#I can’t stand this like. impulse to justify every preference we have that could be rooted in some kind of social issue

[kneworder]

all due respect to that one post bc I get where it’s coming from but if you’re trying to justify fandom’s laser focus on male characters by saying that ‘women are written so poorly on TV, of course everyone wants to write about the much more complex and well written men’ I need you to think a little harder. like writing about women is not a hardship. it’s actually so fucking easy. it’s fanfiction. make that shit up. I know you are not exclusively writing about TV from the 70s. maybe consider that half your little guy’s depth of character is inferred and stop making it someone else’s problem that you don’t want to write about women. you literally can do what you want. stop pretending like you’re being forced into it. it’s not that deep.

[dreamteamspace]

They really went there huh

/rp (good lord I rly hyperfixated on this essay huh)

torture tw, abuse tw, manipulation tw, gaslighting tw

So the Dream SMP built a character, once maybe morally gray, who slipped straight into villany with little to no desire to change, and willing to cause a LOT of pain to get his way. Despite this, he doesn’t question what he does enough to stop, justifying his actions with a good intent that doesn’t come close to justifying what he’s done.

C!Dream is unremorseful of what he’s done, he’s quite literally manipulated and gaslit (like actually, not in the way everyone keeps throwing the word around) c!Tommy, almost drove him to take his last life- like, jesus christ. That’s not even to mention blowing up L’Manburg three times, encouraging c!Wilbur, wanting the discs JUST to have power over c!Tommy, etc.

SO, he gets thrown in a box for it so he doesn’t hurt anybody anymore, making his own hubris his downfall (narrative consequence my beloved). This leads us to a good finale - the bad guy, the person who’s caused objectively the most pain and destruction, is now unable to do so anymore, taken down by the person whom he tried to weaken. It is also revealed he was planning on blackmailing and threatening pretty much everyone, but now everyone gets their stuff back.

Good, right?

Especially for the finale, yeah! The message of the finale is good, c!Tommy manages to escape his abuser with nothing more but his clothes on his back and fights his way back to c!Tubbo and his home.

He doesn’t let his trauma (which is still very present!) let him become a terrible person (arguably the way that c!Dream DID let his frustrations make him a terrible person, c!Tommy, despite bearing quite a heavy weight, recognizes when he begins to turn that way and actively works against it).

It shows that while alone, c!Tubbo and c!Tommy were outfought by Dream, but because c!Tommy went the length to ask for help (which he didn’t even really seem to be relying on actually showing up), he wins! It truly is a good message.

C!Tommy escapes his abuser and manipulator, refuses and fights his trauma to not become someone he doesn’t want to be, and defeats his abuser by asking for help and receiving it, even more than he thought he’d get. He refuses to play c!Dream’s “game”, refuses till the very last moment to let c!Tubbo die, to surrender and say goodbye to him.

So, great! Good finale! C!Dream The Villain is boxed like a fish in a prison of, quite literally, his own making. It sent a good message to people. C!Tommy wasn’t expected to forgive him and did, in fact, axe him down twice, causing c!Dream to finally fall from his high horse.

Most media would stop at this point, say the villain is now defeated and never show them again, or have them come back another one or two seasons later, escaped and seemingly unharmed and worse than ever.

Alternatively, there’s a throwaway line, (or, in good media, a genuine, reasonable backstory, complete with remorse and bad role models and complicated situations), that allows the villain to be redeemed.

In GOOD redemption arcs (See: Zuko from avatar tbh), the villain was already never quite as heartless, or stressed their good intent, or felt remorse for what they felt they “had to do”. Then, ideally, the villain takes a looooong time adjusting their habits, regretting their actions and changing until they’re considered redeemed.

Not on the Dream SMP, though.

They don’t stop at c!Dream’s defeat.

He doesn’t dissapear off-screen and is never spoken of again. His life continues on, everyone’s does, just like it would in reality. He doesn’t magically want to become a better person, far from it. So no redemption. But he doesn’t dissapear, either.

They go on to, slowly, stress how awful the conditions in Pandora’s Vault are. c!Bad says c!Dream should be imprisoned, but at least at slightly better conditions. We’re in very VERY morally gray territorry here. Nobody says c!Dream is a good person, of course not, but even c!Bad - who knows Dream was planning on keeping c!Skeppy in a cage to control him with - goes, “yeah, he should stay boxed, but does he really need to like... suffer suffer?”

Still, c!Dream seems to be kindof inconsistent in his behavior. Is he faking his pain? Is he not? His actions don’t fully make sense for either take. He acts differently to each person, but at the same time some things he does don’t make sense if he were just fishing for pity.

Then c!Sam admits to trying (and thinking he succeeded) to “break Dream’s will”, to quite literally starving him for weeks.

Okay, so now we’re a step further. C!Dream is now suffering even more, although already boxed and unable to hurt anyone. Pandora’s Vault is one thing, but now c!Sam just seems to be out for revenge and nothing more. Instead of spending his time with c!Tommy, he spends his time pickaxing(?) c!Dream.

C!Sam isn’t an angel, and we should all know that by now. He does what he thinks is right, but he’s deeper than that, all characters on the DSMP are.

He cares deeply for the Badlands, and would always choose them above anybody else. He’s a capitalist. He built the prison because it would benefit the Badlands resource-wise, despite knowing Dream would probably use it on his enemies, and it was no secret that ALL members of L’Manburg, especially c!Tommy, are his enemies. C!Sam, undoubtedly, knew that. He still built it.

Arguably, he didn’t know about c!Dream’s attachment obsession at the time, but the point still stands.

People have already latched onto the untold story happening between c!Dream and c!Sam, and frankly, we barely know enough about it. Does c!Sam torture him regularly? Do they talk? Does c!Dream try to verbally fight back? CAN he fight back? We don’t know! We’ve gotten proof for both, between c!Sam saying that c!Dream is terrifying even in prison and c!Dream going silent to go on strike. We don’t have enough of an idea how bad or how good it truly is.

So the people who prefer to humanize c!Dream and explore morality imagine c!Sam to downright torture him, people that prefer to see c!Dream as nothing but evil due to his actions imagine prison on the DSMP to not be equivalent to real life prison, and thus nowhere near as torturous as people are making it out to be.

Now all that is thrown out the window as c!Quackity quite literally tortures him.

So now the internet is faced with a question that, judging by some of the impulsive reactions *cough cough* celebrating torture *cough*, it didn’t turn out to be ready for.

Tell me.

How far do we go?

C!Dream hurt a LOT of people. He did a lot of things that caused irreparable damage. Now what? Do we torture him forever? Why? Because he deserves it? How do we determine that without comparing one kind of pain to another?

It’s custom and kindof generally respectful not to compare people’s pain too accurately, because different things vary greatly in severity depending on the person that experiences them.

At what point do we say he’s suffered enough without comparing exile to the prison?

And if we DO compare, does that even make the question easier to answer?

And if he’s never suffered enough ever, killing them would be a mercy...

At what point has a person done enough damage that they “deserve” to die? What if someone only did half of the things c!Dream did. But if c!Dream gets infinite punishment, and half of infinity is still infinity, do they ALSO deserve endless suffering?

Do you think every person that did something you can’t emphasize with deserves to suffer for eternity and die?

I’m not saying we SHOULD emphasize with c!Dream. He did things we cannot justify, that NOTHING can justify. He did things that were, by their nature, unjustified.

I’m also not saying anybody should forgive him. I think it’s a GOOD thing that c!Tommy doesn’t want nor is narratively pushed to forgive c!Dream.

But c!Dream doesn’t need c!Tommy’s forgiveness to be... a person.

There’s a saying that I’m sure you know, that goes “I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”, because there’s things you wouldn’t want any human being to experience. Not because you like them, not cause you think they’re right, but because they’re human.

And perhaps this is my personal opinion, but I don’t think c!Dream being a bad person justifies dehumanizing him, because then we get into an area where someone needs to meet criteria just to be human.

-

I met someone once, whom, because of outside circumstances I knew I probably wouldn’t meet again. We’d been getting along just fine for people who just met, and were both getting into an interesting discussion about morality. They kept insisting upon something I kept refuting, so they said they needed to get something off their chest.

They proceeded to tell me that they had, years ago, while a teen, manipulated someone in a relationship, pushed boundaries and tried to convince them to do things they didn’t really want to do to get what they wanted.

They cried, while telling me, too terrified to tell anybody they know, terrified nobody would ever speak to them again, insanely regretful of their actions. They didn’t know whether to go back and apologize or just stay as far away as humanly possible, didn’t know which one the right thing to do is.

It had been years, by then, and I talked them through it. I said that what they did was bad, and there’s no going around that. But I also said what I saw, which is someone who would never do something like that ever again. I saw a human being. Someone who regrets a mistake they did and now, after enough time has passed, would do anything to make it undone.

Someone who is too terrified to be close to anybody in fear that they would do it again. I don’t remember if they already went to therapy or not, but it was definitly on the table, or in the near future.

They asked me how I could possibly even keep talking to them after they told me all that. They implied they felt like some kind of monster despite literally chocking back tears, firmly convinced they don’t deserve to be close to anybody in their life ever again.

I never swerved from the fact that what they did was wrong, and harmful. But I also told them they’re human. The universe isn’t keeping score. They want to be a better person now, and they were never going to learn how if they never let themselves be close to anybody.

I told them to seek therapy, and to slowly, carefully, try. Assured them that the fact that they regret it so strongly will at least help them in not falling back into the same pattern, and if they do, they can learn to recognize that.

They thanked me after the conversation, genuinely, especially for the fact that I didn’t sugarcoat what happened, because I know otherwise it would’ve felt like I was lying, like I was just sparing their feelings. I wasn’t. I was thinking about how to make sure they get to live without hurting anybody.

As per the circumstances, we didn’t speak again after that, which we knew basicly from the very start.

-

I still think about that conversation a lot.

Do you think they should’ve been locked up for life after it happened, instead?

Do you think this real human being, that I spoke to, that took years to realize their mistake - and never would have realized it if they hadn’t had the time to, if they’d been killed right afterwards - deserves to suffer forever?

Let me tell you something, from someone who’s been in more than one abusive situation: People that hurt you are human.

That doesn’t mean you have to forgive them. That doesn’t mean you have to like them. That doesn’t mean you have to make an effort to understand them. That doesn’t mean you need to go anywhere near them ever again.

You can hate them. You can be angry at them. You can (and should) go as far away from them as possible, and/or defend yourself.

But that doesn’t mean you have to dehumanize them.

You’re allowed to hate and dislike people that are human, because you’re human, especially if they hurt you. That’s how life is.

And to go back to my original point - c!Quackity torturing c!Dream is not something that should be celebrated.

There’s a difference between necessary measures (locking c!Dream up so he doesn’t hurt anyone), and torturing people for fun.

It’s not right. It’s never going to be right, and do not justify literal torture on human beings, and do not make someone lower-than-human to justify torturing them.

Taking revenge on someone for what they did tenfold is romanticized, I know, but I promise you it’s not actually as cool as it sounds.

[loominggaia]

Are there autistic characters in looming Gaia? (I'm high functioning autistic myself! ^^) Also have you read the Stormlight Archive series? Just curious~

Ooh great question! This may or may not surprise people, but I personally imagine Elska as having autism, or at least some kind of centaur equivalent to it.

 Autism is a very broad spectrum, but when you look at the general signs, I think she fits the bill well enough. Autistic people often have trouble making friends and prefer to be on their own. Elska might come off as “fiercely independent”, but if you look at her interactions with others, it becomes very clear that she just doesn’t know how to socialize very well. She comes off as rude without meaning to, she’s super blunt and honest to a fault, and she has this compulsive need to right every wrong she encounters whether it’s appropriate or not.

 In “To Fight the Fog”, she’s never shown playing with other kids or hanging out with her clanmates. She spends most of her time alone or with her father. From a young age, we see she has a very black-and-white way of thinking that she never grew out of, but she’s also quite intelligent and creative. She’s able to think outside the box to solve problems in ways her clanmates couldn’t.

 When she first comes to Drifter’s Hollow, you could chalk up her awkwardness to cultural differences. But in later stories, it’s more obvious she has something else going on, because she’s been living among the villagers for a few years and still struggling with even basic interactions. People just kind of avoid her because they don’t understand her. They assume she’s pissed off all the time but it’s just her demeanor, she has a flat effect when she speaks and an equally flat expression that doesn’t change much no matter her mood. So she’s hard to read and others find that off-putting. She takes figures of speech literally and has a hard time determining when people are just joking with her.

 I understand autistic folks often struggle with sensory issues and controlling emotions. This is definitely the case with Elska as well. There are so many instances in the series where like, she KNOWS she shouldn’t do something, but she genuinely can’t stop herself. Other characters think of her as this dumb, violent brute, but that’s not the case at all. Elska’s actually quite smart, it’s just that her emotions tend to override her logic. Like when she ran off to Kelvingyard on her own or kicked Javaan in the head, she did know better, but she got so overwhelmed by stress in those moments that she had no choice but to act on impulse. Overcoming her own impulsive, rash behavior has been a major obstacle for her throughout the series. She also seems to hate being touched unless it’s on her terms. She flips out when Javaan bumps her with his hip, for example, and he’s totally confused by her reaction. In “Unbreakable”, she mentions she’s repulsed by all things romantic, and I think aside from asexuality she has a serious level of touch-repulsion going on, which is a common sensory issue for people on the spectrum.

 Elska also has a tendency to get extremely fixated on certain things. Like she’ll get an idea in her head and obsess over it to the point that it consumes her life. Fighting the fog, seeking vengeance against the Evangelites, destroying Kelvingyard…these are all things she was unable to let go until circumstances forced her to. Structure and routine are very important to her as well. She takes rules more seriously than anyone else on her crew and gets extremely upset when people break them. She seems to hate when people do things incorrectly in general, like she really can’t stand it when people mispronounce her name. She goes from 0 to 11 real quick about little things like that. Elska is ALWAYS the first one to call people out on their bullshit, even when it’s her own captain.

 All that said…Elska really does strike me as being on the spectrum, but if people disagree that’s totally valid. The word “autism” is never used in the Looming Gaia series, it’s just kind of vaguely alluded to and I try to let readers come to their own conclusions. I don’t think she’s alone on it either, I personally think Jeimos and possibly Mr. Ocean have something akin to autism as well, it just manifests a little differently in them because they’re not only different people, but entirely different species. So their autism may not look exactly like the autism we know in the real world, but the classic symptoms are all there to some degree.

 Sorry for the long-winded answer, I feel like I really have to justify my reasoning because people might be like “bitch what??” lol. Anyway to answer your second question, I haven’t read the Stormlight Archive series but it’s been recommended to me quite a bit! I did read a few pages of the preview a long time ago and it didn’t quite grab me, but I probably just need to give it more time. I might try again in the future.

[lucindarobinsonvevo]

@theneverendingblakefanfic chapter 3 - The Long Discussion 

word count: 4,433, rating: T (for one (1) swear), warnings: canon compliant violence

a/n: sorry I’m late, I didn’t anticipate having so much school work on my plate when i signed up >.> anyway. Here’s my chapter, and I’m tagging @funkybetsy for the next installment. 

Matthew graduated from the police academy a very long time ago, but there was one thing that always seemed to crop up when it came to missing people's cases. That was how long you can work before you start to get sloppy. Matthew knew his limits, and he liked to think that he knew that of his men as well. That was why he sent Charlie home even though he would have preferred for him and his Bonehead training to be here. Charlie, like all the other men at the station, was fallible and exhausted.

Not to mention he had to help wrangle Blake.

He set his pen down and ran a hand along his face to clear the bleary spots from his eyes and focus on the paper. He’d put a rush on the handwriting analysis but he didn’t think that was going to lead them anywhere. He had a map of town by his hand, every Church circled. He’d sent men out but they could only do so much...And he didn’t think Jean was being held at a Church. He didn’t think she was dead. For one, you can’t believe that in a missing person case you’d never get anything done. But also because the only reason someone would want to kidnap Jean, someone professional like this would be to get to Lucien and they couldn’t get to him if she were dead. But...Two days was a long time to not make contact if they wanted a ransom, but he didn’t think that they wanted a ransom either. If he was being honest, he had no idea what the point of this was and that...That worried him.

At first, Lucien had pointed out that the scrap of paper had said ‘the Church��� so clearly it must mean Sacred Heart. But it wasn’t Sacred Heart; they’d rushed over and in and...No dice. Father Emmery, for all he got on Lawson’s nerves, let them search the place without asking them for a warrant. That was not the norm for any establishment, religious or otherwise. If the worried crease in the man's brow was much to go by, it was a testament to how much the people of Ballarat cared about Jean. And they did care. People had been showing up day and night to ask if they could help in any way. Women who used to bring Jean their dresses to be tailored now brought his men sandwiches and biscuits. Young men who used to be friends with her sons offered to go on searches but he had nowhere to send them. As far as anyone could tell the last place she’d been was the house. He’d tried to arrange a press conference earlier in the day so Lucien could appeal directly to the kidnappers, such was his instructions from the brass while they sent him more detectives. But he knew the whole thing was not going to help. But Lucien still could have shown up.

He sighed and pinched between his eyes, hoping that inspiration would strike him. Nothing happened. He turned his wrist up to look at his watch. Just past midnight. Bill would be back on shift at four am, and then he’d go home and go to bed for an hour or so. He didn’t think he’d get much sleep but this wasn’t useful. Jean’s earring sat in an evidence bag on his incoming letters tray.

He was exhausted.

Outside, a rumble of thunder caused him to jump in place. He turned his head to the closed curtains as if he could see the cause of it. A storm was on the way. A summer storm, meaning lots of lightning and thunder.

“Move it, Doc!”

“Don’t talk to me like that!”

A yell cut through the quiet like a hot knife through butter. He’d know those voices anywhere. Charlie, drenched, and Lucien, not much better, stumbled into the bullpen, Charlie dragging Lucien all the way. He also noted that Charlie was now sporting the beginnings of a black eye and that Lucien was drunk. He would have had to be to lose a fight to Charlie. Matthew was not one to comment on Charlie’s skill in the ring, but Lucien was a trained professional. Or, he’d always assumed he was anyway.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” He demanded as Charlie deposited Lucien into the chair in front of Matthew’s desk. He then noted Cec a step or two behind them, holding an umbrella as well as Lucien’s coat and hat. It seemed like his evening was about to get much longer. “I told you to go home and rest.”

“I know you did Boss but -”

“I called Sergeant Davis to the club,” Cec said, quickly, and somewhat unsurprisingly, coming to Charlie’s defense. Lawson could feel a thumping headache behind his eyes pressing on his optic nerve. He’d managed to go the last fifty-something years without committing murder but right now he was starting to see the virtue of it.

“Let me guess.” He said, “Someone was drunk.”

“I’m not drunk!” Lucien protested though the glazed over look in his eyes and red face were quite to the contrary.

“And I assume it wasn’t you who punched my sergeant?”

“We’re losing time!” Lucien insisted, “We have to go get Jean.” Matthew looked at him for a moment, then looked expectantly at Charlie, who was dabbing at his split lip with the side of his hand while Cec looked at him worriedly.

“What happened?” He asked, dryly. He wasn’t as surprised as he supposed he should have been; Lucien wasn’t exactly known for his impulse control. Still, he liked Charlie, and it had mostly been Charlie in the last few days who’d been trying to get him to help out more and find Jean.

“We were at the Club.” Charlie began, before thinking better of it. “The Doc was at the club, and Mr. Drury called me to come pick him up because he was too drunk to drive.”

“Alright. That doesn’t explain your fat lip, though.”

“I’m getting to it. I went to the club, and we got this call, It was from Hanam, about Jean.” If Matthew’s headache could have gotten any worse, it would have. Just like his night, he supposed, taking in and letting out a deep breath.

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know, Lucien had the phone and he won’t tell me so I thought he’d tell you.”

“What aren’t you telling us?” He deadpanned, not in the mood to beat around the bush when a woman's life was at stake.

“I heard from Hanam a few days ago.” Lucien finally admitted, looking like a child who got caught eating a second piece of pie rather than a man who had inadvertently put his wife’s life at stake. If Matthew had one less ounce of self-control, he would punch the bloody drunkard’s face out. But, he resists the urge, even though he would be justified and let out a breath of air between his teeth.

“And what did he say to you?”

“Not much. Just wanted to taunt me with the fact he got out of custody. I didn’t think anything of it, anyone with half a brain would know that the military police would be all over him and he’d just leave the country. Take a boat to Indonesia or something.” Matthew glanced at Charlie who scurried to his desk to call his contact in the Military police. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Lucien, it was just that quite frankly he didn’t believe Lucien and he was ruddy well sick of the man’s mysterious past interfering with their lives.

“What did he say to you tonight?”

“If I ever want to see Jean again then I would need to bring a copy of my army file to some old church. Said he was giving me two days to get it.”

“Can you get it in two days?”

“No idea.”

“Did he let you talk to Jean?”

“No, but he did play me a recording. She seemed...Distressed.” No shit, Matthew thought but didn’t voice it. He seemed marginally more sober now. For a minute or so the only sound in the room was Charlie talking on the phone to his friend in the military police, and Lucien’s breathing. Cec had wandered over to look at the large map on the wall of town with all the churches circled.

Matthew lowered his head into his hands and shut his eyes, just thinking. Thoughts came in waves, washing over him before he had the chance to process them properly. He heard the sound of a phone clicking into the receiver and looked up to see Charlie standing by, a frown on his face.

“No Hanam?”

“Apparently he ‘escaped’ custody a week ago,” Charlie said, suggesting that he did not believe Hanam escaped at all and Matthew didn’t blame him. He’d been a soldier once and the only people soldiers tended to look out for were other soldiers. They were a bit like coppers in that regard.

“What else did he tell you?” Matthew asked, changing tact and looking back to Lucien. “Anything at all.”

“Nothing of any substance, other than that we hadn’t followed through on his clue about the Church, and if I wanted to see my wife again I better figure it out."

“Not like we haven’t been trying.” Charlie said, leaning against his desk, “And they said Adelaide is the Church City.” Matthew followed his gaze to the church map. It was true. In the last two days, they’d probably searched every single church in town and hadn’t even found a hint Jean had ever been there, except for Sacred Heart, which confirmed that she hadn’t set foot in the building since she was married.

It was all frustrating and confusing.

“Superintendent?” Cec asked, getting his attention. Lawson looked up, frown still deep-set in his face.

“Hm?”

“Have you considered visiting Living Hope?”

“Where’s that?” Charlie asked, confused.

“It’s a burned down Church near Peach Road.” Matthew replied, “You know where Peach Road is?” Charlie nodded his assent, Matthew turned back to look at the wall and the map. “Last time I was there it was a hangout for vagabonds. You think Hanam is crazy enough to hang out there?”

“If he’s on the run than he might blend in?” Charlie offered up, “Look like one of the group.”

“And no one would see Jean there and call the police?” Lucien asks, face looking like he’s finally managed to put together what the conversation happening around him was about.

“The homeless aren’t great fans of the police.” He said in reply, turning back to the map. “But I’m sure there’s plenty of places to hide out if you were looking to keep someone prisoner.”

“Are there any phones nearby?” Charlie asked, back to confused, brow drawn up in a crease and split lip bleeding sluggishly down his chin. He looked like he came back from a homeless encampment.

“It’s in the middle of nowhere.” Lawson says, “But there is a farmhouse about three kilometers away. Did you hear anything that might indicate he was on a farm or anything that might suggest a location?”

“Not really.”

“Not really you heard something and are too drunk to know or not really you didn’t hear anything?” Lucien looked away, at least having the good sense to seem ashamed of his conduct so far. He wished Charlie had grabbed the phone from him and listened, maybe they would have avoided this situation. Grunting, he fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and tossed it to Charlie, who caught it with a startle. “Wipe that blood off your face, you look like a robbery victim.” Charlie did as he was told, but the blood was starting to try, leaving the skeletal outside of the mark on his face unmoved by his scrubbing.

This conversation was going nowhere, fast. Charlie was dead on his feet, Lucien was drunk off his ass and Cec wasn’t even a police officer, not to mention a persistent ache was beginning to form in Matthew’s neck. No one was going to solve this mystery in the state they were in, he could tell that much. Their best hope was to send an officer over to the burned church, wait for Lucien to sober up, and send Charlie to bed before the lad keeled over. If only they had the time.

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Drury.” He told Cec, “We’ll call you if there are any updates.”

“Of course, Superintendent,” Cec replied, and took his leave, probably glad to be away from the whole rotten mess. He looked back at the wall map.

“It sounded hollow.”

“What?” He asked, looking at Lucien whose brow was furrowed and tight.

“The recording of Jean. It sounded hollow.”

“Like?”

“Like it was taken in a room with bad acoustics.”

“That could be almost any room in Ballarat.” Matthew sighed, watching as a young constable returned from his patrol and took up a seat at his desk.

“But it could be from a burned-out church,” Lucien said, hopefully.

“No, it couldn’t.” Said Charlie, frowning.

“Why not?”

“A tape recorder is a bloody massive.” Charlie replied, “Rose had one, back at the Courier. The thing was the size of a handbag and if it got bumped then the whole thing was ruined. Anyway, the church is full of hobos, you’d have heard them on the tape. If it was hollow, wouldn’t they have had to be alone?”

“What about the farmhouse you mentioned?” Lucien asked, looking back at him.

“It’s a farmhouse, the people who own it are the Montys, they’ve gone interstate for a month.”

“How do you know that?” Charlie asked, confused.

“They wanted me to send someone to check on the place every few days, I told them that’s not what the police are for.”

“So the place is unattended, probably has a cellar of some kind, is near to a church and private enough to carry around a tape recorder!” Lucien says and leaps to his feet. “We have to go!” Witheringly, Matthew looks at Charlie and tilts his head in Lucien’s direction. Charlie comes over and pushes Lucien down to sit with one hand.

“That’s conjecture, honestly it’s barely assumption.” He said, “And we can’t go marching onto someone’s property without a warrant.”

“We could get a warrant?” Charlie suggested.

“At one am? From what judge?” He asked sarcastically. It ticked over in Charlie’s head what time it was and his face fell. His dreams of an easy solution to this case were once again dashed. Matthew is beginning to feel a weight settling in on his shoulders.

“Okay. Here’s my plan,” Charlie, Lucien, and the other police officers who had begun to mill around during the conversation looked at him. “I’ll call Bill Hobart, and get him in here to assemble a team of officers who will investigate the burnt-out church near Peach Road. Under no circumstances will anyone be going near the farmhouse, got it? If Hanam is there we don’t want to spook him into doing something rash and if he’s not then we can’t break-in.”

He received nods in reply from other various policemen.

“Will I be going with Bill?” Charlie asked, confounded by the suggestion that he won’t be leading the charge.

“No. You’re hardly fit to walk let alone traverse a dangerous structure at night. You, along with anyone else who has been on the job for more than sixteen hours will be going home to get some rest and coming back at seven am tomorrow.” Charlie opened his mouth to complain, Matthew raised one hand to stop him. “That includes me, so I don’t want to hear it, Davis.” Charlie shut his mouth but looked unhappy at the suggestion.

“What about the Doc?” Harrison, who Matthew has shortlisted for Bill’s team asked.

“The Doc will be spending the night in the cells while he sobers up,” Lawson said, a cruel little smile playing along his lips at the idea of finally getting his own back over Lucien, who protested of course, but he’s still drunk enough Charlie can push him down without incident.

“Why?! It’s my wife we’re looking for!” Lucien exclaimed.

“And you think you’re a great use drunk?” He asked back. “Not to mention you punched one of my officers. No, I think it’s best you spend the night where someone can keep an eye on you. Charlie, Harrison, put him in the middle cell.”

“Yes, Boss.” The two replied, practically in unison. Lucien didn’t even bother to put up a token resistance as he was led downstairs. Matthew meanwhile turned his attention to getting Bill Hobart in to run the station in his and Charlie’s absence. He didn’t like the idea of leaving but he also knew that clumsiness in a life or death situation more often than not led to death. He already knew Bill’s number by heart and plugged it into his phone, the noise the rotary makes gets on his nerves more than usual and he wishes for a phone that was quiet to dial.

Bill’s end rings once, twice, then he answers.

“Hobart.” He says, in place of a greeting.

“It’s me. I need you to come in.”

“Have you found her?” He asks, and he can hear the sound of blankets shuffling on the other side of the line as Bill gets out of his bed.

“No, but we have a possible lead. I need you to take a team of men to the burnt-out church on Peach Road.”

“The burnt-out...You think Mrs. Blake’s hanging around with the hobos?”

“No, we think it’s Hanam’s original clue. How soon can you come in?”

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” Bill says, and with no further pleasantries, hangs up the phone. Matthew sat back in his seat letting his thoughts roll around in his head before shaking them loose. No point in focusing on that right now. The new goal was to get home, get a few hours of sleep while they waited for Lucien to sober up, and take Bill’s report when it arrived.

Charlie and Harrison arrived from the cells, Charlie looking more and more like he’s about to drop with every passing moment.

“I’m sure this goes without saying but no one let Blake out without my express permission,” Lawson ordered the gathered officers, each nodding in tandem. Finally, he grabbed hold of his bag from his desk and shifted to his feet. Charlie looked at him warily as he did so, before hurrying to hold the door for him as they walked out.

Matthew’s car, kindly bequeathed to Charlie by Rose sat where he’d parked it what felt like light years ago. He slid into the passenger seat, allowing Charlie to drive. They didn’t speak as they set off, and Matthew turns off the radio which, curiously enough, Charlie has set to a station that plays rock and roll almost exclusively.

The drive to the house is only twenty minutes but it feels like hours, or maybe that’s because his back is sore from the seat at the station. He doesn’t want to get a new chair but maybe he’ll have to if this keeps up. He took in and let out a deep breath, studying the way that street lights cast shadows. He doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t even know if he believes what he’s told Bill either. As far as anyone knows the church is just the burned-out husk of a church and they’re wasting time they could be using doing something else but the truth is there is nothing else. This is the closest thing to a lead they’ve had in over twenty-four hours.

He wants this investigation to go faster but he can’t push it more than he already is. He can only hope Hanam has further need for Jean and will keep her alive long enough for them to find her.

“What am I going to tell Mattie?” Charlie asked, not taking his eyes off the road, sadness colouring his voice. “If we don’t find Jean in time?”

“You haven’t told her already?” He asked, surprised. Charlie was usually the one who kept Mattie up to date on the Ballarat gossip, from his promotion to sergeant to any woman who happened to glance in the direction of his dear old boss.

“I haven’t had time, and even if I did I don’t know what to tell her.”

“Well, she’s not arriving for another few days, I’m sure we’ll have this sorted out by then.” Perhaps Matthew was getting soft in his old age but Charlie seemed to be at the end of his rope as much as everyone else, and if he needed a couple of white lies to get through the night then Matthew wouldn’t hold it against him.

“But if it’s not? What will I tell her? Sorry, Jean died because I had to take a nap?”

“Jean won’t die because you have a human need for sleep.” Matthew said, “I’ve seen good men make terrible choices because they haven’t slept and you’d be no different. A few hours will make all the difference.” Charlie sighed again and they kept driving, the house now visible on the horizon. “What time is it in London at the moment?”

“Probably like four o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Why don’t you call her, then? Might do you some good.”

“Maybe.” Charlie agreed, but he didn’t seem too enthused by the idea. Even so, they pulled into the driveway and Matthew’s bed was calling him like a siren song.

…

Truth be told, Mattie O’Brien had spent the last few days walking with a spring in her step. Not to suggest that she was happy to be leaving London but she was very happy to be going home. She loved adventure, but the adventure was coming to an end and the Blake house in Ballarat seemed like an excellent place to get back on her feet and find another nursing job while she was at it.

Of course, she would stop in Melbourne first to see her parents. Her father hadn’t approved of her great London adventure but that hadn’t been news to her; he rarely approved of anything she did but it would be good to see them. They were still her family even if they argued sometimes. She doubted she would stay the night since Charlie was meant to be picking her up later that day.

It would be good to see him, especially. She’d always felt like there was some kind of unfinished business between them, and the longer they stayed in contact the more powerful of a force it became. She found herself looking forward more and more to his letters and occasional phone call as the time passed, and spending a whole drive to Ballarat with him would give them time to work it all out before arriving home and potentially having things be awkward while they fuffed about and tried to sort it all out.

She looked back at the trunk full of belongings that was coming along with her by boat. It would be a while before she saw any of this stuff again and she was trying to figure out what should come with her. She was selling or had already sold most of her furniture except for her decorated and antique bedhead, a couple of footstools she was fond of, and an almost new coffee table.

So far she’d packed enough clothing to last her a few weeks, socks, stockings and underwear (and a set of lingerie she may or may not have brought with Charlie in mind), her important documents, some books, a series of magazine’s featuring various members of the monarchy for her mother...Actually what about the gifts she’d brought to give to her friends? She’d intended to send them in the trunk with her linen, cutlery, plates, some candlesticks...But what fun was gifting if she couldn’t give them right away?

She looked over at the things sitting atop her coffee table. For Lucien, she was planning to buy him a bottle of whiskey from the airport so she could take it back with her on the plane. For Jean a set of lace gloves purchased on a trip to France she took with a housemate. As well as a set of silver and crystal earrings that were just modern enough to be fashionable enough but also simple enough that Jean would see fit to wear them. She hoped they would double as wedding gifts. She felt guilty about not going and wanted to make sure that they knew she was sorry about that but it couldn’t be helped. For Danny, who she intended to see in Melbourne, she had the ticket stub to a cricket game she’d attended where London and Australia had tied. For her mother, the magazines, for her father some fancy looking tie pins. For Matthew Lawson, who she didn’t know that well but assumed would be at the house when handing out gifts she’d settled on a box of fancy chocolates. For Charlie, someone who she’d always found difficult to buy for, she’d settled on a bottle of cologne and hoped he would like it.

As four pm rolled around, she found herself thinking about what she should do for dinner. She could go out somewhere, she thought to herself...She wasn’t much of a chef after all and her roommate was still at the hospital so she couldn’t fob cooking off onto her. She was in the process of picking out something to wear to a small Italian place nearby when her phone rang. She abandoned the powder blue dress she’d been considering and grabbed the phone off the hook.

“Hello? Mattie O’Brien speaking!”

“It’s Charlie.” Said a very tired sounding voice on the other end.

“Why on Earth are you calling me?” She asked, “It’s like two am!”

“Yeah, I just got off work for the second time today,” Charlie said, and Mattie noted a note of underlying...Something in his voice.

“Is something going on?” She asked, confused, and starting to become a little worried. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Charlie sighed, and there was a rustling sound; probably him running his hand through his hair. “It’s Jean.”

“What about Jean? Charlie, tell me.”

“She’s -”

Charlie didn’t even finish his sentence before devolving into something akin to a breakdown.

[kira-7]

Do we like... Hold hands now?

Most of the time, when babies are afraid, they tend to hold their mama and/or papa's hand to ask them help and have support. Peter saw this scene in every movie, even in his shows, when a fake vampire hissed at the audience and babies screamed and cried for help and sometimes he smelled piss, tsk! That's disgusting! Why the fuck were children so emotional, or better: why were their parents so fucking stupid to let their children saw his shows?!

He noticed Charlie and his girlfriend holding hands when they faced Jerry, he had a lump in his throat and felt his hands itchy but he justified his upset mood as a bloody desire to kill that real bloodsucking, to revenge his parents and he tightened his grip on his gun and killed all the fucking vampires. His fear was gone but the gun could not hold Peter's hand to reassure him.

A couple of years passed and a new enemy came in front of the vampire hunter, a member of an Italian clan, the Volturi, but not a simple one, of course fucking not, but one of the three most important members, with long dark hair and a couple of ruby eyes, his stench smelled of death and blood.

"Very well. I heard of you, Peter Vincent. You killed that unpleasant vampire years ago."

"What the hell do you want!," he shouted while he looked for something to hold and toss towards that fucking monster.

That vampire observed him with a strange light in his eyes, his mouth was a bit open, and he slowly rubbed his hands with anticipation.

"Just to thank you for eliminate a real problem. That guy was a nuisance as a pebble in the shoe."

"Oh yeah! Yeah, yes, of course--" Peter nodded and still searched on the table and he found something rough and rectangular, good!, "I-I did it with all my pleasure! Let me say how my plan worked!," then, he grabbed that thing - a book? - and throwed it to that vampire to run off the hotel's suite, even if he was wearing his black silk bathrobe.

Alas, a cold and marble grip stopped him, Peter barely breathed and tried to scratch that hand with zero results; in that moment, when the human thought it was his end, he wished to hold just more time his parents' hands; to his surprise nothing happened, but an annoying feeling of invasion in his memories, as if a stranger could see all his life.

"So it was that young boy, Charlie, to kill Jerry Dandrige, instead you were near to become one of us."

How the fuck did he realize it? Nobody knew what happened in Jerry's house, just the three of them, unless--

"If y-you... Hurted Ch-Charlie or... His girlfriend, I--"

"Dare I say it could be hilarious if you became the same creature that killed your parents."

That was their first meet, that vampire named Aro didn't suck his blood and, Peter learned, he had the power to see through a person's memories with a simple touch, and if it wasn't scary to know that man was a bloodsucker, certainly his ability terrified the illusionist.

_________

At least once a month, Aro got used to visit that human to check if he could pose a threat to his species, but the more Aro saw him the more he desired to know him, and it's totally a bullshit if someone like Peter didn't want a vampire's company; "Don't you have someone else to bust their balls, suck their blood, do vampire things?"

"I'm certain that my beloved brothers can arrange even without my constant support. My presence is required elsewhere away from my home."

"Here?!"

"I assume that amount of liquor makes you more perceptive, my dear."

"Pffft--" Peter smirked at his glass full of alcohol and then glanced with scepticism at his unwanted guest, "You don't say, asshole."

In a millisecond, Aro was near him and took off the glass, he could eventually broke it, but he didn't want to smell like a drunk peasant.

"Bring it back!"

"I'm afraid not."

"Bring--" the vampire hunter tried to reach the glass, "That fucking glass--" another failed attempt, "Back, you dirty old bastard!"

"And I may presume your lovely parents didn't teach you how to respect others."

"Fuck off bloodsucker!"

In a fool effort to take that glass back, or attach the vampire only with his bare hands, Peter run towards Aro but the illusionist was thrown against a wall, his back and his head ached, the human cursed all the monster being; Aro without any problem raised Peter up, he could listen that fast heartbeat, it called him as a demon tempted an angel to disobey God's plans. That alive jugular vein was pulsating under his fingers, just a bite was necessary and finally Aro could taste that human's luscious blood.

"I can assure you that alcohol is not the answer, my dear boy."

Unfortunately, he didn't want to finish immediately that life and he resumed playing cat and mouse; meanwhile, Peter never gave up, he desperately tried to get that hand off of him, he didn't wish another psychological session from a monster.

"You don't know a fuck about me!," he said looking at the bloodsucker with a threatening look. Aro didn't seem moved, on the contrary, that human was making it even more interesting to his perspective.

"Oh, instead I think I do, my dear Vincent. I know you want adventure, that's why you're here standing in front of me without any hesitation." His free hand caressed Peter's cheek. "You want to rebel like everyone else, like the virile man you want people see you, but with a still fragile and afraid soul," he whispered near the human's ear, while the vampire hunter swallowed with difficulty. Aro left a little to observe the reaction of his speech: the man in front of him had his eyes closed and his mouth opened as if he wanted to say something that never came.

The vampire leaned and continued to talk calmy, and softly, and temptingly, "You want mystery, passion, and romance... And perhaps even a small piece of..." One of his fingers touched Peter's lips and the man thought of bite it as a warning, to Aro's surprise, that human could make the things more interesting to his perspective and the vampire smiled at this conclusion, "Danger."

_________

Peter was not into those... Ngh... Affection demonstrations... Cuddles, holding hands, hugs... No, absolutely not, they're not things for him, he wasn't a child anymore, he didn't need all those fancy, sugar candies and various sweets, yuck! However, one day during his tour in Europe, he was drunk, very drunk, totally drunk, and he started to pick a fight with someone, he had no idea who he was, Peter was sure he's a vampire and he's not in a friendly relationship with the Volturi. Something said by this man drove the illusionist crazy and he started that fight; that bloodthirsty bastard was about to break his neck when he was screaming because of a strange pain, what the hell was happening?!

"I have to correct what I said a while ago. The amount of alcohol makes you impulsive and without a shred of reason."

Oh, great Jesus Fucking Christ! He really needed to listen that irritating voice! Peter turned and saw Aro with two others vampires, a female and a male, wow! He didn't know he'd stumbled on dead bloodsuckers' party! He was fucked!

"Jane, Alec. Please take care of our... Beloved friend, while I will think of the naive human."

"'xcuse me?! How the hell did you call me, asshole?"

Aro didn't listen him, and neither did Jane or Alec, he picked Peter up and led him in a few seconds to his hotel room, gently laying him on the bed and ready to go away.

"Hey! I didn't finish yet! Did I ever, before, just once, say you can help me? I had the situation under control."

"Oh, of course, dear boy, until that vampire couldn't break your neck and drink your blood."

"... Is that sarcasm?"

"I prefer to call it irony, Vincent."

Peter hummed something to not call him with his surname and when Aro was ready to leave, the vampire hunter stopped him again.

"Where the fuck do you go."

Aro was answering, but Peter asked him to stay because it was so hot and he didn't know how to lower the room's temperature, with too much surprise in Aro: since when a prey asked to their natural predator to stay with them for the night?

"Young Vincent, you don't know you are signing your death."

"Neither you do, marble corpse!"

Aro couldn't help but smirked at that appellation, and he asked with so much interest and curiosity what Peter intended; the man showed him a stake under his pillow and smiled maliciously, "It was blessed with holy water from an archbishop, a friend of our wonderful Pope. Ah! Checkmate, you bastard!"

Aro saw Peter quietly and without saying a single word, then he looked up looking for the strength to not laugh coarsely, he had manners after all, and approached the human: he grabbed Peter's wrist and guided him to his chest, there where it was his dead heart, "Well, you can use it right now, young Vincent."

In a few seconds, Peter stopped to smile and his expression became uncertain, then afraid, and after that a little pissed, "Don't you even give me the fun of killing you?!"

"Will you enjoy my death?"

Peter frowned, the closeness to that vampire was dangerous, and certainly not from the fear of being bitten, his cheeks were red, he was breathing heavily, all of that was because of the alcohol he drank, yes! It was all its fault!

"Don't you answer, Peter?"

A lock of Aro's long black hair caressed Peter's face, the vampire could feel the adrenaline, the expectation of his human and he didn't want to disappoint both of them; the vampire hunter wasn't sure if it's wiser to look at the vampire's lips or his eyes, Peter's grip on the stake gave way and the man thought it was better to tighten those fucking black hair, stood up and took possession of that mouth.

Savoring the moment, Aro's other hand began to caress and interlace his fingers with Peter's hand, but it was interrupted by the man.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"You don't have to worry, I have my gloves, I can't--"

"Just..." Peter breathed in and watched something on his left, "Not my hands."

"They're not well cared, in fact you have calluses, but what's wrong with them?"

That human was a tangle of emotions that was hard to break.

"Don't-Hold my hands, ok? Is it quite difficult to understand it?"

Aro observed Peter, he preferred to not look back, then the vampire kissed the human's forehead, "All right, then. I wish you good night, my dear Vincent. I'll stay with you to make sure no other vampire will try to behead you."

_________

"Ok, this is the last time!," Peter, quite angry, said shortly after risking a heart attack, and he was young, very young, "Why the fuck are you coming-Here!-When you understood months ago!-That I'm not a danger to your stupid and lousy species! Beca-Because I think y-y-yu-you are quite clever to understand that I'm just an illusionist! I killed that bloodsucker because he killed my parents! And tried to kill my friend Charlie, he turned his girlfriend into a bloodthirsty corpse, I was risking to become one of... Mhg! Ahhh! Why the fuck I'm talking to you about this... Anyway, g-get out from here. I don't want to see your impassive and stoic face anymore. Get away."

Aro continued to look at him, that incomprehensible smile still on his face, then he took a breath, rubbed his hands and walked in the direction of the human, "Young, young, Vincent. I'm pretty sure my stupid and lousy species, as you like to call us, is safe with you. Or at least I don't consider you so ingenuous to come to Italy, with a couple of totally useless weapons, and try to kill hundreds of vampires all alone, am I wrong?"

Peter denied with a nod of his head, he absolutely didn't want Aro to find out that he had thought of doing something like that. "Th... Then... Why..." he had not the strength to continue his question and sighed, looking away and turned his back to that vampire.

"Listen... I-I don't think... This... Would work..." the man turned again with an expression of despair and frustration, "Look at us! We... Oh man!," he used the plural now!, he was fucked, "You are a vampire and I--"

"I can understand the difference between us, my dear."

"Then you too think that this is a totally crazy idea!," Peter approached Aro, to let him know he was serious, for the first time, or second, he didn't remember well, what he was sure of was that a few times in his life he was serious, and this situation had to be inserted in those few memories; the proximity of the two bodies almost made the man go mad, his instinct told him to take advantage and kiss the vampire, his spirit of survival screamed him to run away because one single bad word and he could die, while his mind intimated him to remain calm and resolve the problem, but the illusionist couldn't, he couldn't, he just... Leaned his forehead on that bloodsuc--Aro's shoulder, and closed his eyes... Peter didn't mind the smell of blood or the feeling of resting upon something hard like a stone.

The vampire tried to not listen that heartbeat, or to not breathe, Peter's smell could lead him into a black tunnel where he couldn't control his insatiable thirst, and perhaps for the first time in his long life Aro would regretted to take away the life of a human being; young Vincent was right, they couldn't be happy together, both of them were so melodramatic, or so masochist, then a rude and a bit gentle touch took his hand, removed the glove that covered it and laced their fingers together, Aro smirked.

"Do we... Like hold hands now?," he asked with an amused and teasing note in his voice.

Peter didn't admit he was smiling too, "Maybe... Or maybe this is just a way to grab your hand, so it's impossible for you to move and I can take the chance to definitely stab you," he answered with a trembling voice, finished the sentence with a laugh and, after that, he bit his lip... How in the Bloody Hell was it possible for him to feel safe near a vicious vampire? This was unnatural, insane...

With so much caution, Aro raised slowly his other hand to touch Peter's back.

"You can use your fucking power on me," the vampire hunter whispered, making Aro really worried.

"I don't see the necessity to do something like this now."

"Just do it."

After some minutes, Peter felt again that sensation of invasion inside his mind, but he didn't care for once; he only hoped Aro was reliving the moments they had passed together, the way they fucked so hard against the wall after he bit Aro's thumb, the way he felt when they were kissing upon that hotel's bed, or the many times he masturbated thinking of that vampire (somehow, it could be quite romantic, not many people jerked off thinking about one single person, he would love it if someone did the same for him). Instead, Aro visited Peter's childhood, that little boy so brave, so happy, and a little afraid of things that usually were scary to children, but his parents gave him their hands to hold, to make him felt safe and loved; Aro saw the moment when his parents were killed, he could ear his Mamas and Papas said between sobs and tears while he tried to hold their hands, but they were cold and motionless; the vampire visited the many times in which he refused to hold hands, or when he mocked when he saw that gesture between two people, the envy and jealousy he used to attack them all...

"Are you finish? I don't want you see all my life, it isn't interesting for someone who lived for how long? Millennia?"

"Centuries, to be precise."

"Oh yeah, of course. So--" he turned his head to look at Aro's profile, "Did you see it?"

Peter never mentioned what he talked about and Aro never asked, so the vampire's answer was a simple "I did."

The two men stood there for a lot of time, when Peter got close to Aro's neck, he shifted the collar of his jacket and tried to bite it, surprising the vampire beside him, humans could be very astonishing in their total naivety.

"Shit! There's no fun doing it if it's like you're biting a disgusting piece of marble! Ugh! This is useless!"

"Do that again."

"What? Are you insane?!"

Aro stared with his hungry red eyes at Peter's browns, "Your urge to bite me is insane, I can barely feel your teeth. But it's so fascinating to see a butterfly acts like a spider."

Peter couldn't hide the blush on his cheeks, "Fuck you!," he cursed.

"I'd rather be me to penetrate you, young Vincent."

"Fuck me, for Hell's sake, fuck-me! You need to update your vocabulary if you want to keep up with the times, old bastard!"

"And you should learn some good manners by seeing the obscene ways you express yourself."

"Then, next time you will give me a copy of Galateo."

"No, it's too sophisticated for you, you need a simpler version to begin with."

"Are you saying that I'm stupid, thou withered white-livered codpiece?"

"Quite the contrary, I'm just stating that you're not ready for a book like Il Galateo, and insulting me as if you are Shakespeare doesn't make you high born, young Vincent."

They stared at each other, until their mouths met halfway, Aro slowly and Peter urgently. They were both fool: none of them wanted to point out that they had arranged to meet again, although they both agreed that they should stop seeing each other; instead, they preferred to kiss more and reach the bed as soon as possible, where they would give vent to the libido that consumed both of their bodies and souls. It could have been a dangerous encounter, they both knew it from the first time they touched each other, but they both loved the risk, they both love mystery, passion, and romance... And perhaps even a small piece of... Danger.

[voltage-vixen]

Carving Pumpkins-KBTBB

Halloween Countdown-Day 15

Prologue: A short snippet of MC and the bidders spending a simple day together carving pumpkins…..but is anything ever simple with the bidders?

Eisuke: “Eisuke,” MC sighed, “You know I would have been happy with an average pumpkin when I suggested we should carve some together right?” They were standing outside in the courtyard of the Tres Spades, watching professional pumpkin carvers carve the world’s largest pumpkin. Although she was hardly surprised by Eisuke’s antics, MC still had to admit she was impressed that he somehow managed to buy the pumpkin, and have it delivered to the hotel as quickly as he did. Eisuke folded his arms across his chest and smirked. “My woman deserves only the best.” MC rested her head on his shoulder, and Eisuke pulled her closer into him. “Thank you Eisuke,” she happily said. Eisuke nodded, and the two continued to watch the creation progress before their eyes.

Soryu: “My pumpkin is bigger than yours!” Ryosuke claimed in triumphant. “No, it’s not!” Samejima snapped back at his rival. Soryu had caught everyone off guard when he suggested the Ice Dragons take the day to have a relaxing get together, so they were spending the day at headquarters carving pumpkins. “Both of you shut up already,” Soryu snapped, before turning his attention back to MC. He stuck a candle on the inside and lit a match so they could check out their finished pumpkin. “I love it Soryu,” MC cheered and clapped her hands together. The pair had carved a cute kitten, and Soryu softly smiled at her. “I’m glad you’re happy MC,” he admitted, “Our kitten is cute, and that reminds me of you.” MC kissed her boyfriend’s blushing cheek, before they went to decorate the rest of the office for Halloween.

Ota: “Ota, that looks amazing,” MC exclaimed in admiration while she examined the pumpkin. Ota told her she couldn’t peek until he had finished carving, and he had finally finished his masterpiece. A beautifully detailed dog was carved onto the surface, and MC couldn’t believe how realistic it looked. “Well of course it does,” Ota responded smugly, “Afterall, I had the best model right here to work from.” She was too busy scowling at his comment, to notice that Ota had now turned the pumpkin around. MC’s eyes widened when she realized what he was now showing her. “I was obviously talking about you being the perfect model for this bluebird,” he gestured towards the second carving he made on the opposite side of the pumpkin. “You may be my Koro, but you are also the bluebird in my life, that always inspires me to do my best. I wouldn’t have any motivation if it weren’t for you.” His sweet words brought tears to her eyes, and he handed her his handkerchief. “Dogs don’t cry Koro!” Ota teased and stuck out his tongue at her. MC rolled her eyes, but she wouldn’t prefer Ota to act any other way.

Baba: “Great job princess,” Baba praised MC for her carving job. MC groaned in frustration while she was glaring at her misshapen hack job on the pumpkin. She knew Baba was only trying to make her feel better, but she couldn’t help but feel disappointment considering she butchered their only pumpkin. “I’m sorry Baba,” she responded dejectedly, “I’ll go buy a new one tomorrow, and I promise I won’t touch that one.” Baba grabbed her arms and rested his forehead on hers. “But this is the perfect pumpkin for me,” Baba reassured his sulky girlfriend, “The person I love more than anything made it for me.” Baba suddenly had an idea and excused himself before rushing out of the room. He came back with a bouquet of flowers and put them right in the middle of the pumpkin. “There! Now it’s perfect! I get to admire these beautiful flowers that remind me of you, and the creation you made,” Baba sweetly declared. Nuzzling against her, MC silently gave thanks for being so fortunate to have a man this wonderful in her life.

Mamoru: “What a pain,” Mamoru grumbled, “This is such a childish thing to do.” Despite his complaining, Mamoru was following MC’s instructions on how to carve the pumpkin. “Just admit that you’re having fun,” MC beamed. He had just finished carving the design, and MC had begun her role of decorating the pumpkin. She finally finished, and MC was proud of their work. Mamoru had carved a spider web, and MC had glued on a fake web, along with some plastic spiders. “Mamoru, what do you think of-,” she couldn’t quite finish her question, because she caught Mamoru with his phone pointed at her. Seeing the grin creep onto her face, Mamoru’s face turned red, and he tried to justify the situation. “It’s not what it looks like!” Mamoru embarrassingly exclaimed, trying to cover up the fact that he was taking a picture of her with the pumpkin. She nodded her head, but deep down knew he was full of it, and she couldn’t love him more for it.

Hikaru: “Hey idiot! I thought I told you to wait for me,” Hikaru yelled when he saw MC attempting to carve the pumpkin. MC had been struggling to stick the knife in the pumpkin, and Hikaru raced over before she ended up hurting herself. “Here let me help,” he ordered as he stood close behind her. MC blushed when she felt his hot breath on the back of her neck, and his large hands covered hers. Together, Hikaru helped MC make the first cut, and they worked cohesively to finish their creation. “Thanks, Hikaru,” MC praised him, “I really think it turned out perfectly. I couldn’t have done it without you.” “I only helped so you wouldn’t cut yourself,” Hikaru shyly muttered under his breath. “Idiot,” MC said before kissing him, “You’re not a very good liar Hikaru.” He started to tickle her, and the two were soon chasing each other around, enjoying every second of their playful time together.

Luke: “Um, Luke? What is that exactly supposed to be?” MC questioned as her boyfriend continued to carve away at the pumpkin. She had a feeling she already knew the answer to her question, but she decided to ask him anyway. Luke turned his attention away from the pumpkin and shot her a startled look. “Don’t you recognize this Sexy Bones?” He held up an x-ray he had been using as a reference. “Your collar bones of course,” Luke confidently told her. “Well, at least a pumpkin with a carving of bones, won’t stand out in a doctor’s office,” she sighed in relief. Luke’s face suddenly turned dark, and he frowned disapprovingly. “This is MY pumpkin! No one else gets to see your collar bones but me,” he sadly pouted. MC’s heart broke when she saw how sad he was about the thought. Wanting to make him feel better, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Let’s keep it in our bedroom then,” she proposed. He smiled at the suggestion and nodded his head in approval. “Great idea! We’ll call it Sexy Bones Jr.,” Luke happily hummed before skipping off with the pumpkin into the bedroom.

Shuichi: “I really don’t think carving a pumpkin needs to be so complicated,” MC said while watching her boyfriend skim through articles on pumpkin carving. Shuichi had insisted on researching through different techniques to find the perfect one, before they could even begin. “If I’m being required to engage in this silly activity, then I need to make sure we are at least doing this right,” Shuichi sighed. MC knew they would be here all day if he got his way. Acting on an impulse, MC grabbed the knife and stuck it straight into the pumpkin. Shuichi gasped, and ran over to assess the potential damage. “What do you think you are doing?” Shuichi yelled, wondering if MC had lost her mind. “You need to relax,” MC scolded the uptight man, “Let’s just have fun and carve something on an instinct.” Very reluctantly, Shuichi followed her lead, and soon they had made a scene of ghosts floating around in a graveyard. “I have to admit that was more fun than even I anticipated,” Shuichi grinned, “Thank you for always bringing out the best in me.” He leaned in for a kiss, and MC made a note to plan more activities that would bring out this soft side of Shuichi more often.

Rhion: “It’s the only pumpkin in the world that’s fit for Wonderland,” Rhion boasted. Rhion and MC had managed to carve out a decent looking copy of his cat Cheshire. Cheshire had been sitting on the chair nearby and gave a meow of approval. Rhion placed their pumpkin at the center of the table and poured some tea for the both of them. “This is great Alice,” he chattered in excitement, “We managed to create the perfect centerpiece for the tea party tomorrow!” MC drank her tea, and soon felt Rhion’s presence behind her. “Though this may be the perfect decoration, the real focus tomorrow will be your beauty,” he whispered in her ear. Blushing, she turned around to see Rhion’s grinning face staring at her. “I can’t wait to see what other creations we make here together in Wonderland,” he suggestively stated. MC didn’t care what he meant, realizing she would get lost with him in Wonderland anytime.

Feel free to check out my Masterlist!

@agustd54

[pacificwanderer]

Got any advice for a girl who has 3 younger fanbro brothers who proclaim they will not be watching TROS in theaters? When I told my brothers the title, two of them groaned and said, yuck, seriously? And, my 21 year old brother, who really doesn't care about romance in action movies, always rolls his eyes when I bring up Reylo, and said the trailer reinforced his dislike for the ST actors. I know I shouldn't care what they think, but I do. I keep thinking I have to prove myself as a SW fan.

Hey Nonnie!

This is a really great questions :) I’ve been a fan since I was very young and it was something that I largely enjoyed on my own (family wasn’t much into it, though my aunt did make us watch Space Balls one time, so LOL I’ve got that, I guess?), so my experience will be a little different, but I’ll do my best. NGL, my first impulse was to type out “YOU DON’T OWE SHIT TO NOBODY NOHOW” but that’s not really helpful and, to be honest, it’s really a concept that I learned with age and experience because, for much of my life, I’ve also felt like I had to prove myself or justify my interests to others, esp when someone was choosing to criticize them. Also, this is a pretty common and normal feeling inside of fandom and in life, so you’re definitely not alone :)

It almost felt like it was a judgment on me. Somehow, I was doing something wrong by liking whatever thing I felt I needed to justify, so I needed to explain myself so that they could understand why I liked the thing because I didn’t like to feel like I was doing something wrong by liking it. I didn’t want them to reject me or think less of me because of my interests. But, as I’ve dealt with more of this kind of thing over time, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s okay for them to not give a shit about the things that I like and that I don’t owe them my time or a justification. I’m not wrong for liking SW just like they’re not really wrong for disliking it. It’s just the way it is in life. And, honestly, once the movie comes around, they might change their tune anyways because I have a feeling it’s going to be epic.

If I like something, it’s right for me because it’s right for me. Doesn’t mean that will be the case for anyone else, but it also doesn’t mean that I have to convert them or bring them over to my POV. The best thing for me was to find people who shared my interests and talk with them about how much I love the thing. For me, that was getting started in online fandom. I was also really lucky to find a group of friends outside of the fandom who are really supportive and patiently listen to my Reylo and Star Wars rants. I’ve also gotten more confident with my likes and interests over time, which really is just me becoming more confident as a person. The older I get, the less I give a shit about what other people say about things that ultimately don’t matter (like fandom). It’s supposed to be fun and I do my best to seek out the people and opportunities that are enjoyable to me :) Again, that’s after a lot of years of feeling lesser than, or like I needed to hide my hobbies, but now I just dgaf lol.

Another thing to remember is that peer pressure and influence from others is a real thing and some people feel the need to fall in line, or hate on things that “everyone” else hates on just because they don’t want to feel like they’re not part of the group (and, boy, is that group loud on the internet, even if they are small). So, it could be that they’re feeling outward pressure to hide their own interests and preferences (not saying that’s definitely the case, but it can be part of the reason). It happened with the PT too, where you get people who aren’t even into SW weighing in on how “terrible” the movies are. Because SW is so ubiquitous, everyone has an opinion on it, so there’s always going to be plenty of conflict in the fandom because not only do you have generations of people growing up and loving different facets of this series, you have people who think that a viable personality trait is hating on Star Wars (it’s not, they’re boring, and I’ve learned to just ignore them and enjoy with part of the fandom that is good for me). It takes a lot of guts to be open with your likes and hobbies and not many people feel comfortable with making themselves vulnerable like that. I know it was a challenge for me growing up because it stings to hear shit like “that fucking sucks,” or “what’s wrong with you [for liking that]” or “Isn’t that a boy thing?” But, again, it’s a reflection on them, not me. Mostly, I think people are jealous that they can’t openly like the things they like because they’re afraid of criticism. Which sucks. 

I wish we were more encouraging about interests instead of always making fun of people for being “too excited,” or “childish.” This would would be a more magical place if people could take themselves outside of their own experiences, fears, and insecurities, and realize that we’re all just stumbling along together, trying to get by, on this crazy rock that’s hurtling through space. People also get a lot more traction by talking about what they hate because it gets a rise out of others. Look at youtube or twitter. That shit is toxic as fuck (and this place can be too) with people continually focusing on shit that they say they “hate” but are actually obsessed with (and probably secretly enjoy, which I’m sure pisses them off, hence the overcompensating with hate to PROVE to themselves that they really do hate it--Gee, reminds me of a certain character, to be honest lol). 

Also, it’s okay if people don’t like Star Wars or don’t like the new movies or Reylo. It’s fine. As long as they’re not being mean about it. There are plenty of things that I just can’t stand, but I stay out of it lol. And, well, some people are just gonna be jerks about it and that’s a reflection of them and their current state of being. If they enjoy making other people feel shitty about the things that they like, then I imagine their own state of being isn’t that great. Now, with brothers, I’m sure the dynamic is different (I don’t have any brothers, but I grew up around farm boys, so I got some of the dynamic, but living with people makes things a bit more challenging). So it might just be a family thing where you’re getting pushback because you’re a family member. Family sure is like that sometimes. 

I’m going to stop myself from going on a rant talking about how Star Wars, while it has action elements, isn’t an action movie and people who have that expectation for the series are always going to be disappointed (it’s a space opera), but it’s also good to remember that some people just don’t understand romance, and maybe they don’t like it. And that’s okay. People are entitled to their own opinions and interests and, as long as they’re not starting fights over it, I’d just move on. 

You have every right to enjoy Star Wars just however you see fit. You don’t owe it to anyone else to justify or explain your preferences. Whether you’re deep into it, or just like the aesthetic, or want romance or Reylo, or like the ships, whatever, it’s all valid. 

Is there something about SW that you all like that you can share if you’re looking for a way to bridge the gap? I’d avoid topics that you’re never going to agree on, but maybe if you’re looking to have conversations with your bros about SW, talk to them about the things you enjoy that you have in common. Or, if they’re picking at the ST, just ignore the bait. IT’S HARD and I hATE IT because I want to rub people’s faces in how wrong they are, but I also have to take a step back and remind myself that it’s fake and in space lol.

In summary, you never, ever, ever, ever, ever have to justify yourself as a SW fan or with anything else out there. Ever. Sometimes, it’s hard to remember that, but with time and practice, it gets easier, I promise. Take it from a chronic over-explainer lol. You are good and valid and wonderful just the way you are and in whatever way you enjoy this series. No matter what anyone else says or implies. Star Wars is for everyone, and anyone that implies otherwise never understood the series to begin with.

AND if you read all this and think it’s shit and you have a better way to deal with it HAHA I’m fine with that. These are my personal experiences and thoughts on the matter, and what’s right for me isn’t going to be right for everyone, nor do we all follow the same path in life :) Hope this helps, at least so you know that you’re not alone and I’m cheering for you! 

Take care, Nonnie! And MTFBWY!

[maevelin]

What do you think about people thinking that Dany is going mad and looks more like Cersei ever since she killed the Tarlys?

I think that the GoT writers love to create parallels. But fail to do it subtly or create the right substance to their storytelling. So of course they are trying to mirror in certain ways Daenarys with the Mad King and even Cersei but I think that even though this could be an intriguing concept it fails in the execution and then it becomes a mess. Then the fans that don’t like Dany are ready to jump into that assessment while the fans that like Dany don’t want even to consider the possibility that there are some traits of hers that are questionable. 

The thing is that in GoT most characters are terrible and amoral in their own way even those that are presented by the narrative as the moral ones. Daenerys is no less terrible than most characters and heroes of the show but I don’t think she is mad or anything like Cersei. 

In this world Power is not given. It is taken. This is what Daenerys is trying to do as almost every other character that wants to either gain or keep the Throne does. And Daenerys is as crazy as she needs to be so to try to achieve the impossible. Like creating Dragons, invading the Kingdoms, reclaiming the Throne, re-establishing the Targaryen dynasty. But that kind of crazy is not the same as saying she is the Mad Queen.

Daenerys executed the Tarlys yes and it was horrific but it was horrific because of the means she used and not only by the way most viewed the action as an action. To be honest personally I am not finding an execution by beheading or hanging to be any less horrific. Aside of the visual effect burning for a few seconds than hanging and struggling for more or having an executioner that may miss when they strike for your neck seems like a alternative that is equally horrific but can also be preferable given the circumstances. 

I also think that Daenerys action had an interesting mentality behind that most people ignored. It is a very long discussion by ideologically she considers death to be more merciful than enslaving people in any form. Either you agree with this or not it is an opinion (as controversial it may be given how it played out in the show) that is not based on madness. 

I think that was also made the execution of the Tarlys a more controversial subject is how they were related to a pure character like Sam and how he is reacting to it along with the way the sensible voices like Varys and Tyrion are reacting to it. Although in my opinion as sensible as Varys and Tyrion can be the have used morally questionable means themselves and their current advise is leading to more problems than solutions. You can’t aim to follow a ruler that you want them to be the right kind of terrible but then expect them to not be exactly that.

Daenerys is a conqueror. In the same way her ancestors were (Aegon and his sisters) and yet are now revered as legends. I guess it depends on the winning side that gets to write the history. But Daenerys is there for a specific reason and she has a claim on the Throne - to what degree is another discussion all together but she is a prominent contestant for sure. So as such she has created alliances and in times of war she is ready to defend and avenge her allies. And Randyll Tarly followed his dedication to the Throne (despite the way Cersei has taken it) but at the same time broke his oath to the Tyrells. That makes him an Oathbreaker from where Daenerys is standing and she executed him as such. However she gave him a way out which he refused. Which is more others would do in her place. And when she executed him in the way she did she also ensured that she would instill fear and obedience by making him an example. Do I agree with what she did to Dickon? No. But she gave him a choice too. In the end I think that depending on which side someone stands such actions can’t go unanswered. Not in such situations. 

It is the same thing Tywin Lannister supposedly aimed to do by killing a few people in a wedding feast than thousands in the battlefield. Now where Tywin’s way was not honorable and was abhorrent it was still a swift strategic move that ensured the survival and the power of the Lannisters as he had also once upon a time has done with Castamere. 

Daenerys way was no less horrific in a way but it was also something that rulers do to traitors and then it depends on the way of the execution. Now if Daenerys had executed all the war prisoners and had not given alternatives to the Tarlys it would be another discussion all together. But this is still a feudal society that is at war. Tyrion himself had initially claimed that he wanted the right kind of terrible to reign over the Seven Kingdoms and that Daenerys is ideal as such because she allows people to advise her. And truth is that from the moment they crossed the narrow sea Daenerys has followed his advice step by step which led to failure.  And then Tyrion was horrified by Daenerys actions when in reality it was his bad advice that led them to this situation which he never acknowledged. I get his need for a more of a pacifistic approach but it the end it is not working for the goals his side has set (unless he has a hidden agenda) and the death count will definitely increase way more. I think it is a given that Daenerys after all is not there for tea and sympathy. She is there to take the Throne. It is different to defend the crown (which is what Tyrion is used to do) than aim to conquer it. It would not make sense for Daenerys to have at her disposal the Dothraki, the Unsullied and most importantly her Dragons and not use them in the more effective way she can. Others use swords and she used fire.

The legend of the Targaryens however is closely connected with fire but given the Mad King’s fairly recent history such actions (as burning people) are a sort of a traumatic and shocking trigger. More now with Daenerys’ dragons. But would the response be the same if Daenerys had decided to behead the Tarlys instead? The action would remain the same without the shocking effect on that degree anyway. Something we have seen repeatedly in the show over and over.

Stannis was after the Throne too. He believed in his rightful claim. He burned people on the stake, even his own daughter and yet no one claimed that he was mad. Not on the degree fans do with Daenerys. Jon beheaded Janos Slynt for not following orders. Jon hanged the mutineers and the traitors (including a child among them). Robb, Ned and so on have beheaded those they considered oathbreakers. Arya is an assassin that has committed mass murder. The way Sansa executed Ramsey was horrific too. Tyrion had used wildfire when he was defending King’s Landing and eventually the way he murdered Shae was not an action of sanity. This is happening back and forth with most characters. And none of these characters are associated with madness. To some cases there was personal involvement to others it was simply strategy or figures of power using execution as punishment, as an example, as a way to establish their law or by simply following the existing law. 

So I feel that in that way Daenerys is no less terrible than almost every other character that is a contender for the Throne. At least for now she is able to understand that she has certain impulses and that she is lacking experience and insight so she is choosing to have a council of people that can balance that out. People that by the way have betrayed her or her family and still she has showed them mercy. Ser Jorah, Ser Barristan, Varys. Even Tyrion in the way that he is a Lannister. And she was ready to give the same choice and mercy to the Tarlys despite their actions against their allegiance to the Tyrells. 

I think that what is more controversial when it comes to Daenerys’ mental state is the way her arrogance has blinded her to the degree that she practically believes in her God’s given rightful claim to the Throne and considers it to be the only existing reality. This is what fanatics are made of. And that kind of belief (that was instilled in her every since she was born) should it go unchecked it can corrupt and eventually drive a person mad too. I believe Daenerys still has good intentions when she is facing dangers that can bring injustice and suffering to people but her megalomania does not allow her to see that she can potentially do the same to others which then she would immediately defend such actions as the right thing to do. It is a very dangerous mindset. Anything or anyone opposing her faith to her destiny and her belief  that she is the rightful heir of the Seven Kingdoms could truly set her off. It is her belief system that is at risk and given her journey so far and all the trauma she has endured and everything that has shaped her to the person she is now breaking down that belief effectively making it an illusion (Jon’s identity and his claim to the Throne is the major threat for that here) will be the ultimate challenge to her mental state. But for now at least she is just as amoral and as ‘justified’ as most of the other characters of the show.

[soft-sarcasm]

hong jisoo: understood.

Pairing: hong jisoo x reader.

Summary: there’s something unexplainably wonderful about finally being understood.

Genre: fluff, basically just another self-serving ramble about anxiety affecting a relationship.

Word count: 1.7+k.

a/n: I swear this isn’t the only thing I know how to write but these are just what keeps coming out every time I start to write. I think I’m just slightly obsessed with the idea of someone anxiety being in a relationship with someone who actually understands it, though this is definitely an oversimplification. This is just another fluff piece with no real weight but it just happened so enjoy if you want.

 There was nothing but love and warmth waiting for you. Nothing but acceptance and adoration, and yet, you couldn’t move from your place hunched over your front table, phone blinking up at you with each new message, there being no point in even reading them as you were already aware of their contents.

What you are you doing right now?

Where are you?

Are you okay?

Are you okay? Are you okay? Are you, okay? 

 It was a question that had been asked of you far too often for your liking. By people who cared, but also by those who didn’t. By your parents who were concerned for a daughter going through a disease they couldn’t see and couldn’t help but not understand, by friends who understood slightly better but still couldn’t fully comprehend the weight that compressed your brain, by doctors who peered at you from warped leather chair and while you knew they were meant to understand, their psychoanalysis rarely ever actually appealed to you. And now there was your boyfriend, your first romantic partner in the entirety of your life due to your small problem of your complete apprehension of relationships and growing attached to people.

It wasn’t that you couldn’t muster loving emotions, or that you never had, it’s just that you had never felt this strongly for anyone and that was probably why you were huddled away from your boyfriend of six months. This was not your first episode during your relationship, it was just he was rarely in the country when one did happen. You could usually push past your own defaults when your limited time together ever came around, enjoying the brief touches of contact you were allowed with his hectic schedule and your burdening school load.

This was not the case for today it seemed, because while you were meant to already be headed over to your meet up spot of Joshua’s favourite coffee shop that was populated by too many elderly people for anyone to recognise him, you were still trapped in your shoe box of an apartment, head stuffed full of damming thoughts and body incapable of any movement. You hated that today had to be the day of an episode, especially as it was so rare that you and Joshua ever saw each other, the times you actually had a date outside being even rarer. And he had been so excited, so excited that he finally got a day off and that he could finally take you out. Fuck, your anxiety was the worse.

You finally reached for the phone that was still accepting messages, but now less frequently, swiping the screen and pulling up his most recent one.

Shua: are you on your way yet?

That made your chest cave, the clear optimism making your heart clench. He truly was too good for you, too loving and gentle for all your many dysfunctions. You could picture him now; head tucked under one of his many caps, face concealed behind a thin shroud of a mask, probably bundled in some collage of stylish layers and altogether just looking stunning. He was probably waiting for you, no, he was most definitely waiting for you from his messages. What were you meant to tell him?

Hey sorry, anxiety decided to come fuck with me today and I currently leave the house because my brain is making me feel like I’ll actually die if I do and it doesn’t help that I love you so fucking much that it makes my heart want to explode.

So yeah, rain check?  

Why don’t you just put a fucking stamp on your forehead that says ‘hey, don’t date me, I over think everything and sometimes can’t leave the house for no good reason, run while you still can!’ Then you wouldn’t have ended up somehow tricking this beautiful creature into think that you were a functioning enough human being to date. Self-destructing things did usually come with some sort of warning, it was only right that you let the world know so they can stay clear.

You let out a snort, the picture of you walking around with a sign that large on your forehead bringing a flicker of humour into your current grey mood. The humour was sapped from you as another message from Joshua arrived.

Shua: Is everything okay over there?

Shua: ?????

You had to answer him now, before he got too worked up with worry and did something stupid like come over to your place, which you could not have because while you were actually dressed for your date, you were certain your face was an unattractive shade of greenish pale and you couldn’t imagine how frazzled your expression was. So you brought your fingers down on the keypad, pressing down the appropriate characters to spell out the ever stereotypical, but highly effective, ‘Yeah, I’m alright.’ Once you sent that you would have more time to come up some sort of excuse. But it couldn’t be anything that he would feel the need to come over and take care of you for. Something like an unexpected assignment from one of your professors or something trivial but still with enough weight that it was a justifiable excuse.

Just as you were about to hit send, the noise of a small scuffle came through your permanently locked door, followed by the scrape of metal fitting into a lock and the accompanying twist of a key so that your door was opening. It seemed that you definitely had grown overly familiar with Joshua as he looked almost exactly how you pictured him to, effortlessly beautiful in his many layers, hat and face mask that he pulled under his chin at the sight of you thanks to your mini dining table being perfectly in line with your entryway due to the layout of your apartment. Which basically meant that there was no pretending you weren’t home as he stared directly at you, expression unreadable.

You stood up instantly, stomach twisting as he stepped through the door and began to step out of his shoes, your mind reeling as you began to scramble, “I have a completely valid reason as to why I didn’t meet up with you, there was a paper- no a friend! A friend needed my help- no it was the paper thing, an assignment! Yes, an assignment that’s why I couldn’t meet you.” You knew you weren’t making any sense but you weren’t completely coherent as you watched him take off his jacket and make his way towards you, your already hazed mind trying to make some sort of justification. But by the time he was actually in front of you, you knew it was just better to cave and apologise rather than make excuses. “Look, Joshua, I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean to stand you, I just-couldn’t. I know that doesn’t make any sense and you don’t deserve this, and I can’t even explain it to you to make you understand,” It was making you nervous, with him just staring at you and not saying anything which leads you to just ramble more. “And you don’t need to understand to know that I’m sorry, for taking up your free time when you never get any and making you worried. My brain just- ugh- my brain hates me and sometimes-”

You were cut off by him suddenly grabbing your hands that had been flailing uncontrollably in hopes of being able to better convey your words, the coolness of his flesh contrasting against your own clammy skin. The act made you actually look at him for the first time, brown eyes filled with warmth that shocked the cold right out of your bones.

“You can stop apologising now,” He spoke so gently, his ever soothing tone rippling over you like the laps of a heated bath, instantly calming you. When you remained silent, the grip on your hands tightened and a small smile pulled at his lips, “Good. Now I’m going to tell you that you have no reason to apologise because I get it, or at least I get as much as I can, sometimes we all just can’t do it. And I also want you to know that you never need to feel like you need to force yourself for me, because you don’t, ever.”

You couldn’t stop the swelling of your heart at the sincerity of his words, feeling less deserving than ever of this fathomlessly perfect man in front of you but when you opened your mouth to voice this, you were shushed.

“No, I can only imagine what it’s like to have the kind of anxiety you do and I can’t speak from any kind of experience so I’m not gonna pretend that I can. All I’m going to say is that I’m forever here for you, even when you can’t leave the house for what you feel like is no reason at all because any reason to you is a valid one. So don’t ever doubt yourself. And to be honest, you know that I much prefer staying indoors anyway so screw the outside world, we can just stay here forever!”

You were close to crying now, feeling this strange mixture of heart straining love and unexplainable relief that this person, this person that you cared so much about somehow just understood you. This inexplicable feeling leads you to impulsively throw yourself into his arms, all but knocking him to the floor.

And then before you could even catch the words, they were spilling from your lips, “I fucking love you so fucking much.”

Six months and an anxiety attack, that’s what it had taken for you truly realise your feelings for Joshua and while you knew you should probably feel like you were dying from an overload of emotions that usually caused you more stress, you were impossibly relieved as you clung to him, repeating the words over and over again. You could feel the rumble of his laughter due to your closeness, the lack of space between you two intensified as he pulled up against him, his smile present against your neck as he pressed a kiss to the exposed skin.

“I fucking love you so fucking much as well, so don’t even worry about it.”

[elisaenglish]

All the Difference in the World

It seems almost contradictory to think of shining a light on dystopias. And there’s a certain element of “Why should we?” when history offers a damning surplus of cautionary tales and the future beckons with innovation yet too murky to fully judge. Here we are at the pivot. The pendulum swings without a concrete place to land and opinion drowns consideration. Meanwhile, the clock ticks on; we vacillate like a metronome as spectacle draws attention.

Thus, herein lies our quandary. We can speculate, but we can’t know. We can weigh, but far from settle. Literature presents some longed-for clues, except less discerning eyes are prone to over-simplify the essentials.

After all, non-literary figures frequently cite Orwell as science fiction’s most incisive voice and I agree that there’s grain of truth there. But I can’t help but feel somewhat sorry for poor old George, languishing in his premature grave, largely misread and far too easily utilised to justify all manner of dubious agendas. Quote-mining? Never a good idea. It’s like taking the moral high ground; there really is only one way to go. As for the ghost of the writer? There are two words you need to embrace: context and oeuvre. And in this case, I suspect he’d also like his name back. Because anyone of sober mind really would.

So if not Orwell, then who? If not a partial analogy, then where resides completion? And I hesitate at this juncture because parallelism is never an exact measure and variables come and go. Still, it feels safe – and by ‘safe’ I mean ‘absolutely fucking terrifying’ – to place our bets on Brave New World.

Not entirely original, I know. You could argue that it’s a bit mainstream, a bit staid, possibly a bit done to death. I could trawl obscurity to find something – well, obscure. But no, because what would be the point? Huxley, to use a technical term, knows his prophetic shit.

And ninety years later, here on the brink of some digital abyss, it looks a lot like we’re living it. Or at least we will be, before the next half-century’s done.

Of course, the world was negotiating its own horrifying pre-show in 1931. Lest we forget, communism and fascism were entrenched on the eastern and southern flanks of Europe. Meanwhile, Nazism was on the rise in the crumbling Weimar Republic and the Great Depression took its social and economic toll on the entire globe. In the midst, however, Huxley drew together a vision of a political model that had evolved civilisation beyond war, or famine, or plague, or suffering. A place of continuous peace, prosperity, where the government artificially, by means of advances in biotechnology and social manipulation, keeps everyone in a permanent state of contentment so that no one ever has any reason to rebel.

Control through love and pleasure, we see, is far more potent than that acquired through fear and violence. A whole population anaesthetised, and on and on they beg for another, and another hit. Familiar, isn’t it? And somehow under your skin because unlike 1984, it isn’t as easy to pinpoint what makes this scenario the worst of the worst, or even just one of them.

We turn, then, to the novel’s climactic moment. John the Savage, having lived all his life on a remote reservation in New Mexico and symbolic of the authentic and passionate mindset eliminated in the name of ‘benign’ tyranny, is brought before Mustapha Mond, the World Controller for Western Europe and the only other man in London to know anything of Shakespeare or God, or it must be said, freedom:

““My dear young friend,” said Mustapha Mond, “civilisation has absolutely no need of nobility or heroism. These things are symptoms of political inefficiency. In a properly organised society like ours, nobody has any opportunities for being noble or heroic. Conditions have got to be thoroughly unstable before the occasion can arise. Where there are wars, where there are divided allegiances, where there are temptations to be resisted, objects of love to be fought for or defended—there, obviously, nobility and heroism have some sense. But there aren’t any wars nowadays. The greatest care is taken to prevent you from loving any one too much. There’s no such thing as a divided allegiance; you’re so conditioned that you can’t help doing what you ought to do. And what you ought to do is on the whole so pleasant, so many of the natural impulses are allowed free play, that there really aren’t any temptations to resist. And if ever, by some unlucky chance, anything unpleasant should somehow happen, why, there’s always soma to give you a holiday from the facts. And there’s always soma to calm your anger, to reconcile you to your enemies, to make you patient and long-suffering. In the past you could only accomplish these things by making a great effort and after years of hard moral training. Now, you swallow two or three half-gramme tablets, and there you are. Anybody can be virtuous now. You can carry at least half your morality about in a bottle. Christianity without tears—that’s what soma is.”

“But the tears are necessary. Don’t you remember what Othello said? ‘If after every tempest come such calms, may the winds blow till they have wakened death.’ There’s a story one of the old Indians used to tell us, about the Girl of Mátsaki. The young men who wanted to marry her had to do a morning’s hoeing in her garden. It seemed easy; but there were flies and mosquitoes, magic ones. Most of the young men simply couldn’t stand the biting and stinging. But the one that could—he got the girl.”

“Charming! But in civilised countries,” said the Controller, “you can have girls without hoeing for them; and there aren’t any flies or mosquitoes to sting you. We got rid of them all centuries ago.”

The Savage nodded, frowning. “You got rid of them. Yes, that’s just like you. Getting rid of everything unpleasant instead of learning to put up with it. Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them... But you don’t do either. Neither suffer nor oppose. You just abolish the slings and arrows. It’s too easy... What you need is something with tears for a change. Nothing costs enough here. Exposing what is mortal and unsure to all that fortune, death and danger dare, even for an egg-shell. Isn’t there something in that?”

[…]

“There's a great deal in it,” the Controller replied. “Men and women must have their adrenals stimulated from time to time.”

“What?” questioned the Savage, uncomprehending.

“It’s one of the conditions of perfect health. That's why we've made the V.P.S. treatments compulsory.”

“V.P.S.?”

“Violent Passion Surrogate. Regularly once a month. We flood the whole system with adrenin. It’s the complete physiological equivalent of fear and rage. All the tonic effects of murdering Desdemona and being murdered by Othello, without any of the inconveniences.”

“But I like the inconveniences.”

“We don’t,” said the Controller. “We prefer to do things comfortably.”

“But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.”

“In fact,” said Mustapha Mond, “you’re claiming the right to be unhappy.”

���All right, then,” said the Savage defiantly, “I’m claiming the right to be unhappy. Not to mention the right to grow old and ugly and impotent; the right to have syphilis and cancer; the right to have too little to eat; the right to be lousy; the right to live in constant apprehension of what may happen to-morrow; the right to catch typhoid; the right to be tortured by unspeakable pains of every kind.”

There was a long silence.

“I claim them all,” said the Savage at last.”

So it is that he rejects the ‘blessings’ of modernity and retires to the wilderness to live out the rest of his days as a hermit. Having tried – and failed – to incite rebellion in those shackled by the system, he has learned from their apathy that they cannot be saved unless they possess inside them the will to liberate themselves. Such instincts are instilled in us through the multiplicity – not least of all, our stories, our art. Without them, we are husks of our generational selves, perhaps never to be salvaged.

True to form, as we see in these our days now, John is eventually hounded to death; his novelty of antiquated longings yet more fuel for a public driven rabid by consumerist lust. But so, his soul remains:

“He was digging in his garden—digging, too, in his own mind, laboriously turning up the substance of his thought. Death—and he drove in his spade once, and again, and yet again. And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. A convincing thunder rumbled through the words. He lifted another spadeful of earth. Why had Linda died? Why had she been allowed to become gradually less than human and at last... He shuddered. A good kissing carrion. He planted his foot on his spade and stamped it fiercely into the tough ground. As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport. Thunder again; words that proclaimed themselves true—truer somehow than truth itself. And yet that same Gloucester had called them ever-gentle gods. Besides, thy best of rest is sleep, and that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st thy death which is no more. No more than sleep. Sleep. Perchance to dream. His spade struck against a stone; he stooped to pick it up. For in that sleep of death, what dreams?...”

What death? What purity? What dreams? And of course, what strength?

Choose your dystopias wisely, you could say. But nonetheless, choose. As Huxley writes in his essay Drugs That Shape Men’s Minds, “Generalised intelligence and mental alertness are the most powerful enemies of dictatorship.” We are the intuitive solution; we are the nuanced light. And for all of Miranda's mistaken claims, we might live to “see how beauteous mankind is.” Just be wary of the distractions.

[yoongiscutesweaterpaws]

“I won’t tell a soul” -Park Jimin

Summary: Inspired by Charlie Puth’s song “I won’t tell a soul”, reader is Jimin’s lover.

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Genre: Angst, idk if it counts as fluff

Word Count: 1,220

Masterlist!

Oh darling I Know you're taken Something 'bout this Just don't feel right Every time One of us, tries to leave here Oh the other one Holds on tight

You knew he wasn't yours, you knew it well. When he came in the afternoons to your apartment you both acted like he was yours, and you were his, but there was always something reminding you that he wasn't. Remind you that he had someone else waiting for him.

He knew you weren't his. Even if he was the only one in your life, you weren't. Was something truly yours if no one knew it was yours? More importantly, if someone ever tried to take it, how could you tell them that it is yours if you weren't aloud?

Both of you have tried to end the relationship, multiple times. Anytime Jimin tried to leave you, you would hold onto him, feeling weak at the simple thought of not having him in any form. The days you felt tired of being a secret and told him just to stop, he would remember you how much he loved you, and that he didn't wanted you to be his secret. It was something he couldn't change, at least not at the moment.

Baby tonight There's so much love in between us But you say you gotta get home Stay here with me I won't tell a soul

You couldn't help but smile as you laid in bed, completely naked, beside a just as naked Jimin. He was laying on his chest, while your fingers were caressing his back. He hummed in respond of your touch, a soft smile in his pink lips that perfectly matched your adoring smile.

"Ah, love, as much as I would love to stay with you, it's getting late for me." His voice came a little bit raspy, opening his eyes as he tried to get up off bed. You frowned. Usually you would let him go, but this night in particular you didn't want to. Jimin was quickly pulled down again by your arms, pulling him toward you.

"Please, stay." You begged, lower lip forming a pretty pout. He scrunched up his nose, you knew that face. That was the 'I don't want to but I have to' face. You hated that face. "No one will know, you can make something up." You continued, kissing his entire face.

"You know just how to convince me, don't you Jagi?" He said with a chuckle, cuddling you in his arms. You sighted, hoping you knew how to convince him to be yours.

You tell me someone's Waiting for ya That you can't do this anymore But you kiss me again So go ahead and Draw the blinds and Lock all the doors

Oh if you want me Like I want you I won’t judge you This could be our little secret Our secret

So tell me if you're ready 'Cause if no one knows then It ain’t really cheating

"I-I can't continue doing this, (y/n)" Jimin said with hesitation the second he entered your apartment. "It's driving me crazy, I love you so much, but you know I can't just leave Mina" you felt your heart break a little at that.

"Are you leaving me because you love her?" You asked after a long silence, looking at him expectantly. The room fell in silence once again, and you took that silence as a yes. Your eyes closed by reflex when tears started to give you a blurry vision. You didn't want to cry, not in front of him at least, if he was ending things you didn't want him to see how bad you needed him. "Okay...I get it." That was all you could say, voice deeper than usual.

Something inside of Jimin broke, giving in his impulses to hold you close to his chest, shushing you. "No, it's because I love you and this isn't fair, I can't stand hurting you." He whispered in your ear, brushing your hair lovingly with his fingers.

"I don't want something fair if it ain't you, Jimin." He sighed at your response, kissing your lips briefly before watching your face as if it was the first time. He's eyes showed how he was completely mesmerized by you, asking himself how could he deserve someone so damn perfect even when he couldn't give her all she wanted. He was wrong tho, all you wanted was him. And you preferred having him someway or another rather than in none.

You couldn't be together because Jimin wasn't aloud to break up with the girl, the company said it would give him a bad image if he started a relationship and ended it before at least a year. He truly thought he was in love with Nina, that's why he accepted the condition they gave him. But that was a month before meeting you. Once you arrived to his live, you flipped everything upside down, taught him what love was. It took him a couple of months before making an actual move on you. Eventually, he charmed you and made you fall in love with every single aspect of him, from his eyes to the way he ate.

You gave yourself time before deciding to make a move and invite him to your apartment. He accepted without a bit of hesitation, he knew how he felt and what he wanted. It was almost positive you felt and wanted the same. They just needed to wait seven months at the moment.

Oh darling I Know you're taken But something 'bout this Just feels so right

Oh baby 'cause every time One of us, tries to justify the situation We just hold on tighter

Baby tonight There's so much love in between us You say you gotta get home Stay here with me I won't tell a soul

Time passed rather quickly. When Jimin noticed he only had one month left before being able to even talk about the girl he love he couldn't contain the excitement.

It felt so right to be with him. Just the two of you sitting in your couch, talking about everything and nothing. Jimin was wondering if it was posible to fall in love with someone over and over again by just hearing them speak, because that was exactly what he felt as you speak.

"Jiminie? What are you thinking?" You asked with a tone of curiosity when you noticed he had zoned out.

"Just that I love you." He said with a playful smile, provoking you to kiss those beautiful lips of his. "and that you really are driving me crazy, Jagiya. I can't wait to call you mine." His hands caressing your waist, pushing you lightly to sit on his lap. You position yourself in his lap, smiling at the thought of not being his dirty little secret but his actual girlfriend. Anyone else would have thought of how wrong was it to cheat and blablabla, you both did at the beginning, but you ended justifying your actions with the love you felt for the other. It wasn't something merely sexual, you loved each other more than you could ever love anything or anyone.

After all, if no one knew, it wasn't really cheating.

[sapphicalexaandra]

Impossibility Is a Kiss Away from Reality (15/17)

Pairing: Jace/Alec

Rating: E

Summary: He had been captured, again, like he had feared all along. Valentine was as much of a ‘reformed man’ as Jace was a ballerina, and he still clearly wasn’t done with ruining Jace’s life. However, Jace refused to lose all hope.  Rationally, he knew it’d be a near impossible feat…but there was a small flame flickering in his heart, stubbornly refusing to die out; the belief that Alec would stay true to his word and find him.

Notes: Chapter 15 of Sense8 AU. Only two chapters left, hope you enjoy this one! 

Lost Or Regained?

When Jace was finally yanked out of the darkness, he found himself tied to a bed. Immediately, unable to stop himself, he started to struggle.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, son,” a would-be soothing voice tried to calm him down.

Jace opened his eyes. Being met with the face of his worst nightmare had nothing soothing about it. “You…bastard…”

Valentine shook his head, clicking his tongue good-naturedly. “Is that the way to talk to your father?”

“You are not my father! You’re just a piece of shit who…”

Another man who had been standing to the side suddenly charged, as his booming voice echoed in the room, “How dare you talk like that to…!”

“Easy, easy, my friend,” Valentine told him serenely, even though the steel in his voice was unmistakable. “Let me have a moment with my son, will you?” The man swiftly retreated, lowering his head. Valentine turned back towards Jace. “Jonathan…”

“Don’t call me that. Just don’t,” Jace said with gritted teeth.

“Jace, is it? Do you prefer me calling you that?” Valentine’s velvety voice was nauseating.

“Don’t talk to me at all, that’d be better,” Jace bit back, as he still tried to get out of his constraints.

“What, don’t you want to know the truth?” Valentine casually suggested. “I would’ve thought you to be itching for it.”

Shit. Damnit. He had a point, but also…okay, think, Jace.

He had been captured, again, like he had feared all along. Valentine was as much of a ‘reformed man’ as Jace was a ballerina, and he still clearly wasn’t done with ruining Jace’s life. However, Jace refused to lose all hope. Rationally, he knew it’d be a near impossible feat…but there was a small flame flickering in his heart, stubbornly refusing to die out; the belief that Alec would stay true to his word and find him. The last thing Alec had told him had sounded like a promise, after all, and Alec did not break his promises…

Jace just needed to wait for him, that was all. In the meantime, he’d indulge Valentine, finally get some answers, and maybe even come up with his own escape plan. Bottom-line; he was not a scared little kid anymore.

“Well, then, father,” Jace said, a smirk opening on his face. “Try justifying to me why you killed my parents, why you kidnapped me, why you isolated me, why you beat me up. Then tell me if you knew about what I am, and about the fact that I was cut off from my parabatai for twenty years, because of you!”

Valentine smiled softly at him, shaking his head, as if Jace was a child needing to be told a bedtime story to fall asleep. “Know, my son, that all I ever did was for you.”

Jace burst into laughter. “Cut the crap, old man.”

“I’m telling nothing but the truth. Yes, son, I always knew what you were. What I also am.” When Valentine didn’t say anything else, Jace simply glared at him. Valentine sighed, starting to pace at the foot of Jace’s bed. “I spent all my life wondering why me. Why I had been cursed with abilities that are so unnatural, so disturbed. I dedicated years to studying my own biology…and at the end I could only conclude that it was a blessing. I am this way, because I can turn it around. My superior intelligence, my determination, my understanding of right and wrong…all brought me to the realization of what my destiny was. I, Valentine Morgenstern, will be the one who restores the natural order of the world. When every single parabatai will meet their fate, I also will, and at that point I will be rewarded.”

Valentine raised his eyes to the ceiling. No, not the ceiling. The heavens. Jace couldn’t bear staring at that sight, and he had to close his eyes. Valentine was a fanatic.

“I chose you, my son,” Valentine continued, and Jace reluctantly looked at him again, “to be at the forefront of my research. Killing is a necessary evil, which I will and have done to achieve the ultimate goal…however, I wanted to figure out if there was another way to eliminate parabatai. Raising you the right way, I hoped, oh how I hoped that I would’ve been able to achieve that.” Valentine suddenly made a fist with his hand. “But nothing was working. Nothing I did could make you unsee Alec. Yes, of course I know his name.” Jace had also balled his hands into fists, his nails biting into his palms. “You always loved to talk about him with me. Alec Lightwood, lives in New York, has a big house, likes to play ball,” Valentine added in a mockingly childish voice.

Jace didn’t know if he was still breathing, but he was sure that the small flame inside of him was growing and growing. If only he could’ve spit it at Valentine and set him on fire…

“One day, I just snapped, you know?” Valentine went on, sounding pained. “When I saw you talking to him yet again, the work of a lifetime had seemed futile! I had been wasting my precious time! And me being a mere man, overridden by sin and weaknesses, I couldn’t control my impulses in my intoxicated state… Still, hurting you was never my intention, son, you have to believe me.”  

When Valentine reached out to him, covering Jace’s hand with his, all Jace wanted to do was gag. He snatched the hand away as best as he could. Valentine sighed again.

“If I had been in my right mind that night, maybe things could’ve gone differently… however, it all turned out for the best! It worked, my son! Beyond my wildest imagination, my associate came to me in prison to show me your brain scan, and there was no sign of your psycellium being active! Yours looked like any other normal brain! And even though, yet again, violence was the answer, it was a survivable process! So I immediately started a new program; my associates were instructed to take on other kids and to repeat the experiment. The percentage of success is not extremely high, but there have been more instances of parabatai forgetting one another because of shared trauma! And they are able to lead normal lives, which is everything that I could’ve ever hoped for…”  

Seeing Valentine’s elated smile, Jace was about to puke. His own situation had already been terrible enough, but the thought that the same thing had been done to someone else, because of him… Jace could feel tears pricking his eyes.

“Unfortunately,” Valentine spoke again, and Jace had to quickly blink them away. “I wasn’t that happy to find out that you two had connected again. Pangborn was just as surprised when he told me about the Lightwood boy’s new scan. You see, he was the one to treat your parabatai after the incident twenty years ago, and he’s had an eye on him all these years. Same as you, his psycellium seemed to be completely inactive, almost nonexistent. Now, it’s back, just like yours. However, I believe not everything is lost. Actually, it is fascinating and an honor to be a prime witness to this unprecedented phenomenon, this miracle. We are truly the pioneers of a brand-new discovery! The timing of the occurrence also cannot be coincidental. You must’ve realized, son, that you reconnected with him the same day I was released from prison?”

Jace didn’t move an inch.

“Of course you did. You’re a smart kid…a smart man. And you realize that means we’re still tied, you and I, don’t you? And that repeating the experiment could bring about the same results…”

“NO!” Jace started thrashing on the bed. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you...!”

“Son! Don’t you want to be free?” Valentine had bared his teeth in his outburst. “Don’t you want your mind to be yours again? Or do you want to be a freak all your life?!”

“Yes! Yes, I want that! You are a parabatai too, how can you say it’s not freeing, or that it’s wrong, when it’s the best…the best thing that’s ever happened to me?! No, I won’t let you take it – take Alec away from me!”

Valentine’s lips had been reduced to a thin line. “The best thing?” he said, his voice vibrating at a low, dangerous frequency, all pretenses of gentleness gone. When Valentine turned around, Jace’s eyes followed Valentine’s gaze until they landed on a man standing near the door, his eyes so dark and empty that Jace couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed him before. A chill ran down Jace’s spine. “This man betrayed me!” Valentine barked. “This man fouled my existence, my marriage! Ever since I’ve been freed of him, I’ve never felt happier.”

“What – what did you do to him?” Jace asked desperately.

Valentine’s eyes were back on him. “I removed part of his brain, so that now he’s nothing but an empty shell. Now, I control him, and he can’t control me ever again!” Valentine suddenly raised an arm, and contemporarily the void-man did the same. He didn’t seem to be blinking. “This is the same fate that awaits you, or maybe your parabatai…” Valentine’s words seemed to cut the air, “unless you collaborate with me, Jonathan.”

Jace’s mouth was hanging open, completely dry. It moved wordlessly, as his entire body shook with tremors. Jace had to force himself to count to ten, his eyes darting back and forth between Valentine and the non-man, before he could gulp. “Don’t – don’t hurt Alec, please. I – I’ll do anything you want.”

Valentine looked at his watch. “It’s almost time. The serum I gave you inhibited your connection temporally, so we’ll start as soon as it’s back.”

“Start…what?” Jace croaked.

But Valentine wasn’t listening to him anymore. He was barking orders left and right, until people approached Jace to attach a weird device to his head. Jace didn’t even dare protest.

Please, forgive me, Alec, Jace thought desperately, even though there was only silence at the other end of his mind. I know that if we forget, it’ll be hard to find each other again…but your life is worth more to me than that.

Jace closed his eyes, the static noise in the device making it seem as if he was underwater. If only the process killed him, he thought then, maybe Alec could be spared…

The thought was both terrifying and comforting. And Jace suddenly knew the ultimate truth, no ounce of doubt in him anymore.

Alec, I love you…and now I can never tell you that.

“Jace!” That sudden shout made him startle. “Jace, hold on a bit longer, we’re coming for you!”

Jace’s eyes shot open with a gasp, and there he was, Alec, standing right in the middle of the room. No! No, it couldn’t be already time, it couldn’t be! He had hoped…

Jace quickly looked away from Alec, praying that Valentine hadn’t noticed…

Too late. The look of pure triumph that had appeared on Valentine’s face was unmistakable.

Alec, run! Jace would’ve wanted to scream, but he couldn’t even get the words out. The device had already started at Valentine’s order.

And everything became pain. Pain that shot up in his brain, pain that made him scream his lungs out, even when he was suddenly not tied to a bed anymore, but sitting in a chair. He had his eyes closed, so he couldn’t tell anything beyond that.

“Alec! Alec, run!” Jace finally managed to shout, the voice coming out of him not his.

Then, he lost all touch with any physical body. He was in a whirlwind of agony and visions that he couldn’t hold on to. His only anchor was his hope that Alec had managed to run, at least…even though how could Alec run away from his own head?

Simple, Alec is not real. He lives in your head, since you invented him, because you’re a weak pathetic fool…

What? NO! Alec was real! Alec…

Is just a figment of your own imagination. You really think telepathy is possible? No, face the truth. What are parabatai? They don’t exist. Who is Alec? He doesn’t exist.

NO! No, it couldn’t be…

The visions accelerated; Jace felt like someone trying to grasp air. He saw hazel eyes and wrinkly smiles…a childish voice was saying You’re my best friend too, Jace…then he could feel arms wrapped around him, lips pressed against his…

Pathetic fool. No one could ever love you, don’t you know that? Face the truth! You made him up!

NO! HE’S REAL! HE – HE – WAIT, WHAT’S HIS NAME…

Jace was back in his body, and nothing mattered more than remembering that name.

“A – A – A…” was all that came out of his mouth.

“What is that, my son? Is this what you want to be? You embarrass me! You should be fighting this! You should take the freedom that I’m offering you!”

“NO! Stop! What are you…where is…”

But Jace couldn’t talk any further, because the pain was so blinding that he could only resume helplessly screaming.

“Oh, it seems that your friend has found some friends,” Valentine was saying, his voice reaching Jace as if from another world. Not that Jace understood what he meant. “No worries, we can proceed even without him. Helping just you, I gather is enough for now. Unless we can apprehend him too… You! Find him. Find them, once and for all.”

After that shouted order and a few blurry people disappearing from view, Valentine didn’t add anything else, and Jace no longer had anything to distract him from…

He couldn’t tell how long it lasted. He just knew that he didn’t remember his own name by the time everything stopped and his mind was his again.

His clothes clung uncomfortably to the sweat coating his body, his mouth was made of paper, while tears had clung to his upper lip. He felt a cold tingle under his skin, as his brain was nothing but a white noise, which echoed and echoed in his ears. It felt almost as bad as the shocks, because it was subtle but always there. He only wanted silence!

And where was he, by the way? What had he been doing? Did a world beyond that bed exist? He didn’t know. The only thought in his mind was, I have to run. Where from? Where to? He had no idea. But he would run at the first chance.

Then it happened all over again. He had been lost in a blissful darkness for a while, the best place he could think of being, since it had no pain. But, of course, he learned pretty quickly that it could not last. Pain always came back.

I have to run, he always managed to hold on to. He didn’t know why that and nothing else stuck, since he was almost sure that there must’ve been something else worth enough to remember. He assumed he’d had a life before this, right? Yet, as everything faded, only that certainty remained; he needed to find a way out of that bed and towards an outside world he knew nothing about.

Actually, he did know something. The bald man stopped the machine and talked to him, called him son, and suddenly Jace remembered his own name, who that man was, and what his life had been like.

“I wouldn’t want you to forget yourself, my son.”

Valentine. Why was he torturing him?!

But, of course, that man had kidnapped him as a child for no apparent reason; Jace shouldn’t be that surprised that he had captured him again. Who knew what went on in that madman’s mind, after all. Still, if he would at least care to tell him what he needed from him! What was the point of a torture if the perpetrator didn’t ask for anything? Jace would tell him anything, do anything to just make it all stop! But no matter how loud he begged and pleaded and cried out, it all amounted to nothing. He was at Valentine’s mercy.

When Valentine finally did stop the device, Jace was a mere slumped, unmoving form, drained of everything that wasn’t pain, hanging onto life by a thin thread. Or that was what it felt like.

Yet, he still couldn’t rest. The madman did ask something from him, at last. After giving him a sip of water, Jace was forced to retell his life. He had no ounce of strength, but he told Valentine everything he knew about himself, hoping with every fiber of his being that that would finally buy him his freedom.

Valentine didn’t free him; he merely looked satisfied by what Jace had said, because he gave him one last look, nodded to himself, and cleared the room.

Just tell me what you want! Jace wanted to shout, but he had no more voice.

“Goodnight, my son,” was Valentine’s greeting before he closed the door behind him, “remember that all I’m doing, I’m doing it for you.”

He had heard that before. Jace was almost certain of that, even though the details were hazy in his mind. Either way, what he was sure about was that Valentine was full of shit, and nothing would make him forget that.

Forget. He was forgetting something. Jace didn’t know how he knew that, but…he could feel that something was missing. There were spots in his mind, so dark and bright at the same time, which Jace simply couldn’t reach.

Was that what Valentine was doing to him? Did he want Jace to forget that he hated him, perhaps? Was Valentine deluded enough to want Jace to be his ‘son’ again? Did he want Jace to love him?

That was never going to happen. No torture in the world would ever be able to erase the burning hatred Jace had carried all his life for that man, and Valentine was a fool for believing otherwise. Jace would never cave to his pathetic plan.

However…could it be something else that he was forgetting? But what could it be? What could Valentine possibly want him to forget?!

Damn it. Unless Jace remembered, he wouldn’t know! And he truly hated feeling like he was losing something quite important…yet, he was also far too bone-tired to keep thinking or worrying about it. When sleep claimed him, he went in all too eagerly.

He was shaken awake rather insistently.

“Please, don’t…” he begged, not liking the desperate note in his voice, yet unable to do anything about it, or stifle a sob. “Please, I’ll do anyt-”

“Jace, c’mon, we have to move!”

Wait. He knew that voice.

Jace’s eyes shot open, and never had he been more relieved to see a familiar mass of red hair. “C – Clary?” he croaked. But wait… “Clary!? What are you doing here? How…”

How had she found him? How did she know about Valentine’s secret organization…that wants to wipe out all parabatai?!

“Jace, there’s no time to explain…” she was saying.

“Ah…” Jace hissed, cursing the fact that he couldn’t hold his head with his still-tied hands. “I can’t believe I forgot about…”

So he had been forgetting stuff! Parabatai were…he was a parabatai! That meant some kind of connection with…

“Jace, how much do you remember?” Clary’s voice cut off his concentration, and the thought was lost. God, his head hurt. “Why do you think you’re here?”

Jace looked at her, his vision unfocused. “You…”

“Just tell me! Please, it’s important, I swear I’ll explain everything.”

Clary was quickly unbuckling his restrains. Someone else – Simon! – was doing the same to his feet, before he looked back at Jace with a crooked smile that Jace could tell hid his real emotions, saying, “It’s been a while, mate. Don’t worry, we’ll be out of here in a jiffy.”

And Jace was suddenly uncertain whether he was dreaming or not. These were his friends, yes, but everything else was so hazy and confusing…and who said that the whirlwind of disembodied thoughts – parabatai, connection, hospital, hands, imaginary friend? – now flooding his mind were memories and not products of his own imagination?

“Jace, focus!” Clary urged him.

She placed a firm hand on his arm, and Jace startled at the sensation. That felt real…

Jace shook his head, blinking rapidly. “Uhm, I don’t know. Valentine kidnapped me. He’s been – he’s been using this machine on me. I think it might be making me…forget… Wait!” Jace shot upright on the bed. Bad decision, because his head was now swimming, and he started to gag, his empty stomach twisting and churning painfully. It took a while before it settled, Clary rubbing his back comfortingly. “Something…” Jace said breathlessly in the end. “Something more than important…what – what I am, what he did, who…”

He couldn’t be making it up. He distinctly remembered being abducted, Valentine showing up in that alley, people passing right through him...and that was something that he had already witnessed before, another time, another place, was it…New York? But why there? And wha–

“Wait! Come back! It’s not time yet!” someone outside of the door suddenly shouted. Jace knew that voice. Jonathan was there, too?

The next moment, the door burst open.

A man ran inside. Tall, dark hair, wearing black combat gear. He looked frantic, but he froze as soon as his eyes landed on Jace.

Jace knew that man. He knew him! But…who was he? Who…?

As nothing came to mind, Jace could only stare back, his mouth open, a word, a name on the tip of his tongue…

“Jace,” the man said, his voice low, cracked, thick with emotions that Jace felt pressing against his own chest. “Jace, it’s me. It’s really me.”

Yes, Jace thought, It’s really you. And that was important for some reason. Jace kept blinking furiously, forcing himself to come up with that reason.

The man took a shaky breath and he started walking up to him, one stride quick, one slow, as if he didn’t know whether he should’ve rushed towards him or not. Jace didn’t know either way. And he couldn’t breathe. Who was he? What was happening, what…?

Almost unaware of his own body, Jace’s feet had slid off the side of the bed and tears had pooled in his eyes by the time the man came to a stop in front of him, taking Clary’s place. Clary couldn’t have been far away, but Jace had tunnel vision.

“Jace,” the man said again, a small sound much more similar to a sob. And when the man’s hand started reaching out for Jace’s, Jace didn’t stop him. It was like he couldn’t stop him. “Please, Jace…”

Jace was trembling all over, the hair standing up on his skin. He didn’t like the man begging him for something, when Jace didn’t know what he was supposed to do…and he would’ve done anything to soothe that man’s pain, he suddenly realized. That thought scared him, yet something else too… Why was this happening to him? Why was he feeling like this? Why did that man feel important?  

Jace wanted to run. He needed to run from that place, from everything and everyone. This was too much, he couldn’t… And he was about to hide his hand away from the man’s, which was also trembling, inching closer and closer, but it was already too late. He really couldn’t stop it. Jace was holding his breath, wanting to scream, or push the man away…when he felt the touch.

Skin against skin…such a simple, normal occurrence of life, right? Yet Jace gasped, as an electric shock – not like before, never like before, but of the good, the best kind – shot up in him, coursed through his veins, lit him up…and the man was gasping as well, their eyes met and…

Jace saw a child with wild dark hair, sleeping in a crib, right next to him…Jace was walking tentatively over a cold floor, and in front of him there was a toddler taking the same first steps…they were both crying, hungry, waving their hands, hoping to be fed…Jace walked through the house, looking for him, he wouldn’t let him win…they were jumping on a bed, laughing and laughing…they were running in a park, don’t cheat, Jace…other kids were laughing at them, but what did they know…they couldn’t say anything, this must be their secret…oh how Jace wished he was near him and not with…I said go away! Get out of my head...sir, you need to move…a man in a hospital, why can I feel this...too good to be good for me…what was going on…real or not…observations and conclusions…I am not your fantasy…why couldn’t he just admit the truth…and then they were kissing…oh so this is how’s it going to be…I promise…together…bound together for life…I’ll find you, just you wait! WAIT FOR ME!

“A – Alec?” How could he have forgotten him?! Jace’s heart was doing somersaults in his chest, his breathing loud and heavy, as Jace grasped the hand covering his, while the other one went up to Alec’s face. “You’re here,” Jace breathed, while he traced lips and cheeks and hair. “You came, you…?” Jace’s eyes suddenly darted around the room, back and forth between Clary, Simon and Jonathan by the door, taking in how they were all staring at him and Alec. “You all can see him? You…found me?”

A tear had trickled down Alec’s face, which Jace wiped away almost reverently, as Alec’s rather wobbly smile blinded him. “Yes, yes, Jace. I promised, I–”

Jace didn’t think, he simply surged forward. The next moment, his arms were wrapped tightly around Alec’s neck, his face buried against Alec’s chest, and Alec was solid and warm and rough and real against him, so that Jace could only brokenly whisper, “Alec,” again and again, as he breathed the real Alec in. “You’re real, you’re here, you’re…” Jace knew he was sobbing, but he didn’t care.

“I’m here, I’m really here, Jace,” Alec croaked against Jace’s ear, holding him tighter and tighter, tracing Jace’s back, pressing his lips firmly against Jace’s hair. “And I remember, Jace, I remember everything that came before, I…”

Jace could only nod, because he remembered too, he remembered Alec as a kid and as an adult, his parabatai, the other half of him, which he kept losing and losing…and Jace swore right then and there, that he would never want to be anywhere else but in Alec’s arms.

“Guys, guys, I’m so sorry, I know you’re having a moment, but…we need to go,” Clary’s voice, sounding admittedly touched, cut the air.

Jace didn’t move, determined to keep his own thought alive. It was Alec who leaned back, tense as a bowstring as he was probably trying to hold himself together. Probably; Jace couldn’t tell, he couldn’t…? Alec’s hands were pushing on his shoulders, and Jace blinked the thought away, resigning himself to breaking the hug, even though he still couldn’t help but let out a sound of protest.

“It’s okay, Jace,” Alec said softly, but firmly, “I’m not going anywhere. We need – we need to get you out of here.”

Jace had to forcefully rub his eyes to get himself back together. “Alec, I’m so sorry, I…”

“No, you have nothing to apologize for.” Alec cupped his face, an intense glint in his eyes. “Everything will be alright, okay? I promise.”

Jace held his stare for a long moment, before he nodded, resting his forehead against Alec’s, gripping Alec’s shirt hard to try and calm himself.

“C’mon, quick! They’re coming back, we need to move!” Jonathan suddenly urged them.

Jace jumped and let Alec go, watching as Clary rushed towards the door, taking two guns out of her hostlers. “Alec, you remember the plan, right?” she shouted back.

Alec nodded in her direction, a determined look settling on his face. “Make way.”

And Jace was back to being confused. “Wait, what the hell, Clary…?”

“No time, Jace,” Alec told him. “I’ll explain everything once we’re out, okay? Now, can you stand? Walk?”

Jace didn’t know. He tried putting his feet on the ground – he couldn’t even remember when he had been stripped of his shoes – and the cold made him hiss. He tried standing, but his knees gave out under him, and Alec had to catch him.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Alec said barely above a whisper, circling Jace with an arm, as he placed another kiss to his forehead. “Let’s go.”

Jace had no energy to protest. He took a deep breath, nodding mutely. His head was still spinning, and he was a mere question mark attached to Alec’s side, as he followed him and his own three closest friends, his family, all geared up like freaking spies or something, all carrying guns as they lead the way out of the machine room. He hoped it was normal that he didn’t remember that part; he didn’t think he had ever known it. Either way, the whole memory loss thing was bound to come back to haunt him, he was sure of it. And he really hoped that he hadn’t lost anything else important, even though he didn’t feel like there were any more gaps in his mind. Jace held onto Alec a little harder anyway.

As soon as they were in the corridor outside, someone rounded the corner. In the blink of an eye, they were gunned down by Simon, of all people. Jace didn’t have the time to react – not that he had any idea how he should’ve or would’ve reacted – before more people started coming. Alec dragged him towards the other direction in some kind of three-legged run, as their three escorts covered for them. Gunshot after gunshot, corridor after corridor, they made their escape through some kind of research facility. God, did it seem to never end. Jace wouldn’t even be able to see the exit anyway, because his vision was blurred again, his entire body screaming at him to not move and just lay down to rest… He couldn’t, he wouldn’t. So Jace gritted his teeth, what the fuck his only mantra, which helped him carry on, somehow. Beside Alec, who was literally carrying him, of course.

“C’mon, we’re almost there, we’re almost there,” Jace heard Alec mutter under his breath.

Where there was, Jace had no idea. If he had been in his right mind, he would’ve also asked – Alec and himself – how the hell had Alec found his friends and become part of a plan. Also, how they had managed to reach Valentine’s secret base, or the room Jace had been in, and how they were all able to escape now with only – relatively – little opposition, compared to what must’ve been Valentine’s real man power, which Jace had experienced during his kidnapping... And when had his friends learned how to do any of that, by the way? Also, could three people really outsmart Valentine? Or where there more? But if so, who the hell…?

Since he wasn’t actually in his right mind, those were all questions that filled Jace’s mind later. Right then, he could only feel the blood quickly rushing in his veins, the needle-pains gripping his entire body, and Alec’s firm grip on his waist. Until Clary’s shout came through, “DUCK!”

Alec threw them both on the ground, making sure to take the blunt of the fall while also being the one covering Jace from any danger. Jace was touched by that, but he immediately started feeling something else.

Shame. He was literally the damsel in distress, needing to be saved and carried and taken care of, because he was too weak to do that himself. All his training, his entire life, and Valentine had reduced him to that in one fucking day. Alec had had to drop everything, rush all the way across an ocean for him! It was the most anybody had ever done for him, yet how could Jace be happy about that? What if something happened to Alec because of him?!

Jace was yanked out of his reverie by the appearance of Clary, kneeling beside them. “Alec, run straight ahead, you know where. Don’t look back, we’ll handle things here.”

“But, what, Clary, what’s going on?” Alec asked her worriedly.

“Luke,” Clary simply said, glancing behind her.

Both Jace and Alec followed her gaze. Oh. Jace saw the void-man, the one who had once been Valentine’s parabatai. He was fighting Jonathan with as much impassivity as ruthlessness. He wasn’t himself, but just a puppet, the same as Jace had been all his life, his strings in Valentine’s hands...

It wasn’t looking good for Jonathan, and Simon had joined the mix. Simon could also fight, apparently. However, against that kind of opponent it didn’t make much of a difference. The void-man threw them around like dolls, and Jace could see blood, hear their pain…

“Again, we will handle this.” Clary had taken another gun out, and she fired it a few times at the man who she had called Luke, hitting him square in the legs. Luke fell to his knees, and Clary’s attention was back on the two of them, something hard and sad in her eyes. “You just follow the plan. Hopefully, it will all work out. And Jace,” Clary smiled at him, “I’m so glad you’re okay. I’m sorry about all of this, now go, go!”

Jace’s mouth was hanging open, and he would’ve wanted to talk to her more, ask for an explanation, anything, but Alec was forcing him upright a moment later, and they were running again. Jace kept looking behind, fearing what could happen to his friends – he could see that Luke was already standing up again – but everything disappeared once they rounded a corner. And only then did Jace realize that Alec was holding just his hand, and that he was running on his own, his own grip on Alec’s hand that much firmer than it would’ve been a while earlier.    

“Shouldn’t we help them?” Jace said breathlessly.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t,” Alec replied, looking straight ahead, his forehead creased for the effort. “We’d only get in the way, and we wouldn’t be able to get to safety.”

Jace was still hesitant, his grip faltering as he suddenly came to a stop.

Alec stopped too, his arms falling on his sides as he looked resolutely at Jace. “I know they’re your friends, Jace, and I hate this as much as you. But, please, trust me. Trust them. If you die, all they did to save you would be worth nothing…”

The sounds of the fight still reached them. Jace could swear he felt every hit as if it was directed at himself. Valentine had indeed impacted his friends’ lives more than he would’ve thought, he realized.

“Are they…do they plan to do something with Valentine?” Jace asked Alec.

Alec quickly nodded. “Yes. There’s an operation going on, I don’t know the details. There are many people involved, and we need to let them succeed, you know? By doing our part. Please, Jace, we need to hurry.”

The urgency, the fear was clear in Alec’s voice, in Alec’s eyes. Still, Alec merely stretched out an arm, his hand open in an invitation. He wouldn’t force Jace to do anything he didn’t want to. He would let Jace make his own decision, even if he didn’t agree with it. Jace was sure that Alec would follow him back to the fight, too.

Jace’s heart was beating faster than ever before, as Jace kept staring at Alec, frozen in place. For a moment, everything around them seemed to freeze, and the only thing Jace could hear was his own heartbeat. Or maybe it was Alec’s.  

“What will happen if we go?” Jace’s voice pierced the silence.

“They’ll bring us to a safe location, so that Valentine can’t reach you…us,” Alec answered him. “I don’t know these people well, and I’m betting everything by trusting them, but – but we don’t have much choice. We’ll just have to wait and see if they succeed, or not…if we’ll be truly safe, or not.”

Jace nodded, gulping loudly. “Will it be just the two of us?”

“Yeah.” Alec averted his eyes. “But, of course, if you’d rather not, I could just bring you to the rendezvous point, and I – we can go our separate…”

Jace grabbed Alec’s hand, feeling a sense of certainty settling in him. “Together, remember? I will not be parted from you ever again, Alec Lightwood.”

Alec’s lips twitched in a smile. “Then let’s go, Jace Herondale.”

The noise of the fight was closing in on them, so they ran without looking back. They had reached a point of the building where every floor was visible through glass windows, and Jace could see armed people rushing about, fights breaking out… Finally, Alec urged him to stop in front of an elevator.

“At the bottom floor we have a truck waiting,” Alec explained as they entered.

Jace merely held onto Alec’s hand tighter. He kept tapping his feet impatiently, even if he almost didn’t have any more sensitivity in them. He felt so cold. Alec must’ve noticed, because he wrapped him in his jacket, hugging Jace to his chest.

“Where the hell is this big-ass facility anyway?” Jace asked, after they passed the umpteenth floor.

“Outskirts of London, it’s an old fact–”

They both held their breath, as Valentine appeared, flanked by a group of men. Jace would’ve covered Alec’s eyes, but it was too late. The three of them stared as each other as the elevator kept going down, until Valentine disappeared.

“Alec, he’s in our heads, how could I not think…” Jace’s stomach was clenching painfully, and he had trouble breathing again. “How are we going to escape from him? Everywhere we go…”

“Hey, hey, feel this.” Alec grabbed Jace’s hand, letting it feel the contents of the pockets of Alec’s jacket. “It’s a bottle full of pills, called blockers, that inhibit our psycellium. I’ve already taken one, and you should do it too, actually.”

Jace paused, as Alec took a bottle out of the pocket. “Oh, that’s why I can’t – I can’t feel you like I did when we were apart. I was wondering if it’s just how it is, when we’re physically together…”

Alec shook his head. “No, without blockers our connection is active no matter where we are. But – but we need to block it for the time being. The pills I have should last us a week, which should be enough time for the plan to succeed and for things to calm down…”

“What if it doesn’t?” Jace bit his lips, which were so dry that it didn’t take long before he tasted blood. “How can they defeat…?”

Alec mustn’t have had an answer, because he simply gave him one of the little black pills, which Jace reluctantly swallowed. Then Alec hugged him, and Jace let him, holding onto him as if his life depended on it. It kind of did.

The elevator finally stopped. Outside, there were people apparently on their side.

“How’s it going?” were the only words spoken, by Alec, to one of them.

“Chaos. Let’s hurry,” was a man’s curt answer. “You’ll be asked to change vehicles, then you’ll board a plane. Valentine is being kept busy elsewhere, but you never know. We have strike teams on the ready to relieve you of any tails, anyway.”

They both nodded, then they were urged on the back of what looked like a delivery truck, where blankets and provisions awaited them. They had barely gotten in and the doors had just been closed, darkness falling on them, when they started moving.

Jace was positively shivering now, having broken a sweat, which only acerbated all those times when that had already happened in the machine room. By the time Alec helped him lay down on the floor and wrapped him in a blanket, all adrenaline had completely left him, and he felt even more drained than before. As soon as Alec sat down next to him, and Jace placed his head on Alec’s lap, he was already fast asleep.

He woke up far too comfortable and far too hot.

He was in a bed, but not tied to it. He was still shivering, and his head was killing him. Someone was next to him, placing a wet cloth across his forehead. Jace’s eyes had trouble opening, and for a few long moments he didn’t understand what was happening. He started breathing so fast, he was probably hyperventilating.

“Shhh, shh, it’s okay, it’s me, Jace. You’re safe, you’re safe.”

He knew that voice. Jace forced his eyes to finally open, then he tried to study the face leaning over him. It looked worried, with a mouth pressed shut, eyes big and soft staring down at him. He knew that face too, oh did he know it…

Jace’s arms had shot up, grabbing a neck and pulling it down towards himself, before he could think about what he was doing. “Alec, Alec…” was all he could say.

Alec’s arms wrapped around him, and Jace was already sobbing – or was it Alec? – as Alec half laid on him, half sat on top of the bed. Alec’s weight on him was undoubtedly the best thing Jace had ever felt. Or, definitely up there.

“Wait, wait, I want to see you,” Jace said, his hands leading Alec’s face up, so that he could look at it.

Alec smiled at him, his own hands cupping Jace’s face, caressing it softly. “Hi.” Alec chuckled under his breath. “Hi, my imaginary friend.”

Jace’s chuckle was more of a snort. “Hi, man in my head.”

Alec’s smile fell, replaced by an expression that Jace couldn’t decipher, but he didn’t need to. Their bond might’ve been silent, but Jace felt it all deep in his bones – the fear, the relief, the wonder – as Alec adjusted himself better on the bed, laying on it. Jace was wrapped in Alec’s arms a second later, his face buried in the hollow of Alec’s neck. He was even more uncomfortably hot like this, but he didn’t care.

They stayed exactly like that for a small, infinite moment of absolute quiet, absolute peace. Alec’s sweater might’ve been itchy, the throbbing pain behind Jace’s eyelids might’ve only been a fraction of everything reeling in him – he hadn’t forgotten his confusion nor could he help but miss being able to feel and hear Alec in his head – but nothing had ever been more perfect. Or maybe right was the word.

“So – so I gather we made it to the safe house?” Jace broke the silence in the end, raising his head to look Alec in the eyes, not even trying to blink the tears away.  

“Yeah,” Alec whispered, his breath blessedly cool on Jace’s burning skin. The next moment, Alec had retrieved the cloth that had been on Jace’s forehead, because he put it back on him. “You have a bit of a fever, but I’m sure it’s just…you know, it’s normal. You’ll be fine.”

Jace hummed in affirmation, his eyes closed. He did feel slightly nauseous. As he tangled his legs with Alec’s and cupped Alec’s face, however, he had far more important things to worry about. Like tracing every inch of Alec’s skin. “Okay. So, basically, now we just have to wait and see if Valentine will come back for us or not, right?”

Alec worried his bottom lip, nodding, while his own fingers were smoothing Jace’s hair. “Clary or someone else should connect with us and tell us if it’s over, if they’re still…you know…”

Jace gulped, unable to do anything else but nod.  “I can’t – I can’t think about any of that right now. I feel like my head could explode from all the things that have happened or that I don’t know, and I definitely want you to tell me everything, but right now I just…”

Jace took a deep, shaky breath, his eyes still taking in all of Alec. It was still hard to wrap his mind around that fact; Alec was truly there with him, for the first time ever. An Alec who had been with him all along, Alec who he had played with and relied on as a child, his best friend, and he hadn’t known. The same Alec who had appeared in his adult life shouting at him to move, who had then become the piece that Jace had always been missing.

“Alec, I…” Jace smiled, because it might’ve taken him – them – a long time, but he was finally there. “I love you.”

Alec seemed to take a breath he had been holding. A smile opened on his face, brighter than Jace had ever seen. “I love you too, Jace.”

Jace had had no reason to think that Alec didn’t reciprocate his feelings; actually, he’d had all the reasons to think exactly the opposite. Alec had flown across half the world to save him, after all. Yet, hearing those words said out loud soothed something inside of Jace that he hadn’t known to be aching. He had always been unwilling, or unable to love anyone, but only now did it occur to him that he had also thought no one would ever be able to love him back. Now, that was officially in the past.

As Jace surged forward, and kissed Alec, really kissed him for the first time, no distance between them, no doubt that it was real, Jace was certain that, whatever happened next, whoever tried to separate them again, him and Alec were on the same page. And they would fight tooth and nail for what was theirs.

[c9sneaksen-blog]

As Love is My Witness *slightly NSFW*

Author’s Note: This fanfiction is heavily based on As Love is My Witness, a song from Westlife. I’m not a fluent English speaker, nor this is my primary language, so I tried my best when it comes to grammatical rules, even if I used a spell-check software. I think there aren’t loads of OOCness and if so, I apologize in advance. It is also slightly NSFW due to the few swearwords and some explicit terms. Enjoy!

___________________________________________________________

Once in a lifetime

You look in someone’s eyes

And it feels like the world stop turning at once

            Zach remembers perfectly when he met him for the first time. Hai had decided few weeks earlier to step down from the Cloud9 roster because of his wrist issues. Several people had come to try out; including Alex Ich, Yusui and, last but not least, Incarnati0n. While the latter was introducing himself, his icy blue eyes fell upon the AD Carry’s hazelnut ones.

He never believed in long-lasting relationships; although he had dated a girl named Jennabella and had a somehow friends with benefits relationship with Meteos, the jungler, in their beginnings as a team. It was everything but serious.

“Hello, my name is Nicolaj Jensen, but you can call me Jensen. I’m from Denmark,” the skinny player nicknamed Incarnati0n had said.

That’s what it felt like for me

I knew right away this day would be

Standing together, believing forever

Is there in our reach

            Zachary had tried to push his feelings away, to deny them. But, day by day, he fell more and more in love with the Dane. But the 2015 Summer Split did not happen as well as the Cloud9 community had hoped. It was very shaky and inconsistent: Jensen always apologized when they went through losses, even if it was not necessarily his own fault. And even if they won games, he felt bad for his poor laning phase or even his creep score deficit.

‘Cause love is my witness

I swear

I’ll be with you till the end

            During those times, the whole squad, as well as Charlie and Jack, was doing its best to comfort their new midlaner when he fell in those moments of self-hatred. It was unfair for their newcomer to keep blaming himself. He did not deserve that. It was unhealthy. Towards the middle of the split, Meteos announced to Jack his need to step down from the team. Sneaky was, to say the least, surprised to hear this: he was fully aware that Nicolaj and William did not get along well. Because of issues related to the Danish player or not, the jungler quit the team.

Nothing in tear this love apart

I’ll put my head upon my heart

This is the promise I’ll make to you

Whatever comes we’ll see it through

            Hai came out of retirement and replaced Meteos during the last few weeks of the split. They were on the verge to be relegated, something which would have been unthinkable for some. However, their win over Team 8 in a tiebreaker had prevented such a thing. Thanks to their Championship points from Spring, Cloud9 was able to attend the regional qualifiers for Worlds. They successfully won their series against Gravity Gaming, Team Impulse and, lastly, Team Liquid.

“We are going to Worlds!”, Jack excitedly told his team members at the end of the third day, feeling relieved.

Nothing can break it

This feeling’s too strong

‘Cause love is my witness

            Later that day, they flew to South Korea, in order to go to their bootcamp. The members streamed regularly, especially Sneaky and Jensen, who duo-queued lot together. Jack had noticed drastic changes in the Dane’s personality: throughout the split, he became more and more confident with his aggressive playstyle, and he meshed well with his teammates.

“Someone told me my girlfriend is so hot. Is that you?”, the European player asked, a grin on his face.

“There’s no other lesbian ADC in the NALCS. So yeah, same”, his teammate replied, chuckling.

However, this year, no NA team had made it past the groups stage, due to the week 2 curse. But going to Worlds was already an achievement for Cloud9. They were the team from North America that was at the seventh place in the regular season and, yet, they had the most wins than any other team from their region. Jensen’s father had even attended a couple of his son’s games during those two weeks: a huge feeling of pride was surrounding him.

We’ve both known sorrow

We have known heartache

When our dreams for tomorrow

Seem so far away

            Even if Zachary was still in touch with Will, it still hurt him to not see him around anymore. They had played within the same team during more than two years together, you can’t forget a relationship like that one. It hurt him to let his fans down. But he couldn’t really tell them “Yeah, Meteos and I fucked around for months. How are we doing now? Well, I’m in love with someone else” either.

But that brought us closer – yeah

It brought us together

So that we’d know the real thing

That’s why I can yeah – ye-eh-yeah

‘Cause love is my witness

I swear

I’ll be with you till the end

            Jensen and him were close but he couldn’t quite figure out whether the glances they exchanged were ‘no homo’ or not. Off-season always hit the player from Florida the worst: he could hardly deal with distance without feeling broken inside. Of course, they called each other every few days or so but, to Sneaky, it wasn’t enough.

He was addicted to his European teammate, who was always bringing candies from Denmark when he was back in NA. Candies that Sneaky loved, even if they were for all the team.

Nothing in tear this love apart

I’ll put my hand upon my heart

This is the promise I’ll make to you

Whatever comes we’ll see it through

Nothing can break it

This feeling’s too strong

‘Cause love is my witness

            Before the following split, LemonNation had quit his position as a support in order to become a coach for the team. Hai was known as a versatile player, so he filled in his role, and Rush from Team Impulse, was brought in as a jungler. The Korean player had a great synergy with his midlaner, but it didn’t have a negative impact on the others. Indeed, the newcomer from the team often played SoloQueue with Sneaky and Jensen during some evenings. One night, when Sneaky was streaming, he and Jensen were playing in the botlane. The former was playing Vayne and the latter Orianna… but as a support.

“I swear it works, I tried it out few days ago!”, the Dane had tried to justify, unsuccessfully.

“Be careful what you wish for, Yensen” the ADC added, mockingly. “If we lose, we’re gonna go to Starbucks for a date!”

“So… we mustn’t lose. Hopefully your laning phase can be decent this time, Senpai!”

I know whatever comes to be

Together we’ll face the mystery

Here in my heart, deep in my soul

Somehow I know, I know

‘Cause love is my witness

I swear

I’ll be with you till the end

            They had indeed lost that game. So here they were, having a hot date in Starbucks. When it came to the hot drink called coffee, they were polar opposites. As a matter of fact, Sneaky loved coffee with vanilla and plenty of cream whereas Jensen preferred black, plain, coffee.

“How can you drink that piece of shit? It’s undrinkable as fuck!”, the blond-haired male whined.

Jensen did not answer; he only shrugged with a wide smile on his lips.

            Prior the Summer Split, Rush left NA in order to come back to his home country. One of his prior teammates from Team Impulse whose name was Impact, the 2013 Worlds champion, replaced Balls in the toplane. Due to this change, the jungler slot was once again empty: Meteos went back in the team, even if he was rather reluctant with the idea.

Jack had even managed to convince Edward Gaming’s coach, Reapered, to train the team during their mid-season Korean bootcamp. The latter enjoyed the team so much that he ended up dropping his contract with EDG and decided to coach the North American team instead. BunnyFuFuu and Smoothie were both supports, exchanging whenever it was needed. Another gauntlet, another trip to Worlds. This time, they had managed to qualify for quarterfinals but lost against Samsung Galaxy from South Korea in a swift 0-3 trend.

Nothing in tear this love apart

I’ll put my hand upon my heart

This is the promise I’ll make to you

(This is the promise I’ll make to you)

Whatever comes we’ll see it through

Nothing can break it

This feeling’s too strong

‘Cause love is my witness

            A new season happened. Ray, from APEX Gaming, became Impact’s substitute and, a seventeen-year-old player, Contractz, was playing in the jungle. Thus, Meteos was out of the main roster, again, as well as Bunny.

            Cloud9 went through ordeals this year: starting with Jensen’s mispositioning during a crucial teamfight in the last game of Spring Split Finals, being one of the main reasons they lost, followed by a tough 0-2 weekend during the first week of Summer, Ray being hit with depression shortly after Rift Rivals and, last but not least, their elimination from playoffs in quarters against Team Dignitas after six straight wins. Yet, Japanese people often say, “fall seven times and stand up eight”. They had three weeks to prepare for the Gauntlet and, maybe, have a shot at attending Worlds. This year, however, they were the final boss. One series and they were in. Or out. After a 3-1 win over Counter Logic Gaming, they played some Korean SoloQueue before actually going to China. Sneaky and Jensen had even found Rush at some point.

            Thanks to SKT, they were once again in quarterfinals, nicknamed as NA’s latest hope before getting out of groups. In spite of their bitterness for losing 2-3 against Team WE, they were glad of making it that far. Once back in NA, Sneaky waited a couple of days before resuming his stream: only Contractz and him were left in the gaming house. But it was only a matter of time before they both left in their respective families as well.

Nothing can break it

This feeling’s too strong

‘Cause love is my witness

            It was during the middle of the month of December when the players were back in Santa Monica: they had to release a video about their 2018 roster a couple of days later. Sneaky was playing Super Mario Odyssey on his computer when someone knocked onto the wall. Much too focused on his screen, he did not hear the door opening, mostly due to his lack of answer.

“Okay, I’m back from a fifteen-hour-long flight so I could see my Snacky and all I see is that he’s more interested in video games than his aesthetic best friend. BibleThump”, the voice said in a sad tone.

“Yensen?” the marksman asked, raising his eyebrows and turning his back from the computer.

“Yeah, it’s me, dumbass. I got some candies from Copenhagen, by ze way!”

“Candies?” Zach frenziedly repeated. “Count me in! That’s so SneakyGasm by ze way.”

            The AD Carry took his headset off and hugged deeply his friend. Jensen was wearing his Veigar hat, one of his birthday presents from last year: he was still as skinny as Fiddlesticks and his light blue eyes were glimmering.

“Wow, who would’ve thought I had such an effect on you?”, the Slavic male teased.

“About that… I – I think there’s something we need to talk about”, the latter answered in a serious tone. “Like I – I am fucking in love with you. It – it’s not even some ‘no homo’ stuff or whatever. I’m dead serious, Nicolaj. Say something, please, even if it’s not mutual: your silence is killing me.”

“I – jeg elsker dig, Zach. I want you. I love you and your lesbian hair”, the midlaner ended up replying.

“Wow. Never thought it would take us so much time. Anyway, wanna take a welcome back pic? And with a caption like ‘my Danish lover is finally back from home’ or something like that?”, Zach asked, brushing his hand through his hair, his face slightly blushing.

“Sounds FeelsGoodMan to me. Damn, I missed you so badly,” his boyfriend agreed. “You should travel to Copenhagen with me someday.”

[docsamurai]

Humans are weird: The Galactic Council

*Quick note before I start: This is the 7th and final installment in a series I’ve called the Lost Colonies which is largely about human society adapting to the strange environments of other worlds. You can read the previous installments here: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed writing this series, but with my new work schedule I had to bring it to a close. If you’ve enjoyed this story follow me on here for my other writings. Thanks again to everyone who has reblogged, liked, replied, DMed, or otherwise shown their appreciation for this series. It means a lot to me that people enjoyed it and the love you’ve all shown me has really helped keep me going for these last few months.*

It was hard not to be at least a little nervous as Kiara made her way to the council chamber. Somehow even with thousands of years of advancement space faring races still hadn’t developed a decent elevator. Kiara idly flipped through the notes she had made on her datapad and she realized how little she actually bothered to reference her notes. Some of them were years old and she hadn’t bothered to so much as look at them since she had initially written them down. It was too late now for her to try and prepare some kind of speech, though given how evasive the council was being about the purpose of this meeting Kiara wasn’t sure how she would have prepared in the first place. Still though, meeting with all 3 senior members at once could be nerve wracking.

The elevator door finally opened and Kiara stepped off to see her family waiting for her. Kit’cha was thoroughly amused at Jeanne reacting to their newest family member and seeing the way she acted around Kit’von it was hard not to smile. Currently she was letting the infant Turic ride on her shoulders. “You’re a LOT heavier than you look puffball!” Kit’von burbled something into his translator as he was still too young to pronounce most words in basic. “Dad says it’s because I’m so full of shit.” The fur on Kit’cha’s neck stood on end and he rapidly tried to change the subject. “KIARA HI! How’d you sleep Honey? Do you have everything you need for the meeting?” 

Kiara chuckled as she plucked Kit’von off Jeanne’s shoulders and gave him a hug. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. It’s good to see you all here. How’s the mother doing?” Kit’cha relaxed slightly. “Parran is doing fine. She’s still resting back on the homeworld and has registered Kit’von to our care officially. She sent me a message earlier confirming it and to wish that he grows in health and prosperity.” Kiara gave Kit’von a kiss on his forehead and set him down as he burbled a happy noise that the translator couldn’t interpret. Jeanne smirked. “We’ll have to go do something special later to mark the occasion. Not every day someone trusts me with their kid.”

Standing in the middle of her family Kiara wished that she could stay in this moment forever but the pit of anxiety still ate away at her. “I love you all, but I’ve got to get to this meeting. You had yours first, did you piss them off this time?”Jeanne shrugged and took Kiara’s datapad. “It’s hard to read them sometimes, but don’t worry I was professional. Now get in there and do your thing. I’ll be waiting for you when you get out Sexy.” Jeanne gave her a wink and a kiss and Kit’cha gave her an awkward one armed hug as Kit’von scaled his back. “You’ll do great. I’ve known you long enough to know that if anyone can handle the council it’s you. Now I need to go feed this one before he drools on me any- oh, there it is.”

Kiara squared her shoulders and walked through the arched doors into the council room. The room was normally built for hosting large gatherings of the member races, but today it held only the 3 senior members of the council at the curved semi-circle table on the central dais. Kiara had to practically run down the stairs when she realized that the council was already waiting on her. As she reached the dais Kaira realized there was no table or any kind of concession made for her comfort. This wasn’t an interview, it was an interrogation. Kiara planted her feet and stood face to face with the council for the first time in a decade.

The senior council members came from the three spacefaring species with the largest populations and most economic power. There was a female Turic named Shureen. Like most females she was larger than the males at nearly 3 meters tall, though she had shorter, black fur making her muscular physique even more impressive. Females also had a large flat crest on their forehead that the males lacked. Shureen’s was impressively styled with ornate engravings, an obvious status symbol. The Kennic named Arid was currently male having just molted. He would be irritable, Kiara made a mental note of that. Kennic were closest to reptiles from old Earth and there were rumors that some species of dinosaurs were old an old Kennic colony. The final council member was an Acanthius who had no name as it was part of a hive mind. It wore a complex environment suit that allowed its face to be exposed while still allowing it to breath while onboard the station. Its moist, grey skin, slitted nose and black eyes reminded her of sea creatures she had seen on several planets.

It was Arid that spoke first. “Glad you could join us Miss Venn.” Kiara wondered if he simply didn’t know how she preferred to be addressed or if he was deliberately trying to get under her skin, either way she put it aside. “It’s an honor to meet you all. I understand that this meeting is in regards to my work with the lost human colonies.” Arid made a clicking sound in the back of his throat like dry, coughing laughter. “Is that what we’re calling them now? Isn’t there a human expression better suited to dealing with pests?” The Acanthius shot a glance at Arid. “I apologize for my fellow council member, he should not be allowing a personal problem to interfere with his duties. You are correct though. This is in regards to your work over the last 25 sols with the human rehabilitation division of the council.”

Kiara shifted her weight uncomfortably and didn’t know what to say. Officially she had been given the title of “Ambassador Liaison to Human colony worlds” but she had always felt there was an undercurrent of resentment that the galactic council felt towards humans on account of EarthGov’s actions. It was Shureen finally spoke “I’ll get to the point of it all. We’re here to decide the fate of these human colonies. You have proven that an individual human can integrate into galactic society with effort and understanding, what we need to determine is if humanity as a whole is capable of this same feat or if they will repeat their imperialistic past and attempt to bring war against us again.”

“I...don’t...” Kiara began to say before Arid cut her off. “Please spare us your babbling human. It’s a simple proposition: Make your case for humanity and if the council decides in your favor humanity will once again be allowed to travel the galaxy unrestricted, otherwise we may need to quarantine them. Again.” The Acanthius’ nose slits flared in annoyance at Arid before it turned its attention back to Kiara. “Your colleagues were all very professional but can’t seem to speak for more than themselves. So I ask you Miss Kiara Williams-Venn, why should humanity be allowed to once again join the rest of the galaxy?”

In the back of her mind Kiara could see her family urging her on and she smiled to herself knowing exactly what to say. “I couldn’t possibly deny humanity’s dark past. In my research I found that even prior to the Unification War and the rise of EarthGov we were frequently a brutal people that would attempt to justify our worst impulses on the basis of demonizing an ‘other’. From that point of view it would only make sense that humanity would repeat this awful cycle again and again. What I’ve found just as often though is that in every situation in which humanity gives in to these impulses it is a society that cannot maintain itself. Regimes that promised to last a thousand years on the strength of their convictions alone crumbled to dust within a single lifespan. It always fails because though that fear and hate is a part of us, so is our love.”

“The simple fact is that we are a people of duality. We are fiercely loyal to each other, while also engaging in rivalries that can outlive our descendants. We are dangerous and destructive while also being brilliant, creative and adaptable. I’ve personally witnessed feats of human ingenuity that most council races would be hard pressed to replicate. I’ve also witnessed the same people rushing headlong into disaster because they didn’t take the time to understand their situation. I know that the brutal, horrible things that were done in the name of an ‘Earth First’ mentality by a fascist government can’t be undone and could never be repaid. I also know that humans are hard working, dedicated and compassionate and that many of us, if given the chance we would not stop attempting to make amends for our past.”

Kiara took a deep breath and locked eyes with Arid. “You argue that humanity should be segregated to a handful of under supplied colonies. I argue that if that way is pursued it can only end in disaster. Those lost colonies would find their way back into space if given enough time and though most wouldn’t carry a grudge, if they were continually treated as ‘pests’ then it would only be a matter of time before it came to conflict again. If you want to avoid that future then integration and unity are the only answer.” Arid glared silently at Kiara and Shureen thoughtfully tapped her fingers on the desk. The Acanthius broke the silence. “Are you suggesting that not only do we lift travel restrictions on human worlds, but that we actively attempt to reintegrate them with galactic society?” Kiara nodded “And a seat on the wider council so that we have a say in our treatment wouldn’t hurt.”

The frills on Arid’s arms and back flared but he didn’t say a word. Shureen cleared her throat. “Your ‘husband’ has told us much about human cultures that he has researched. He seems truly enamored with your species.” Arid again gave that dry, clicking laugh, Shureen ignored him. “But what he has said confirms much of what you tell us now. Indeed, you come from a race that is remarkably strong of will. We will have much to discuss with the wider council at a later date and we may need to call on you again, but I can at least promise that we will bring this matter before them. You have represented your race admirably Kiara. Thank you for meeting with us today.” Kiara tented her fingers across her midsection forming a perfect triangle and bowed. Shureen stood and returned the traditional Turic honorific.

Kiara smiled to herself and left the council chamber to go meet her family for dinner. It had been a long day and there was still a lot to do, but that could wait for a while longer.

[hogwartselementumrp]

I know I should talk about the in character part of your app, but i have to discuss the ooc part first:

I fell down a rabbit hole and there was Lily standing at the bottom

if that’s not a perfect description of the elementum rp experience, i don’t know what is. All right! To the actual app. The moment you said you were thinking of bringing Lucille into the RP I got really pumped, but not nearly as pumped as I got reading her biography. She is such an interesting and dynamic character that is a perfect fit for you! I can’t wait to see how she interacts with the characters we have right now! Her interactions with Emma & Simon are bound to be the best, but there are so many possible connections??

Basically, i am trash for her already.

OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION

NAME/ALIAS: I shall go by the alias Raluca, I don’t see any room for confusion there, but my name is Beth

PREFERRED PRONOUN:  she/her

AGE: 904

TIMEZONE: -4 UTC (It’s the timezone for the Bermuda Triangle. I was trying to be subtle clever but I’m too subtle)

ACTIVITY LEVEL: as active as i can be!

HOW DID YOU FIND THE RP (NEW MEMBERS): I fell down a rabbit hole and there was Lily standing at the bottom

ORIGINAL CHARACTER INFORMATION:

Desired Character:  Lucilla Fjaka

Face Claim: Kristen Stewart

Now, please check our dorm page! To see which house is needing a character and in which year!

School Functions (check Quidditch availability’s): NA

Why do you believe this will be a good character in this specific roleplay?

Lucille has long been a source of loose ends, both in the way that she’s this phantom figure that radically changed lives of a few of our characters–Simon has spent years wanting and waiting to confront her and Emma has been able to embrace a life she never would have come near otherwise but also had the future  she had planned and the person she would have been snatched away from her by Lucille–and the way that,  OOC we’ve all had many conversations trying to decode some of the history surrounding her, and she just became a source of fascination for me. I think having her twin back in her life will be a major shakeup for Emma, and it will be interesting to see if she stands up to her and asserts her individuality or if she regresses and becomes someone for Lucille to manipulate like she did in the past when she had Emma take the blame for the affair with Simon and be banished from Mayte in her place. Furthermore, if she renews her obsession with Simon it could mean interesting complications for him, Leia, and Louisa if we were to see her played. Heck, even if she all but forgot Simon’s name (spoiler, she didn’t) there would still be an interesting confrontation coming. She is responsible for his parents being killed and him losing his job after all. Beyond those individual connections/plots, she has many other connections in the Maytes and having another active Mayte following Lawrence is always something to look forward to and the position makes Lucille potentially important to future plots. Plus, isn’t it always fun to have a wild card come in and turn everything on its head? And for once, unlike Charlie and Nerissa, we have a wild card Mayte that is likely to cause trouble for Lawrence last and everyone else first. Also, who doesn’t love the possibility of identical twin mixups and purposeful twin switches?

LUCILLE FAJKA is twenty- seven  years old, works  as  Leia Brasher’s assistant and was formerly HOMESCHOOLED IN MAYTE

                                          ❝ There was about her a wildness that flashed in her eyes. She was spoiled and beautiful and easily bored. She was either fiercely excited or cool and detached.

↳ MAGIC

Lucille’s element, natural talent with it and the control she has honed all work together to illustrate the whispers she loves to hear about herself. That girl can make the earth tremble with a sigh from her lips and flowers bloom from a gentle touch, blessed by contact with her. She can create or destroy equally, deciding on whim as she drifts along her way, and it’s by that aspect alone Lucille considers her element superior to the others. She’s been told time and again the idea that earth elementals are themselves gods and capable of creating life is blasphemous, and they are reaching out to nurture life that’s already there, but any time she holds a seed in her hands and watches it become a flower or touches a barren tree and focuses until she makes it produce fruit, she would swear she is Gaia herself. Never having met a spirit elemental or heard of any that weren’t myth, she believes her powers are the pinnacle of what wizardkind is capable of. Her element captures the majority of her attention, but she was a fair student in other areas of magic when she wasn’t more focused on her teacher. She does not possess any giftings in wand magic that could hold a candle to Emma’s transfiguration talent, but Lucille would laugh it off and ask who would want to play with sticks anyway when you can aspire to create a forest?

↳ BACKSTORY

Lucille was born with too many feelings for her skin to hold. That was the romantic little girl’s self-diagnosis. She believed her twin, Emma, existed for her to share her feelings and impulses with when they could no longer be contained. This was Emma’s purpose, though Lucille would find others for her as they grew older, never thinking any more than she would be likely to say the words that she loved her sister, twin, counterpart of her soul, any less for viewing her primarily as something for her use. It was not that she would claim she’d do the same for Emma if she needed. She would explain with tranquil patience that Emma was born her complement, with very little big feelings of her own so she could be a receptacle for Lucille’s excess and made to be her shadow while she stood in the spotlight. That was simply how it worked, and Lucille would protect her poor, innocent sister against anyone who tried to force her into the seat of attention. She took the negative attention too, as she would remind Emma, not to be a martyr, but just to let her know every time she bore the wrath of their father. It was always for things she not Emma had done, and Lucille basked in screams and punishment as much as praise, but she made sure Emma appreciated how she kept Papa’s notice off her. It was the least she could do, and she was sure the scales would be evened one day.

Lucille’s chief aspiration in life when she was young was to find true love. No ordinary love like you saw every day, not even lasting love like she saw in her parents, but an epic love, even a love gone wrong. Perhaps, even especially a love gone wrong, because killing and dying for love made a much more compelling story than living for love in so many cases. Those were the stories that became immortal and were the most dramatic. Most lovesick teenagers imagined riding off into the sunset with a prince. Lucille daydreamed about loving so deeply that she threw herself into her king’s funeral pyre with her last words about the heat of the flames being more welcoming than the cold, cruel world without him written down and repeated by generations of equally lovesick girls.

When she was a few weeks shy of nineteen and engaged to  a man from a family with higher standing than the social climbing Fajka parents, a man she liked quite well and who treated her as if she was the sun, but she hated for the narrative of it once pretending to love him passionately began to feel too false and demonized to her sister and others to justify hating him, she snuck out of Mayte for the first time, swearing her sister to secrecy and arranging to meet her at the edge of Mayte and have her stick her hand through the wards and pull her back in as none can return to Mayte on their own once leaving the town’s safety. She had no interest in the outside world any more than any other teenager shut up in the wizarding town out of time their whole lives did, and once she saw what a noisy, polluted, confusing, foul-blood infested place it was she had no love for it but the fear of getting caught and the thought of being a legend, coming and going as she pleased and holding court answering questions about the modern wizarding world few others knew anything about made it a sparkling experience. Then she met Simon.

Simon she was sure was her destiny. The tallest man she had ever seen, he looked the part of epic hero, and he was kind and chivalrous to her but with harsh fire in his eyes that made her imagine him as the warrior king of her dreams that rushed into battle that would soak them both in blood as she coaxed him into talking about his work in the law and the cases he tried. He was a muggleborn but she forgot her prejudices in a moment as the son of her kind’s greatest enemies, the son of those who caused her people to run and hide for fear of being burned and overwhelmed, suddenly seemed like the greatest hero of all. Forbidden love. The oldest and most powerful tale there was.

All was beautiful for a time. Emma provided her with the way back to Mayte and cover when she went missing, sometimes even taking her place when she was supposed to have important plans that she abandoned to see Simon, and Simon was everything she wanted and he loved her. She was sure he loved her, until she saw the interest leave his eyes one day. She brought it back for a time, telling him stories of Mayte to make him understand what was so special about their story, but then she pushed too far. She told him about the marriage she was being forced into, making her fiance sound much worse than he was, and she begged him to marry her himself that day. She counted too strongly on the male ego urge to play rescuer and he pushed her away.

She’d never been rejected before, and the sting of it, too sharp for her to even revel in, sent her reeling. She couldn’t process it. She became desperate in her attempts to win him back and he rejected her more firmly each time until she went mad with it for awhile, showing up when and where she wasn’t supposed to, at his sister’s school or on his doorstep in the middle of the night.

Not only did she alarm Simon into thinking she was a stalker, but, as she became more careless in leaving Mayte for her trips to see Simon, she forgot to cover her tracks as soundly and one day she was followed. She saw the wizard tailing her and made it back to Mayte before him, with only enough time to beg her sister to repay every time she took the heat off of her and switch clothes with her.

The scandal of forbidden romance and dying for love turned out to be beautiful, thrilling concepts but terrifying realities Lucille couldn’t face at nineteen. Emma had less to lose. Her life didn’t sparkle. This way Emma would shine once and have a purpose.

Dear Emma who lived for Lucille anyway. Switch with me she said. Please tell them it was you. You loved the muggle boy. You snuck out to see him. You’ve never done any wrong in your life. They’ll forgive you.

Lucille succeeded in getting Emma to take her place and she would say, tears in her eyes and a blank expression behind, that it was the greatest regret of her life. Emma was banished, Lucille was told Simon and his entire family were killed for their crimes, and Lucille planned to commit suicide out of guilt. Of course, her note was not found and nobody came to stop her so she abandoned that idea in a huff.

Lucille got married, spitefully at first and then with smug smile on her face that she secured so easily for herself even after her sister’s scandal, the perfect, sunny life without conflict that would be other girls’ dreams even if the mundanity of it killed her soul. Boredom set in more harshly and she didn’t smile so brightly anymore, but she was happy enough and she would have stayed in Mayte forever and died slowly, one day at a time if it hadn’t been for her confessing her past to her husband one night after securing countless promises he’d love her until his last breath no matter what she did or said. She just needed someone to know just how masterful she’d been, getting away with it all, to hear of her great forbidden love, and to know of her sister’s sacrifice and honor her memory properly too of course.

It was ancient history. It wasn’t supposed to matter, but it did to him. It made quite a difference in how he thought of her, even after eight years, to know she cuckolded him with a mud-dwelling witch burner and sold her sister out. He got very angry, and she was shocked and thrilled to see such fire from him, but then it stopped being fun.

There was an altercation and by morning Lucille was stepping outside the Mayte walls for the first time since nineteen and sending Lawrence Frisk, the first name she could think of, not knowing if her sister was alive or if she could face her,  her patronus to ask if he was alive, where he had settled, and if he knew of the fate of any other Mayte exiles, not that she claimed to be among that exile group, she was a runaway bride eight years late. Much prettier narrative.

↳ PERSONALITY TRAITS

» {+ positives} charming, passionate, intuitive

» {- negatives}  obsessive, short-range thinker, malefactorous

↳ BASICS

» BLOOD STATUS: pureblood

» ELEMENTAL POWER: earth

» AFFINITY LEVEL: high +  studious

» DATE OF BIRTH: June 6th

» WAND: 9", willow, dragon heartstring, swishy

» FACECLAIM: Kristen Stewart

LUCILLE FAJKA IS PLAYED BY BETH

Sample Para (3+ paragraphs- at least 400 words, in character, third person)

http://mccallofthemoon.tumblr.com/post/156462460201/the-new-order-or-whatever-name-teddy-and-his

That’s a link to Astrid’s drabble and if you haven’t looked at this by the time I’m done with laundry I’ll write a para sample specific to Lucille, deal?

[brinazzle]

1

As an executive coach, I’ve been helping successful leaders achieve positive lasting change in behavior for more than thirty-five years. While almost all of my clients embrace the opportunity to change, some are a little reluctant in the beginning. Most are aware of the fact that behavioral change will help them become more effective leaders, partners, and even family members. A few are not. My process of helping clients is straightforward and consistent. I interview and listen to my clients’ key stakeholders. These stakeholders could be their colleagues, direct reports, or board members. I accumulate a lot of confidential feedback. Then I go over the summary of this feedback with my clients. My clients take ultimate responsibility for the behavioral changes that they want to make. My job is then very simple. I help my clients achieve positive, lasting change in the behavior that they choose as judged by key stakeholders that they choose. If my clients succeed in achieving this positive change—as judged by their stakeholders—I get paid. If the key stakeholders do not see positive change, I don’t get paid. Our odds of success improve because I’m with the client every step of the way, telling him or her how to stay on track and not regress to a former self. But that doesn’t diminish the importance of these two immutable truths: Truth #1: Meaningful behavioral change is very hard to do.It’s hard to initiate behavioral change, even harder to stay the course, hardest of all to make the change stick. I’d go so far as to say that adult behavioral change is the most difficult thing for sentient human beings to accomplish. If you think I’m overstating its difficulty, answer these questions: • What do you want to change in your life? It could be something major, such as your weight (a big one), your job (big too), or your career (even bigger). It could be something minor, such as changing your hairstyle or checking in with your mother more often or changing the wall color in your living room. It’s not my place to judge what you want to change.

• How long has this been going on? For how many months or years have you risen in the morning and told yourself some variation on the phrase, “This is the day I make a change”? • How’s that working out? In other words, can you point to a specific moment when you decided to change something in your life and you acted on the impulse and it worked out to your satisfaction? The three questions conform to the three problems we face in introducing change into our lives. We can’t admit that we need to change—either because we’re unaware that a change is desirable, or, more likely, we’re aware but have reasoned our way into elaborate excuses that deny our need for change. In the following pages, we’ll examine—and dispense with—the deep-seated beliefs that trigger our resistance to change. We do not appreciate inertia’s power over us. Given the choice, we prefer to do nothing—which is why I suspect our answers to “How long has this been going on?” are couched in terms of years rather than days. Inertia is the reason we never start the process of change. It takes extraordinary effort to stop doing something in our comfort zone (because it’s painless or familiar or mildly pleasurable) in order to start something difficult that will be good for us in the long run. I cannot supply the required effort in this book. That’s up to you. But through a simple process emphasizing structure and self-monitoring I can provide you with the kick start that triggers and sustains positive change. We don’t know how to execute a change. There’s a difference between motivation and understanding and ability. For example, we may be motivated to lose weight but we lack the nutritional understanding and cooking ability to design and stick with an effective diet. Or flip it over: we have understanding and ability but lack the motivation. One of the central tenets of this book is that our behavior is shaped, both positively and negatively, by our environment—and that a keen appreciation of our environment can dramatically lift not only our motivation, ability, and understanding of the change process, but also our confidence that we can actually do it. I vividly recall my first decisive behavioral change as an adult. I was twenty-six years old, married to my first and only wife, Lyda, and pursuing a doctorate in organizational behavior at the University of California, Los Angeles. Since high school I had been a follicly challenged man, but back then I was loath to admit it. Each morning I would spend several minutes in front of the bathroom mirror carefully arranging the wispy blond stands of hair still remaining on the top of my head. I’d smooth the hairs forward from back to front, then curve them to a point in the middle of my forehead, forming a pattern that looked vaguely like a laurel wreath. Then I’d walk out into the world with my ridiculous comb-over, convinced I looked normal like everyone else. When I visited my barber, I’d give specific instructions on how to cut my hair. One morning I dozed off in the chair, so he trimmed my hair too short, leaving insufficient foliage on the sides to execute my comb-over regimen. I could have panicked and put on a hat for a few weeks, waiting for the strands to grow back. But as I stood in front of the mirror later that day, staring at my reflected image, I said to myself, “Face it, you’re bald. It’s time you accepted it.” That’s the moment when I decided to shave the few remaining hairs on the top of my head and live my life as a bald man. It wasn’t a complicated decision and it didn’t take great effort to accomplish. A short trim at the barber from then on. But in many ways, it is still the most liberating change I’ve made as an adult. It made me happy, at peace with my appearance. I’m not sure what triggered my acceptance of a new way of self-grooming. Perhaps I was horrified at the prospect of starting every day with this routine forever. Or maybe it was the realization that I wasn’t fooling anyone. The reason doesn’t matter. The real achievement is that I actually decided to change and successfully acted on that decision. That’s not easy to do. I had spent years fretting and fussing with my hair. That’s a long time to continue doing something that I knew, on the spectrum of human folly, fell somewhere between vain and idiotic. And yet I persisted in this foolish behavior for so many years because (a) I couldn’t admit that I was bald, and (b) under the sway of inertia, I found it easier to continue doing my familiar routine than change my ways. The one advantage I had was (c) I knew how to execute the change. Unlike most changes—for example, getting in shape, learning a new language, or becoming a better listener—it didn’t require months of discipline and measuring and following up. Nor did it require the cooperation of others. I just needed to stop giving my barber crazy instructions and let him do his job. If only all our behavioral changes were so uncomplicated. Truth #2: No one can make us change unless we truly want to change. This should be self-evident. Change has to come from within. It can’t be dictated, demanded, or otherwise forced upon people. A man or woman who does not wholeheartedly commit to change will never change. I didn’t absorb this simple truth until my twelfth year in the “change” business. By then I had done intensive one-on-one coaching with more than a hundred executives, nearly all successes but a smattering of failures, too. As I reviewed my failures, one conclusion leapt out: Some people say they want to change, but they don’t really mean it. I had erred profoundly in client selection. I believed the clients when they said they were committed to changing, but I had not drilled deeper to determine if they were telling the truth. Not long after this revelation, I was asked to work with Harry, the chief operating officer of a large consulting firm. Harry was a smart, motivated, hardworking deliver-the-numbers alpha male who was also arrogant and overdelighted with himself. He was habitually disrespectful to his direct reports, driving several of them away to work for the competition. This development rattled the CEO, hence the call to me to coach Harry. Harry talked a good game at first, assuring me that he was eager to get started and get better. I interviewed his colleagues and direct reports, even his wife and teenage children. They all told the same story. Despite his abundant professional qualities, Harry had an overwhelming need to be the smartest person in the room, always proving that he was right, winning every argument. It was exhausting and off-putting. Who could say how many opportunities had vanished because people loathed being pummeled and browbeaten? As Harry and I reviewed his 360-degree feedback, he claimed to value the opinions of his co-workers and family members. Yet whenever I brought up an area for improvement, Harry would explain point by point how his questionable behavior was actually justified. He’d remind me that he majored in psychology in college and then analyze the behavioral problems of everyone around him, concluding that they needed to change. In a mind-bending display of chutzpah, he asked me for suggestions in helping these people get better. In my younger days, I would have overlooked Harry’s resistance. Mimicking his arrogance and denial, I would have convinced myself that I could help Harry where lesser mortals would fail. Fortunately I remembered my earlier lesson: Some people say they want to change, but they don’t really mean it. It was dawning on me that Harry was using our work together as another opportunity to display his superiority and to reverse the misperceptions of all the confused people surrounding him, including his wife and kids. By our fourth meeting I gave up the ghost. I told Harry that my coaching wouldn’t be helpful to him and we parted ways. (I felt neither joy nor surprise when I later learned that the firm had fired Harry. Evidently the CEO had concluded that an individual who actively resists help has maxed out professionally and personally.) I often call up my time with Harry as a stark example that, even when altering our behavior represents all reward and no risk—and clinging to the status quo can cost us our careers and relationships—we resist change. We’re even defeated by change when it’s a matter of life and death. Consider how hard it is to break a bad habit such as smoking. It’s so daunting that, despite the threat of cancer and widespread social disapproval, two-thirds of smokers who say they’d like to quit never even try. And of those who do try, nine out of ten fail. And of those who eventually quit namely the most motivated and disciplined people—on average they fail six times before succeeding. Compared to other behavioral changes in our lives, smoking is a relatively simple challenge. After all, it’s a self-contained behavior. It’s just you and your habit, a lone individual dealing with one demon. You either lick it or you don’t. It’s up to yo —and only you—to declare victory. No one else gets a say in the matter. Imagine how much harder it is when you let other people into the process—people whose actions are unpredictable, beyond your control—and their responses can affect your success. It’s the difference between hitting warm-up tennis balls over the net and playing a match where an opponent is rocketing the balls back at you. That’s what makes adult behavioral change so hard. If you want to be a better partner at home or a better manager at work, you not only have to change your ways, you have to get some buy-in from your partner or co-workers. Everyone around you has to recognize that you’re changing. Relying on other people increases the degree of difficulty exponentially. Let that last sentence sink in before you turn the page. This is not a book about stopping a bad habit such as smoking cigarettes or dealing with your late-night craving for ice cream. Nicotine and ice cream aren’t the target constituency here. It’s about changing your behavior when you’re among people you respect and love. They are your target audience. What makes positive, lasting behavioral change so challenging—and causes most of us to give up early in the game—is that we have to do it in our imperfect world, full of triggers that may pull and push us off course. The good news is that behavioral change does not have to be complicated. As you absorb the methods in the following pages, do not be lulled into dismissiveness because my advice sounds simple. Achieving meaningful and lasting change may be simple—simpler than we imagine. But simple is far from easy.