NMJ's later destruction of NHS' things are present here, and to my mind one of the most important things about the scene is its illustration of what prevents NMJ from carrying out the threats he made in his anger. It's not that he's convinced he's being unreasonable—indeed, he doesn't seem to consciously change his mind at all. Instead it is simply that repeated interruptions and NHS's ridiculous appearance as he greets JGY end up draining his temper, and with his temper drained he no longer pursues punishing NHS. But this has obvious implications for what might happen if NMJ's anger did not diminish, and I think it's quite clear how the behaviour NMJ exhibits in this scene could lead to NMJ burning NHS' things simply by giving him a more sustained burst of temper, even as it is not something NHS ever expected to happen, or something that would happen had NMJ's temper not been worsened by the sabre curse.

To conclude this section—while NMJ's actions at the stairs and in burning NHS' things are certainly unprecedented in themselves, they are nevertheless solidly rooted in NMJ's preexisting characterization, and it's easy to see how the sabre curse could lead to these extreme escalations. 

To conclude the post, I think the direct evidence is quite clear that JGY was playing Clarity before the stairs, and I think the indirect evidence also significantly supports it; nor am I convinced by various objections I have seen, for reasons I hope I have conveyed.

[seyaryminamoto]

As someone, who's favourite character is Zuko, let me just say that your analysis about the Southern Raiders is spot on. Something about that episode (especially the way Zuko acted) always felt a little... off to me. And I could never figure out what it was exactly and considering the fact that discussion about this episode centered around the Kataang vs Zutara, I thought I was the only one who felt that way. So, I guess thanks for putting my thoughts into words.

Oh, I really feel ya, anon. If you actually don't look at the episode from a shipping point of view, which seems to be the focus of most the fandom, a lot of unpleasant things really start sticking out. I'm personally neutral to the Kataang vs. Zutara debate, I see good points and drawbacks to both ships, and no one's going to convince me that this episode proved the superiority of either pairing, especially when the shipping interpretations have never been important to me when analyzing this episode. People can say Aang is right in the end, they can say Zuko understands Katara's plight better (which, considering Aang has lost even more people he loved than Zuko has, he certainly should have understood Katara's suffering quite well too), but focusing on whether Zuko or Aang are the angel or the devil on Katara's shoulders practically blinds everyone to the very glaring and mindboggling flaws in this episode's writing, imo.

In general, the concept of Zuko's life-changing field trips with the three Gaang members he'd wronged the most is fine and fun for most people, but from the first time I watched the show it felt like the production team knew they were pressed for time and needed some veeeery quick and effective solution for Zuko to gain acceptance in the Gaang ASAP despite all the bad blood there. I can imagine a lot of people love these episodes, but admittedly I wouldn't rank any of them among my favorites because, as interesting as some of their concepts could be, if executed right, my immersion certainly wasn't as strong as with the rest of the show due to the nagging feeling that this was all for the sake of redeeming Zuko in the eyes of each Gaang member... and not necessarily in the eyes of the audience.

They get away with it, of course, because by this point in time, the audience is 100% conditioned to love the Gaang and Zuko, and if you see them getting along, you should be rejoicing in their team-up... but if you put some emotional distance between yourself as a viewer and the events of these episodes, their writing leaves a lot to be desired, especially in the concept of giving Zuko a quick whitewashing in the eyes of Aang, Sokka and Katara, one after the other, so they can genuinely accept him as a teammate and friend. If we'd seen similar trips frequently or occasionally in the rest of the show, with two specific members of the team taking off on an adventure by themselves, it might not be so glaringly obvious (and even... artificial? I guess?) that they're trying to quick-redeem him for each of them here, but on top of it happening thrice, it's literally happening one after the other, too. There's no episodes in-between, it's just literally a four-parter arc of "let's help Zuko become friends with these three".

The plotlines to be dealt with in these episodes are basically catered to each Gaang member, tailor-made life-changing field trips based on whatever they'll value the most, all of it conveniently possible and doable in the span of time they have between Zuko's joining of their group and the show's finale. Aang needs to learn firebending, Sokka needs to save his dad, Katara is permanently grieving for her mother's death. And so, Zuko to the rescue! If he helps them with their personal character quests, he gets 50+ approval points! :'D Honestly, I'm absolutely not against the notion of Zuko befriending them, obviously not, but the methods through which they chose to make it happen simply might not be the finest...?

Zuko loses his ability to bend because he "lost his rage", but he's still angry pretty often, the show even spoofs its own writing by showing him losing his patience at Sokka... while at the same time trying to sell that Zuko "isn't angry" anymore? Zuko helps break out random prisoners from the Boiling Rock without taking a single moment to actually learn who they are, why they were locked up, and without pondering if they deserve to be helped or if perhaps they're genuinely dangerous? Zuko gives Katara every possible tool and information she needs to take revenge on Yon Rha, because, loosely quoting his own words, he "cares what she thinks of him"...?

How about if we'd seen Zuko trying to connect with Fire Nation people, to help his fellow Fire Nation citizens, especially the ones who were living in dreadful conditions, like the ones in the Jang Hui river village? How about if we'd seen Zuko saving lives rather than threatening to take them? How about if we'd seen Zuko actually reasoning with his anger, and either working his way out of it, or repurposing it consciously, or making legitimate, personal efforts to find a new source of strength for his firebending through self-reflection, above all else?

We didn't really need sudden one-on-one field trips to teach Aang, Katara and Sokka to trust Zuko: we needed Zuko to prove himself worthy of that trust, to show how much he has changed, to literally contrast his new behavior with the old, to actually see that the guy no longer jumps into violence-mode 24/7, that he's willing to listen to other people's opinions or wisdom, that he wants to learn better when he knows he's misguided or misunderstanding something or another. Would he have become BFFs with any of them in four episodes if this had happened? Well, it definitely would have happened with Aang, the other two would have been trickier, but they definitely would have been more willing to accept him if they actually got to SEE that the changes in Zuko weren't skin-deep. Katara can be as thick-headed and stubborn as she may want to be, but I have no doubts she wouldn't have been able to hate Zuko as much as she used to if she'd seen him helping people, much like she often wants their group to do. But instead, they don't get to see the actual changes and growth... they just get their biggest goals and wishes satisfied, and that's enough to decide Zuko's trustworthy, no matter whatever sketchy behavior he displays in later episodes.

I absolutely appreciate the worldbuilding context we gain for the raids on the Water Tribe through The Southern Raiders, but I don't think this was an organic way to tell the story of how Zuko became friends with the Gaang. If pressed, I'd even say that Zuko's overt desperation to be their friend is OOC, to a degree: if this guy actually knows how dangerous his father's plans are (and he's supposed to :'D), how isn't he focusing on that side of things, when he's always been such a go-getter? It's not like he grew out of this sort of ends-justify-the-means behavior, seeing as he's absolutely obsessed with stopping his father ASAP, by any means possible, in the finale, when there was no such urgency to be found ever since he joined the Gaang. How isn't he more worried about stopping Ozai than about becoming best friends with the Gaang? Immediately sharing everything he's learned about Ozai's intentions of destroying the whole world might not make them friends instantaneously, but it would certainly get someone like Sokka to take his information seriously and immediately begin strategizing how to counter Ozai's plans. Instead, Zuko spent all those weeks, over a month, even, teaching Aang firebending, going on field trips and hanging out with his new friends in Ember Island. Once you have all the cards on deck and you actually look at all of them at once, doesn't it feel like there were so many more ways to achieve what the show was going for, far more effective ways than through the "let's be friends with Zuko" arc?

Ultimately, there's very little display of growth, in my opinion, in this small arc, on Zuko's side, despite the most obvious and reasonable way to earn the trust of the Gaang would be by outright showing them how much he's grown. I won't deny I appreciate that the writers respected his personality and didn't just warp him into the perfect good softboi the way the fandom apparently interprets him, but even if Zuko was going to be cranky and speak one-liners like "I'm never happy", it wasn't impossible to write better situations for him to connect with the Gaang's members and gain their trust. Even if the writers were set on having these episodes happen exactly as they did, they absolutely could have been written in a much better way, to create an explicit and direct contrast between Zuko's early behavior and the new Zuko's behavior when it comes to things that matter (most the parallels I've seen the fandom drawing are things like "oh look he hated tea before but now he brews it for his friends! So much growth!"... would've been nice to see the growth when it came to a lot of other things, too, if the growth really was there? Am I rite...?).

I may just be influenced by other redemption arcs that focus mainly on characters having common goals and working together to achieve them, then becoming friends in the process... but I really don't see how Zuko's character benefited from these episodes. Yes, bridges were built... but they absolutely could have been built in a more organic way that didn't make people like myself (and a few others) question if Zuko had learned or grown at all, considering the way he behaves isn't all that distant from the Zuko we've seen and known throughout the rest of the show. And the fact that he really seems to have learned nothing in The Southern Raiders once you reach the show's finale... you're basically asked to take for granted Zuko did learn a lot of lessons because he says he did, to assume he's going to put them into practice sometime in the future despite he has chances to do it during the show itself but never does, simply because they drop the ball upon every opportunity to show how much he's changed.

I really don't blame his character at all, when it comes to these shortcomings... it's seriously, genuinely, a problem with the writing department. Take a look through the fandom and you'll see thousands of people who claim Zuko's character arc is the most touching, complex and beautiful writing they ever have seen... and why? Because we're in the face of tell-don't-show :'D most people's perception of Zuko's character are based not so much on HOW Zuko displays his growth, it's strongly based on him stating he made progress, even if there's too many instances where the growth simply seems to have fallen to the wayside or gone forgotten for the sake of a plotline or another. Zuko absolutely could have been written far better than this, he could absolutely have the redemption arc his fans are sure he does have, but for me... there's way too many gaps in logic, too many missed opportunities, to truly think his growth was as extraordinary as a lot of people are hung up on saying it was.

[wallwriterstuff]

Foundling ||Caius Volturi x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of neglect and absent parent

Words: 4176

Taglist: @thelastemzy​ @kpopgirlbtssvt​ @a-avaunce​ @college-is-coming​ @alecvolturiswifeforever​ @broskibowser​ @volturidoll13​ @raindancer2004​ (hopefully this actually works this time!)

Summary: A request for @like-rain-or-confetti​ 

Caius has done a lot of terrible things over the course of his life, and the one good thing he did do he was never allowed to keep. After centuries of waiting, she finally gets to confront him for all of his deeds, the good and the bad. 

Most who knew Caius knew him for his rage, but not very many understood where that rage came from. It was like a chronic disease that plagued him always, the slightest things setting his volatile mood off. No, the blonde king was a ticking time bomb and whoever came across him knew all the while to tread carefully lest they lose a limb at best, their head at worst. His reputation proceeded him, his brutality well renowned, so the Cullen’s witnesses knew better than to cross Caius when he was busy warmongering, and he most certainly had tried his best to instigate something given that the Denali had had to inhale their sister’s ashes.  

“We cannot know the child will not be dangerous!”

“Regardless they have been consorting with werewolves, our sworn enemies.”

Edward could only hold his family tight and pray for reprieve, watching Caius scrabble for any excuse to end those he held dear because of one mistake. Granted, that mistake had grown rapidly to be the very centre of his world and he would not trade his daughter for anything, but despite her lovable nature Renesmee was very much his creation and the very reason his whole family was now in danger. It was a difficult conundrum to wrap his head around and he still didn’t have all the right answers but he had people on his side to support him, and for Edward that was enough. Caius didn’t relent. Marcus spared him a pitying glance, Aro’s eyes less forgiving but nonetheless understanding, and Edward caught the briefest glimpse then of everything that made Caius what he was. The root of all of his anger and hostility stemmed not from his lack of gift as so many assumed, but from a small, infant girl.

He couldn’t quite contain his surprise. Aro was very good at controlling his thoughts around him but this one had slipped free. Caius looked so much softer in this memory, all of his rough edges filed away. For once, his eyes were not filled with hate and fire but wonder and trepidation, a bit of fear perhaps. Edward recognised those eyes immediately even if he didn’t understand how he had found them in Caius’s face of all people, because those were the eyes he had looked at Renesmee with when he pulled her free of his mate’s womb. It was the doting, adoring expression of a father who held his world in the centre of his palm. Caius was not voting to kill Renesmee out of fear for their species, but out of centuries worth of spite, spite that Edward had what he could not.

He had given up his daughter.

Caius was the first to leave the battlefield, his jaw twitching as he fought the urge to snarl, and even Athenodora didn’t dare follow him for a while. For those who knew him best they were able to feel the hurt radiating beneath all that rage, and for the weeks that followed even their own guard members felt unsafe in his presence. Demetri and Felix had caught one of the lower guard sneaking from the castle, his hand freshly reattached – Aro had let him go when he saw why the younger vampire had wanted to flee. Even Jane had been a little ashen once when she returned from the dungeons with him, Caius looking no more satisfied than he had when he went in while she all but collapsed in her brother’s embrace. As the weeks dragged to months, Aro couldn’t help but think it was time to do something. Caius had spent more time locked in the tower the week previous than he had with them, seeking comfort from his mate. It gave them plenty of time to talk.

“It has been centuries Aro, the man deserves peace.”

“I had thought time would heal this wound, that for the sake of Athenodora he might have moved on.”

“The love of a father is far stronger than the forces of time.”

So Demetri became the first of the guard to know of this well-kept secret the very next day. His shock was quite obvious, his curiosity to, but he knew better than to ask questions as Aro described the girl, thought of the infant she had been when they last saw her, and gave him all the information he might need to grasp her tenor.

“I trust your discretion can be counted on, dear boy?” Aro asked. Demetri had nodded once, then turned and left without so much as a goodbye to the others. The tenor was warm and vibrant, something he could easily get lost in. Demetri only paused in his searching to hunt here and there, rest briefly in a few hotels while he washed and traced the tenor in the forefront of his mind more thoroughly, but his feet carried him swiftly out of Italy and into Germany, through Eastern Europe and into Asia. He was surrounded by the colours and aromas of cultures he had not seen for a few decades. Usually Asia was quiet, the peoples having so many myths, legends and folklore that it was easy for a nomad to blend in, their slip ups often cleaned up by the humans that recognised the demonic nature of the mysterious deaths they left behind and tried to rectify the situation through prayer and ritual. It served as a better warning they were attracting too much attention than any Volturi visit could – they had trained the humans well in this regard.

Demetri finally stopped alongside a high rise building in Yokohama, Japan. The city was the second most populated in Japan, a good place to hunt and hide for a hybrid he was sure. The tenor was brightest here, many floors above him, and Demetri pondered exactly how best to go about engaging with his target for a moment. He could sneak into the building and into her apartment but he didn’t want to startle the poor girl, especially not since he had no clue whether or not she was gifted – he didn’t fancy getting his ass lit on fire to find out. He could always wait to see if she emerged, follow her from a distance, though that was another sure way to startle her if she caught him. Peeling away from the wall, he seamlessly blended into the human traffic on the pathway, pulling his phone from his pocket to search for a hotel as he walked along. He would withdraw for now, ‘bump’ into her on the street as a random passer-by and hope his obvious vampirism was enough to make her approach him.

It took her less than 24 hours to move and, dressed down in some casual clothes, he set out to follow her. Eyes covered by irritating contacts, he made his way through the Sankeien Gardens, following discretely as she took a leisurely stroll across the acres of land dotted with colourful spring blossoms and buildings older than most of the humans wondering the place. She seemed quite content to take her time, lifting her phone to take pictures here and there of flowers and views she liked. Demetri played the part of the awed tourist well, trailing her for an hour and a half before they seemed to have looped the entire expanse of the Gardens and ended up back at the pond they had walked around at the start. She sat herself on a bench, staring out over the water with mystifying blue eyes. She still stood out from the others around her though, her posture a little too straight, hands folded neatly in her lap, a child of her time out of place amongst modern mortals.

“You would look far less suspicious if you took a seat.” He had no doubt that she was talking to him. Lips twitching into a smirk, he did exactly as she asked. Hands in his pockets, he sat beside her on the bench, his eyes fixed on the pond before them. The shock of white-blonde hair on her head was almost proof enough she was Caius’s daughter, but he still had to check.

“The sakura blossoms make for a beautiful view, Carina.” He said. She visibly stiffened, her fast-fluttering heart pounding strongly in his ears. She had that vampiric twinge to her scent, something overly sweet that marked her as vampire and tangled nicely with the deliciously human side of her, much like Rensemee.

“Volturi.” She hissed quietly.

Demetri chuckled wryly. “So, my reputation proceeds me.”

“I have not been known by that name for many centuries. Only one coven would still recall it.” She griped, fists clenching a little in her lap. Demetri glanced at her then, taking in the sharp cheekbones and square jawline that he saw often in his Master’s face. The glare she wore was vicious.

“Do not make me use violence in a place as beautiful as this princess.” He threatened idly, gaze returning to the water as powerful lights threw beams across the surface, making it glimmer darkly. The sun had disappeared long ago or he wouldn’t have been out to follow her, the overcast day turning more quickly into night-time.

“So that is all, is it? I am to be hauled away from my home without negotiation or warning on the whim of a madman?” she sniffed. Demetri looked at her curiously.

“You speak ill of a man whom you barely know.” He mused.

“I know enough.” She retorted sharply, her eyes meeting his. The piercing blue made his curious mind race – because Athenodora could not be her mother so who had given her those eyes? – but he kept his expression cool and collected. Demetri stood to offer her a hand, one she eyed with distaste and distrust. He had no ill-intentions, but a little charm never hurt, especially not when he wanted to get his way with as little effort expended as possible.

“My contacts will not last forever, I will need to go somewhere more private to change them if we are to make the most of this evening before we depart.” He informed her. Her eyebrow arched high, her expression one of disbelief.

“What, pray tell, do you think we would be doing this evening?” she questioned. He smirked.

“It has been quite a while since I visited Japan, even then my last trip was to Tokyo. This is your city princess, show me why I should let you stay.” He invited. She scoffed.

“We both know your orders would not allow for such a thing…does your silver tongue work most other times?” she wondered, slipping her hand in his and letting him pull her up. He blinked in surprise as she dusted off the backs of her jeans. Most women took to his charm easily, but apparently Carina was as stubborn as her father.

“I…” he paused, wondering how to make her change her mind. She smirked, head shaking and sending silken sheets of straight blonde hair over her shoulder.

“It appears to be broken entirely now, I would get that checked this evening while I pack a few essentials, if I were you.” She was already moving away by the time his brain caught up, and despite her obvious disdain for the idea, she was packed and ready to acquiesce his escort to Volterra. For all her stubbornness however not even she could fight off the physical needs her mortality demanded, and Demetri found himself standing watch over the would-be Princess as she slept in a hotel in Florence. The even rise and fall of her chest gave him a pattern for his thoughts to echo, an endless ebbing and flowing of questions he couldn’t find answers to. Carina had not been forthcoming in giving any and he somehow doubted that the Masters’ would be either. She was clearly displeased to be here, her sleep interrupted several times and a small frown creasing her brow for most of the night. It was an expression he only saw when she was unconscious and let her guard down.

She woke to an unconscious man in their penthouse living space, the corpse of his wife already lay atop the glass coffee table while Demetri sat with an ankle resting on the opposite knee, newspaper in hand. With an ungracious snort, she dragged her prey back into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her for good measure, only opening it to toss the body out once it was drained for him to deal with. Demetri’s eyes rolled a little. He wondered if Caius knew his hybrid daughter was an eternally dramatic, angsty teenager, and questioned if putting them in the same room together was a good idea. It was bound to be like watching two fireballs collide. Trusting her not to run while he was away, he left via the balcony to dispose of their meals while she got ready for the day.

He returned to find her with her bag by the door, looking smarter than he had seen her during their travels back to Italy.

“How unusually refined.” He commented, stooping to swing her bag onto his shoulder. She scoffed.

“You are planning on offering me up like a pig on a platter like a good little toy soldier are you not?” she retorted icily, “I best look the part lest your silver tongue not be the only thing about you broken.” Demetri frowned slightly, watching her carefully as they played the part of happy couple departing their hotel suite. Gianna had sent a car, something with air conditioning and plush leather so they wouldn’t have to exhaust themselves with another run. For most of the drive the radio played quietly between them, her eyes concealed behind sunglasses and staring out over the luxurious rolling hills and fields of vibrant green. When he was certain there was not too long of the journey left, and therefore not enough time for her to throw him out of the car and turn it around, he finally broke his silence.

“You seem to believe the worst of your father.”

She heaved a weary sigh. “His reputation proceeds him.”

Demetri kept his eyes on the road, weighing his words carefully. He had been a member of the guard long enough to know Caius’s behaviour was not unusual, and he had been in the higher guard long enough to hear snippets of conversation amongst the wives, amongst the Masters’. Seeing the confrontation with the Cullen’s and sitting in a car with her now it was quite obvious to him the source of his Master’s vexation.

“And if his words and actions were fuelled not by anger, but grief?” he questioned, voice quiet. She showed no outward sign of having heard him but the most minute clenching of her jaw was enough to prove to him he had given her food for thought, and with that they lapsed back into silence. It was not entirely pleasant, and the air between them stagnated long after they entered Volterra. She kept her head held high, her expression aloof. It was obvious to Demetri how alike they were now – they both were grieving and wore their pain like armour. He paused only briefly at the doors, just enough time for her to steel herself with a sharp inhale, and then he opened the doors. She lingered behind him as he strode forward, bowing slightly and glancing among his Masters’. Aro waved him away without fanfare, his eyes fixed on the young girl behind him. She stood just a little taller than Jane, petite and lithe much like her father.

Caius seemed absolutely rooted to the spot, his nostrils flaring as he took in deep lungful’s of air that was rapidly becoming saturated with her scent, the scent he had inhaled like an addict off a baby blanket till it ran dry. Aro drifted down the steps to meet her, Caius’s fingernail’s scraping the wooden armrests of his throne as he struggled to keep a myriad of emotions off of his face.

“Dear Carina, how good it is to see you home.” He sighed, extending a hand toward her. She stared at it in disgust.

“If I recall you were the one who ordered me sent away in the first place. I did not return for you, so let us be done with this charade father.” She stepped around Aro gracefully, leaving him quite obviously dumbfounded and irritated, his hand slowly falling back to his side. Caius shot to his feet like he was ready to flee, but he remained stock still as Alec warily drifted closer to him, palms turned out and ready to defend his Master at all costs. The sight of him and Jane drifting to his side seemed to enrage her.

“Carina…”

“Do not dare call me that name!” she snarled, “How long did it take you to replace me?” she cast a filthy look in Jane’s direction and the young girl growled quietly in response. Demetri almost flinched.

“They were Aro’s acquisition, not mine.” He retorted. There was absolutely no bite in his tone, all his bluster gone despite his rigid stance. Caius looked more powerless than ever as she folded her arms, staring at him expectantly. She had worn a short-sleeved dress for the occasion and her skin shimmered faintly in the light drizzling in through high windows. The tension was palpable.

“Leave us, dear ones.” Aro ordered. Demetri hesitated, frowning slightly, and he could see Alec and Jane’s obvious reluctance to leave to. Another firm order got them moving however, and Carina glanced back at him with agonised eyes. Demetri paused, searching her face and finding nothing more than a terrified young girl who didn’t want to face a father she knew nothing about by herself. He gave her the slightest of nods, a small and encouraging smile twitching up his lips. They were barely out of the throne room when the shouting began, and it lasted for hours. Nowhere in the castle was exempt from the noise and it quickly spread like wildfire that Caius’s daughter had returned, and she had quite the mouth on her.

“So you refuse to even see me now?” Caius demanded. If his voice had wavered nobody was so idiotic as to comment on it. Fists clenched, she trembled with rage.

“Tell me what there is to see but a petrified old man who let centuries pass before he decided to step up as a father!” her words were precise and cut deeply.

“I thought of you daily!”

“Do not attach thoughts of me to the atrocities you have committed!” she spat. Caius had faltered at that. For hours she had done nothing but scream about what a monster he was, about the things she had heard he had done. He sank slowly to the steps leading to his throne, unable to meet her eyes anymore. His grip was so tight the marble crumbled beneath his hands and he was left grasping at air.

“I…I wanted this world to be made safe for you…I…I tried to do right by you…”his upper lip curled back over his teeth, his expression a mask of rage it had taken centuries to perfect, one that concealed an unimaginable amount of agony.

“Do right by me?” she asked incredulously, “You abandoned me! I grew up without you, with no caretaker who ever understood me, shunned from one place to the next because you had seen fit to throw me away! My own father could not bear to raise the freak he had created.” Caius’s head snapped up and for the first time in centuries, he took a deep breath. He tried his best to quell the rage that simmered in his core, to shove aside the guilt and the grief. His daughter matched him like for like. She was his reflection, a carbon copy of his rage, and fighting fire with fire was not going to work. He was finally defeated.

“My war against the Children of the Moon led me to your door. I watched, as the filthy beast stared through the window…stared at you…you slept so peacefully, entirely unaware that the coven I had tasked with protecting you had failed…when I, when I returned to glimpse you one more time you – you were already gone.” The mere memory pained him, shamed him. The Irish had moved on so fast he hadn’t even been able to track them, their scent confused amongst the stink of wolves. Carina swallowed.

“Why? Why not visit me?” she demanded. Caius remained silent. What could he say? “Answer me! You owe me this! I always wandered where you were, why you let me go so easily! You owe me these answers.” Caius could only stare at her. She had grown since he held her last, no longer able to fit in the palm of his hand. She was the size of a sixteen-year old with a mind a millenia older, capable of recalling every wrong doing and forming opinions on the level of injustice each one carried.

“You have your mother’s eyes.” He blurted. It was all he could think to say, but it stopped the conversation dead. The silence rang around them, deafening in the wake of their previous screaming match. What were they doing? Their sweet reunion sullied by such foul words…

“Who…who was my mother?” she asked hesitantly. Caius sucked in a breath.

“A peasant girl,” he confessed quietly, “One Athenodora took a liking to and insist we…play with, for a while.” His voice echoed back to him off of the walls, Carina’s flinch something he didn’t miss. She nodded slowly.

“So, I was not even born of love.” She whispered.

“Perhaps not, but that did not mean I did not love you, the moment I held you in my arms…you were so small, so fragile for this world…how could I keep you when our enemies lingered at our door? You had to be safe, and safe was…was far away from me.” He swallowed, unable to look at her anymore. He was surprised when she shuffled towards the steps, keeping a few feet between them but sitting beside him nonetheless. Even with the distance he could still feel her heat, her temperature radiating from her like he was sat by an open flame. Another prolonged silence prevailed between them once more, and Caius wasn’t sure how to chase it away. How did he own up to centuries of ignorance? Of wrong-doing? How did he make any of this better?

Carina sighed heavily. “We have really made a mess of this.”

He looked to her in surprise, his shoulders sagging slightly in defeat.

“We have,” he agreed quietly, “But I should very much like to fix it, if you will permit me to try.” Carina quietly contemplated what that might look like for them for a moment, trying to imagine a world where her father was in her life. It had been so long and she had grown up without him…it was difficult to imagine where Caius might fit.

“I don’t need a father. I have grown out of the need for one.” Carina said quietly. Caius snapped his gaze away, a stiff nod all the acknowledgment she received. What had he expected really? A happy reunion?

“I see.” He murmured, pushing to his feet. Demetri had left her bag by the door and he was quite sure she would have no trouble picking it up on the way out.

“I do need a friend,” she spoke up, making his head turn, “I am especially in want of one who might know more about where I came from, if you could point me in the right direction.” Caius swallowed, not quite able to believe his ears. A slow smile twitched his lips upwards.

“I believe I may be able to assist you.” He agreed. Carina gave him a weak smile in reply, and Caius silently vowed it would be the first of many she gave him.

“I shall find accommodation then.” She decided. Caius immediately shook his head.

“Not at all. You may have a room here, you are welcome to one.” He said hastily. He would not lose her so soon after he had found her once more. Carina’s eyebrows rose.

“Will Demetri be nearby?” she asked innocently. Caius couldn’t help the scowl that wormed its way onto his face.

“And why does the location of his quarters matter?” he retorted. Carina grinned impishly.

“Because the pretty boy is not as clever as he likes to think he is and I did, admittedly, enjoy tormenting him on the journey here.” She confessed freely. Caius tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. Oh, oh she was his daughter alright.

“Something might be arranged.” He agreed.

“Wonderful.”

“If he is not cursing you within a week of your stay I will class your mission as a failure.”

“I will have him begging you to move him elsewhere I assure you.”

“Excellent.”

[lochnessies]

@cockati3l the church isn’t ruling people from behind the scenes. even the devs confirmed that. the church in adrestia doesn’t exist, the church in the alliance is ‘toothless’ and nobody pays attention to them as said by lorenz, and the western church is in open rebellion against the central. also, when does the church control anybody in the game? nobody is forced to follow them and they even take on nonbelievers as staff.

once again, what corruption are you talking about? it can’t be what edelgard mentions in her speech because that’s been proven false.

it can’t be killing the western priests because they attempted assassination more than once, grave robbed, and attempted to kill students. not to mention are racist af

it can’t be changing history a little because in your own words “what the fuck so u want her to do?” humans killed her race when they found out the amount of power stored in their bones, blood, and hearts. at that time in fodlan’s history clans were fighting for power with the relics of her family and she had to find a way to broker peace as said by intsys: “seiros and co. meddled with history not in order to rule over humans, but to quell the flames of war and chaos as much as possible, and to also keep a steady balance about humanity.”

also yes, rhea was about to step down. she says so herself. even calling herself a “mere proxy” for byleth.

tell me how claude piggybacked off of edelgard’s war to further his own aims? the game tells and shows that he’s spending his time trying to just keep the alliance together.

she’s literally called the hegemon. there is no freedom under her rule. she centralizes all power onto herself and makes herself the supreme ruler. what she says goes and in order to achieve that result she murdered, lied, and stole.

she literally said “i have no regrets.” why? because she doesn’t. she may feel kinda bad about all the dying but obviously not enough to stop what she’s doing and find another path.

also her words about the followers of seiros are far from kind. she calls them “mindless” multiple times (even in her s-support). the faithful are forced to flee from her. people even lose contact with the believers in the empire, and it’s not even allowed to be one in the first place. not to mention in hanneman/manuela’s ending the church can come back but only under the empire’s supervision. so we have a state controlled church. look at all the freedom!

when does dimitri leave crestless people to get fucked? he literally talks at length that he believes that people with crests and people without need to work together and recognize each other’s strengths.

also the church isn’t the one behind the “crest system” (if you can even call it that since the way each house interacts with it is so different). crests/clans became noble houses because of their strength (aka the empire’s meritocracy in the beginning) and the strong aka crest bearers rose to the top bc in the 91 years it took to kill nemesis his elites had already started their own bloodlines and families. the nintendo interview says that rhea lied about the origin of the crests and relics bc she wanted the wars to end and the only way to have gotten rid of the crests humans had would be to genocide them.

with nemesis gone and the adrestian empire now in charge of the continent, a meritocracy started to form among the nobility. hanneman in his support with dorothea says this about the founding of the empire: “consider this. at its inception, the concept of nobility assumed that the greatest among the populace would rise to power. in my mind, i believe that those who value knowledge, those who strive for more, and wish to protect and guide their fellow man. however, in practice, nobility often serves to keep those deemed commoners down, segregated from those who, by chance, were born to a noble family.” this is also paired with ferdiand’s support with edelgard: “certainly, we must recognize the common folk who strive for greatness and attain it. but for those of us born into nobility, things are more complicated. from birth, nobles must excel. if we do not, we will be forced out of our houses. this environment breeds superior individuals, and they, in turn, recreate the rigorous environment for their own children. without that cycle, there would be no political elite guiding the world towards prosperity.” so from these supports we learn that the empire was founded on the idea of the strongest shall rule and they would be replaced if they didn’t reach a standard. however, over time, the nobility started to abuse this power of theirs and the idea of meritocracy was forgotten. which, ironically, is how it always works in the real world as well. that’s where the concept of nobles often bearing crests comes from. it’s comes from the empire not the church. and when faerghus and the alliance break off from it they kept the tradition. also, if you talk to rhea in verdant wind when she talks about zanado you can tell she hates crests. at the very least she hates the fact that humans have them due to how they were acquired. you know, through genocide. it’s also in the book of seiros that the reason the goddess left was because people were abusing crests and it saddened her and she went back to the blue sea star. so no, the church isn’t propagating anything. and they can’t force the noble houses to adhere to their religion so they don’t.

i’m not sure what you mean by “squander any rebellion”. i think you mean squash/stamp out? well the only rebellion we see in the game is from the western church and as i said previously, the priests were punished because they attempted assassination more than once, grave robbed, and attempted to kill students. not to mention are racist af. the church wasn’t the aggressor and only stopped the rebellions because they were dangerous and were also attacking innocent people. however, we do know that in crimson flower there are rebellions under edelgard’s rule and they are put down as well by the empire secret police aka hubert.

the devs also mention that azure moon was written to be a counter to crimson flower. and that is the route where dimitri has to learn to rely on his friends and work together with his people in order to usher in a bright future. in crimson flower edelgard berates people who lean on anybody else for support (all while taking some from byleth) and believes humans need to stand on their own two feet. in azure moon she says: “if after all of this you believe the weak will still be weak, that is only because they are too used to relying on others instead of on themselves.” to which dimitri responds: “yes. perhaps someone as strong as you are can claim something like that. but you cannot force that belief onto others. people aren't as strong as you think they are. there are those who cannot live without their faith... and those who cannot go on once they have lost their reason for living. you path will not be able to save them. it is the path of the strong, and so, it could only benefit the strong.” so yes, there is someone who represents human unity in the game: dimitri.

edelgard doesn’t make fodlan better. she’s the game’s hegemon (called this in three routes). there are rebellions under her. her people are starving (ashe says on cf), she attacked two nations she had no rights to, and defamed an entire race/religion.

crimson flower ends in flames and darkness. this is made VERY clear by the ending mural. unlike the others, which all show a very joyful scene; am has dimitri being loved by the people with archbishop byleth at his side, ss has byleth being held up in the crowd of people as it talks about how they are now the arbiter of every soul and mother of all life (which are the exact words used to describe sothis), and vw has claude talking with the people and the almyrans are visiting; which infers peace between the two nations. however in cf, we have edelgard standing on the flags of the nations she has conquered. she holds a napoleonic staff in her hands, and the mural portrays people with their heads bowed in obvious sadness and defeat. the biggest indicator that this is not an ending to be celebrated, but rather lamented, is the border. In all the other endings, the border is white and is accented by the color of the route. in cf you can see that the border is black. black and red: colors synonymous with evil or darkness. the epilogue also mentions rebellions against her rule that she has put down.

edelgard’s role in the story is that of nemesis 2.0. someone that is manipulated by twsitd and is fed false information to lead her to finish what nemesis started over a thousand years ago - the extinction of the nabatean race.

another massive red flag is what the devs have said about crimson flower being the supreme ruler route. “edelgard in "crimson fower", or rather known as the, "supreme ruler (hegemon) route" is something we honestly meant to be much more difficult to enter.” (they were talking about why it is harder to enter cf than ss). let’s focus on the word ‘hegemon’. the direct definition is ‘a supreme ruler.’ in another interview they mention the ‘hegemon’s path’ which is a chinese philosophy that goes along with the mandate of heaven that the devs have said that they based cf off of. there is a rule of the mandate of heaven: the right to rule is only granted if the ruler cares about his people more than he cares about himself, and if this is not the case, then the people rise up to overthrow the tyrant. we know for a fact that edelgard is this ‘tyrant/hegemon’ because she is called this in the game.

the devs have also said: “due to all the previous titles in the series, the thought/impression that the empire = antagonists is left upon the playerbase. when you think about the "empire", you usually get some sort of "bad/evil" image, i think. and as for the story, it really feels like it started from the romance of three kingdoms, but we force them all to take part in school life. In other words, a period in which there was peace must exist, before starting the fires of war. and because of that, someone evil (villain) has to exist, and so we had the empire bear that burden.” this interview also blew the common argument pro-empire fans had of fodlan not being at peace at the start of the game. they said themselves that the three countries were at peace. even the game states at the start that ‘these three ruling powers now exist in relative harmony.’

also even if other characters did some things wrong that doesn’t suddenly let her off the hook for her actions just like her’s don’t nullify theirs. if she wanted to peacefully change how things worked in her nation then fine. i don’t care. however, she invaded two other independent nations in order to change their systems and put them under her control. that isn’t morally gray no matter how you spin it. it’s tyrannical.

actually it was humans as a whole who fucked up the earth first. the agarthans are a race of humans that have been around for over a thousand years at the start of the game. when the goddess sothis came down from her home on the blue sea star she arrived in fodlan and took on a form that resembled humanity and lived among them. she used her blood to birth a race of children called nabateans. in the beginning, these two nations lived in harmony.

sothis and her children helped the humans advance their technology and weapons over time until the humans’ hubris grew to the point that they began to wage war on each other and eventually the goddess herself - the one who gave them the technology to do so. as confirmed by seteth, (who was there during that time) some of the weapons they used in the war are also seen in the game, such as the missile of light that destroys fort merceus. so basically, it was a ye olde nuclear war that almost completely destroyed the land and the humans. during this, a faction of humans left the surface to live below ground. they built a city called shambala and officially became known as agarthans. back on the surface, sothis used her godly power to try and heal the earth. however, due to the incredible damage done by the weapons, so much of her power was used that she fell into a deep sleep to try and recover. so no, sothis didn’t fuck shit up. it was the arrogant humans that took her kindness and decided they wanted to try and kill each other with it.

yes, dimitri and claude do have the rest of fodlan under their command at the end of the day. however, they way they achieved this was nothing like edelgard’s. they had no intentions of starting a war to unite the three under their rule. dimitri was given the alliance (the round table came to an agreement and willingly became part of faerghus) and when he kills edelgard the empire is now, by default his whether he likes it or not. same with claude. he defeats the empire which by that point had taken the kingdom. both are now without leadership and he doesn’t even stay. he fucks off to almyra. edelgard on the other hand started the war to put all of fodland back under her rule. it’s not comparable.

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: threads spun

Summary: In another life, Obi-Wan Kenobi would have fought plenty of other Jedi Masters for the right to train little Luke Skywalker. In this one, Luke is 19 and just lost his family when Obi-Wan teaches him how to do a proper Padawan braid.

AN: I’M BACK FROM NANO WITH NEW FANFICS.

The boy just lost his whole world, and he clings to Obi-Wan's robes with shaky hands. His eyes are bright blue, his hair a fair gold color, and for just one short moment, Obi-Wan isn't sure whether the child in front of him is nine or nineteen, whether his name is Anakin or Luke.

It is the reason he gave Luke to his family in the end, even when the Force and all his selfish desires were screaming at him not to. The newborn, the son of his Padawan, the child that was Luke Skywalker, had deserved better than a broken man who didn't even know who he was without a thousand lights illuminating him. A man who'd risk forgetting that he was not holding the child he had raised, the child he had left to burn.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes and the moment passes. 

He doesn't ask the boy if he's alright because it is obvious that Luke is not and it would be cruel to demand an honest answer. Luke can't be standing straight after he experienced such tremendous loss for the first time, nobody would, and Obi-Wan is saddened that he can't give Luke the time to grieve.

Despite all this pain, Obi-Wan still dares to hope for light and life.

He is relieved to see that Luke doesn't take all the hurt and anger to hide it within himself. Obi-Wan has never taught Luke a single lesson about Jedi philosophy, the way they grieve and handle all the emotions that are too large for this world, those that are capable of tearing the galaxy apart. And yet Luke controls his feelings exactly as a temple-raised youngling would, not pushing them aside or letting them overtake him. He takes timed breaths, centers himself on the world surrounding him and not on his anxieties. Pride fills Obi-Wan's heart as he watches peace and balance return to Luke's mind.

In another life, Obi-Wan would have fought plenty of other Jedi Masters for the right to train him.

He can almost hear his family laugh at him, playful jabs about him being so eager to train yet another Skywalker and see what colors they could draw nebulas in. It isn't Obi-Wan's fault; he has always loved a challenge, and Luke, racing in Beggar's Canyon at an age no boy should step into that death trap, would have certainly been a joy to teach and guide.

He could have taught him so much, so much he still needs to teach him, but the clock is ticking and time has always been a cruel mistress. Not purposefully, she wouldn't dare, but she is absolute and eternal, and like death, she takes.

Obi-Wan silently wonders how much time he has left. He knows exactly where they are heading and despite the legends he has wrapped around himself in his exile, he's neither crazy nor a fool. They are attempting to pull off a plan that they wouldn't even have dared to suggest during the Clone Wars, not with so many untrained people. He's been called reckless plenty of times, his ability to talk himself out of seeming like an adrenaline junkie being his only saving grace. Still, Obi-Wan is acutely aware of the danger they are in.

But they have no other choice. They may have the Death Star plans in their hands – and wasn't it utterly predictable that it would be Artoo to carry the plans for a weapon of mass destruction? – but Leia can't stay in the Empire's hands.

Luke and she were so strong in the Force at their birth already. While Obi-Wan is convinced that Bail must have taught Leia at least some shielding techniques, half-trained children can't withstand a Sith Lord for long. Should Vader or worse, Palpatine, learn what Leia could become capable of, they would have so much more to worry about in the future.

The Rebellion might as well be lost.

"You have grown into a fine young man, Luke," Obi-Wan tells Anakin's son instead.

"I have?" Luke echoes, curiosity coloring his voice, highlighting a cadence similar to Padmé's despite his heavy Outer Rim accent.

"I brought you to Tatooine," Obi-Wan tells him. The journey hadn't been an easy one. They had to change ships multiple times and every time somebody had mistaken Obi-Wan for Luke's father, he had wanted to stop and cry like the infant in his arms. "You were a very sweet baby."

"Oh." Luke falls silent again, but his hands have stopped shaking. In his dirty white robes, he reminds Obi-Wan just a bit of a messy Padawan. He wears Anakin's lightsaber well, even if he doesn't know how to execute even the simplest of lightsaber forms. Frankly speaking, it is a bit terrifying to see how quickly he picked up the weapon and had gotten comfortable with it. The Force curled around Luke's every movement, guiding him like a beloved teacher.

Luke will need a teacher if he is to face the darkness that would catch up to them soon.

Obi-Wan feels much older than he actually is. The fault lies partially with the harsh marks that Tatooine has left on his body, but also with the life he has led. He isn't sure if he can teach another student, no matter how much he wants to, but he has to try at least for Luke's sake. That is, if the boy truly intends to follow the path of the Jedi.

"Luke," Obi-Wan says seriously, thinking of the one who gives life, the name granted to such a young child, "Do you truly want to become a Jedi?"

"Yes." There is no hesitation in Luke's reply. "I want to follow my father's footsteps."

No, Obi-Wan wants to weep. You don't. You can't ask me to cut you down as well; I couldn't bear it.

"It is admirable to want to follow the path of someone you respect," Obi-wan starts carefully instead. He can't tell Luke what became of Anakin Skywalker. The child deserves better. "But I am asking about your own inclinations. The path of a Jedi is not an easy one, and you have to follow it for your own sake if you want to succeed."

Now Luke does hesitate. He looks down at his hands, curls them into fists and relaxes them again.

"Yes," Luke finally replied. "Yes, I want to be a Jedi."

"Then I'll hope you'll give me the honor of teaching you. I'd like to take you as my Padawan."

Obi-Wan had said these words over three decades ago to another lost blond boy, the language a little different, their surroundings certainly more peaceful than the ship of a smuggler. He tries to banish the image from his mind.

"Padawan," Luke repeats slowly. "What does it mean?"

You should know, Obi-Wan thinks. You should know what it means and be overjoyed and celebrate this day.

He can't hold it against this boy, not even against himself or, dare he think it, Anakin because choices had been made, but away from it all, Obi-Wan can only blame the Sith who ruined them, continues to hurt them.

"It means that I want you as my student, teach you all I know so that you may surpass me someday."

Bring us back to the light, rebuilt all that we lost. Obi-Wan is asking him for so much when just days ago it would have been enough for him to someday see Luke marry that boy he's been crushing on for years and live the rest of his days happily, far away from the war.

And now he dreams of home again, the rooms full of plants and droid parts, poetry collections, board games, and warmth so kind and all-compassing that no nightmares can haunt you.

"You'd really teach me?" Luke asks as if he'd be honored and the right to be taught not already something he possessed since his birth.

"Of course."

"I'd be honored to accept," Luke replies with a shy smile.

Obi-Wan returns his smile and reassuringly squeezes his shoulder once. Luke leans into the touch and so Obi-Wan lets his arm linger around the boy's shoulders as he continues to explain traditions long lost. "Traditionally, we would now braid your hair and put in the first bead."

"Braid my hair?"

Obi-wan nods and thinks of all the times his Master ran his fingers through Obi-Wan's hair, tugging at his braid and saying one thing or another he hadn't paid any attention to because he'd been too awestruck by the fact that he had a Master at all. "Yes, all Padawans of the Jedi Order have a braid. It shows your dedication to your studies and how serious you are about them. It means that you know that this is not an easy task or an easy path to take, but that you are willing to walk it anyway."

Luke thoughtfully looks at Obi-Wan, then he reaches up with his hand, putting a strand of hair behind his ear.

"My hair is not long enough to braid it properly," Luke mutters, dismayed.

He's pouting more than he is actually hurt by the thought. Nevertheless, if he lingers on it, he might ask more questions about what other chances life has denied him and because of it, Obi-Wan wants to distract him quickly.

The distraction comes at the price of remembrance, a fourteen-year-old Padawan clinging to what remained of his braid, burying his head in his Master's chest, and crying after enduring days of torment. Obi-Wan had fixed Anakin's hair then as well so he wouldn't have to deal with too many looks once they were back at the Temple. His braid had been short, but it had been there. For a moment, Obi-Wan tries to recall who had assigned that mission to them, whether Sidious had already sown his seeds of discord then.

He lets the moment go. "Don't worry, I can help you."

He had done plenty of braids during his as a Padawan and later as a Master. When the war had been going on, he had helped frenzied Padawans countless times with their braids.

There was an almost meditative process to the act of braiding and letting others braid your hair. It had soothed innumerous over the centuries and now it will once more calm another. Luke sits still when Obi-Wan begins to part the stray strands of hair on the left side of his head into three. Luke's hair really isn't all that long, but it is definitely more than enough to work with. Slowly and withs steady fingers, Obi-Wan braids another bond with his second Padawan. Luke is a kind child and this war will hurt him incredibly. Obi-Wan can only hope that what he will pass onto him will be enough to have him keep his path, to wander in the light even when the darkness reaches for him with the intent to consume.

Once Obi-Wan is finished with the braid, he reaches for his belt, takes an old leather cord from there, and wraps it around the tip of Luke's hair.

"And finished," Obi-Wan announces.

Luke, who had closed his eyes, opens them and immediately reaches for the hair, twirling it between his two fingers in a fashion reminiscent of Obi-Wan in his youth. He had only managed to get rid of that nervous habit after his won braid hat been cut. Whether Luke would act similar, Obi-Wan doesn't know, but the thought of seeing Luke ascend to the rank of Knight of the Order, no matter how small, splintered and broken it is right now, it makes his heart beat a bit quicker.

"How does it look?" Luke asks.

"As it is supposed to," Obi-Wan replies. "I believe Mr. Solo has a mirror in his fresher if you want to take a look."

Luke races off before Obi-Wan can say anymore. He returns a few minutes later, already with more color in his face than he had in the hours before.

"Thank you. Master." Luke tags on the honorific only belatedly, unsure whether it fits and it is all the convincing Obi-Wan could ever need.

"You are welcome, Padawan."

Obi-Wan Kenobi has a student once more and he will not fail him.

[dessarious]

The Angel of Death Pt41

Inspired by this Story Starter by @someone-ev

AO3   Prologue   Beginning   Previous   Next

Tris felt her eye twitch as Adrien and Luka collided mid air… again. Chloe was off to the side laughing while Kagami was fighting a smile. None of them were taking this seriously enough. Telling them their lives were in danger only went so far. None of them really felt the fear they needed to. It had been over a week since she started training with and without the Miraculous. Even though there was no hope of any of them surviving against the most junior member of the League without she was hoping it would help while they were transformed. At this point the only reason they’d survive is because the Miraculous made it near impossible to be hurt by normal weapons. The biggest thing she worried about was explosives. The Kwami hadn’t dealt with them enough to know what the suit’s threshold would be. She’d also had them turn all the miraculous into toe rings since it was the least obvious and hardest place to get to while they were transformed.

“You’re not even trying anymore, we’re done for the night.” She tried to keep her temper in check and not let them see how frustrated she was getting but it was difficult. Telling herself they were civilians and couldn’t grasp the danger they were in only went so far before she felt like she was about to explode.

“Oh come on, we’re just messing around.”  She had to take a deep breath in order not to yell at Adrien. He didn’t know any better.

“That’s entirely my point. The Miraculous aren’t toys and there’s no point straining the Kwami so you can play. This isn’t a game and I’m tired of trying to convince you of that.” Tris saw strings moving that were connected to her and froze as she took in her surroundings. They were gray but with a green-blue tinge to them but she had no idea who they belonged to. This was bad.

“Oh come on! You’re not even paying attention to me.” Adrien had been talking but she’d stopped listening to try and track the strings movements. They were only connected to her, not the others. That couldn’t be a good thing. Now the others were taking turns trying to defend their actions, well not Kagami but everyone else. One of the strings moved behind Adrien and she lunged.

“What is wrong with you?” Chloe’s enraged shout was followed by stunned silence when Tris pulled a man in his mid twenties out of the shadows. He looked just as surprised as everyone else.

“Come out or your partner dies.” The man she was holding started sputtering gibberish, but the other string started to move. Another man, a brother by the looks of it, stepped into the light.

“Calm down baby death, we’re here to help.” She just scowled at him. No one called her that except…

“Which one of you is Blake?” The Miraculous holders just looked confused while the man she was holding looked impressed. The one across the room just laughed.

“Both of us, well all three of us actually. Going by one code name helps keep everyone guessing. Granted you deal exclusively with our baby sister. Once she figured out you were still a kid she refused to let us near any of your projects.” He sounded rather put out but Tris was just trying to follow his explanation.

“And why would she do that?” The man she was holding gave an annoyed snort.

“She thinks we’re not detail oriented enough. Load of crap if you ask me.” The other one rolled his eyes.

“Couldn’t have anything to do with the time one of your devices blew up the person using it. Obviously, she’s just overreacting. What pisses me off is that your bad behavior got both of us banned from the cool projects.” She was getting a headache again. She sighed and looked at the still speechless holders.

“You all go home. I’ll take care of this.” They all looked like the wanted to argue and her temper finally gave out. “Leave now! Or you’ll all find yourselves relocated to somewhere insanely remote so I don’t have to worry about you following orders.” That at least got them moving, even if she was certain they would all get mad at her about it later.

“Bit harsh don’t you think?” She just glared at the man she was holding before throwing him at his partner. Their expression as they hit the ground would have been entertaining if she weren’t so pissed off.

“You’ve got one minute to tell me why you’re here and how you found me before you find out exactly how I got my moniker.” They both started talking over each other and Tris couldn’t understand a word they said. Why was this her life?

“Will you two morons shut up! Hold up your phone so I can talk to her.” The voice was female and the older one fished his phone out of his vest and turned it towards her. “Sorry about them. I would have come myself but I don’t leave the workshop, ever. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“I still need my questions answered.” The woman’s lips quirked up in a small smile before she answered.

“How we found you is simple. All of our products have homing devices so we can destroy or retrieve them to keep them out of improper hands. We normally don’t use them unless we have reason to believe they’ve been compromised but I’ll admit I’ve been keeping an eye on you for about a year and a half. The why is a bit more complicated.” Tris wanted so badly to just explode. Why did everyone think she was incompetent? She forced it down though. She needed to know what the hell was going on.

“I’m waiting.” She could hear the annoyance in her own voice and cursed at herself mentally. You don’t give people ammunition to use against you like that. The woman’s gaze softened.

“I really am sorry about this. I wasn’t trying to meddle but we got a call from another client asking us to help you. Well, sort of.” Tris just motioned her to keep going. There was no point in interrupting now. “The mini al Ghul called us in a panic saying that there was someone in Paris that he needed full gear for. When he gave sizes I realized it had to be you. He doesn’t know you’re the Angel of Death I take it?”

“No he doesn’t and I’d rather keep it that way.” She just nodded.

“I figured as much. I told him I’d get in contact with you since he didn’t have any real information on your location other than in Paris. He offered to pay for anything you need too. I’d definitely take him up on that. The boy’s got some deep pockets.”

“I don’t need his money and I certainly don’t need him thinking I owe him anything. That still doesn’t explain why you sent them in person.” Both men flinched when she gestured at them. It was honestly gratifying at this point. The woman let out a sigh.

“You’re not the only one I’ve been tracking. Talia is making a bee line for Paris. I know you can handle yourself but given you’ve never stayed in one place this long I thought you might want help protecting the reason you’re there. The boys are idiots a lot of the time but they do know how to fight. They also have the ability to detonate half of Talia’s equipment.” Okay that was tempting.

“And what are you charging for this service? Pissing off Talia is a death sentence, you can’t expect me to believe you’re doing this out of the kindness of your hearts.” Both men’s expressions hardened into glares and the woman gave her a tight smile.

“You’re not the only one who’s had their life destroyed by that harpy. Paybacks a bitch and today that bitch is me.” Well at least that was a motive Tris understood.

AO3   Prologue   Beginning    Previous    Next

Ko-Fi

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[waywardfangirl]

For the fantastic @fight-surrender: You are a wonderful person with a brilliant mind and a kind heart, and I am so happy to know you! I really enjoyed the prompts you suggested for the Secret Snowflake exchange this year, so to give you something fluffy and happy for your birthday I combined a few of them into one sweet and silly fic - I hope that you like it! 🖤

A big thank you goes out to @carryonvisinata for her wonderful beta work and for making this fic even better for such an incredible friend 🖤 Purr-fect Strangers

Rated: General Audiences Word Count: 3208 Chapters: 1/1 Simon

"Die Hard? Really?"

I'm struggling to make the Redbox give me my DVD. Video vending machines sounded like a good idea when I couldn't find anywhere to stream my favorite movie, but the obstinate thing in front of me and the condescending voice behind me are now making me reconsider my choices.

"What's wrong with Die Hard?" I demand, momentarily giving up on retrieving my video to take some of my frustration out on the prick watching me.

Unfortunately, when I turn around to scowl at him, I make eye contact with one of the most attractive people I've ever seen. He's tall, with dark hair escaping the bun on top of his head and falling around his face, and a perfectly tailored suit hugging every inch of his body right on down to his shiny Chelsea boots. My brain shorts out, and he sneers at me.

"There’s nothing wrong with it, per se. But you have a near unlimited assortment of cinema to choose from, and you've selected Die Hard?"

(Read the rest on ao3, or keep reading here)

I scoff.

"Look, mate, some of us don't feel the need to watch pretentious films just to feel better than other people. I like Die Hard. I'm going to watch it while eating pizza and relaxing in joggers, and I refuse to feel bad about enjoying that."

He looks a bit startled, and his cheeks take on a slightly pink tinge, but he just arches an eyebrow at me. (And manages to make that look unfairly hot too, the prat.)

"What movie are you renting?" I say it like a challenge, and he pushes past me.

He deftly removes my DVD from the stubborn machine and thrusts it at me, before turning back around to get his own. I loiter behind him, just like he did to me, ready to see what movie he thinks is better than Die Hard.

"Two Weeks Notice?" I exclaim, when I see the poster pop up on the screen. "You're ridiculing Die Hard, but getting a rom-com for yourself? Unbelievable."

He pushes past me and turns up his nose. My blood boils for so many different reasons, and it's work to hold myself still.

"This has Hugh Grant in it. My tastes are superior."

Then he swans off, and I'm left standing on the kerb.

Baz

A year into my time at university, I started treating myself to a monthly visit to Sephora. It was easily excusable then, with parties every weekend to justify each new purchase, but I've kept up the tradition since graduating. (Retail therapy and good skin care never hurt anyone. And a little eyeliner does wonders for one's self esteem.)

This month, I'm browsing for something sparkly. My eyes are grey, but with a dark, glittery liner I think they might stand out a little more. I'm just testing one of the pencils on the back of my hand when I see him.

Blond hair, plain blue eyes, and a constellation of freckles and moles across his skin. The most lovely man I have ever seen, with the worst taste in movies, and (I'm sure) a well-deserved hatred for me.

For all that I try to appear cool and confident, my facade sometimes fails me. When I get flustered, I become cruel. The man renting Die Hard was so pretty that all I could do was insult him and then curse myself for it the entire way home. I couldn't even properly enjoy Hugh Grant, as mired as I was in self-loathing. And now, whatever second chance to impress him I've been granted with has surely been ruined by my actions last time.

I keep my head down and steal glances at him through my eyelashes.

He is entirely out of his element, that much is obvious right away. I watch him ask one of the shop assistants for help, and she points him in the direction of a display. His brow furrows as he picks up different containers, and he’s ridiculously precious and hopeless as he holds a lipstick tube next to a garish eyeshadow palette and closes one eye to look at them. (What is he even doing?)

Finally, his confusion seems to win out, and he turns to look around for help, when he suddenly spots me. I've been caught out; I can't pretend now like I haven't been staring, and he scowls a little as we make eye contact. I arch an eyebrow, watch as his face grows pink in anger, and decide I hate myself enough to try talking to him again.

"That's really not your shade."

"What?" It's a simple word, horribly enunciated, and does nothing to quell the wrinkle between his eyes.

"The purple. I don't think it would flatter you. Furthermore, that lipstick clashes horribly with every color in that palette."

He turns a bright red and starts to splutter. I am hopelessly endeared.

"That's not- I, I don't- it isn't-"

"Oh, calm down, there's nothing wrong with wearing makeup," I say, flashing him the back of my hand with the eyeliner tests on it. "You just need to pick a better shade." I pluck a different palette (for blue eyes) and a lipstick in a true red from the display and hand them over. "Something like this."

He stares at them dumbly for a moment, his mouth hanging open. (Mouth breather.)

"You think I should wear this?"

"I think it would flatter you if you chose to wear makeup. That purple will do you no favors." I sneer at the garish eyeshadow still in his hand.

"It's for my friend!" he finally bursts out.

"Are you mad at her?" It's a reasonable question, that eyeshadow is truly appalling.

"No? It's her birthday next week, and she said that she wanted to have some makeup for date nights and things."

"Are you in love with her?"

"No!" No hesitation at all. "No, no way. Penny is like my sister. She's my best friend. We're not…" he trails off, and I'm strangely reassured. He still probably hates me, but at least there is one woman in the world that he’s not dating, so my odds have improved marginally.

"Don't get your pants in a twist. I just thought you might be, since that eyeshadow would certainly drive away her current boyfriend."

He sticks out his chin and seems to decide something.

"Fine. What should I get for her, then?" The “if you know so much” is left unsaid.

I'm not really an expert, despite my monthly purchases, but I'll take any excuse I can get to linger around this starburst of a boy for a few moments more.

"Does she wear makeup normally?" He shakes his head no. "Then perhaps start with something more subtle for her." I take the offending palette away and hand him a more subdued one, with a faint shimmer. "Do you think this would look nice on her?"

He thinks hard for a moment, then pulls out his phone, swiping at the lock screen and turning it to face me.

"This is her."

His home screen background is a picture of the two of them, cheeks pressed together and grinning like crazy under the summer sun. His curls are being tossed by the wind, and he looks like a bronze Adonis. I think my heart actually skips a beat at the sight.

"That palette will be fine then. This lipstick, too," I add, handing him a plum shade. "Do you need anything else?" I ask, and then cringe when I sound like I'm working instead of flirting.

He shakes his head.

"No, this is brilliant, thanks."

He still looks a bit confused, and he bites his lip as he looks down at the makeup in his hand - the makeup for his friend, and the things I picked out for him.

I don't want to go, but I can't figure out any way to prolong our conversation.

"You should get that one," he says, pointing to one of the lines on my hand. I raise an eyebrow in question. He's right, but what does this mean? Is he flirting? Does he want me to wear eyeliner? Is he just trying to repay me for helping him? "Yeah. Definitely that one."

He raps his knuckles on the counter beside us twice, and then wanders towards the check out.

It's not until I'm trying to fall asleep that I realize - he bought the makeup for himself too.

Simon

One of my foster fathers had a workshop, and I spent a happy summer watching him build a table and matching chairs for the dining room. I didn't get to stay to see it completed, because one of his biological children kept stealing money out of his mom's purse and blaming me, but I still enjoyed the time I had spent watching woodworking. I liked it so much that when Penny and I graduated and got a flat together, I saved up to buy a few tools. I don't make anything major, but I've built small shelves and a side table and a pan organizer for the flat, and I really like it.

Recently, Penny has been complaining about not being able to reach everything in the kitchen, so while she's still at work I stop by the B&Q to pick up some wood for a step stool. I'm heading to the check out when I see him - the mean makeup guy. (Although he was actually quite nice when we were talking about makeup. He was just rude when we were getting our movies.)

He's dressed casually today, in tight dark jeans and a warm grey sweater, with his hair falling in loose waves around his face. He's glaring down at two wrenches, and I hate that he still looks so good when he's glowering.

Before I even register what's happening, my feet have carried me over to him.

"D'ya need help?"

He startles, and turns lovely grey eyes up to look at me. It's work not to gasp. He’s wearing eyeliner. I'm not entirely sure, but I think it may even be the eyeliner I told him to buy.

"The sink in my kitchen is leaking. I watched a tutorial on YouTube, and it should be easy enough to fix, but I don't have the proper tools."

He goes back to glaring at the wrenches, and I lean over to take a look.

“You want that one.”

“Why? How do you know?”

“Well, it’s adjustable. You can change it within reason, so as long as your plumbing isn’t something incredibly out of the ordinary it should fit just fine.”

He looks surprised (and maybe a bit like he wants to attack me, although I try to ignore that).

“How do you know that?”

I laugh.

“Basic home maintenance, mate, I’ve had to fix a leaky sink before too, believe it or not.”

I grin at him until one corner of his mouth tips upward in response.

“Thanks,” he says, his cheeks flushing a little. “I’ll get this one then. Yes. Thank you. Have a nice evening.”

He strides off, once again leaving me feeling a bit dazed.

He looks really good in eyeliner.

Baz

When Fiona discovered I hadn’t left the apartment in a week, she called in the cavalry. Daphne showed up at my door with a casserole and some flowers, and within minutes she had the kitchen feeling like a place that was less utility space and more home.

“Basil, Fiona is worried about you.” I rolled my eyes, despite knowing it wouldn’t get me anywhere. “I’m worried about you, too. You spend so much time by yourself, and you hardly ever go out to see your friends or enjoy the city.”

“I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.”

“Basil,” she had said, and that time it was a warning. “It’s not healthy for anyone to spend this much time alone.”

“What, do you expect me to get a cat?”

Daphne smiled, and I knew that I had said the wrong thing.

“Yes, actually. And,” she said, before I could object, “Fiona thought you should too. In fact, she made it a condition of your continued occupancy of this flat. We both think it might be nice for you to have someone else around to talk to.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“And you want me to talk to a cat?”

Daphne just gave me a Mona Lisa smile, handed me a plate filled with food, and told me when she left later that evening that I had forty-eight hours to send her a picture of a cat. (I asked what I should do if I didn’t like any of the cats I saw. Or if they didn’t like me. She said I had to at least prove that I tried.)

So, this morning, I made my way to the nearest RSPCA and talked to strangers for the first time in over a week. I told them that I was looking to adopt a cat, and they immediately led me to a room filled with individual cages and an assortment of felines. They said I could play with any of the cats that I wanted, and now I’m staring into the eyes of a fluffy orange tabby.

The tabby meows at me, and I swear that she’s telling me to get lost. I guess cats can tell when you’re out of your depth.

I stroll down the aisle and read the names given to each cat. It’s been years since I last had a pet and even then, the husky my family had wasn’t my sole responsibility. I was in charge of feeding him, but there was always someone else making sure that I did. And really, we only adopted him when my pediatrician suggested that an animal might help me after my mother died. Daphne is probably trying to do the same thing again now. (Is this how one becomes a crazy cat lady? Depression, anxiety, OCD, and an unwillingness to tolerate therapy?)

I keep walking slowly until I feel a tug on my sleeve. I look down, and a little orange paw ending in one very sharp claw has latched on to me. I unhook it before my sweater can snag, and then look into the kennel. There are two kittens, each only about ten weeks old according to their cards, and the orange one is peering up at me with big blue eyes. Its littermate is asleep in the corner, curled into a fluffy black puffball, but the tabby is ready to play. His tail twitches, and he pounces immediately when I wiggle a finger between the bars. He catches my fingertip in a far more gentle grasp than I would have imagined, then looks at me with what can only be described as pure adoration.

“Excuse me,” I say, moving my finger some more and feeling small claws dig in. Then again, louder, to get the attention of the woman, “Excuse me. Can I see this one?”

The woman comes over and flips the latch, then reaches in and comes out with a handful of fur and knives. The kitten opens its mouth in a fierce imitation of a vampire, then stretches it further as it lapses into a yawn. We spend the better part of an hour in a bright, cheerful room, just the kitten and I. At first it chases a string that I drag along the ground and runs after balls with bells in them, but then it calms down and curls up in my lap to sleep.

I’m petting it and cooing softly to it, trying to ignore the fact that Daphne and Fiona were both right about this whole thing, when the door to the room opens again.

“Oh. It’s you,” says the most beautiful man I have ever seen. My face flushes when I remember our last encounter and I pray he doesn’t remember my ignorance. (Of course he does. I didn’t know how to select a wrench. I am incapable of basic home repair and he knows it.)

“Do you two know each other?” The woman from before is back, this time holding the other kitten from the same cage, and looking between the two of us. “These kittens aren’t technically a bonded pair, but they are siblings, the only two remaining from their litter, and it would be lovely if they could still see each other.”

“Err…” the man says, shifting his weight.

“We’ve met in passing a few times now,” I say, trying to avoid encouraging this line of questioning.

“Great!” she says, clapping her hands brightly after handing the kitten off. “I’ll leave all of you to get better acquainted then!”

For a moment, there’s just awkward silence. Neither of us are looking at each other, both focusing on our respective kittens. Then, his kitten turns into the feline equivalent of a slinky, oozes out of his grasp, and runs over to tap my leg once before running away again. It hides behind his legs, and all I can see is a black tail winding around his ankles.

We both laugh, and the ice is broken.

“I’m Simon,” he says, and smiles at me. It’s the same radiant smile I remember from his lockscreen. It feels like looking into the sun, and I bask in it.

“Basil. Although my friends call me Baz.”

“Are you going to…” he trails off, but gestures to my cat.

“Yes,” I look down and give it a scratch under the chin. “I’m going to adopt it.”

“Same here,” Simon says, and then he blushes. “I mean, unless it rips my face off in the next few minutes, but I think this is the one.”

“Do you know which one you have?” Their names and genders were on the cage, but it didn’t specify who was who.

“No idea. I’m going to rename mine anyway though, I didn’t like either of those names.”

“I was planning on doing the same thing. If I’m going to have a pet, it needs to have a proper name befitting its personality. Not something mundane like Fluffy.” I scowl, and he laughs.

As his kitten comes over to touch its nose to my kitten, Simon clears his throat.

“So, um, like she said, they’d probably be happy to have playdates or whatever. I mean, since we’re getting them. And since we keep running into each other. It might make sense to, you know, exchange numbers?”

“Yes!” I say, far too eagerly. “I mean, that seems reasonable. It would be more convenient than waiting to happen upon you in the Waitrose choosing inferior crisps to set up a future meeting.”

He smiles. “Well, yeah, there’s that. And this way, it’ll be easier for me to ask you out, ”

Then the absolute nightmare sits down beside me and hands me his phone. He texts me immediately once I enter my contact info.

Unknown Number (11:27 AM) This is Simon Snow

Unknown Number (11:27 AM) Your cat is cute.

Unknown Number (11:27 AM) So are you

Unknown Number (11:28 AM) Wanna get dinner sometime? ;)

I blush, and send him a reply.

Baz (11:29 AM) I thought you’d never ask.