#Maybe if we had more places in society for people (especially lonely adults) could find a build a sense of community

[jynxlovesluck]

Real character growth is thinking weed is the Worst Drug On the Planet as a kid and growing up going "Actually, while weed itself has both negative and positive effects for different people for different reasons, we should talk about how the substance itself is used to demonize and imprison poor people, and you KNOW it's aimed even moreso at people of color, of Black and Latino people ESPECIALLY, all for your local Senator to get the shit shipped to their house and accept the taxes it brings in by the-"

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk, Mr. Fucking Anslinger.

[arent-you-scared-lil-human]

Bølger (2)

Merman!Kae x Reader.

Words: 3,183

bølger means waves.

Chapter 1.

Merfolk were almost divine to your eyes, living near the coast gave you the blessing of discovering these amazing creatures, well, or the thought of actually seeing them. 

You were 7 when your mother gave your guard to your aunt Betty, your mom grew sick and she wanted to be sure you would be cared for when she passed. But it took her cancer to reach stage 4 to allow you to live with Betty. 

The thing was, your mother hated the coast, the town, and the ocean.

When Betty went to visit you, she would take small cards with fairies, merfolk, werewolves painted on it. She would tell you to believe in magic and accept that we aren't alone on the big blue planet.

Which made your mother mad because she hated the mere idea of mermaids, so much that the little mermaid movie was never allowed. But she had to swallow her revulsion to be sure you would be cared for and not thrown on the orphanage in the end.

So you went to live on Walrey Coast with your aunt. She was a good woman, a bit light-headed but good nonetheless. She taught you how to cook, even though you hated it, taught you how to work in her small restaurant and how to read and love Julio Verne's work. 

The house was small but notably comfy and colorful, each room had a color and somehow it didn't get overwhelming. Your bedroom had fairies painted on the walls, and a lamp with a mermaid painted in gold.

But you never saw a mermaid or a merman in your life.

And since your city was a small place each person ended up knowing another.  You were homeschooled till your 11, but Antony -your aunt friend- told that his nephews were your age and that his sister could teach you too.

Antony's nephews were three, a girl called Hope, and two boys, Archie and Hunter. Hope and Archie were twins, and Hunter was a year younger but their mom taught them the things at the same time so they could always be together if they ever went to a "normal" school.

So, with your 20's and seeing Archie leaving the town to persuade his dream university made you happy, but sad in seeing Carla's tears, after all, she always wanted her kids together.

"C'mon, Y/N, I consider you like a daughter so let us re-form your brother's bedroom..." Carla tried to smile through her tears, Hunter hugged you and Hope rolled her eyes at her brother's trial of reaching your interest, the poor boy has been crushing over you for 6 years already.

You kept your routine of woking at your aunty Betty restaurant, Antony tried to coax you to leave town and go to uni -as every elderly person tries to tell us to-; But something held you in Walrey Coast, maybe it was the trauma of the last time that you left your home was due to a loved one passing, or maybe Betty being abandoned in her big picturesque house... or who knows, perhaps something else, something unseen, or forgotten.

Hope didn't want to go to university, she craved to open an auto-shop, Carla said she didn't mind, but everyone knew deep down she wanted her small girl to be the perfect wife-to-be. And Hunter wanted to become a biologist, the boy adored the sea more than the air he inhaled and after years and years of Antony pulling his ear telling him that the idea of being a professional surfer was as idiotic as his hair, he swallowed down and picked another profession that connected the sea, too.

You loved them, and the town, but you were lonely. You had your first kiss, and even that you studied in "not a homeschool but it was basically one" you knew the other people in town, the men in their 20's that lived near and also the visitors that came and go. And working in the restaurant you saw lots of people, soldiers, biologists, families, even sailors, travelers, wanderers, et cetera. 

So you had your 'first times' but nothing serious, and even that Hunter tried several times to date you, you couldn't see him farther than a brother. He was attractive, smart, polite, liked animals as you do but he was... a brother. Through and through.

So your life was based around this minimalist and simple presence. Waking up, helping Betty at home, go to the restaurant, visit Carla and your dear friends, go back to the restaurant, sit in the pier where Antony lived while you ate your dinner looking at the sea, go home, shower and sleep.

Antony tried to make you go swimming or try to surf with Hunter, but you were terrified of the ocean, you loved it, it was fascinating and very very beautiful, but scary.

Dangerous.

Yet, gazing at it brought you a level of peace that couldn't be accomplished in any other form.

So finishing your meal and making sure to set any trash inside a bag so you could throw in the trashcan later, you stood up and gave one last look at the dark waters and went home.

Deep in the waves, stood Kae, gazing at you leaving your favorite spot in the docks, each day you went there and in each one he approached the surface to make you company, a silent one.

Sometimes you hummed a song, one that of course he had not heard before. And sometimes you would put music to play in a small black device he saw humans carrying around all the time, the music was a mixture, but he enjoyed them, and loved when you sang along.

Merfolk took singing into high consideration, it was important to lull food, to find a good partner, to... well, everything!

And he hummed back with you, but he knew you didn't hear him. You didn't remember him.

It was funny how different worlds that co-existed, should know about another, should collide.

Humans are evil, everyone says. But what Eros did with you wasn't it? Hurting an innocent cub, or better saying: a child, and bringing your unconscious body as a trophy was the most repugnant thing he ever witnessed. After that episode years prior, Kae never glanced at his cousin in the same way, Eros was still family, but he wasn't the good merman Kae thought he was.

And with their adult forms and getting the spot of protectors of the ocean society, the mating season was approaching. 

Jaxi was in love with a mermaid that was from oceans away, they found each other in a hunt for food and after that, they've been planning their wedding ever since. Melin grew to be an insatiable lover, the mating season was an open feast to him, especially since it didn't involve a mandatory loyalty. Eros had the most beautiful sea creatures he could find, he was handsome and strong, but he was a player, which wasn't so shocking.

And Kae had some encounters, had his first sex in his 16's but he didn't like the notion of marrying and being away from the bare soil, away from his little friend that didn't even remember his existence.

He wonders if you still have Eros's nails wounds scarred in your skin, or maybe you healed after he rolled the algae around it? The alkaline water helped sea beings to heal and regenerate their skin, maybe oxygen did it too to humans? And if it hasn't healed, have you ever questioned the origin of it?

Kae didn't see himself as a stalker, he was more of a curious merman. And after leaving you in the waves near the sand, he has been reaching the surface searching for you. Ecthelion realized his peculiar interest in you, so he at least told Kae that his human friend, Antony, has told him that you were alive and well. And that the human's healers said you declared that you floated too deep in the ocean and the waves took you away.

Only that.

And as much that was a relief to hear you didn't remember the evilness Eros committed, Kae was still disappointed that you wouldn't remember him, or Jaxi and Melin that were also very much curious about human's anatomy and helped to save your life.

He wanted to talk to you, to see how different you are, would it be shocking for you to see him? Would you run away seeing his different form? He was very pretty, and one of the most desired young merman between the merfolk, but their physiology are different for various reasons. Maybe you wouldn't think he is pretty, his monster form would push you away. Scare you.

               ...

Hunter lost his mind, inviting you to go surfing? Insane.

"You know I'm afraid of the sea,  Hunter!" You told him and your friend only shrugged.

"Y/N, i know but we can try. There won't be big tides today, and I'm an expert at it."

His sad voice made you feel bad, you loved him dearly but couldn't answer his romantic feelings. "Is just... we are not kids anymore and with our brother away and Hope getting you away for 'girls night i barely have time with you. And i don't want to be an asshole, i swear, but that accident that happened years ago was an accident. You were a kid and now you're all grown."

Yu chuckled and hit his shoulder slightly. "All of this only to convince me to go with you?"

He narrowed his eyes and gave you a shy smile. '"Only if you say it worked."

"It did. But! If the waves get too big or anything we will come back, alright? Don't try to prove a point."

"And which point would that be?" He seemed offended.

"That you know how to suffer."

"Right, I won't do anything stupid."

                       ...

Carrying Hope's board firmly you questioned if the straight material could hurt your palms. "Come on." Hope yelled cheering you up, she agreed with Hunter that it would be good for you to test the waters. Being afraid of it was a dangerous thing.

Hunter extended his hand while his other one was carrying the board under his arm. "Trust me?"

"Yeah, but please if I want to come back help me."

"Don't worry."

You held his hand and walked to the waters, Hope clapped her hands a couple of times yelling "you got it" to give you motivation.

It was a pretty day, the sun was out but it wasn't awfully warm Some seagulls flew through the skies and you admired the blue water touching your skin.

The water wasn't cold, and so far no big waves came and snatched your nor Hunter's life.

"Now in the way we tried back there." Hunter held the surfboard you were firmly grasping and helped you to jump on it. He did the same on his and held your hand looking at you with nothing but honesty.

You laid your chest on the board and moved your arms in the water to push you a bit far from the sand. Hunter was smiling, he adored the ocean and adored you so he was very happy.

A small wave came and you looked at him. "Hunt!"

He didn't tell you to go, he gave you a tiny nod and told you the two of you could swim around until you felt more relaxed.

After some minutes you tried to surf in a tide, it was small, amen for that, and Hunter seemed proud. He went to the bigger ones and even when he fell in the salty water he would emerge smiling and laughing.

Hope entered the water too and swam around, you never swam with your friends before.

Some minutes passed and you lost your fear from the ocean, the salty water, the rays of sun, Hunter's smile and Hope's laugh was a blessing and you wondered why you never gave Hunter a chance when he asked you to surf with him since you two were 12.

A medium-wave came in, and you told them you would try. Hunter has surfed and tides four times bigger so he was secure you wouldn't get hurt.

You moved your arms in the water to push you near the growing wave, you managed to feel it moving the surfboard, and you got on your feet and yelled in euphoria when your body kept firm above it. It was amazing, a sensation of pure joy.

The adrenaline, the beauty on it.

Hope and Hunter were cheering you up, and you smiled at then before noting a big movement near the tide, head got out of the ocean and the creature knocked your breath out of your lungs.

Was it... a mermaid? Well, better saying a merman?

"What?" You lost balance and fell into the water, the string holding the surfboard to your ankle made a pressuring pull and you whimpered at the pressure. You shut your eyes as the salty water burned your eyes but soon your foot was realized from the surfboard-pull.

You opened your eyes terrified that you lost the board because you were being dragged further in, but you saw something, someone. 

The strong features, the gills on his neck, the floating long hair... the tail. 

"Y/N!" Hope yelled. "Where are-", "Y/N!" Hunter yelled too.

He swam to you and leaned in, you got terrified, the water was burning your eyes, the lack of oxygen making you anxious and this creature was placing his hands on your cheeks. The cold hands made you stare at him but he only leaned in to kiss your forehead and then your nose. 

Hope's and Hunter's yells going deaf to your ears. You could only stare at the merman.

Before you could do anything else he smiled and touched your feet pushing you up to find oxygen.

You broke out of the surface and coughed as Hunter pulled your body to his chest. "Jesus Christ! You scared me." He said and kissed your forehead over and over making sure you were alive under his touch.

Hunter's kisses were gentle, urgent, and you enjoyed them, but it wasnt like the creature's touch. 

The monster's touch that could certainly snap your neck in a fraction of seconds, but the same touch that made your heart beat faster a moment prior.

And when he held your feet... you thought he would pull you in, to kill and eat you.

No.

He launched you up, assisting you, freeing you!

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have brought you." Hunter cried and you leaned in his touch, holding his neck and looking over his shoulder seeing familiar eyes gazing at you miles away in the water.

                       ...

Sitting in Hope's bed and having her blow-drying your hair, you told Hunter for the 45° time that you were okay and wasn't his fault. He gave you a cup of hot chocolate and checked your fingertips again searching for any hint of extremity cyanosis. He was terrified of losing you, shit, he even argued with Hope when he told her he wanted to help you to take a shower. And even if crushing on you, his intentions weren't sexual, he only wanted to be sure you were warmed up.

"It's okay, it was my fault. I thought I saw something. I got distracted."

Hope brushed your dry hair and you held Hunter's big sweater closer to your chest, he was taller than you so his clothes were the most comfortable. "Hope, i'm sorry for-"

"No no, it's okay. The thing was old anyway." She hugged you from behind and assured you it was okay the loss of her surfboard. "But i wonder how the safe-string got out of your ankle."

You remembered the pressure the string was making, remember the relief it was when it was snapped away from you... the merman did it.

"I don't know either." You lied and tried to get up, only to have them push you back in Hope's bed and ordering you to rest.

Hunter called your aunt to tell her it was all okay and that you would have a sleepover.

You fell asleep, dreaming of waves and gentle touches.

                         ...

Waking up you looked at the covers and searched for a clock to see how long you've slept. It was 2 AM and Hope was passed out, you gently got up from the bed and grasped a pair of Hope's boots.

You got off the stairs and unlocked the door discreetly before closing it behind you.

You walked to the docks and sat in your dining-spot. The vision of the water moving slowly under the stars always eased your thoughts. 

Yes, you consumed a bit of seawater but you didn't imagine what you saw. "Hey, uh, thank you for saving me." You spoke, feeling stupid and looking over your shoulders to be sure no one was near to listen to your nonsense.

"I... nearly drowned and if it wasn't you... I... Fuck!" You swore under your breath. The quietness of Walrey Coast at the dark night was comforting, silence was everything, it meant peace.

Holding your legs together and leaning your head on your knee, tears formed in your eyes. You missed Archie, you felt bad for making Hunter so worried, for destroying Hope's surfboard, the silence that engulfed you, and the thought of going crazy.

As tears drop reached the water, Kae got the courage to break out of the surface. He cursed himself so much earlier on, he should have reached you, if you haven't seen him you wouldn’t fall. So saving you was nothing less than his obligation. 

And touching you... well, that's another story. He couldn't help himself, you were so soft, so grown and stunning. Watching you from afar was something, but perceiving you centimeters away was enchanting.

With your eyes closed, you moaned a song that you loved, and even that the music spoke about heartbreak and a lost lover... it was beautiful.

Stopping to hum while you cleaned your nose, you opened your eyes startled when the song kept resounding,

Widening your eyes you looked at the water and placed your hands on your mouth to avoid a scream to leave your mouth.

There he was, the same thing that saved you.

"Hm, hi-hi!" You gagged.

Kae looked down at his torso, he hated how the human guy held you in his arms early on. His chest was free of hard skin, freed of scales, his skin color was near yours... it wasn't pale as his.

"Maybe you don't speak my language, I, uh actually I'm sort of believing i'm dreaming. My name is Y/N."

The smile on your features was all he could see, the previous shriek apparently wasn't from his ugly self. But surprise, or so he hoped.

"I know," His stark tone of voice made you gasp, he spoke! He could speak, and your language! "Hi, little human."

                       🧜🏻‍♂️

[montosmadman]

I was tagged by @soy-celeste ages ago. This was hard but also super rewarding because I really got to take a deep dive in the murky depths of my own music library. Thanks for thinking of me, Cata💕

Task: choose TEN SONGS that describe your personal aesthetic / how you see yourself. Bonus points if you write a little explanation for each song, that‘s not a must though.

List under a read more because it turned out really long and includes some very personal and possibly triggering mental health stuff.

I'm tagging @capitanogiorgio @hendos @furiousflamewolf @checoswin and @diegoalvesisgod

1. Nakashima Mika - 僕が死のうと思ったのは

The title loosely translates to "The reason I thought I'd die" or "The time I thought I'd die". Yes, I went there right off the bat.

Let's get something straight: I'm not suicidal. I have never been actively suicidal, despite struggling with depression and anxiety most of my teenage/adult life. However, what this song captures for me is the feeling when you're not actively thinking about killing yourself, but you do have this empty feeling when you think there's no point for you being alive. And that's something I'm very familiar with.

There are a couple lines I wanna highlight, even though the whole song hits me very hard whenever I listen to it:

その木漏れ日でうたた寝したら、虫の死骸と土になれるかな

If I lie down beneath the sunlight streaming through the trees, will I become like the dirt and insect remains?

あなたのような人が生きてる世界に少し期待するよ

If people like you are living in this world, then maybe it’s alright to hope a little too.

The first line does what I talked about to above: it's the feeling when you just lie down and wonder if anything would change if you just disappeared. The second line -- last one of the song -- has more hope. It's when you find a reason to believe in the future and realize there is still a reason to live. Personally, I'm trying to hang very hard on that last thought even when the world seems to be against me.

(Full translation in a pinned comment under the Youtube video)

2. The Ark - Little Dysfunk You

No essay here. I just needed to have The Ark on the list because they're the official soundtrack of my life, the first band whose album I bought myself, and who taught me it was okay not to fit in. I even have a tattoo that says "a little dysfunk" because my best friend and I have been relating to this song long before either one of us realized we weren't neurotypical. It's the very dysfunctional ode to our friendship, and I love it.

3. Elton John - Rocket Man

I feel like this might be a universal experience growing up neurodiverse and/or an outsider. You spend years feeling like you're alone in space, on another planet, and you want to connect with people but at the same time know that once you come back, you still won't be the person others want or expect you to be. The challenge is to accept that and realize it's okay and you don't need to change yourself for others. And it really is hard when you're raised in a society where the odds are stacked against you.

4. Sanni - Jos mä oon oikee

Look, I'm giving you something in Finnish too!

Sanni is one of the Finnish artists whose breakthrough I originally missed because I was living abroad. I only properly discovered her a couple years after moving back, when I was driving a lot for my work and hence listening to the radio much more than I used to. Her songs just kept standing out from the rest: her lyrics had this amazing depth even when she was singing about mundane stuff -- like, she was finding these painful truths I hadn't ever spoken but felt very clearly.

That said, I had to choose the one song that's actually very upfront with this idea of being an outsider and not feeling like a part of this world. The title translates to "If I am real" and that pretty much sums it up. It's a song about feeling lonely in the middle of a crowded room, feeling like no one sees you or cares what you do. I personally have this habit of taking a step back and observing people rather than getting involved -- and even when I do, it rarely feels like it's really me out there, because I'm so used to masking and acting like everyone else just to fit in, you know?

I'll finish this off with my favourite verse, translated by yours truly. The last line especially hits home super hard no matter how many times I hear it.

Rautatieasema maanantaina ruuhkaisa Kaikilla tuntuu olevan kiire ja suunta Mä oon ulkopuolella vaik seison sisällä Jos oon jo kotona miten voi olla koti-ikävä

The railway station on Monday is crowded Everyone seems to be in a rush and have a direction I'm outside even though I'm standing inside How can I feel homesick when I'm already home

5. Shobha - Last Exit To Freedom

Full disclosure: Degrassi has been one of my comfort series for many, many years. When this song was first introduced in Next Class, it hit me really hard because it was woven into this whole storyline about depression and suicide, which at the time spoke to me a lot. I repeat, I have never been suicidal, but I do get the headspace that could drive people into it.

However, listening to it again now, it's mostly the message of hope that shines through to me. It's a song that can take two very different readings depending on what your own baggage is. And the series actually acknowledges that later on, which I think is not only beautiful but also extremely important.

There's empty places in my life and I need to breathe There's empty spaces on the map waiting there for me

I've never felt more free than when I actually drop my responsibilities and just go where I want to go. I need that space to breathe, and that's why it has always been such a relief when I could just pack up and start over in a new place. Some might call it running away from my troubles -- and they wouldn't be completely wrong -- but that doesn't change the fact that I've always valued my own freedom above any arbitrary societal norms.

6. Scandinavian Music Group - Näin minä vihellän matkallani

SMG is another one of those bands I grew up on and have seen live several times, so they needed to be here. This song is more on the "aesthetic" end of scale than how I see myself. In fact, I've many times hoped I could be like the narrator of this song. I'll give you a couple of verses to explain:

Kun minulta viedään kaikki Autan kantamaan Ja kun lopulta kaadun Teen sen näyttävästi

When everything's taken from me I'll help them carry it And when I finally fall I'll do it with a flair

Minä vihellän matkallani Näin minä vihellän matkallani Jos sen on oltava niin Olkoon sitten niin

I'm whistling on my journey See how I'm whistling on my journey If this is how things have to be Then so be it

It's this carefree attitude. Laughing in the face of hardship and controversy. There's another amazing line about getting back to the saddle after you fall and swearing you'd do it all over again. I've never been able to do that, because I carry all my old failures and pains so close to the surface, and could never just shake them off with a shrug, no matter how minor.

But on another level, I keep hearing from people who I thought knew me that I don't seem depressed. And who can blame them: on the outside, it probably looks like I bounce back from hardships really fast, because I'm so used to masking my issues that the moment I'm physically capable of doing it, I will. So you might say this song is a picture of my outer self, though it hardly mirrors what's really going on.

7. Queen - Don't Stop Me Now

I'm a firm believer that if my life was a teen movie, this is the song I'd have playing in the final scene where I'd just go "fuck that" and started dancing with @mirkwoodstock in the middle of the parking lot of something. It's my ultimate party anthem, the one that always has me dancing and singing along no matter where I am.

Back when we were at the university, Nanna and I used to go to this rock'n'roll club in town and they'd always play Don't Stop Me Now close to the end of the night, and it really became our song. Like, no matter how shitty I felt, when it came on, I'd be there, and so would she. And that's why it also deserves to be on the list.

8. Blind Channel - Died Enough For You

Throwing a rare newer song into the mix. The moment I heard this song, I knew I'd be listening to it a lot. There's also an acoustic version if you're not a fan of the genre or if you just wanna have a different perspective. Blind Channel is also representing Finland in Eurovision next week, and I'm living for it.

Advertising aside, Died Enough For You takes me to some really dark times in my life. I've been in relationships, both romantic and not, where I've been carrying the other person and giving so much of myself, risking my own mental health (which was not that good to begin with) and not getting much in return. There comes a point where you have to prioritize yourself and admit that dragging yourself into the same abyss is not going help anyone. Unfortunately, usually it takes more strength to admit that and leave than to stay in the relationship that's hurting you.

I'm still talking to some of these people, but I've learned to give myself a permission to sign off when I notice that by helping them I'm only hurting myself more. Someone else's wellbeing cannot be my responsibility when I'm struggling to keep myself afloat. And I truly hope everyone who is supporting me also knows that.

9. Aqua Timez - 真夜中のオーケストラ

Title translates to "Midnight Orchestra". Yes, it's from Naruto. I discovered it back when I was still more involved in anime fandom stuff, and fell for it again year ago when I binged the anime when to lockdowns started, because I needed an escape.

And what an escape it was. Have you ever heard a song and immediately went "I need a tattoo of this", or is that just me? I'm probably not going to get a tattoo because I don't trust non-Japanese artists to get the kanjis right, but the song still captures something very real about loneliness that's not really visible but still very much there. Like, the moment when you meet a person you can truly relate to and for the first time realize you'd been feeling lonely all that time. That's what this song describes to me.

Below are a few verses towards the end of the song. I've bolded the one that first caught my attention (and which I still have as the title of my Japan sideblog).

真夜中の詩が叫んだ「僕ほんとうは独りが　嫌いだ　大嫌いだ」 独りぼっちで　生きてゆけてしまうなんてこと

The song of midnight cried out "I truly hate being alone more than anything" I hate to go on living completely alone…

幸せなんて　小さなスプーンで掬えるくらいで充分なんだ 分け合える人がいるか　いないかだけ

All I need is being able to scoop happiness with a tiny spoon so long as I have someone to share it with

(Full translation)

真夜中の詩は叫ぶよ「僕ほんとうは　僕ほんとうは　淋しかった」 太陽の眩しさに　かき消されても

The song of midnight cried out "I was truly, truly… lonely" Even if I were to be erased by the sun's radiance

10. Jenni Vartiainen (Apulanta) - Mato

This song, named "Worm", was originally released by Finnish rock band Apulanta in 1997. The lyrics, while they might make sense as individual statements, are basically gibberish when you combine them into one piece and try to understand the meaning. There is none. Anyways, the version I chose is a remake by another artist, first performed on the Finnish version of The Best Singers format. It doesn't make any more sense, I just like it better because Jenni is hot and she made it so much fun.

And the reason it's on this list? Welcome to my brain, folks! Sometimes, especially when I'm overwhelmed by lots of external stimuli, my mind tends to just wander wherever the hell it pleases and make connections even I don't get. It also likes to forget the stuff I said just a second a go, so I can switch subjects on the go without even noticing. It's very soothing to have music that doesn't require me to make those connections when that happens.

And now, I shall close this massive post with the first verse of this masterpiece:

Minä tahdon ulos, tahdon ulos kattilasta Minä tahdon pelastaa vielä sinutkin kiehumasta Minä tahdon lentää ulos vessan ikkunasta Minä tahdon tietää kaiken teidän karkkimaasta

I want out, I want out of this kettle I also want to save you from boiling I want to fly out of the toilet window I want to know everything about your candy land

Stay safe and take care of yourselves my dears💕

[marshmallowgoop]

Kill la Kill Does Not Have a Happy Ending.

Finally completing the story mode in Kill la Kill the Game: IF has inspired me to make GIFs again, so I’ve been listening to and/or watching more video essays than usual lately.

What can I say? Editing GIFs when you don’t have fancy programs is... a little bit tedious. It’s nice to shove your attention towards something else while you paste the same text onto 100 different layers.

But anyway, there’s this bit at the end of Lindsay Ellis’s “Woke Disney” video that got me thinking:

Ellis: Are you that guy in that Onion article that always likes to bring up that John Lennon beat his wife?

Mostly, I got to thinking about my feelings regarding the popular fall 2013 anime Kill la Kill... and how endlessly, endlessly salty I am about its conclusion.

“Am I that guy?” I wondered. “Do I get some kind of sick joy out of telling people who loved and resonated with this silly show’s finale that no, actually, what we got was an absolute tragedy?”

And my questions for myself didn’t stop there. “Why do I feel the need to rain on everyone’s parade?” I thought. “Why am I such a party pooper about all this?”

In the end, I don’t know if I have a good answer. But I do have reasons for my constantly reiterated salt, and they basically boil down to this:

✄ Killing one character so that another can undergo character development, or to signify maturity, is a common storytelling trope... but that doesn’t mean that it’s a good storytelling trope, even if it “makes sense” or “works.”

✄ Though much of its content was cut from the final show, early ideas for Senketsu’s character involve a heavy oppression narrative much in the same vein as other Kazuki Nakashima-written anime like Promare and Brand New Animal, and elements from those concepts are clearly present in the finished anime. Senketsu is told repeatedly that he’s a monster and no good for Ryuko, Ryuko is initially embarrassed to be seen with him because of how society will perceive her for it, and Senketsu’s arc is one of self-love. He’s not just an object; he’s a person, and his thoughts and feelings matter. Everyone can hear his voice in the end because he realizes this. To kill a character who is demonized and “othered,” whose growth is about respecting himself and understanding that he has worth, is not at all a happy ending or what’s “best.”

✄ Senketsu is not a wise mentor figure nor a replacement father for Ryuko; he is constantly emphasized to be her equal and partner and literally has no life experience to guide anyone with, his eyepatch has been stated by show staff to exist because it’s supposed to symbolize that he still has room to grow (just like Ryuko!), and a “man” showing a woman love and respect does not automatically mean that he’s her parent, especially when their relationship has a level of intimacy that would be horrendously uncomfortable between a father and a daughter.

Ryuko, to Senketsu: Nah, it’s cool. It’s not like ya cheated on me or anything.

✄ Similarly, Senketsu is his own person. Ryuko growing close to Senketsu is not her growing close to her late father. It’s her growing close to a friend who has been thrown into the same cruel situation that she’s been thrown into. Senketsu does not deserve to die for Isshin’s sins. Someone who has not lived even a year does not deserve to die purely because he was created by a man who had a strained relationship with his daughter.

✄ For a series to consistently stress that two people from different groups can get along and love each other, even when the entire world tells them they can’t, and then end by saying that one is actually better off without the other... is both a contradictory message and one that, intended or no, smells a little like an argument against diversity.

Of course, I recognize that this all sounds very dramatic. And I assure you, I understand that I am the most dramatic.

But I believe in the power of stories. I think they’re important. I think the messages they send and the arguments they make, and how these messages and arguments are interpreted by audiences, say a lot about our world—and this is particularly true when it comes to stories as widespread and discussed as Kill la Kill!

So, when I see gushing about how happy the ending of this ridiculous anime is? That Senketsu absolutely had to die because he’s nothing more than a metaphor for menstruation or puberty? That he’s a parent, and adults have to let go of their parents eventually, so there was no other narrative choice but for him to kick the bucket? That it’s “for the best” that he goes because something like him could never have a place in the newly peaceful world?

Well. I find it all hurtful. Incredibly so.

There are certainly valid complaints and criticisms about fantasy depictions of “otherness,” and it’s certainly a valid critique to find the reason behind Senketsu’s eyepatch—that it’s meant to represent how he’s “still imperfect, with room for improvement and evolution”—dishearteningly ableist. But Senketsu’s story and growth with Ryuko are a lot of what make Kill la Kill so important to me. To see these two young adults finding themselves, as equals and partners, when people can’t stop telling them that they should be enemies? To see them ultimately save the world together with their friendship and love? It’s why I’m writing any of this at all. It’s why I’ve ever written anything about this series ever.

At the end of the day, I’m not here to tell anyone that their interpretations of a fictional story are “wrong” or that mine are “right.” Nobody is a “bad person” for how they read a television series, and it’s completely fair for anyone to find my own interpretations of this show and its conclusion offensive, too.

But to answer my initial questions, I don’t talk about my discontent with the ending of Kill la Kill and its most agreed-upon readings because I get a rush out of telling others that it’s sad. I talk about my discontent because I don’t think the harmful implications I see should be ignored.

I don’t like seeing the assertion that the death of a character who is repeatedly referred to in canon material as Ryuko’s “precious partner” is “for the best.” I don’t like that the Kamui Bansho, the official Kill la Kill guidebook, literally describes Senketsu as Ryuko’s “one and only ‘partner,’” and yet there’s the argument that he’s nothing more than a metaphor, a father who has power over Ryuko and must die to let her live on her own. I don’t like how writer Nakashima outright states in that same guidebook, “You could say that Kill la Kill tells the story of a lonely young woman meeting and losing an irreplaceable partner,” that the Word-of-God explanation for Senketsu’s death is that it bookends the story, that Toshihiko Seki, Senketsu’s voice actor, similarly describes the anime as a tale that begins from “the meeting of a lonely person (Ryuko) and a lonely existence (Senketsu),” and I don’t like that there’s almost anger when the ending in which this partner dies is accurately called a tragedy.

I don’t like the idea that someone who helped save the world would have no place in a time of peace because he’s “different.” I don’t like that a “man” being nice to a girl is construed as fatherly, especially when said “man” has hardly had a chance to live at all. I don’t like the sickly feeling I get that none of these arguments would be argued had Mako, Ryuko’s other precious partner, died instead. I don’t like the sickly feeling I get that a person’s physical appearance defines so much of their worth.

In the past, I’ve been chided for expressing my displeasure. “Stop playing the victim,” I was told, when I said I dislike the notion that Senketsu’s death is “for the best” because such a notion subtly communicates to me, an unattractive person, that an unattractive person dying is okay. A happy ending.

But I think it’s important to voice our displeasure with story decisions and the readings of them. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I want stories that are more respectful. I don’t want to constantly see characters who are “different” dying less than five minutes before the end, and I don’t want to constantly see the argument that this is “good” because they helped further another character’s growth. I want characters who are “different” to be able to continue growing with the people they love.

Will I be writing stories more to my taste myself? Absolutely. But maybe by talking about these things, I can help inspire others, too.

[kiu-k]

"Why they say Winifred Barnes raised a true gentleman"

[Translation] (Original author's permission granted)

Original Author: 燕麥夾心巧克力 (Original post)

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On the date of that "last night", Bucky held that date girlfriend's hand(maybe that's not real/official girlfriend). They didn't watch movies, didn't have a decent dinner, didn't go to a pub, but visited a science exposition. The science exposition that represented the future. Sergeant Barnes, who was going to England in the very next day; and who had made much of and had lived a smooth life in the first half of his life, had no idea how turbulent his future was gonna be and even went beyond everyone's imagination.

In this gif, the 25 or 26-year-old Bucky was holding a young, carefree, charming girl's hand. This makes me can't help but imagine, what kind of life he could have had, supposedly, in a world that Hydra and Captain America never existed. This passionate, gentle, responsible, caring, brave, willing-to-sacrifice man would have got a proper job, built a nice house, married a beautiful wife and had some kids, after the war. That's the kind of life he's SUPPOSED to have. NOT a brainwashed assassin, insane murderer, terrorist, or a haunting ghost from WW2. In this gif, was there any trace of the Winter Soldier or brainwashed Bucky in the Civil War? No, coz he had never prepared that fate would trick him in such a brutal way, over and over again.

The most ridiculous thing is, he didn't go on this happy life as he deserves, but some other irrelevant guys did, overtly. Still, somebody praised that and get the hump about Bucky owing Tony an apology. But, who is going to give Bucky an apology? Hydra? Fate? In fact, no one. He'd done nothing wrong, not even a mistake. He's just an ordinary American soldier, a kind-hearted person. Why do this to him.

Back to this gif, Bucky was always so gentle with girls. He held her hand, instead of her waist; he just smiled softly, not much talking, instead of lower his head and kiss her. He was this gentle to everyone. His best friend changed his mind in the last second and not willing to stay with him on his last night, he had no anger at all. Later, when Peggy who was in a glamorous red dress, approached and give Steve a notification, Bucky tried to flirt with her. But he is nothing like other soldiers, no whistling, not using any offensive wordings, or making those vulgar jokes. In that scene, She didn't even throw a single look to Bucky. This was already kinda rude. Yet, Bucky didn't get angry, didn't complain after she left, didn't cry foul at her impoliteness and arrogance. He showed complete generosity and confidence throughout the whole process, then just laughed off his own embarrassment at last. He is a true gentleman.

This is Bucky's gentleness to girls, and his gentleness to the world.

We all know that Captain America is widely respected because he sacrifices himself for saving millions of people. Then does that mean Bucky's sacrifice is negligible? Every single soldier's sacrifice, especially Howling Commandos', had brought great improvement for the final victory of the war. However, Bucky's sacrifice was way more than that.

Because he was sacrificed on the mission of the arresting Hydra's top scientist Zola.

Captured Zola finally agreed to cooperate with the government, and later recruited by SHIELD. He revived hydra, let it parasitised SHIELD. It was Bucky's death caused Zola's arrest, and at the same time, it's also the amnesty and recruitment for Zola made hydra chose Bucky to be the one to experiment. Imagine how Zola was disgustingly gloating while he was brainwashing Bucky-- "Oh, Sergeant Barnes. Do you know that, if you hadn't been that desperate to arrest me back in those times, I wouldn't have experimented on you over and over now."

What was Bucky thinking after he fell from the train? The rescue team was useless, he's still alive. Compare to the broken limb, the loss of blood and severe pain should be nothing at all. Was he hoping someone to save him, when he was temporary awoke in his lonely waiting? Did he think that he was rescued when he saw those Soviet soldiers' jackets? But he had no idea, still, not a single idea, that's just the beginning of his tragedy. Since then, that smiling young adult, James Buchanan Barnes, had waved his hand and farewell to him. And he had dropped into an abyss of darkness, which only gets deeper and deeper.

No one was able to find Bucky in those 2 years of absconding.

But this doesn't bother to change the way they call him, look at him, treat him. From "the only sacrificed Howling Commando" to "the infamous former Hydra agent/assassin". Half of the world hates him, terrified of him; half wants to manipulate him, control him. During the endless and bitter self-searching, he chose to hideaway. Of course, it's because when he got his conscious back, his home was no longer his home anymore. The era he knew had gone far away. He realized that he was forced to do so many horrible things, and the world chose to give him a cold shoulder. He didn't have a place in this world. But that's nothing to the Winter Soldier. It was just like when those smart-alecky German Special Forces locked him in a cage for beasts, he didn't break out of it because just he didn't want to. The reason for him to hide, was mostly because he knows how dangerous he is.

He knows he is unstable; he knows trigger words. He feared that he would be controlled by bad guys and caused bigger harm. So he hid away, wrapped himself like a silkworm, isolated himself from the society. That's the way to protect more people. He couldn't seek help from anybody coz he knows that will bring what kind of mess to them. This is his gentleness to the world.

Can you imagine? A man who had suffered 70 years, brainwashed by his arresting target, blamed by the world which doesn't care about the truth, doesn't even a bit of an emotion called "resentment"? From CA: CW, we can see that Bucky's memories have already recovered to the level that every tiny detail can be described clearly. He recalled the inhumane experience of testing those "Winter Soldiers" when he was a subordinate of Karpov. And even after all this time, he didn't blame anyone after he was freed and conscious. He didn't complain, didn't punch a dozen sandbags to vent, didn't feel frustrated with his missed date. He treats the world so gently as he used to. He'll say thank you to hawkers when he buys plums; he'll hide himself in a small safe house, retrieve memories and do self-questioning; he'll confess honestly to Steve: "I don't know if I'm worth all this, Steve." He'll still go on the battlefield to save the world when it's in danger.

I cannot imagine there would be someone like you, the one and only Bucky Barnes.

The world does not deserve you.

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ALL THE CREDITS AND ANALYSIS ABOVE BELONG TO THE ORIGINAL AUTHOR. I DID NOTHING BUT ONLY TRANSLATING IT. (Thanks a lot for tolerating my poor English.)

[electric-sugar-darling]

“Other”

For as long as I've known, I've been "other."

I am "other" in the eyes of a dominantly white American census. They see my brown skin (though sometimes, they claim to not "see color.") They see my smaller, almond-shaped eyes. They hear my speaking voice that, while occasionally quiet and stuttering, but firm when it comes to things I am passionate about, seems to blend with the American standard. Not a "foreign" accent anywhere within earshot. Though when I would go back to visit the Philippines in the past, I'd occasionally get poked at for sounding like an "American boy." But hearing how I speak now, it is assumed the colonization has worked, and that I am relatable from an American perspective. Yet when I speak of the cultural dissonance and assimilation I have faced in this country as a first generation Filipino immigrant growing up stateside, I'm told I just need to "work harder" and "be more confident," but assured that I am "beautiful" regardless. Honey, you don't know the half of how hard I've "worked," and what exactly I've "worked" on, to make my supposed "confidence" what it is today, to bring it to an acceptable level for me to play whatever functional role I am meant to play in this modern American society. But thanks for calling me beautiful, I guess. I am "other" when it comes to Filipino ethnicity and culture, because even though I am Filipino, I still struggle to fully connect with it, beyond reading up on histories, cultural norms, and current events of my home country as an adult, but never got to fully absorb and internalize as a child because I moved to the States when I was four years old. As such, I was too busy in my childhood attempting to fit into the white American standard to which schools are subconsciously defaulted in this country, under the guise of the United States being a "melting pot." The concept of a melting pot is so colorful, and attractive, and appealing, and almost comforting to a little brown child born in one country, but brought to an entirely new country, before education and social interactions could really even begin for that child ("that child" is Me, if I've lost you.) But the problem with the idea of a melting pot is that when things melt down, the individuality of the different flavors lose themselves when they all attempt to come together. And while visually, everything seems to have combined into one, it is still incongruous. Certain flavors overpower others or cancel them out completely, especially when there's too much of one, and only a pinch of "other." The idea of melting implies that everything has amalgamated into one, to make it easier to digest for the mass palate, specifically the status quo. The cost is that celebrating genuine individuality and uniqueness is (literally) lost in the mix, under the guise of "unity." But thanks for tagging me in your post about lumpia, I guess. I am "other" as a gay man, in a sea of image-obsessed, chiseled bodies, meant primarily for the white porn star standard of 'beach bod 5'9".' There's no room for overweight. There's no room for too tall. No room for stretch marks. No room for extra skin left over from weight loss, even though I was under the baseless assurance that losing weight would equal me being supposedly more "desirable." No room for being "too masculine looking" for guys that prefer their bottoms to be more feminine, twinky, and submissive. No room for not being masculine ENOUGH, as is the general dominant desirability factor in the endless swipes of hook-up app profiles, over which my thumb has all but burned itself off. Masc4MaskedToxicMasculinity, bro. No room for not being confident in yourself, even though you were picked apart for all those things on dating websites, until my outward physical appearance started to try and fit into these "desirable" niches and archetypes. There's plenty of room for Asians, apparently. Until they find out I (literally) don't fit in their fetishistic image of small, meek, petite Asian. I also get the occasional gem of "Man, I'm usually not into Asians, but..." or "Man, you're exotic looking." Big fucking yikes, bro. Yes, I am probably looking for gratification in all the wrong places. But even though I am gradually becoming more accepting of the parts of me that I previously hated, tried to hide, or distance myself from because I was made to believe they were ugly, the past emotional pangs still scratch at me, and I find myself going back to square one when I default to re-opening that dating app when I get that carnal urge, to try and feel better about myself. But thanks for sending me a wink, I guess. I am "other" in a society dominated by heteronormative romantic prospects. Soulmates, getting married, having kids, having one true love, love at first sight, true love's kiss. From a very young age, all of this is pushed onto us as something we had to strive for. An ultimate goal that we are meant to pursue, otherwise we are viewed as crazy, as spinsters, as eccentric and lonely old crones, as if any of these things were the most horrible things in the world to be viewed as. As a child, I had little playground crushes here and there. And as I got a little older, when I was faced with the possibility (turned reality) of being gay, I had crushes on boys, too. But I also had to push that away from my mind, because gay was that taboo thing no one ever talked about, or else it would be either vilified or mocked. But all these crushes were just fluffy, meaningless, outward attractions. I never felt any sort of romantic attraction. And as I got older, the idea of romance was a concept that never clicked with me. I've had exactly two boyfriends in the past, which, at the time, I considered "love." But was it really? Or was it because I was in the standardized view of a two-person mutual relationship with this person, that I instantly equated it as "love." I've never been able to fully make the connection of what exactly "romance" is. I take a very long time to open up to people. But when I do trust somebody enough, I tell them everything about me, the secrets, the ins, the outs, the whispers and screams of my heart, my dreams, my hopes, my despairs. But is that romance? Maybe it can be, but it wasn't for me. Because my closest friends and family are also people I've told all those private things to. Is it love? Sure. A platonic love. But I don't equate it to being romantically attracted to my friends or family. Is romance hand-holding and kissing? I've gone on dates and "seen" guys in the past, where we've kissed and held hands, even had sex. But did I consider any of it romance? Not in the slightest. Is romance sweet, thoughtful gestures? I do my best to show my friends and family I care with gestures whenever I am able, or sometimes, simply listening or offering words. But again, does that mean I am romantically attracted or linked to them? No. And so for a while, I thought I was some sociopath that simply was not capable of romantic love. Until I read about the spectrum of aromanticism. People who feel intense platonic love, and value these many important platonic relationships in their lives equally, but have never related to this idea of finding one specific fulfilling "love" above all others (the romantic kind) as something different than the other platonic relationships they have in their lives. I've never subscribed to the notion of ONE soulmate, because anybody that has made a profound impact in my life with whom I've shared a meaningful and long-lasting connection, and who fully understand me and accept me as I do them, I consider them a soulmate. I have many I consider "soulmates." And honestly, I'm tired of being told I "just haven't found the right one yet," when I have plenty of the "right ones" in my life right now. But thanks for suggesting that rom-com to me, I guess. I have lived my entire life in constant dissonance (which might explain why I like abstract 20th century composers.) Not necessarily because I WANTED to live in dissonance, but simply because any time I was simply trying to BE, there was pushback, or criticism, or questioning, which in turn, made me push back, criticize, and question myself. I have lived my life as perpetually "other," but for a time, believed it was a terrible thing to be anything "other" than what everybody else was doing or being. But I have lived through enough dissonance to realize that living against the grain is essentially what has gotten me this far in life. And although it was a difficult and uneven road to self-acceptance (and I still occasionally struggle with lingering pangs of insecurity to this day), this road is mine and mine alone. And without me on it, there would be no other.

[auncyen]

Scavenger Hunt

[lady-charinette]

For the title/story ask: The Beast in Her Home :1/6/7/13/14/15 For the ship ask: 1. Marichat 2. Lukanette 3. Kataang 4. Tokka 5. Chloe/Luka With you explanation/emotion towards each ship. And my own questions: which of ur fics do you like more : The Beast in Her Home or Dinner for Two and why? Which is your fav fic ever written? What is your favorite scene youve ever written? What is the steamiest scene youve ever written? How much forshadowing and lil hints do u put in ur writing? -ʕ♥ᴥ♥ʔ

1. My inspiration? Huh…it’s actually kind of funny. So, I watch crime shows every Friday night (also during the week, but Friday’s I write while I watch). It’s either watching Special Victims Unit or documentaries based on real life crime/investigations/criminals. I wrote out a scene on my phone I had thought of while watching (it was the scene where Marinette first brought home Chat Noir, where she typed on her computer and he was behind her trying to intimidate her). I thought of different ships and fandoms to go with that scene, since I really wanted to write it and (miraculously) thought of Marichat. Thus, the birth of The Beast in Her Home! :3

 6. Ohhh 6) is such an interesting question! *_* Ahem, well for once, I guess the tone of it all. It’s serious and tense, it reminds me a bit of a different fic that’s still ongoing (Fandom: FF7 “Zack Fair the Bad Boy”) and yet it’s so different. It’s a bit edgy, but has a bit of realism to it. All my stories have some elements of realism, but I guess TBiHH (The Beast in Her Home) is that AU that turns an originally canon kids show into a dark adult world with criminals and corruption, with blurry lines between right and wrong and criminals who may not be *the* true criminal of the story. There’s more to come in the story later, but it’s also about how humans react not just as a private person, but the choices they make as the person they are while “on duty” and the ones they do off it and how it changes their decisions.

 7. Oh that’s a cool question too! The title stemmed from the idea I had of Chat Noir in the AU. At first it was a criminal, then a broken, self-loathing man. I thought of his backstory, the origin, of how ‘the birth of Chat Noir’ Paris’ first ranked criminal came to be. It’s still yet to be revealed, but despite who he really is behind the mask and his criminal record, there’s also a side to him that’s ‘feral’, like most brand him a monster, a ‘beast’. Marinette’s view of him at the beginning is also like that, the moment she looks at his eyes she thinks ‘beast’. He’s also (symbolically)  something like the lion with a thorn on his paw in Marinette’s home, he roars and people are terrified of him, but once you remove the thorn, he’s calm and good-natured. ‘Beast’ is an intruder, a monstrosity that’s only associated with evil, but as the story progresses, we find that the ‘beast’ in (Marinette’s) home might just not be what he appears.  

 13. I did listen to some songs. Hmm… in no particular order: The Asking Price by FFH, Angel by Aerosmith, Diablo by Simon Curtis, The Monster by Eminem ft. Rihanna, Fight Back by NEEFEX, Good to You by Marianas Trench, The Reason by Hoobastank, Monster by Skillet, Hero by Skillet, Someone You Loved by Lewis Capaldi. Some of them you can listen to when there are action/tense scenes (like Diablo, Monster or Fight Back) but others are meant to portray the ‘softer’ moments (yet to come, some written). :) Good to You may seem out of place, but I already pre-wrote a scene for that particular song :3

 14. Haha, it’s a small scale story really, but what I thought that may stick with readers (or will as it progresses)… How people should stay open minded, try not to have prejudices, especially against people who had rough pasts or even criminal backgrounds. Institutions like prisons should be correctional and help convicts to learn the error of their ways, shape them into better people and re-socialize them into society when they get released. I realize it’s very often not like that, sadly. Sometimes, certain life decisions force people who are normally good-natured to make bad decisions, do stuff they would normally never do…etc. Like I said, Chat’s story has yet to be revealed, but it should reflect that. Also: even when he is a criminal (according to laws), he has another moral code he follows (like some real life criminals do).

 15. Oh so many things, things the FBI might find suspicious once they start looking for me (“I swear, my search history is purely for research for my fics! I don’t plan to kill ANYONE!”) haha but jokes aside, a number of different things. For one, the justice systems of several countries I’ve researched, how many prisons with fearsome reputations (check: ‘the world’s worst prisons’ you’ll get a shock for sure) there actually are in the world, that are allowed to still operate 0_0 Just how thin the line between ‘good’ and ‘evil’ and ‘lawfully correct’ but ‘morally questionable’ is. It’s like those RL cases you sometimes hear of, a husband cheats on his wife/does morally very questionable things, but it’s not against the law and yet it still brings great mental harm to a person. I also learned something about myself, after reading/watching the news about all the things going on with the world: many people say, they would change so many things if they get to a position of power. I used to think that too, but I’d rather enable other, more qualified good people to rise to power and distribute and handle it responsibly, since, while my ideals are good-natured, I have no idea how to realize those ideals or run something like a country responsibly. My role is better suited as an enabler for those who can and want to do good, not just those who want to. 

Ships Asks:

Ranked from Favorite to Least Favorite:

1.      Marichat/Lukanette (I’m sorry I can’t decide, they share first place), 2. Tokka, 3. Kataang, 4. Chloe/Luka. 

So, I’ve been a Marichat shipper since day one, but since the arrival of Luka…ahem, anyhow, I ship both Marichat and Lukanette and can see the beauty in either of the ships. Fanon Marichat of course, canon disappointed me a tweeny bit in that respect. Both ships not only give respect to the guys, but to Marinette too, she’s appreciated and loved and put as an equal in those ships, which I love and find sometimes lacking in the show (for now). 

I always shipped Tokka tbh, Toph seemed like she had a crush on Sokka in ATLA and with their chemistry and their personalities, I think they would go well together (even if I like Suki, Tokka is the one for me!). 

Kataang…oh boy. I’ve never really seen the appeal of the ship, even if it is canon and the main one of the show. It’s basically the whole discourse, not necessarily concerning their age difference, but just their chemistry, Katara has always striked me as more ‘motherly’ towards Aang and there are just too many hints pointing at Zutara in the beginning (the chemistry, the Oma and Shu parallels, the ‘opposites attract’ trope, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers trope, the hard earned bond they formed…etc.

Chloe and Luka, huh? I’m sorry, I did see some fan content for them, but I just couldn’t really imagine a good pairing to come from Chloe’s personality and Luka’s (but I can recognize why some other fans would fancy the idea).

 Your questions:

-  That’s a tough decision, Beast in Her Home or Dinner for Two…hmm… they both have different appeals that make them special in their own way. ‘Beast’ is more dark, more gritty but also hopeful and speaks of broken things being mended again. Dinner is more cute, fluffy,  but has it’s deeper mysteries (which will soon be revealed!) and (I think) speaks more to my readers (I’ve read so many comments that relate to Marinette, with her daily life, job and her reactions etc. it’s so cute!) I brushes more with daily life as we know, while Beast is a darker version of it maybe more familiar to people from that milieu (it may not be as realistic, but for the crime/enemies-to-lovers fans out there). If I think really hard, I THINK I just may like Dinner for Two a tweeny bit more (I’m a sucker for the stuffed toy in restaurants for lonely people idea CHEERS TO MY FELLOW LONELY BRETHREN!)

-  My fav fic? (wipes tear) it’s “Shikuro: A Caribbean Fairy Tale” by Inuma Asahi De (a Inuyasha fic) on FFnet, I’m not sure if it’s my favorite, but its pretty darn close. I’ve read it years ago, but it’s so fresh in my mind, the beauty of the writing, the magical mood it sets for every moment. Read it. I highly recommend it. I wish I could write as magically. Cheers to my fellow fic writers with such talents!!

-  My favorite scene I ever wrote? Ah damn…that’s hard to pinpoint. I have many, I can’t decide.

-  Ohh the steamiest, huh? Hm…I rarely ever write steamy stuff. I think a few are Marichat based (I posted it on tumblr, called ‘Feral’) the few others I can remember are from different fandoms (they’re never very direct, always a bit subtle ;)). The other ones I can remember are from different fandoms (Kakuriyo no Yadomeshi and such)

-  Oh I normally try to pace myself (pff as if that ever works), I guess you could say a lot. Not too much, but I always try to have an organized structure when it comes to foreshadowing, not just one day be like: SURPRISE BITCH, didn’t see that coming! ^_^ In any story I wrote, there’s always some type of foreshadowing and hints, some more obvious, others more subtle. :3  

 P.S. OMG, I’m SO sorry if this went far too deep into the questions! I just got caught up with everything, I’m sorry! >.

[taylor-jane]

Welcome to Prison Town

This is honestly the first fanfic I have ever written and who would have thought it would have been for a short but so good yuri manga. I hate bitter sweet endings, so often people don’t get to actually be together, especially in yuri and other wlw stories. Screw that. To me this is how the story really ends.

Its been 9 years since i fell asleep on that train and ended up going to prison in another world. It was there that I met her, the love of my life, Mary. I was forced to leave her there when my prison sentence was up, and when I woke up on the train it was like nothing had ever happened. I ended up living my life in a pretty normal way. I graduated, got a job, started living on my own, became a member of society. The one thing I never did was fall in love. To me, no one could replace Mary. Our time together was so short, but that wasn't the end. It was only a few years ago that on my way home from work I saw her, I saw Mary. We can only be together for a short time on Halloween night, but its what I look forward to the most every year. Once a year I can see her face, kiss her lips, and hold her close.

Tomorrow is Halloween and as has become tradition once work ends I need to prepare. I always take Halloween off so the night before I have to do what I can. I’ve overheard the juniors talking about me never working Halloween. My boss doesn’t seem to mind, I suppose it would be mysterious to others though.

“Sakuragi? Hey Sakuragi you listening?”

“Ah.” Boss looks upset, I guess I was too caught up in work to notice her come in.

“It’s a good thing you are so focused on work Sakuragi but you need to listen when people are talking to you.”

“Ah sorry I was distracted, is something wrong?”

I suppose you could say that. You messed up on paperwork, again. Look I know you take Halloween off but I need you to come in tomorrow to fix this.”

What, but I can’t, It’s my only chance to see Mary. “S-sorry but I have plans I can’t really back out of, can it wait till monday?” The look on his face says no.

“Hmmm, look Sakuragi, I know you have plans with your husband or whatever but you have to take responsibility for your mistakes. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Even as he walks away there isn’t much I can say. I need to figure something out. I wish I could see her face right now. A husband or whatever huh. I guess thats what most people would think when they see a woman with two rings on her finger. I guess in a way they aren’t wrong, but I bet they would be surprised to see who has the other rings for the sets. I need to finish what I can tonight even if I have to stay late, who knows maybe I can get enough done I can still have tomorrow off.

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

It has been almost 40 years since I met her and we first started living together for a time. She left before I did and it seems like ever since I have been hunting a way to be with her, if even for a moment. 16 years ago I finally found it. I traveled so far, met and asked so many people. Finally I found a professor who showed me a way to see her. When conditions are met just right a door opens up and for one night I can go visit Japan. It’s a good thing I have this immortal body because then I can search for more doors to lead me to her. But even if I’m immortal she still ages a year everytime I see her. The professor has helped me look for so long and now I have it, a way we can be together. But, the only way is if she gives up everything and comes here. I can’t just do that to her. Even if my life has been at a standstill she has lived hers. I’m sure she has a life that she wouldn’t want to just abandon.

Its only a few hours before before the door to her world opens. I can’t help but feel afraid. A year is a long time to be apart, what if she doesn’t want to come see me anymore. What if she can’t, if she is in the hospital or worse. I shake my head to try and get rid of these thoughts but they are persistent. I live to find her, but that doesn’t mean she live to be found. The marble in my hand is cold to the touch. Who would have thought all it takes is something as small as this to reverse a door. She would have to leave every time Halloween comes and go back to her world, to the life she would have to leave behind. I carefully stow the marble in my bag. Time to question myself is up. Time to see her.

Before I even get the chance to get used to the darkness on the other side of the door I’m back to an unfamiliar world. Her world. By now I’ve memorized the path to the park that we meet up at, but when I get there something is wrong. Where is she? I walk around the park a bit but I can’t find her. I was right, she doesn’t want to see me anymore. That or she is gone and I’m not sure what is worse. All I can do is slump on a bench and cry.

“Why? Why didn’t you come this time? I finally found it, a way for us to be together again. I’m sorry it took me so long. I’m sorry you had to wait so long. Why wasn’t I faster, more diligent in looking? Please some back so I can take you away with me, so we can live together forever. Akari, please show up.”

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

As I hit the alarm to wake up I can’t find the energy to get out of bed. I didn’t manage to get all my work done yesterday let alone what i messed up the day before. What do I do? The clock shows 6am, if I get to work early and work through lunch I should be able to make it. Mary can’t even come till night anyway. I can do this. I can take care of work and see Mary, I just have to work hard.

Or so I thought. It seems like this mountain of paperwork is never ending. To make matters worse it looks like I made a few mistakes yesterday as I was trying to get through as much as I could. I’ve been at this for about 6 hours already. I don’t even need to look up to know my boss is watching me like a hawk. I always make mistakes. As a kid, as a teenager, as an adult. I messed up so much even when I was in the other world prison. It’s been a while since I’ve thought of them. I wonder if everyone is still together even after they got released. Something tells me Chesha is still there. I wish there was a way to everyone again.

A glance at the clock makes my heart stop. 21:15. I’m late! I’m beyond late. I have to get there quick. I grab my bag and pull on my coat getting my boss’ attention.

“Hey, where do you think you are going, you still have work to do!”

“Sorry sir but I’m super late. I have to go now.”

His fist slamming on the desk gives me a start. Turning I can see how serious his eyes look.

“You think you can just make a mess of things and leave it at that? You didn’t even clean your desk up. Unbelievable. Someone who makes as mistakes as you being so brazen, you are hardly a fit for this company. If you want a future here you will sit back down and finish your job”

“Then I quit.”

I’m not sure what he yelled after me as I ran out of the building. It doesn’t matter. What matters, the only thing that matters is that I made Mary wait. It only takes me about 10 minutes to get to the park and another 3 to find her on a bench. I thought she was asleep at first but as I got closer I could hear her crying and my heart fell. I knew this was my fault. I should have just skipped work instead of just trying to make everything work out. As I got closer I could hear what she was saying quietly to herself.

“...faster, more diligent in looking? Please some back so I can take you away with me, so we can live together forever. Akari, please show up.”

“M-Mary?”

I’ll never forget the look on her face. Tears rolling down her patchwork face, eyes red from crying, but most of all, her eyes that looked at me with such despair and longing.

“A-Akari”

I threw my arms around her as she cried into my shoulder. We must have stayed like that for an hour, or at least what felt like an hour.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. I tried to make work happy and still see you but I kinda blew it.”

She shook her head as she dried her tears. “I’m sorry, I should have had more faith in you.”

“So, what's this about you taking me away?”

The look of surprise and embarrassment she shot me made me smile.

“You heard that?”

“Yup.”

Without a word she took a glass bead out of her bag and showed it to me.

“This lets you reverse a travel door. We could be together but…”

“But what? What’s wrong?”

It looked like she really didn’t want to tell me but eventually she spoke up.

“It’s only to my world, you would have to leave everything behind. I can't ask that,”

“That’s fine

“What?”

I placed my hand on hers and gave a gentle squeeze.

“It’s fine, so long as I can be with you it doesn’t matter where I go. I just want to be with you.

“But what about your life, your family, your job?

“My life here is lonely without you, I don’t really see or talk to my family, and I quit my job tonight.”

The look of astonishment on her face made me want to kiss her so bad.

“Mary, please take me with you.”

She started to cry again as we kissed. It felt like it had been a hundred years since the last time i felt her lips. We kissed for so long, afraid the other would disappear the second our lips parted. Her hands held my face to hers as I pulled her body closer with mine. Eventually we separated gasping for air. She held the bead out to me.

“So long as we touch this you can come back with me.”

I held her hand with the bead in between us. I loved the look in her eyes, and I’m sure she would say the same. In this moment and so many more to come, we share a look of love for one another.

“Akari, what do you want to do when we get there?.”

I stopped to think for a second. I want to do so much and see everything her world has to offer. I want to try and find my friends from the prison, I want to meet the people she has met since we've been apart. I want to see all the sights there is to see and explore everything I can. But the most important thing I want to do…

Our bodies got pulled in an instant and we were flung to the other side where a woman in a chair sat reading a book. As soon as she saw us she smiled and welcomed us home. On the other side of the door leaving the mostly empty building I saw a strange new sky. I leaned my body on hers and closed my eyes, listening to new sounds and smelling new scents.

“What I most want to do? I want to sleep in the same bed as you again. The same bed with the woman I love.”

[xx-thedarklord-xx]

Draco’s Emotional Uprising

As always, can be read on Ao3   

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                “Draco!”

                Draco groaned, wishing his head wasn’t throbbing. Merlin, how much did he drink last night? The night had started out decent, but soon went to shit when he caught sight of his ex-boyfriend at the Ministry charity gala. The twat was a temporary foreign exchange transfer from France, the exchange program was supposed to unite the wizard community as a whole and welcome the idea of unity between all societies of wizards and witches no matter the country.

                Christophe had been charming in the beginning. Dinners, dates and nights out on the town had been refreshing, especially considering the lack of people wanting to date Draco. Not too many ‘respectable’ people wanted much to do with him. The six years since the war showed him how long people could hold a grudge, not that he blamed them.

               With his reputation shattered, it was nice coming across someone who didn’t seem to care. It was nice having someone be there. At least for a while.

               Draco should have known it was too good to be true. After six months of dating, he thought they were really going somewhere. Christophe had decided to leave the exchange program in favor of applying for a position in the Wizengamot Administration Services. Normally, that wouldn’t be allowed, the Wizengamot had rules against those who were not citizens of the United Kingdom holding a seat in the Wizengamot. But the Malfoy line had several unused seats, and with Draco giving up his own, it opened opportunities for Christophe.

               Only… Draco hadn’t counted on Christophe leaving him too.

               “I got what I wanted, Draco. You are only useful in what you can do for me, not the other way around.”

               Christophe had chosen him because of his tarnished name. It had never been about love, or attraction. With the seat already being given to Christophe, there wasn’t anything Draco could do. All that was left was waiting for the Wizengamot to make a decision. And why wouldn’t they choose Christophe? The man was a spineless git that sucked up to everyone. They wouldn’t see his true intentions until it was too late. Just like Draco.  

               What stung the most was that Draco knew that there was something off about Christophe. His lonely heart had ignored the warning bells and chose companionship over logic and common sense.  

               Maybe karma was meant to hit him socially and emotionally. Perhaps he was destined to spend the rest of his life making up for his actions but be alone and miserable at the same time.

               “Draco!”

               Draco groaned, shutting out the sound of whoever was disturbing his sleep. Really, how much did he drink? It was hard to piece the night together; a lot of his memories were clouded in alcohol. When he had caught sight of Christophe trying to charm his way into a discussion with members of the Wizengamot, Draco ended up summoning a bottle of Firewhiskey from his bag—propriety be damned.

               If there wasn’t love involved, or even if there had been fights, Draco would have been hurt, but he would have at least understood. But to use someone like that? Only seek them out for personal gain? It was cruel, and Draco wished he could say that he didn’t deserve it.

               “Draco Abraxas Malfoy, if I have to dismantle your wards, you are getting nothing from my will.”

               The sound of his father’s voice had Draco leaping up, only to groan miserably when his head throbbed, and his balance had him clutching the nearest thing to keep him steady. What he hoped was the wall was actually thin air—Draco crashed to the floor, wondering if this was his destiny. To be a fucking mess.  

               Draco shot out his hand, grateful that his wand came instantly. At least his wand loved him, that was something.

               With his wards lowered, he heard the door to his flat open, and braced himself for the commentary he knew would come.

               “For the love of—really Draco? Artificial leather? You have money, use it. And what’s with the color scheme? Is that—oh Merlin it is—floral print? This is worse than I thought. You need to move back home. Clearly allowing you to venture out on your own was a mistake.”

               “I’m an adult,” Draco yelled, still laying on the ground, not bothering to care enough to move. He had chosen his furniture knowing it would haunt his parents. Petty spite did wonders for the soul.

               “Are you? Because your actions prove otherwise.”

               Draco sighed, not ready for another lecture. It was too early for this—he squinted at the clock, wincing when it showed it was six in the evening. It was too late for this.

               “I was woken up this morning by six firecalls. Six. Draco do you realize how influential you are to getting the Malfoy name back into a proper standing?”

               The sound of cleaning charms had Draco huffing. It wasn’t that dirty. Sure, the dishes could be done, and perhaps the trash was a week overdue, but he didn’t need his father cleaning up after him.

               “Nothing will get the Malfoy name to be respectable,” Draco mumbled low enough that his father wouldn’t hear it. That would just make the lecture longer.

               “You caused a scene at the gala. So much so, that they called in Aurors.”

               Draco winced, trying to recall that. There were flashes of fancy robes, horrified faces and then green eyes. He groaned when he realized that Potter must have been the Auror on duty. Lovely.

               “Do you—” An incredulous noise left his father’s mouth as he stopped at the entrance to Draco’s room.

               “What the fuck did you do to your hair?”

               Draco would have been impressed with the expletive, since his father was too proper to do anything common like swearing, but he was too distracted by the question.

               “What? Is it a mess? I just need to brush it.” Not that he could remember where exactly his brush was. Did he own a brush? Goodness, much more of that and he could be Potter’s twin.

               When his father continued to stare, Draco summoned a mirror.

               A squeak left his mouth when he caught sight of his reflection. The sides of his head were shaved, and he had a choppy wild mane on the top. The hair on the top was randomly cut in places, and he wondered if someone had done the haircut blind.

               Draco bit his lip, forcing himself to think back. After leaving the gala, he flooed to Greg and Neville’s flat. Which is never a promising idea, the two were the worst friends possible—always convincing him into stupid endeavors.

               “I want it gone,” Draco remembered telling that to an equally drunk Greg.

               “I can cut it, but I’ve only got Nev’s hedge trimmers.”

               Another once-over had Draco biting his lip. “It’s not bad,” he hedged hesitantly. “I can pull it off.”

               “That’s not the point,” his father drawled, impatience heightening the harsh tone. “Why did you cut it?”

               “He loved my hair long,” Draco whispered, eyes on the ceiling as he refused to look at his father.

               “Draco, it’s just a breakup.”

               Draco scoffed. Easy for him to say. It wasn’t his father’s broken heart. He wasn’t the one left a mess, he wasn’t the one who had to come home to an empty flat every night wondering where it all went wrong, or how simple naivety had clouded all common sense.

               “You need to start acting like the respectable pureblood that you are.” Draco closed his eyes, tired of the disappointment in his father’s voice. “Appearances are everything. It doesn’t matter what fickle emotion you feel, what matters is how you look. Hide all of this behind a glamour and move on. I raised you better than this. Malfoy’s don’t fall apart.”

               “I can’t do that.” Draco sat up, fighting a wave of nausea. “I’ve spent my whole life hiding everything. Malfoy’s aren’t supposed to be kind, Malfoy’s aren’t supposed to associate with lower classes, Malfoy’s are supposed to be regal at all times, Malfoy’s don’t show emotions, Malfoy’s save face at all costs—”

     Draco took a deep breath, air coming in as a gasp. “Well, fuck being a Malfoy.” A quick glance showed his father’s mouth open a few centimeters, the closest thing to gaping as his father could get.

               “Father,” Draco ran his fingers through his hair, reveling in the difference between the sides and the top. “I’m not okay. He broke my heart, and I don’t know how to emulate it any other way than destructive. Malfoy’s aren’t supposed to be like this, but I’ve repressed so much for so long that I need to express myself. I need to be someone other than just a Malfoy.”

               They stared at each other, neither wanting to give in. “It’s just a breakup.”

               Disappointment filled Draco as he stood up, gesturing for his father to leave. “No, it’s more than that. It’s an uprising—an emotional uprising where I find myself again.”

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               “Let’s get revenge.”

               Draco looked at Neville, surprised that he was the first one drunk, not that he wasn’t on his way there himself. “Revenge? How so?”

               He knew that no matter what Neville said, there was no way he was listening. Neville would never stop being a Gryffindor. If it wasn’t for Greg’s relationship with Neville, he would wonder how they could be friends. But only a few times around him was enough to show how loyal he could be.

               “We could set his house on fire.”

               Draco threw an alarmed look to Greg, silently demanding his friend fix this. Were all Gryffindors this crazy?

               Greg huffed in amusement. “Neville, love, that’s too adventurous. How about we tone it down?”

               “Oh,” Neville whispered, voice in awe as he blinked rapidly, alcohol dimming his normally kind aura. “We could send him a howler?”

               “Too tame,” Draco countered, shaking his head. Revenge didn’t actually sound so bad.

               “I don’t know what you want from me!” Neville cried, arms reaching out for Greg.

               Draco raised his hands placatingly when Greg glared at him, as if drunk Neville was somehow his fault.

               “Maybe we could set his house on fire,” Draco said, a shot of Firewhiskey and two large gulps of Elvish wine making the decision for him.

               “What?” Greg asked incredulously as Neville cheered loudly.

               “Maybe just his lawn?” The offer had Neville frowning, but at least he wasn’t crying.

               “I’m not drunk enough for this,” Greg whispered, exasperation bleeding through.

               Neville grabbed the Firewhiskey off the table. “I can fix that!”

               “That’s not what I mea—” Greg sighed as Neville smiled earnestly, eyes wide and hopeful. “Thank you, Neville.”

               Even in his intoxicated state, Draco knew that Greg was smitten.

               “Let’s make bad decisions.” Greg lifted his glass in a toast.

               “Already did that,” Draco jeered, joke falling flat as his mind went back to Christophe.

               “Fire, fire, fire,” Neville chanted, hands hitting the table as they all took one more round of shots.

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               In hindsight, being caught wands out and no alibis as Aurors showed up, really wasn’t the best decision. How were they supposed to know Christophe had backup wards? Honestly, it was a miracle they managed to tear down the original in their state.

               The fire was still going, and that was Draco’s greatest accomplishment to date. He watched Weasley attempt to wrangle it in with difficulty. Revenge on Christophe and manage to annoy Weasley? It was a great end to the day.

               Well, other than being caught.

               “What were you three thinking?” Potter looked between them, brows arched when they all looked at each other.

               Neville huffed, hands coming to his hips. “Harry, Draco is worth twelve of Christophe!” An angry finger was pointed to where Christophe was being questioned by an Auror.

               Draco wasn’t sure what exactly that meant. Why 12? Oddly specific? Only 12? Why not 50? Or a 100?

               By the way Potter softened, eyes glancing towards Draco, it was clear that he understood the reference. “Is he now?”

               Neville nodded fiercely, hiccup escaping. “He hurt Draco and that’s not okay.”

               When Greg nodded along, warmth filled Draco as he stared at his friends. He could honestly cry.

               A familiar harsh scoff had Draco tensing. “This just proves how imbalanced Draco is.” The accented tone had Draco clenching his fists tightly. “Always knew you were mad, if only I could have ended the relationship sooner.”

               Draco closed his eyes, wishing that a confrontation didn’t have to happen while he wasn’t sober.

               “I almost had your Wizengamot seat a month earlier, but you were holding out, wanting to mean something to me.” When Christophe snorted, light brown hair falling into his face, Draco took a step forward.            

               “As if you could mean something to—" Draco punched Christophe in the face, hard enough to have him taking several steps back.

               Draco wrung out his hand as the sound of Neville and Greg cheering could be heard. “I am worth 12 of you. I may be tarnished, and not whole, but I didn’t deserve what you did.”

               The truth of his own words had Draco pausing, a revelation taking place. He hadn’t deserved it. “I deserve someone who wants me for me. I deserve love just as much as the next person. And I deserve to love myself.” By hell, he was going to. Draco was done caring what other people thought. If society wouldn’t forgive him, then he would forgive himself and go from there. Fuck everyone else.

               Christophe clutched his face, breath coming out in quick successions before he rounded on Potter. “Aren’t you going to do something about this? They come to my home and set fire to my lawn. I then am physically attacked, with witnesses.”

               “Witnesses?” Potter asked, eyes narrowed and voice hard. “Goyle, Neville, did you happen to see anything out of the ordinary?”

               “No,” Goyle grunted, smirking when Christophe made an indignant noise.

               “Only a Nargle,” Neville offered grin on his face and eyes tracking what Draco assumed was a Nargle, whatever that was. They may be friends, but Neville wasn’t exactly normal—a symptom of spending too much time around Lovegood.

               Potter snorted, shoulders shaking with barely concealed mirth. “Unfortunately, the fire is still going and therefore not something that can be explained away.”

               Christophe made a noise of triumph, hands folding over his chest.

               “I am afraid you three will have to pay a fine.”

               “Yeah,” Christophe nodded in agreement. “Wait, a fine? They set my lawn on fire.”

               Potter bit his lip, something Draco was keenly aware of. “As negligent as their accidental magic was, it was still just an accident. Right guys?”

               “Absolutely,” Greg spoke up, hand not so subtly covering Neville’s mouth when he started to shake his head.

               “What?” Christophe’s tone was becoming increasingly louder. “You can’t just let them get away with it!”

               “Everything alright over here?” Weasley asked as he walked over, eyes looking around closely. His robes were singed, and Draco was pretty sure part of his right eyebrow was burned off. It really was a lovely night.

               “Yes,” Potter turned to Weasley, eyes shifting slightly, probably expressing something Draco couldn’t read. “The fire was a result of accidental magic. They are being charged with property damage due to negligent magic.”

               Weasley arched his brows incredulously as he looked down to his ruined robes. “Alright. Less paperwork for me. I buy it.”

               Draco grinned when Christophe gaped. His smile grew when the arse stormed away, angrily cursing in French.

               Neville whooped loudly, pulling Draco and Greg into a group hug. “I love you guys.”

               “I love you too,” Draco whispered, holding them tightly. “Both of you.” He knew that Potter and Weasley were watching them, probably not understanding their friendship, but that was alright.

               Neville was the adventurous one, Greg was the voice of reason and Draco was along for the ride. He didn’t need romance to form bonds. Friends helped emotionally, and it was already a fact that Greg and Neville were the best friends he could have.

               Romance wasn’t something he wanted to settle on. He was going to love himself first.

               When Neville and Greg began making out, Draco hastily took several steps back. Their friendship wasn’t that close.

               As Draco caught sight of Potter staring at him, he could see interest in those beautiful eyes. A wink had his cheeks heating up. Despite this, Draco knew it wouldn’t be fair to Potter if they began anything with Draco still needing to sort himself out.

               Draco walked towards Potter, aware of the way Weasley made a hasty retreat. “Thank you.”

               Potter grinned slowly, eyes traveling Draco’s face. “It was my pleasure.”

               The urge to forget his new restraint was prominent, but Draco knew he had to remain strong. “Potter, once I gain some emotional stability and become less of a mess, do you think I could—that we could—” Draco huffed as he closed his eyes. “When I find myself again, would you want to go out with me?”

               Potter’s grin became goofy, something that clearly hadn’t changed since their school years. “I’d love to.”

               Draco’s eyes closed again as Potter leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

               “As long as you don’t start any more fires.”

               A startled laugh left Draco as he watched a sparkling shine to Potter’s eyes manifest.

               Draco continued to watch Potter, even long after he left to talk with his co-workers.

               “Looks like the fire was a great plan.” There was a smugness to Neville’s voice that hadn’t been there when he was first introduced to their duo that quickly became a trio. Draco couldn’t be prouder.  

               When Potter paused at the gate, sparing one last smile for Draco, he couldn’t help but agree with Neville.

      “It sure was.”

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

               Draco paused at Potter’s office, unsure if he could do this. It had been a few months since the night on the lawn, and he wasn’t sure if Potter was still interested. They had maintained correspondents, but that was all friendly, never straying into anything that could be considered romance.

               The door opened instantly when Draco knocked. Potter was poring over folders and parchments. When he cleared his throat, and Potter glanced up, Draco smiled at the way Potter’s eyes widened.

               “Draco,” Potter sounded breathless and that had Draco’s heart racing.

               “I wanted to say thank you,” Draco said, wishing Potter’s robes didn’t fit him so tightly. Merlin, it was a distraction.

               “For what?” Potter’s head was cocked to the side endearingly.

               “Getting my seat on the Wizengamot back.” Draco had received several howlers from Christophe blaming him for an internal investigation that ended with an expulsion from the foreign exchange program.

               “I don’t know why you are thanking me.” There was a mischievous twinkle in Potter’s eyes and it had Draco biting back a grin.

               “Word around the Ministry is that you have an in with the Wizengamot Administration Services. Granger just happens to be the next in line to become head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Interesting coincidence?”

               Potter laughed, before shrugging. “I may have talked to her. It was the least I could do.”

               “Thank you,” Draco said, conviction thick. “The least you could have done was nothing, but you didn’t, and that means a lot to me.”

               Draco wanted to squirm when Potter regarded him warmly, chin resting on his palms. “Is that all you came here for? A simple thank you could have been put into a letter.”

               Whoever said Potter wasn’t observant was a liar. Draco shifted on the soles of his feet. He took a deep breath before locking eyes with Potter.

               “I’m still kind of a mess,” Draco began, fingers twisting the sides of his robes. “My house is still in need of several cleaning charms, my furniture has grown on me, I even like the floral print—Merlin knows that will give my father a heart attack.” Potter tilted his head to the side as Draco rambled, and he knew he was rambling, but it was all coming out regardless.  

               “My emotions aren’t ever going to go back to how my father wants. I still want to cause scenes at Ministry functions. The thought of biting my lip to save face like my father wants makes my skin crawl. I want to be loud, I want to be able to express myself and I just want to be me.”

               Draco let out a soft sigh. “I’m not sure how long it will take me to be comfortable with who I am, but I’m getting there. I love myself more than I used to, and I know in a year, I will love myself more than I do now, and that’s progress—progress I can live with.”

               Potter was grinning, eyes lit with many things Draco couldn’t name.

               “I might always be a mess,” Draco continued, voice coming out quietly. “But this mess is my own doing, not a side effect of someone else’s cruelty. That’s enough for me.”

               Potter stood up, making his way towards Draco. “I’m a mess too, I think everyone is.” There were only a few inches separating them. “But I would like to be a mess with you, if you want?”

               Draco threw his arms around Potter, sighing when strong arms wrapped around him. “I want that. I do.”

               As Draco tilted his head back, eyes searching Potter’s, he knew that he would always have things to sort out, always have to be mindful of his self-worth, but that didn’t mean Draco had to go it alone. And as Potter said, everyone’s a mess.

               So why not embrace it?

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

This is for my second prize winner in the giveaway. @ironlilyflower this is for you! It was supposed to be 2k words but it ended up being 3600 words. I really do suck at limiting myself. 

In case anyone noticed, or was curious. This was actually inspired by a song. Mama’s Broken Heart, by Miranda Lambert. 

[axelvincent]

Relationships and digital : How does digital is transforming our relationships?

It’s estimated that by 2040, 70% of the couple will have met online. With the development of new communication media, it seems that is has never been easier to have relationships between humans. The applications like Her, Tinder, Grindr, Hornet or the french Happn are the most used in the world.

However, according to an American survey, from 1991 to 2017, the pourcentage of high school students who had sex dropped from 54% to 40%. For Jean M. Twenge, a psychology professor at San Diego State University, she notes that "today’s young adults are on track to have fewer sex partners than members of the two preceding generations. People now in their early 20s are two and a half times as likely to be abstinent as Gen Xers were at that age; 15 percent report having had no sex since they reached adulthood.” Many researchers argued that it could be the consequence of economic crisis, anxiety rates, environmental estrogens leaked by plastics or the vibrator’s golden age.

The reign of the individual

With the applications, many young people engage in meaningless sex. André, a 35-year-old homosexual, admits in the Obs that since he has been using Grindr he “will no longer flirt in bars" because now he can "organise parties at home, with boys selected in advance". Applications have made modern man insensitive to chance, love encounters now seem to be an activity where everything must be calculated, prepared and organized to reduce the uncertainty of an encounter or the time spent finding the rare pearl. It looks like an episode of Black Mirror, where individuals in a fictional society trust an algorithm to find their lover.

What is also questionable is the ability of applications to determine which individuals would be likely to please us. The Tinder application, for example, chooses the different profiles according to a “ulgy/handsome" algorithm: those with the largest number of "like" profiles have a choice among their counterparts, while those with more "dislikes" have a limited choice. In addition, it offers paid services to increase the chances of a "match" between two users. Worse, the price of these monthly subscriptions is based on your sociological profile and is therefore more or less expensive, according to criteria defined by the application (from 10€ to more than 40€ per month!).

In Japan, which is a case study of sexlessness, 43% of the people between 18 and 34 years old were virgin in 2015. Yet, we have to consider that Japan is one of the first producer (with whole new genres such as bukkake) and consumer of pornography. It is also a global leader in the design of high-end sex dolls and they invented recently, onakura shops where men pay to masturbate while female employees watch. In an article, a expert says that “services that make masturbation more enjoyable are booming.” In Paris, in 2018, opened a brothel where consumers can rent silicone dolls for a few hours. It is already announced that soon, the latter will be equipped with artificial intelligence and some will be able to marry robots in 2050 according to the specialist in artificial intelligence, David Lévy.

Between 1992 and 2014, Americans men who reported maturbating in a given week doubled, to 54%, and the share of women tripled, to 26%. The easy access to porn is one of the key. For the conservative psychologist Philip Zimbardo, the “procrasturbation” as he call it, may lead young men to fail academically, socially and sexually. A similar claim is argued by Gary Wilson that masturbating to internet porn is addictive and causes structural changes in the brain.

In truth, these sexual practices are not necessarily harmful, but they testify to the gradual individualization of our societies. While talking to friends, some tell me that they use the term "market" when they use applications to find people with whom to have sex. It seems that love is intertwined with a more global phenomenon: the disenchantment of the world and the rationalization of human activities.

Love competition and the cult of performance

With applications such as Instagram, Tumblr or Tinder, we see the emergence of a phenomenon of competition between the different actors. Everyone must make their lives as interesting as possible, have a muscular body, eat healthy and consume so-called "acceptable" cultural products. We often talk about "self-management". This culture of the superficial inevitably leads to uneasiness or psychological problems for those who wish to achieve these models but fail to do so. According to a survey of 10,000 students aged 12 to 20 from Ditch the Label, a British anti-harassment association, Instagram is the leading cyberbullying network.

Although social networks are not mostly places of moral harassment, they can create deep inequalities: for example, on social networks, redheads or fat people are highly discriminated. We are seeing the emergence of many dedicated services: packages for sports halls, body care products, make-up to enable many young people to have confidence in themselves. It seems that the capitalist system produces both people who are uncomfortable with themselves and also offers the cure which is paradoxal.

Dating sites are an easy solution for people in a relationship looking for an adventure. Almost 32% of French women in couples are unfaithful, compared to 55% of French men. According to several expert groups, the Internet is one of the reasons for the increase in the number of divorces. "What the Internet creates is the feeling that maybe there is something better waiting for us," says Eva Illouz. The competition even takes place within the couple, where or before, the couple lasted several decades. According to recent studies, the vast majority of couples no longer exceed 3 years of age.

Porn is a reference for a younger audience, lacking in reference points. With the performance criteria it imposes. This sexual liberation does not mean an increase in relationships, on the contrary. While the French had an average of 10 sexual relations per month in 2005, they now have only 8. Because, according to Wolfgang Schmidbauer, couple therapist, it is the injunctions to sexual performance that can lead to erectile dysfunction or libido disorders. Moreover, in a few years, porn has become a means of educating young teenagers. Everyone has access to it, sometimes they are very young. The representation of women is often deplorable and the male sexual imagination is often very violent towards them. The recent Me Too scandal and the large numbers of sexual assaults testify to this big problem (32,000 assaults on average between 2012 and 2018).

Towards a capitalism of love?

Finally, the central question of digital technology and our sentimental relationships lies in the ability of economic actors to take over our love lives. Indeed, with the multitude of individuals using the applications and all the data collected on each behavior, it is possible to achieve a very high turnover by selling visibility to the most desperate people. For many people, family and couple still represent a very important aspiration for life: only 14% of French people between the ages of 40 and 54 are alone today.

Moreover, the particularity of dating applications is part of the industry phenomenon. Indeed, the creation of profiles is not so much a natural construction as a mental and social construction of oneself. It shows one or more facets of our personality that we claim. This creation allows you to see if it is possible to be compatible with other people. What Tinder induces, for example, is that a person cannot contact another person if the latter has not given his prior consent. This construction of digital avatars is not necessarily harmful: sexual minorities have been largely normalized in recent years thanks to dating applications and their ability to find specific genders or people is a boom in their relationships. Internet reconfigures accessibility, how you can access and who you can access.

Today, more and more applications are appearing to find friends. People who feel lonely can share a meal or drink with strangers. There are also websites, especially in Asia where people pay "fake friends" to go out or just chat.

In the future, it is easy to imagine how the applications could be improved. With big data and artificial intelligence, perhaps it will be possible to find love with a success rate close to 100%. Moreover, capitalism will easily be able to interfere in this market where rating systems can be set up and where consumers will pay to see their ratings increase, etc. Is it again a revolution of love as the title of Luc Ferry's famous book suggested? To be continued...

[murderincrp]

PROFILE LOADED... 「KANG JIHYE」「SALVATORE」「TWENTY-THREE」

“Twenty-three-year-old SECOND-IN-COMMAND and STRIP CLUB OWNER that goes by the alias ‘VIOLET’. Her allegiance lies with SALVATORE.”

✘ THREAT LEVEL HIGH. PROCEED WITH EXTREME CAUTION...

WARNING: NSFW, PROSTITUTION, ADULT AGE GAP, PARENTAL DEATH, UNDERAGE SEX AND DRINKING.

[ BACKGROUND... ]

her father blames her mother for how she turned out, but it’s hardly the woman’s fault for dying during childbirth. from day one, the only authority figure in jihye’s life had been her father, an average man with an average tech support job in an average firm. the first fifteen years of her life are full of the word; her grades her average, her behaviour average, she's average — and she’s fed up of it. at fifteen, entering high school, she begins to rebel and it feels so good.

it starts small at first, just talking back to her classmates and teachers, or defacing school property. a couple weeks later, she starts a food fight in the cafeteria and people really start looking at her, noticing her and suddenly, she isn't average anymore. suddenly, boys are confessing to her, girls are begging her to take them under her wing, spill her secrets to clear skin and the sweet smile that makes all the boys swoon. she's popular and it feels so good.

a few months later, she discovers at a birthday party that she really enjoys dancing, and using her connections within the school grounds, she manages to bribe a sweet boy into teaching her a few different styles— hip hop, ballet, jazz, none of them quite took to her like the dances she saw on television. she wanted to be like the girls on the big screen, swaying their hips and showing the world that girls are a forced to be reckoned with, so she’d barricade her bedroom door and practice and practice and practice until she couldn’t stand any longer, and maybe her grades slipped a little below average, but her movements were so fluid, so perfect. she’d found something else in which she’s above average, and it feels so good.

with her school behaviour worsening, her popularity growing and her love of dancing at an all-time high, it’s only a matter of time before she begins to party. she’s only sixteen but a fake id and a push-up bra can get you in any of the shadier clubs in the city and she’s dancing the night away. between it all, she begins to date; boys have been confessing to her for a year now and all she has to do is say yes, so she does — to a few. she takes their first kisses, basks in all that they’ll do for her at no more than a sweet smile as she asks, and for some, she even takes more, unapologetic as she explores all the new sensations that come with being the young adult she seems to believe she is. alcohol usually buzzes in her friends’ systems more than her own, but maybe she and a girl friend are both a little drunk on something when they push one another against a toilet stall wall one night and experiment a little further than she expects, but she can’t find herself regretting it when it feels so good.

as graduation nears, she can’t imagine herself ever doing anything but dancing in clubs. not strictly partying per se, as even in the early stages, jihye had seldom touched alcohol, but to stand before a crowd of people and dance gave her a rush she’d only felt a few times before and she wanted more. it only made sense that the second she left, she sent applications in to local clubs and began looking at rough apartments to leave her disapproving father behind. she loved him, or at least she tried, and she can’t really blame him for never having too much interest in her beyond scolding her — after all, from what she knew, she was spitting image of her mother. so it’s not difficult to move out a month later, a high paying job with fantastic tips under her belt ( quite literally ) and her whole future ahead of her. she’s only getting started, but already, everything in her life feels so good.

a month on and more opportunities begin to pop up. she knows about the side jobs of many of her fellow dancers at ‘blue night strip club’ and whilst she’d never had apprehensions, she’d also never really thought too much about dabbling in anything else herself. the private back rooms had always been an area she’d passed on her way to the dressing room, never really thought much of besides how well the music masked the noise, but the first time she’s invited back, shown the lump of cash she’ll take home for doing so, she’s more eager to please than she’s ever been. maybe it’s not the best night she’s ever had, but it’s the richest and soon, she’s hooked — that kind of money to a girl who’d still always been financially average feels so good.

mid-august 2012 has her drawing a man into the private rooms, a hand travelling up his thigh when he reveals he’s from a gang called salvatore. she knows she’s slept with gang members before, recognised the symbols inked onto damaged skin, but she’d never made a big deal out of it. after all, being a criminal didn’t mean you were immune to a pretty girl or hormones, but she’d also never had anyone outright tell her like this either. she stops and he creates some distance. “we want you to join us,” he tells her, “we’ve been watching you a little while and you have so much potential, jihye. we’ll pay you more than you get here, and you’ll have more opportunities. you’ll be protected by the salvatore name and our members, and we’ll make a difference in this city — for better.” and whilst leaving is bittersweet, jihye can’t resist the temptation of more — more money, more power and more chances — and anything that she can do to contribute to making this dangerous city a safer place for the generations to come, she’ll do. so she signs up, swears her loyalty and strips down for her first night in a salvatore club, swaying her hips to the beat and sleeping on the million won she takes home at the end of the week, and maybe it’s a little uncomfortable sleeping on paper but the empowerment feels so good.

in the end, she prefers her escort title to prostitute. they tell her she doesn’t need to have sex with her clients, just to lure them in and draw out all their secrets but the sex is half the fun and jihye likes to keep them sweet. she rises through the ranks over the years, her determination and willingness to do just about anything helping her to become one of salvatore’s most prized manipulators. she’s on the speed dial of too many powerful old men to count, and holds the darkest secrets of them all, too — this ceo has an agreement with black lotus, and this lawyer is hiding her homosexual affair from her husband, and that young and upcoming politician has a slave leia kink, and all of this power feels so good.

november 2017 sees her promoted to second-in-command after a high profile assignment bringing a fashion magazine ceo’s affairs with vanguard to the spd after a long battle to gather enough evidence to put him away for good. she takes to the position almost immediately, stepping down almost entirely from her previous roles, only working them when she’s needed or boredom strikes a little too hard. it’s strange, having so much time to herself, and at first, it’s lonely, but with friends around her, a strip club of her own and an abundance of money, life feels pretty damn good, really.

[ BEHAVIOR... ]

above all else, jihye is flexible. for years, she has always been whatever she needed to be— whatever you wanted her to be. satisfying only the fantasies of others has never been dissatisfying to her, because jihye has never felt so empowered than whilst benefiting from the weak wills of men and women with too much cash. having been ‘average’ in every sense of the word for the first fifteen years of her life, upon discovering what she could do with so little effort, her entire world had opened up and jihye doesn’t regret a thing.

still, with wealth and power comes a complex — jihye doesn’t thirst for complete control ( a fact that is easily discerned from the state of her homely studio apartment ) but instead feels defensive at the impression she gets that others find her path to her current status dirty. she often finds herself desperate to prove her worth and to defend her somewhat former line of work; a weakness that is easily manipulated by anyone who knows her long enough to know her history. still, it is this burning passion that can also serve her as a strength. jihye does very little without her full effort, and refuses to back down without a fight. sometimes, she’s a little too headstrong, but she believes salvatore will stand behind her whenever she needs, so rarely backs away from a fight even if she is bound to lose on her own.

jihye finds herself fond of people reasonably quickly, but her actions in showing it are not always the most conventional. in most cases, she is more likely to bail you out of a tricky situation than offer you a comforting hug, but she does get easily invested in the lives of those she cares about, and likes to keep up-to-date with their almost every move. she excuses it as wanting to make sure no one is backstabbing her, but the truth is that she’s protective; especially of those who are discriminated against by society in the way she has been.

whilst in her new position as second-in-command, she is critical but understanding. she is quick to point out flaws in your movements and methods, but will always praise your achievements and strengths also, and consider circumstances before, during and after your assignments. she is, in a way, easily trusted as a senior; someone who regards herself more as a friend or mentor than an untouchable and intimidating boss. however, everything else considered, can you really trust that her intentions are pure? truthfully, she cares about salvatore more than anything else in the world, but she lest let it known too well, or let it become another weakness that is far too easy to manipulate.

overall, old habits die hard, and whilst jihye now is a businesswoman and a second-in-command, she is also undeniably still many of the traits that have gotten her this far. playful, charming and manipulative, jihye will be whoever she needs to be to get what she wants; even slave leia ( once upon a time ).

[talkingtomyselfandotheroddities]

YELLOW MEADOW (a short story)

Have you ever thought that you could become... a sacrificial lamb? Yeah. Neither have I. But here I am...

* * *

I had this recurring dream. Always the same. Started when I was six, maybe seven. I know, because I drew it and brought it to school. I misunderstood the project. I wasn't supposed to draw that kind of dreams. I guess it was supposed to be candylands, new bikes, rainbows, unicorns, dolls. Not a yellow meadow. With red river in the middle. Well, it wasn't a river but a scarf. I was a kid and not every kid had mad drawing skills sucked with their mother's milk. The scarf was supposed to float, dancing in the wind. So I get why everyone thought is was a river. Especially that both meadow and sky were desert yellow.

So there it was: name, age and a note at the back that I had to see school's shrink. I didn't understand why. Neither did my mom. But they asked me to draw dreams again. And I aced it. Teddy bears, dolls and lollipop castle did the trick. I might have peeked at my best friend's drawing and listened my mom's whispered suggestions to show them how I loved lollipops so the would forget. And they did. Most of them.

There was this teaching assistant. He would look at me funny way (no, not like that you pervert). Like he knew something, but couldn't share. And I just thought he was weird with his greenish hair combed back and shining from some gel or whatever hair specific he used to make them this way. With his black plastic glasses, half framed. He said once they were “vintage” from 60s in Twentieth century...

Mama kept my drawing – she said it was pretty. But when I brought few more like this she told me to stop. Then she took the first one from the fridge's door. I was standing in the shade of the hallway and watched her. I wasn't sure back then but now I know I what I saw wasn't my imagination playing tricks. Tear on her cheek. It gleamed blue and purple. Then she noticed me and there was no tear. I thought it was the light that danced and reflected on her face. But there was nothing there that could do that. Now I know.

Then I dreamt another dream. That one only once. Yellow bricks shaped into ruins. On history classes teacher told us those were castles – Earth's ancient history. So I went through some books in the library, some data but I couldn't find anything similar to what I dreamt about. And none of them were yellow or this particular hue. The images of that dream haunted me for long. It was more nightmare than a dream. My scream woke me up and at first I couldn't tell where I was. Sunny ruins left lingering cold sensation that cut deep through my bones.   

* * *

I was a very lonely teenager. With my scream I woke up everyone in the dormitory. In that particular boarding school it was believed that punishment was the best recipe to make upstanding citizens out of unruly kids. No one, especially teachers liked to be awoken in the middle of the night. So the sensation from the dream had been perfectly prolonged by iced cold “shower” in a form of a garden hose in the middle of the courtyard for everyone to see and then stone floor of the broom locker. Well, no more brooms there – just an empty, dark, damp and cold space. To think through wrongdoings, bad behaviour, etc.. I promised solemnly to respect others' rest shivering in soaked clothes. Promised to not to wake up others in such an awful manner (like I had any influence on that, but fine). Somehow I kept the promise. I didn't dream at all until my stay at boarding school was over.

Two years of deadbeat sleep later and grades screaming “average” I was done with the school. At least one of the subjects could, well would be better if I didn't ask too many questions. That's what the professor said. She added it was “NOW” that we were focusing on. The great present time and  well tailored society. I should have shut my mouth (you would think I've learned it by that point, I guess I was rather resistant). I asked about future. And I could have walked and locked myself in that broom storage myself right after last words echoed way too loud through the classroom. Kids' buzz ceased abruptly – sound cut off like when you put those headphones on, the ones you use in super loud places: airports, heavy duty or what I know. I saw her eyes burning with hatred so great I have never seen in my life, not even in my step-father's eyes when I didn't want to let go off my mom and go willingly into the bus taking kids to that goddamn school. I didn't want to let go, 'cause somehow I knew I would never see her again. I couldn't explain it. But I told her that anyway and I saw in her eyes that she knew that as well.

So the hatred was burning with red rage in professor's eyes, so before she spoke I told her I would go to principal's office and report my inappropriate behaviour.

'Vocabulary' she corrected me and I frowned. 'Purposeful dwelling on incorrect thinking process' she said and seeing my face she wrote the note telling me that she would know if I didn't deliver it to the headmaster. If she didn't say it I wouldn't know from the note, I couldn't tell. Her writing was somewhat challenging, especially when she demanded replies or corrections according to her notes under many assignments she loved to give.

They didn't lock me in the “broomstick” locker straight away. They called some board of shrinks and serious looking people. I was sat on the chair in square, grey and empty room. It was big, cold and the chair was in front of long table where six sets of eyes were watching me. They ran some tests too. But those people were there to ask me questions. Loads of questions. And in my head I had my mother's whisper about lollipops. I aced it again. Must have answered it the way it fit in their box. Because there it was: “broomstick” locker not something worse.

But before I was sent they scribbled and scribbled for what it seemed like ages, looking from papers every now and then, then they told me to wait outside for the decision. Then their verdict (that I didn't get to know) was attached to my files and grades sheet. Like it wasn't enough my English teacher lowered my final grade. I wanted to say it was out of the blue, but... There was this library incident and books 'unsuitable for teenagers'. I thought it was just one of those things adults say, the things their adults told them when they were discovering world and testing boundaries. One of those things teenagers simply do. I was very wrong.

Anyway, I didn't expect to get high end job. Not with common background and no money for internship/course fees... Well, bribes. But that word apparently was distorting the nature of this practice. Learnt it hard way. Of course. A clerk pushing papers would be something nice and well paid. I think some accommodation were one of the perks at some point, especially for exemplary service. But my big mouth wasn't something that was falling under 'exemplary' so nothing fairy secure or comfortable was in store for me. So this plus serious people's opinion about me and I landed as a server in the diner. Could be worse. And it wasn't bad all the time. Just when people were dickheads (so almost all the time). But let's face it: ambition gives strange courage to pick up on ones who are supposedly worse than you.

But sometimes... I listened to the stories so great it was hard to believe they were true. Stories about times when it was alright to dream a dream. Sad ones about times long gone. And a war that desolated half of the planet, because “humans are good in losing control”.

And then there was 'Preacher'. He wasn't one actually. Or maybe he was? No one knew exactly who he was. Just like where he came from or where he was disappearing when he wasn't coming to the diner. Then he was emerging after days of absence with handful of stories/ sermons said in voice strong as church bell calling people for a morning service. This voice stood in awful contrast to his ragged and hunched posture, scarred face and bushy beard. Kids either were scared of him terribly or were mocking him mercilessly. But he seemed not to notice. Focused on his mission given by no one. With madness as its driving force. He was walking opposites: he could be quite incoherent at times with no sense in words repeated viciously, then he talked about times when single mind mattered, when idea was a saving grace not enemy of the system. And times to come that would restore the balance between individual and masses. People were usually treating him as free entertainment, he was never aggressive, never caused problems. Every now and then I was giving away my shift meal, couldn't really do more for this poor guy. My pay wasn't the best but I was getting by. And he seemed bit embarrassed when I brought him meals but hunger was more powerful. It wasn't really a big deal and there was something wise and kind in his eyes. And his stories fascinated me. The more I heard the more questions I had. [And he answered as well as he could].

I still remember our last conversation. Every word of it. Sometimes I wondered if I could know back then what would happen. That it was the last one.

- Dreamers... - he started lazily looking outside the window. At first I thought he was referring to the traffic, oddly fascinated by it. But then he pointed at bits of the sky between buildings. It was so... blue. Intense and vivid like precious gem. The colour looked like perfect photo's paradise blue. Almost impossible. My thoughts started to float carelessly and suddenly he continued his thought. - … dreamers were allowed to dream back then, you know. - it wasn't a question. Strange statement. Had I bitten my tongue then I wouldn't be in deep now. But I looked at him but puzzled and said.

- I've got a dream that I was told to forget, bury deep...

- Oh? - he looked at me furrowing his brows, he listened so I carried on.

- Colours as intense as today's blue skies. But it's yellow and red that are so vibrant and strong... - I stopped startled, because there was something strange in his eyes. Madness? Total clarity?

- Tell me more. - he lowered his voice for the first time ever since I met him. I told him about the meadow, the anxiety that accompanied the vision. I hesitated for a second seeing him listening so intently, but then I told him about the yellow castle.

He was silent for a long while. So long that I started to feel absolutely silly that I actually told him all this nonsense. But then, again in whispers, he asked me

- Did you tell anyone about this? The castle?

- Not really, no. At school they didn't ask for details. They wanted me quiet... - I replied warily wondering where this was going.

- Good. Good. Most of them have already forgotten about the drawings by now... - he said more to himself than to me. Then he raised his eyes and looked at me. They were so bright blue, just like the sky that day. - You need to meet someone. He'll explain everything to you. But until I can get you to him you need to be the most ordinary, bite-your-tongue, eyes-on-the-floor girl. Do you understand? Promise me!

- Eeee... sure.

- No. Promise!

- I promise? But who's this person I have to meet? Why should I meet him at all? When? What is it?

- No, no. Not now. You drew enough attention to yourself. No more. He'll find you... When I tell him all about it, he will. - he lowered his voice even more. - You might know him, his face...

Conversation was interrupted when three people entered the diner. There was something off and odd about them, though I couldn't say what. Trouble. I didn't expect the turnout though. He told me to get up and get to the kitchen, he stood up and blocked their way. Pushed me towards the bar.

- Go! Through the back door, now! - he scribbled something on the napkin and shoved it in my hand. - Don't look back, don't stop until you get there. Hurry! Go! - I was confused, but there was something in his voice, this urgency that told me to not to ask questions and do what I'm told. I was by the kitchen door when I saw them rush towards the Preacher. Two of them grabbed him, third one turned towards me. Preacher raised his voice, bit hoarse but loud saying that the spark and idea will live on, that they would not surrender. When I was racing through the parking lot I heard two dull sounds. My brain was screaming scared, cause I knew exactly what it was but I didn't want to admit it. The levels of fear coursing in my body hit the newest high and adrenaline kicked in. it was enough to lose that guy in the alleyways. I slowed down when I realized that no one was chasing me. For now. My left palm's knuckles were nearly white, I closed my fingers so tight around the note they were numb. Straightened out the note, drenched in sweat, revealed the address. Ink partially wore off but I could still read it.

Suddenly the fear was gone and strange feeling came over me, calm and clear: a sense of purpose. And with it, a place to belong, maybe. So I focused on finding the address. And it wasn't easy to find. It was safer not to ask anyone for help so that didn't help.

I wandered around, trying to calm down and analyse, well over-analyse the situation. My whole life I was told to keep quiet, fit it and stop with the questions. Suddenly someone let me ask and tell all the things tumbling in my brain and he met his end faster than I could say 'bullet'. And after that I was supposed to dive in and trust a bunch of complete strangers. Not to mention that I had to tell them what happened. And no one liked bad news. Especially this bad. And they didn't know me – another reason to not to expect a warm welcome. I only hoped that I would be able to say anything at all when I finally find whoever 'him' or 'them' were before they decided I was one of the bad guys. I was lost in that stream of possibilities when I got the feeling I was being watched. When I looked around I didn't see anyone. Either I was getting super paranoid or I wasn't alone. I stopped to take a look at the piece of paper again. A proof that I wasn't going insane and I actually met the man. But maybe he was? What if they were just asylum workers who finally found him. Maybe the noise wasn't what I thought it was? What if...? I turned towards the alley to get to the building I thought it pointed at. I folded the note and put in into my apron's pocket. Breathe in. Breathe out. I saw a movement behind me but didn't get a second to react. There was a sharp pain at the back of my head. I fell onto the wall as a gasped from pain. Then everything went black.

I opened my eyes. What a relief... Or was it? I realised I was bound to a chair. Right after that thought scared the shit out of me the light was turned on and blinded me. I struggled helplessly to shake the rope off my chest and my wrists.

- Where did you get this address?! Who are you?! Who wrote this?! WHO ARE YOU?! - someone was shooting questions in a speed of a machine gun's series. I was blinking furiously and as soon as my vision adjusted to the light I saw the goddamn note lying in front of me at the table. Someone was repeating all the questions and few more. On and on. Then just: WHO ARE YOU?!

- I'm... no one. - I finally stuttered.

A punch was too quick and too strong to take a look at the person in front of me somehow hidden in the shade. All these questions. I had a headache. I couldn't focus. I closed my eyes filled with terror and fear. I shouldn't have come, I shouldn't have listened to that old man. I should have forgotten about that fucking dream... And it hit me.

- The old man said: 'Dream your dream'. - I said louder than I wanted and expected another punch. But silence fell after my words. I opened my eyes slowly. I could feel the gaze placed at me.

- Say that again.

- I... I met this guy. He was talking about things, dreams. So I told him mine. He told me to dream the dream and that I was to meet someone and... - my voice broke. - … he told me to run. - I stopped frightened that he would recognise in my voice I didn't say the whole truth. But there was silence again. Then the door opened and closed. I was left alone, trying not to sweat under the heat of the lamp and see through the shadows of the other side of the room. I tried to free myself again, desperately thinking that I wanted out of that place but then I thought I couldn't be sure there was anything good waiting for me outside. And what was the worst – I had no idea who was after me. As for 'why'... I learnt that there didn't have to be any reason, really. It could always be 'found' one, conveniently shortly before a brief trial. Suspicion of a crime or wrongdoings, something against the ruling party was enough for questioning. And it never ended just on the questioning. And system always (yes always) showed rightfully and truthfully, with conviction and everybody's good that a shadow of a stain was indeed a stain. Suspicions were uncovering hideous crimes...

Suddenly I didn't care about anything anymore. If that was it: there was nothing I could say or do to change it. I heard two voices outside the door. Then someone came in. I looked at the person that walked in. Those funny glasses...

- I know you... - oh, that was very smart. Great job me.

- I'm sorry for this... - he pointed at the ropes. - It's a...um... precaution. - he said somewhat embarrassed and freed me from the bonds. - The old man... What happened? To him? - he asked but there was an undertone in his voice suggesting he already knew.

- He... he listened and told me things, all the stories... And when he heard about my dreams he told me I had to meet someone. But before he explained some people came and dragged him out of the diner. He told me to run... - I explained quickly wondering if I could actually trust him. Probably shouldn't, maybe they played bad cop, good cop. But it didn't matter anyway. He knew about the yellow meadow. He saw the drawing. I looked at him as he sat down at the other side of the table. Funny – there were still green shades in his hair. His eyes were very tired now, worry wrinkles were telling the story there. He was still skinny, but his shirt's sleeves were rolled up and I could see his arms were muscular. Full of bruises and scars.

- There were shots. I think that's what it was... - I added quietly. He rested his forehead on his hand with very heavy sigh.

- He knew the risks. - he said more to himself than to me. Then he raised his eyes at me. He cleared his throat. - I know that in school they teach kids to trust the system and to not to believe, abandon the faith. But... this system is broken, it's evil. And you'll probably think I'm insane, but... there's a prophecy. A promise of a better world. We've been looking for so long, checking and analysing every available bit of it. Thoroughly, carefully. We kept track of few children. It was the start. But nothing came through. You see, we needed the second dream. We're losing. Somehow they have found us and tracked so many. Many lives were lost defending the idea of free will and dream. So it's very, very important... - he grabbed my hand. His eyes were burning with strange passion as he continued, squeezing my fingers more and more. - We need a win, people are losing heart and hope. In me. In our cause. So you need to be sure what are you're dreaming about! Do you hear me?! - he nearly shouted. And in the next second he was calm again. He let go off my hand. Mumbled 'sorry'. I massaged my wrist and fingers, frowned trying to understand what he thought I was and what was going on.

- I... I dreamt about a yellow castle. - I said quietly, ashamed. - It was nothing but a scary dream.

- Scary?

- The sense of fear was tangible. - I replied after a while trying to find right words, still it didn't really do the justice. It's been ages since I have thought about it. - The sun either was setting or raising. It was blood red with this gritty veil over it, like sandstorm. It was warm, but castle's stones were ice cold...

- How do you know?

- I was inside. My skin must have touched it. - I recalled the sensation and I shivered.

- Okay. Anything else?

- I think I was in pain. I woke up screaming, the hurt felt very real. And the surroundings, the castle they were like from another world. I mean, I didn't recognise strange constructs around it. Some sort of piles of metal maybe. But I don't really know because of that sand like pollution was blurring the vision. - I finished describing the dream. He was silent for a longer while.

- No.

I didn't understand at first, but then I knew exactly what he meant. It wasn't it. My dream was just a dream. And he looked so distressed.

- We lost...

- No! No! There must be something?!

- There's no more. Our resources are empty, our net is crumbling being hit by military forces...

- But we can surely give people hope somehow? Let me help. I'm new to all this. Maybe new perspective is all you need right now. Try finding new hiding places, reshuffle and then you can continue the search for The Dream. - I cried to him. These people needed a motivation to carry on. The old man died thinking they had a breakthrough. They needed to strike back, show the strength, avenged him, keep fighting so his sacrifice wasn't for nothing. He believed in change and it's been ripped from him. Let's take it back. I told him all these things until I was breathless. Where did these come from? Where did the courage came from to say it all out loud?

- You're right. You need to tell them that. Your enthusiasm and his martyrdom might be something to tip the scale our way.

- 'Them'?

- Yes! Everyone. They need to hear this. That speech can lift spirits, give people incentive. Maybe some ideas to fight this uneven fight will be born. Maybe it's not lost. You might be right... - he smiled slightly. His face looked so youthful for a split second. Then he looked at me like he just noticed me. - But you must be starving?! And you probably quite cold too. - Oh, yeah I was still in my uniform. There was no time for me to grab my jacket nor my backpack (so I had no money, no ID, nothing) and when I thought about it I didn't eat from breakfast. Who knew what time it was and how long was I in there.

He lead me out through hallway to another room. It looked like a storage – shoes, coats, clothes, loads of stuff. In better or worse condition.

- We share, bring what we can and help each other out. It's the only base that wasn't discovered yet. - he explained when I looked around. - Take what you need. I'll be back in few minutes, find you some food. I'll gather everyone. Introduce you. What you said to me was good. It was pure. - he left noiselessly. I've found trousers, boots, a coat. Tucked my uniform into the jeans, took off my apron. How weird I didn't lose it somewhere on the way, when I at work there was not a day without it being on the floor or when it was coming undone during peak times at my shifts when I had no way of fixing it. 

I figured I would wander around but I was almost knocked over by people rushing through. Then there were three more: two dragged an inert and bloodied man, yelling for help. I hurried after then not giving it a second thought. I entered something like a makeshift hospital wing. Not much medical equipment there, most of it outdated. There were three people tending the wounded. They had their hands full. The ones that ran in there put the man on the nearest cot. The doctor, I assumed, prepped quickly the station to operate. But it was all chaos around, so many people in need, in pain and not enough hands to help. Nurses were busy with others. I couldn't do anything for the old man but I could... I jumped towards cabinets and started looking for bandages, scalpels and any medical supplies that could be useful. Doctor gave asked for few things as he realised what I was doing. Frightened gasps mixed with tired sighs and angry grunts and conversations lapping into each other. But he didn't seem to notice the noise, he cut the clothes, removed two bullets and started swearing when he started to remove the third one. I guess that was what doctors called 'a complication'. Me muttered 'Press here' and stitched other wounds. His hands moved fast with experienced precision. Suddenly the patient started to seize and shakes were getting worse and worse. I knew it was bad. 'We're going to need blood!' doctor yelled to no one particular. Few people raised their heads, either nodded or stood up. I guess they volunteered.

- Okay, on three you're going to take your hands away and I will try to get that hot damn bullet out. - he said to me and it took me good few seconds to record it was directed at me. - On my count: one, two, three...  

Untamed stream of blood exploded as soon as I took my hands away. The reading on a very old machine and monitor went berserk. It was easy to see it was worse than bad. It just spiralled down. Suddenly the doctor was sitting on the guy doing CPR and trying his best to keep him alive. But I knew he was already gone – flat line and monotonous sound announced the sad truth. He started pounding on dead guy's chest on and on again. I tried talking to him to make him stop. But he was in a trance. I grabbed his arm then – he pushed me away. The despair, anger resonated within this gesture which sent me towards cabinets. It was so unexpected I couldn't catch my balance and I fell right onto them, knocked most of the surgical instruments, landed on the floor and hit my head on the cupboard's handle. The noise drew the attention: doctor's and everybody else's. I was a bit dazed but it didn't stop me from trying to get up. I heard 'Doc!' over me and green haired guy (shit, what was his name again? Did he even give me one?) picked me up off the floor like I was weightless. I stood up shakily. Pain in my skull and being a witness to senseless death brought tears to my eyes. Green Hair still held my arm in tight grip like he was afraid I would slip back on the floor. Doctor's face expressed utter horror as he realised what happened. But then it was replaced with something else.

- You... - he mumbled something else, then he raised his voice pointing at me. - YOU! - I took a step back not knowing what did I do to get this strange attention. Tears rolled through my cheek. I wiped them off not giving it a second thought. His eyes followed my gesture. I looked at my hand – there was blue-purplish trace. I frowned and reminded myself that I have seen that before. - You found... It's her... - he turned to Green Haired. People were staring, started to whisper and come closer. They seemed to be awaken from a slumber. But he was mistaken. I wasn't what he wanted me to be and this was taking way too dramatic turn.

- You're wrong. This is nothing. This... - I wiped all the traces of my tears quickly. - It must be some genetic mutation, weird condition that runs in my family, my mother... - he didn't listen to me.

His face brightened up lips that seconds before were a thin and tortured line revealed rather white and even teeth in an ecstatic smile. The finger pointed at me wasn't an accusation, it was a triumph. The grip on my arm strengthened. I looked at  Green Haired. His face expressed strange urgency, he wanted me to just go with it, put on the cape and became 'The Hero'. My heart, my mind were yelling desperately 'No!', but before I denied everything with firm statement I've became the fucking 'Face of the Revolution': the room full of hungry, exhausted, decimated people with voices full of fear became a roar of relief and an illusion of hope.

* * *

I tried telling them that it wasn't me they were looking for. That I was one of them, I wasn't special – it only cemented the fact that they chose the right one to adore, so humble in her ways. I tried to convince the Green Hair it wasn't fair on people, that it was wrong but he said that I re-lit the spirit, inspired more people to fight for their rights and who knew maybe there was no hero to be found anymore.

News travelled fast. Too fast. Soon 'The Hero' was worshipped citywide, zone wide. But I was a fraud. They told me I was destined to do great things but I never wanted people to die with my name on their lips. Because the acts of rebellion became bolder, more frequent. And all I wanted was for the 'dying' part to stop. The more rebel actions the more military responses. War rooms, strategies, distribution of propaganda, codes and secrets. Great expectations became greater. People were waiting. Waiting for me. I was supposed to know, supposed to end it all. How could I? I wasn't aware there was resistance until I met the Prophet. I was working in a diner, ignorant to the big game, cog in the machine. A nobody with big mouth. I didn't know shit about leading wars, but I could fight. Yes, I needed to fight. At the front lines, arm in arm with those naïve zealots hoping for better tomorrow. But no, I wasn't allowed. Apparently I was supposed to be protected. At all costs. I didn't like it. So I started to find ways to sneak out: one battle, diversion, extra pair of hands. And it only helped 'The Cause' when people found out. Oh, my courage inspired them again. But it wasn't the courage, it was desperation. I needed it to be over. I needed the right person in the right place. So whoever it was would do what had to be done to finish this bloodshed. The real one that would take the mantle and unite people, help them live lives they deserved. I voiced my concerns so many times, but Green Haired shrugged it off, Doctor wanted to give me pills. He thought the pressure was making me say these things. And I was afraid that one day they would realise that I was just a coward, ordinary citizen, caught in the conflict I didn't fully understand.

* * *

- RUN! - I yelled on top of my lungs. Small group of people that was with me dispersed in chaos, like gazelles that spotted the lion. Or rather sheep attacked by wolves. Lesser chance of survival. Mindless flock trying to get away. So lost without its shepherd. Paralysed by fear. I heard scared screams of those hit by bullets, the ones cornered. I couldn't let the die. Couldn't leave them even though fear was taking my breath away. Makeshift weapons, Molotov cocktails were not enough. I caught their attention, they listened and ran after me as we gained the distance from the military. I've sent distress signal so someone could fight for the captured ones. I spotted an abandoned warehouse and headed there so we could hide. It seemed to be perfect – loads of rubble, metal, concrete walls, plenty of doors and levels. I thought we were safe there. But then I've heard commands barked through the radio, the building was being surrounded and people with me started to panic again. I had to think fast. The plan formed in my head so naturally it scared me for a moment. Clear and cold as a morning rose after dawn's fog. I've noticed a passage to adjacent building. But we needed a distraction in order to get people safely to the other side. The enemies were at the door. I told them to stay out of sight, wait for my signal then run like hell without looking back. They hid and I waited by the stairway, the moment first soldiers appeared I slammed the door hard yelling to no one 'save yourselves!' I turned around to a swarm armed to their teeth. I couldn't see their faces, balaclavas covered their smiles of satisfaction when they realised who they have caught. But their eyes were emitting poisonous triumph, that shot through to me like a radiation. It made me sick. But there was no going back. No other way. I stood there trying to look defiant. They searched for weapons – I had none, we were on the scavenger mission, we didn't expect company on the landfill. Their commander approached and grabbed me by my throat. Lifted me of the floor slightly so my feet barely touched it. I started to struggle for air when he slurred, his voice distorted by fabric and microphone (?).

- We knew you would screw up eventually... Bunch of amateurs. - he squeezed my throat tighter and lifted me higher. Desperate whizz came out if my throat as my feet dangles helplessly. Then he released the hold and I fell onto the floor. They brought me to my knees,cuffed my hands at my back, barked something through their comms. I understood it after a while. 'Search the floors, burn it all, let the rats flee.' Knowing there was no one upstairs I smiled. A sense of serenity came over me, it would be over soon. I think I started laughing.

- What are you laughing about? Don't you believe we burn them alive?! - he lifted me off my knees, he was filled with rage. - You lost.

- Did we though? - I knew I shouldn't antagonise him, I still did.

- They'll be lost without you, just like before. They will crumble, they're weak without you. - his eyes shone with unhealthy passion.

- Without me... But who am I? Today it's me, tomorrow someone else. It's the idea... - I didn't manage to finish the sentence. My head exploded with pain of thousands of needles. I blacked out hoping that the sheep I left behind would know that right after I was dragged out of there and soldiers ran upstairs it was their cue to run.

* * *

Through my jaded mind, in half asleep state, a dream appeared and played:

My mother took me to see full moon. Not the ordinary one, a blood moon. A rarity. A sensation. Something both terrifying and fascinating for a four-year old. I loved night sky and stories she told me about stars and beyond. It was very strange summer day. The air seemed electric and forecast had a warning about high levels of pollution. Yellow. The air was yellow when we took the road out of the city. Heavy clouds seemed to be a prelude to something ominous. Cumulonimbus gathering all around. But she said it was alright. It would clear by the end of the day. The rain tingled my skin. Temperature was unbearably high. But it was slightly easier to breathe as soon as we left the city's infrastructure behind. It was warm – the rain. It was a disappointment. I really hoped it would be cold. It made the surroundings quasi tropical. It was salty. And yellow. She said it wasn't pollution. 'It's sand. Desert's sand. Nature's trying to tell us we're not holding Earth's reigns. But we never listen.' she said.

It did clear before sunset. Still skies had this yellow hue, it was cast strangely at everything around like a shadow. Including big old house with towers on each of four corners. I wasn't sure about its colour. It looked like it was painted white, but then maybe it was a sandstone? Sunset bathed it with light and it was vivid yellow...

I opened my eyes confused. My dream wasn't a dream. It was a memory. As my confusion grew I gained enough consciousness to remind myself about my sorry situation. Held captive, waiting for death. It kind of surprised me. I was still alive. Would they torture me? What was the plan? Public execution then? Oh, they loved a good show. Making an example.

But nothing happened. I was locked, fed. No one spoke to me, no one interacted with me in any way. Nothing. Then they started to move me around. The cold steel's feeling lingered long after the cuffs were taken off my wrists. When they put a bag over my head, shoved me into the car, when city streets became outskirts roads I figured that was my last stop. That they didn't need to be careful that someone would find out where I was kept. Even though I never wanted to be 'The Hero' I wished that the idea, that hope would fuel the rebellion and lead it to win. I didn't want it to end with me. That madness, cruelty, discrimination had to stop.

They dragged me out of the car after a long and bumpy ride. The pulled the bag off my head, sudden light's saturation blinded me so much I nearly landed on the ground. When my eyesight adjusted I noticed that the air was tinged yellow.

- Fucking sandstorms. - someone muttered. That was the first thing someone said around me since I was imprisoned. I couldn't be sure who said it. The visibility was actually quite low. There was a thin layer of dust covering everything around. As they dragged me through gravel path I've noticed strange rusty construct, winding up and wired up. The antenna. Well, if they wanted to broadcast the kill the storm was an issue. They pushed me to walked faster, little stones crunched under their boots and my feet were hurting. I looked around trying to see more of the building we were heading to. I regretted it instantly and gasped as I recognised it even though it was in ruins now. West wing was completely collapsed. But east tower stood tall and showered in sunshine. Yellow. The air was hot just like on the day we went to see that blood moon. Funny, I couldn't remember if we did see it. It wasn't painted. It was a sandstone. Very worn now. Time did the deed. Looking at these yellow ruins I felt deep horror coming over me. For the first time I started to resist. In hopeless effort to delay the inevitable I strained my muscles to counter their strength. I recalled stone's cold overpowering my body. The dream was a premonition.

My struggle was cut short – few punches were enough to shift whatever power I put into fighting guards off to being able to walk at all. I had trouble breathing: bloody nose and sand in the air would do that to you. Only by the front door I realised that they were filming already. The one who was recording showed teeth in mean smile as my struggle and poor state were thoroughly documented.

- Yellow castle. - I said slowly raising my head. I looked straight at him. - It was always a yellow castle. End of me, beginning of something... - sentence interrupted, powerful as ever. Pain in my head and neck. Darkness. Piercing cold sensation to wake up to.

I would never say that stone could be so cold. I could have guessed, after all those nights spent in that broom locker. Guy with a camera. Someone else. Talking.

- … human... nothing more... bleeds like everyone else. - he pointed at me. He talked about me. What did he mean? I tried to move. But metal clanked and echoed, my arms were heavy. It wasn't only the weight of chains pulling it down. I thought they were just numb at first, then pain hit all my receptors and I moaned surprised by this sensation. My eyes surely widened as I noticed slits running down my arms. Camera was pointed at me for brief second then they cut the feed. I heard people enter the room, couldn't see much. The only source of light was a window up high letting in thin sun beams through. It must have been one of the towers then. Someone lit a candle and put it at my feet. Oh, so dramatic. They seriously could have end the theatrics and finish it. Whispers turned into blurry buzz. I heard someone's voice over my ear.

- You'll be gone before this candle's flame dies. - I knew that voice. Pull from my veins distracted me and it took me a while to put the pieces together. People stood on four corners of my stone bed. I saw the red light, it was recording again.

- I... know... you... - I stuttered and strained to focus on what I wanted to say. But it seemed that words have failed me.

- Shut her up. - I have seen that strange passion before. Someone stood over me. I saw a glimmer on hidden in the shadow face. A blue-purple tear gleamed in the sunbeam..

- Mother? - couldn't say anything else as she put a gag in my mouth. My eyes watered. Her tear fell on my cheek and soon it mixed with mine in unnaturally coloured stream. The gag muffled my scream. The discovery. The betrayal. It made me want to cling to life. To understand. To uncover the truth. To expose them. The Green Hair, man of as many names as people he came across. My mother, silent supported as I was lead to believe, by people feeding me stories, people I thought I could trust, on the right side of the barricade... They stood there watching me helplessly trying to break the chains until breathless and exhausted I stopped silently accepting my fate. I shivered. Shiver turned into convulsive shakes. The stone, the fatigue, my blood flowing in scarlet ribbons from my veins.

- You played your part well. Too well. Gave them the courage to fight the tyranny. The power will be ours soon. - she whispered to my ear before she took the gag off. Like she knew I wouldn't speak anymore. I couldn't take a deep breath, let alone say something. My body was hanging between pain and numbness. My mind was on the line between staying awake and nothingness...  

I have done enough for The Cause. My need to belong, the yearning to something else was easy to prey on. Telling me I wasn't The One was the way to crush my spirit and keep me in check. In case I wanted to start my own revolution. I wasn't the special someone but I could compensate in other ways, because people needed to believe in something. Might as well in me. And I was ridden with guilt of not being 'it', easy to manipulate. The puppet of the rebellion. Poster girl when politics were taking its toll in numbers of dead, when politics were in place for ambitious hyenas to get where they wanted to.

They didn't plan to dispose of me so soon, but he's authority was gaining cracks as I questioned his methods. Thank you, good-riddance. Next.

* * *

They showed the lifeless, bloodless body of their hero on nationwide stream. But they made a mistake, abandoned the location. Didn't care about leaving it behind. It could rot there, they said. The rebels found the house and searched every inch with their green haired leader at the front. Oh how lucky he was to seize enemies communications. They looked, to bury her with all the honours... But there was no body. His surprise was taken as a sign. Good omen. His speech was beautiful, a mea culpa, that he failed to recognise the Hero, that he doubted. The thought poured over the machine and oiled it to carry on with double power: either she was alive somewhere plotting the win or she was indeed divine. The fight for freedom flared with admirable viciousness.

* * *

- Results?

- Rebellion's clashes with 'government' forces in various locations decimated the population about 5%, raids and bombings further 3%, data is still coming through...

Images appeared and moved through screens along with statistics. We were watching the footage. Rebellion. It's ignition and how it spread. Civil war decimating city after city. A construct, our creation to control the Earth's population. So our planet was preserved or rather whatever was habitable was saved and monitored. Simulations were running constantly, different extent in different locations.

Someone could question moral side of it. That was very human thing to do. We weren't them. We did what was necessary. Why the process was spread over decades then? If there were no scruples involved it could be “sorted out” quicker: emergency state after emergency state, power struggle after power struggle, constant war until number were at satisfying levels. Our extended analysis of world wars and conflicts calculated that this long lasting simulation was the optimal option. It reminded regimes and tyrants ruling countries drowned in fear, misery and... hope. The hope for a change fuelled economy, society's morale was always lifted and more compliant with whatever newly formed government proposed, illusion that the change they've seen was a good change. Then the liberties, right after right, slowly were taken away, intricate construct so people wouldn't notice that their position didn't change and it was too late to escape the scam. When the thought of rebellion is born the military forces are way too strong, they're trapped. The despair is back on the table, nations shrivel when people's will die a little with each day, stagnant hopelessness ensues. That period is essential: people do what they told – experiments are done, technologies developed at any cost. In the meantime defiance is growing in their hearts, burns red with rage, plans are being made. When it bursts free the flame takes more lives at once than small wars would even imagine to do. It cauterises the earth, cleanses it so it can survive a bit longer. The massive event gives earth time for its rebirth.

- They never realise that they don't really pull the strings. So self-righteous. - she said as we watched the results float through screens. Then she fell silent again. - I still don't understand why YOU insist on being a part of it. You know that Rebel Zero bots are sufficient. This social experiment of your is failing. You've done this time and time again... - she said after long silence. She referred to my project where I was trying to prove there's still something worth saving in human race. That one of the groups wouldn't go for a sacrificing a life, that they would chose another path. Fight for a cause without personal agendas involved. Ideally a peace treaty and we would have to find another way to keep the species growth steady. So far it was always the same – time, opportunities and scenarios varied but the outcome was unfortunately the same. But I still thought there was potential in them. They were fascinating. And sometimes I wondered if the project wasn’t too cruel, after all it was bloodshed and they surely believed in all those divine concepts, and fate... Yes, the religious zeal. I guess that’s why there was the altar and the whole fuss about the death of the Hero. It worked both ways: the faith instilled in crowds made them brave and was becoming a weapon, a tool in wrong hands. What was it this time? Did they decide to mock the prophecy? Or was it ‘a missing piece’ that was found and someone wanted to prove it wrong, so they performed the ritual and showed the death of their Hero. But it bit them in the ass, didn’t it? When the dust settled and they came looking for the body to bury it with honours it was not there. And everyone have seen it on live TV. The surprise on his face was indeed genuine. Rather constant behaviour showing through my data.

But Evolved (as we chose to call ourselves) were losing patience. They couldn't really argue with numbers in my reports though. For the time of the simulation I was locking away the knowledge and a memory of being something else than    a human being, the only thing that was an indication I could have been something else was the yearning for more, but that could be easily dismissed as ambition, having high inspirations, a dreamer. The anomalies like purple-blue tears were happening to humans, this one was a kind one, there were vile abominations, remnants of nuclear wars and playing with genetics, bio and chemical weapons as one could expect from humans with pumped egos. In fact it was my android nature fighting off the virus – the human part, funny how organic it all was. So I was almost human with reactions and emotions like pain and sadness I was experiencing probably in more extreme way than most people. Apart from that I was a programme crucial for running this simulation. My results were always better than designated bots'. A paradox: it was the “human” part that was improving the numbers. It's been decades and decades of these simulations, decades spent on trying to prove the humane side of homo sapiens sapiens.

No one ever asked about the dreams. I guess the assumed it was just part of the story I was feeding humans with. I had results so they didn't question anything. Evolved didn't dream. It wasn't helping with efficiency so it has been eradicated at early stages of modifications Evolved applied on themselves. No dreams. They thought I just prepared for the role. Dreams could be so essential for humans. Premonitions. Good and bad omens. Reading dreams. The books, people explaining them, people building lies and scamming others... Evolved deemed it redundant so I didn't tell them I actually had few of those. The castle, the red scarf and moon. I wondered sometimes if it meant anything. Was it some other consciousness trying to get through to me? The human in me? Or rather an error in simulation? If so who was running it and on whom? Simulation of simulation? Was it all planned and calculated like mine? How did it end? Did it end at all? Could we influence the outcome? Get other results? Just as I hoped for changes in mine?

m.

[yuniesan]

A Moment in Time [Rucas Adult AU] - Chapter Nine

A Moment in Time

Synopsis: Riley Matthews needs to get out of New York, after her parents advised her to go to her great grandmother’s house in Texas she’s on the first plane to the Lone Star State. Lucas Friar is a single father trying to live up to his family’s legacy but he knows he’s overworking himself to please his mother. The moment the two of them meet they realize what they had been missing all along, but family and their past will threaten their relationship.

[Previous Chapters]

A/N: Finally finished the chapter YAY!!!! Now back to plotting out the chapters of the book.....

Chapter Nine

Riley hadn’t told Lucas about what she had ordered, and since she started working on her draft, even she forgot that she had ordered them. Her editor had called her twice since and she had been working ever since, the date for her novel had been pushed up since the moment she had mentioned the idea. The publishers wanted her to work on it as soon as she could because her books were becoming huge sellers all of a sudden. The pressure was on so she decided on the small town story, using the Texas town as a backdrop.

“Do you know if the historical society would let me borrow some research materials?” she had asked Lucas that night while he was walking her home from the farmer’s market.

“Maybe, depends on what you need them for,” he said holding her hand while carrying a bag in the other. “Are you thinking about what I think you’re thinking of doing?”

“Missy asked me to try and write a fiction book based on this town and I figured I could try it, but I don’t want to get anything wrong, mostly the lore behind the town, so I thought that it would be a good idea to learn more about the town.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment but he was smiling at her, which only made her blush. “You like it here don’t you?” he asked as he pulled her closer.

“I do like it here, but I also like writing as close to the truth as I can before I make up the characters that would live in the story, now answer my question bucko,” she said smiling at him.

“Ask my mom to take you, the historical society loves her.”

“Thank you,” she said before pulling him down for a quick kiss on the lips. “You’re very helpful when you want to be.”

“I’m helpful 100% of the time, now let’s get back and cook dinner, I want to show you how domesticated I am from being a father.”

Riley laughed, she couldn’t help it the man had been showing her how domesticated he was, but most of the time it was because Liliana was in the house playing with Daisy. They couldn’t do anything else, so they were only left with quick kisses, and promises of having a date that wasn’t interrupted by the million people coming in and out of her house at all times.

For the first time that night they were going to be free of family duty, Liliana was sleeping over at her grandmother’s house Daisy went along with them, Jake and Missy were going on a date, and Lucas made sure that none of their other friends were going to disturb them, so Riley was happy that they had decided on a movie night, and dinner in the living room. It was normal and quiet, which is something that neither one of them had had since their make out in the shower. It was also something she hadn’t done in a long time, which just made her happy.

The two of the were grinning at one another when they walked into the house, Lucas went into the kitchen to start on dinner, while Riley went to check on her emails from her publisher to see when they would want the first draft ready.

“Hey,” Missy said walking into the office. “We’re about to head out, but I wanted to tell you that you got a package earlier, I left it in the living room.”

“Thanks Missy,” Riley said looking up and seeing the other woman dressed in a flowy red dress with white flats on. It hid her growing baby bump very well. “You look great, knock him dead Miss.”

“That’s the plan, we’re going to stay at Jakes old apartment tonight, you know for one last night, so we won’t be back,” Missy said winking at Riley. “So you and Lucas have the house all to yourselves.”

Riley blushed, but smiled anyway, it was becoming the perfect night. “Well you two enjoy yourselves.”

“Sure, and Riley,” she said standing at the doorway. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…. Wait scratch that, do everything you want to do,” she said with a wink before walking out.

Riley laughed as she followed Missy out, “Well at least I know…. Oh god,” she said as she saw the box and remembered what she had ordered.

“What?” Missy said looking back.

“It’s nothing, it’s probably just my editor sending me things to do or something,” she said hoping that it was covering up the lie, because it was actually the stuff she had ordered.

“Don’t work too hard then, you have a guy in your kitchen wearing really tight pants cooking for you.”

“Oh haha, now go on your date and leave us alone.”

“Roger that,” Missy said as she walked out the door. Riley closed the door behind Missy and walked back to the living room, picking up the box and rush it off to her room. To the closet in her room because she didn’t want Lucas, or anyone to find it.

She wanted to talk to him about what she had planned before doing anything about it, she needed to have that talk with him, but for now she actually wanted something more vanilla. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been excited at the prospect of doing something that could be depraved in anyway, but sometimes the first time needed to be special, and she wanted to feel special especially since meeting Lucas she has had to face the fears of her past. Even the ones she hadn’t remembered for a long time.

Lucas heard the door close behind him as Missy left, they finally had the house to themselves and he wanted the night to be special. So when he heard Riley go upstairs, he decided to set the table with some candles and flowers he had snuck in while she had been in her office. They were getting closer to each other and he was happy about that, so he wanted to use the dinner to get to know her a little more. Also he wanted to set the mood for the rest of the night because he wanted her to feel special.

Zay had convinced him to cook, Lucas had gotten better as a cook since having Liliana, but he had never cooked for a date and although him and Riley had been eating together a lot, their meals were always simple because Liliana, or someone else was around. Now he was making Parmesan risotto with roasted shrimp, with a garden salad, and his mother’s raspberry soufflé that he had learned when he was in high school. It was one of the things he had been grateful to his mother about, the love of cooking, his dream had always been to work on the ranch but he knew just how much it meant to cook for someone you loved.

His relationship with his mother had improved greatly since the picnic, another thing he was happy about. Riley was something else, she was good with people even when they hate her without reason. It made him question the things that her ex had done because the Riley he knew was a kind person, but that could have also been her trying to save him. She was too good for someone like him and he wished that he had met her long before anything had happened to her.

A gasp from behind reminded him of the Riley he had with him now, someone who needed to have surprises and happiness in her life. Lucas turned around to see the awestruck look on her face, and a bright smile lighting up his world. This is what he wanted, this is who he wanted. In that moment he knew that she had truly had taken his heart, and he was willingly giving it to her.

“It’s beautiful Lucas, but you didn’t have to go this far,” she said walking towards him and taking his hand.

The flowers had been spread thoughout the table, the candles were lit and in the center of it all were their plates of food, and his heart.

“For you Riley I would give you the world if you would let me,” he said smiling. She leaned towards him and pulled him down for a kiss.

At first they ate in silence, Riley smiling up at him every once and a while, she had been so obsessed with the food that she kept eating it before saying anything. Once the plates were cleared she looked up at him as he brought out the dessert.

“We better not be sharing that,” she said eying the treat in front of her.

“No, I made two,” he said grinning at her.

“You are the perfect man,” she said as he placed it in front of her, and poured a light syrup over the top of the treat. “Seriously Lucas this is amazing, I can’t cook like this to save my life but this is all restaurant quality. The most complicated thing that I can do is roast beef, which is hard for me.”

“Don’t worry Riley, I learned to cook because of moments like this, I want to make something special for someone I care about.”

Riley ate her dessert without saying anything back, but Lucas could see the blush on her face as she tried to hide it from him. Once they were finished and everything was in the dishwasher the two of them stood in the kitchen. Lucas pulled Riley close to him and held her close, taking in the feel of her heart pounding in her chest. Before either one could say anything he lifted her chin and leaned down for a soft kiss. It was supposed to be quick, they were going to watch a movie and just relax, but once he felt the softness of her lips he couldn’t help but want to have her close to him.

“Lucas,” she said when he pulled away to get some air into his lungs. “Let’s go upstairs,” she murmured and that’s all that it took for him to lift her up and carry her to her room.

He tripped on the carpet in front of her bed causing them to tumble down onto the mattress, but it didn’t matter as long as they were together. Fevered kisses, as their tongues met and he felt the heat of her mouth. He knew at that moment that the feeling he was having would never go away, this was a once in a lifetime thing and he didn’t care if he drowned in it as long as Riley was there to anchor him to the real world.

He felt her hands frantically pulling up his shirt, the need to feel his skin against her hands. He let her have the control because he didn’t know how long he would have lasted if he didn’t have her touching him like that. It was something that was growing inside of him, the feeling that her touch would give him everything he had ever wanted from someone. He wanted her to have total control over his heart, he took her hand and placed it over his fast beating heart.

“I’m in love with you Riley,” he whispered as he pulled away from her lips and met her eyes. “You make me feel something that I have never thought I would feel, and I wanted you to know that.”

She smiled at him for a moment before moving towards him and kissing his lips again, when she pulled away and met his green eyes, her face was full of love. “I love you too,” she said to him.

That was all that it took for their fevered kisses to become something incredibly intense. Their clothes were ripped off without any care for them until all that was under him was Riley, as he leaned over her and kissed her slowly. He pulled away from her lips and moved towards the side of her neck, kissing her slowly, nipping at her collarbone and smiling when she shivered under him.

“So beautiful,” he said, but he knew that he wouldn’t last long, not with her so close to him.

His hands were everywhere at once, feeling the silkiness of her skin, the heat of her body, and the beat of her heart. This was what he had always wanted, and he knew it was something this would keep him going for the rest of his days.

“Lucas,” she said her voice barely above a whisper. “Make love to me please.”

That’s all he needed to hear as he pulled out a condom from his pants and pulled it on. They would have a day when they would be able to go slower but in that moment all he wanted was to be as close as he could without thinking about anything else, and if he didn’t last very long he didn’t care, in the end they would be able to make up for it in other ways.

Lucas couldn’t keep grinning as he worked on moving the things from his office to the one that was in the barn. He had made love to Riley, several times that night, but he was also very much in love with her and the grin would have to stay forever. It had taken him the whole day to move everything, especially since it had taken him the whole morning to pry himself away from Riley but he wasn’t complaining.

Riley had a meeting with the committee for the festival, as well as lunch with his mother to discuss the book she wanted to write about the town. Lucas on the other hand had to work on moving everything in the office and helping the contractor on what they needed to do to make the building ready for the daycare center.

“You know if you keep smiling like that I’m going to have to kill you,” Zay said as he walked into the new office. “Why are you smiling like that anyway?”

“Nothing, just had a good date last night,” Lucas answered his best friend. “Why are you here anyway, Vanessa told me you were working today.”

“I have a lunch break you know, and I decided to visit you because you’ve been spending so much time with a particular brunette that I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Sorry, I guess we need to schedule a guy’s night don’t we.”

“Well,” Zay said as he plopped down on the couch. “I figured it would happen eventually, you’ve been single for too long. I remember I did the same thing when I started dating Vanessa so I guess this is payback time for that.”

“I guess it is,” he said smiling. “By the way, thanks for the advice on the whole cooking dinner because she loved it. So I owe you for that.”

“Nah, plus now we can go on a double date, or a quadruple date because of Missy and Jake, and Maya and Josh. You see while you’ve been having fun with a certain brunette, I’ve been hanging out with the two other couples, and well I guess it also gave me some perspective and well I asked Vanessa to marry me.”

“No shit, well it’s about damn time you two have been circling around each other since grade school, congrats man,” he said pulling his best friend into a hug.

“You’re going to be the best man at the wedding, but then again we might just go to Vegas and elope.”

“Vanessa would kill you if you tried to pull that one.”

“Yeah I know, she wants a big wedding, so I talked her into doubling with Missy and Jake for the end of the summer, that way we don’t have to wait that long. It’s one of the reasons why I’ve been hanging out with the other couples. Now we just have to drag you and Riley into it.”

“No thank you, Riley and I have other plans, plus she’s in the middle of writing a book, plus the festival at the end of the summer, and she’s doing a book signing there, and we’re getting comfortable with each other. So you guys can plan your own wedding.”

“Fine,” Zay sighed. “Whatever man, leave me to the wolves.”

“Zay the girls are harmless, plus you love this kind of stuff so don’t try to guilt me into helping you out. The only thing I can give you guys is the ranch grounds for the wedding, because I own the place and can do what I want.”

“That’s fine by me,” he said smiling at him and that’s how Lucas knew that his friend had just conned him into giving him a venue that normally cost a couple of grand for free.

The week went by relatively normal for Riley considering how everything kept happening all at once and she couldn’t control anything. It was a nice change, she liked the craziness that was constantly happening because it gave her ideas for her stories. But it also gave her ideas for that small town novel that she had been talking to Lucas about, in what felt like another time. Riley had two meetings with the festival committee, as well as lunch with Lucas’s mom and Liliana. It felt as though her life in the small Texas town was righting itself and giving her the break she wanted all along. So of course the moment she began to get comfortable everything would turn on its side, as an older gentleman banged on her front door screaming.

“Can I help you sir?” she asked walking towards the screen door.

The man huffed for a moment before grumbling something she couldn’t hear before he spoke up again. “Yeah, you can call my daughter to come here so I can take her home.”

“Ah,” she said as she pulled out her phone and sent a message to Missy, as well as Lucas and Jake. Riley didn’t want to deal with another bout of family drama especially when it wasn’t directed towards her, at least she hoped it wasn’t.

“It you would like I could get you something to drink, some water maybe,” she said being polite but more because it was over a hundred degrees outside and the man was sweating profusely. But he grunted again and walked off towards his car and sat on the side of the car waiting.

Riley pulled her phone out again to call Lucas but instead watched the man sitting there thinking of why he was acting the way he did. His protective nature reminded her of her father, and although her dad had lightened up as she grew older it seems as though what Missy had done was hurting him. Even when his own actions were hurting her. Riley watched him for a moment, thinking about why he would want Missy to be with something that she didn’t really have feelings for. It dawned on her that he was trying to give his daughter something that he had missed out on himself.

“Everything in the town really does center around the Friar’s doesn’t it,” she said out loud as the revelation hit her.

She walked outside and towards the disgruntled man, “Your daughter tells me that you want her to marry Lucas, but I get the feeling that you’re somehow projecting your own expectations on her,” she said. He huffed and tried to turn away from her. “You should ask her yourself, maybe you would get your wish.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” the older man said.

Riley was hoping that she was right about this, or else she was about to blow everything out of proportion and anger the man even more. “You’re in love with Lila, and because you couldn’t have her you thought that the next best thing was to get your daughter to marry her son, because at least that way you would be able to get close to her.”

The man stood there in silent shock, his hand trembling a bit as Riley spoke to him. “It’s the reason you keep going to her about me not being good enough for her son, you’re looking for an excuse to talk to her, to be near her.”

“I fell in love with Lila the moment I met her, it was the day that she was marrying my best friend, and I thought that she the most beautiful creature in the world. I was there when she had Lucas, I was there through everything. My own wife, though I loved her wasn’t who I had wanted. Now years later, decades later, we’re both single, but I can’t bring myself to be with her because I’m afraid that she wouldn’t like me in the same manner.”

“There’s no harm in trying, and if it doesn’t work out it means that you tried and learned the truth, but you can’t keep hurting your own child because of your unresolved feelings.”

He gave Riley a small smile, and she knew that she had gotten through to him in some way. Riley stepped closer to him trying to get a better read on his face, she needed to know what the man was thinking so that she could stop this matchmaking madness.

“You’re a very perceptive person for someone that wasn’t born in this town,” he said.

“Well I’m a writer I have to know people, plus you remind me of my dad in a way, well not in the I’m in love with my best friend and will ruin my daughter’s life to stay near her kind of way. My dad married the love of his life, but he was also very protective of me growing up, I was the only girl in the family.”

“Well I guess we could go inside and have that drink then, I might as well get to know the person who saved my daughter from me,” he said as he pulled out a small handkerchief and started blotting his forehead.

“Missy is in love with someone you know that right?” Riley said once they had settled in the kitchen.

“I didn’t know that, she doesn’t talk to me about her love life which is probably how this whole thing got blown out of proportion,” he sighed looking down at the glass as if it would give him the answers to his life. “I guess I should get to know my own daughter better.”

“Let’s start this from the beginning then,” Riley said holding out her hand. “Hi my name is Riley Matthews, I’m an author, and I came down here to Texas to refresh my mind and write something amazing. I met your daughter after meeting Lucas, and think that she’s a good person who loves her family but is also in love with something very much.”

“Hi Riley, I’m Devon Bradford, I’m Missy’s father, and I would like to get to know my daughter more as well as he friends if that’s alright with you.”

Riley smiled and him and knew that he wanted to make an effort. “Wait your last name is Bradford? I though Mrs. Jones was your mother?”

“She is, my mother remarried after my father passed away, she took my step-father’s name, but I kept my father’s name.”

“Ah, okay that makes sense,” she smiled.

The two of them talked until Missy showed up at the door stunned at the fact that her father was sitting in the kitchen drinking lemonade with Riley.

“Dad what are you doing here?” she said confused.

“I just wanted to see where my daughter was living, and talking to Riley about you and how you love someone that I never knew about because I was too stubborn to admit my own feelings and ended up projecting them onto you,” he said standing up to meet his daughter. “Missy I’m sorry, and I would like to start over.”

“I was right you are an angel Riley,” Missy said smiling before pulling her father into a hug.

“I’ll just leave you two here to talk while I get back to work,” Riley said smiling as she went to the office and closed the door. “Well time to get back to work.”

[awed-frog]

Sorry my question was very unclear. Do you think that under others circumstances (post-war, AU...) Snape could have recovered and found peace ? ;)

No problem! Just wanted to make sure I was answering your actual question and not my interpretation of it. :)

So, my opinion on that is that - pardon my French - like most of us, all Snape needed was someone who gave a shit about him. Like, if you keep the basic elements of his life - everything that happened up to Lily’s death - then sure, the situation isn’t that rosy. The guilt over Lily’s death was not something Snape would soon forget. He wanted to die that night, and only his rigid sense of honour prevented him from taking his own life. That means that if Voldemort had been truly dead, Dumbledore would not have any reason to ask for Snape’s continued loyalty, and Snape would have jumped from the nearest cliff. 

(I always wonder about that promise - did Dumbledore care about Snape, on some level? Having known him as a student, did he feel pity for the twisted thing he had become? Or was he simply foresseing, even then, that he would need a spy again and Snape would be perfectly placed for the role?)

So, you see, with these two basic blocs in place, Snape’s life is now a mess, which is why I said in that other post that he’d been set up to fail. Because next, we have a period of grieving over Lily which is mixed with criminal trials and most likely a smear campaign in the press, and after that, more grieving and the obligation to work at Hogwarts - and man, those first few years must have been insane. We know none of the adults generally believed Snape was really innocent, and we can assume that the kids would have been equally dismissive and rude, if not outright aggressive - and I understand them: this was a generation of students who’d lived through a brutal war, lost friends and family members, so the injustice of what is basically a Nazi actually teaching them - living all safe and cozy in the castle while others were dead because of him - that must have been very nearly unbearable. I wouldn’t be surprised, in fact, if some of the older students played cruel pranks on him, or even tried to cause him physical harm. Revenge is always a tempting option, after all.

At the same time, this is exactly the moment where things could have gone differently. As I said, what Snape needed was one person on his side. If one of his colleagues, or even Dumbledore, had patiently, but determinedly, sought out his friendship, the way you do with spooked out horses, then maybe Snape wouldn’t have retreated in his guilt and pain and bitterness and anger quite so much. Maybe this is why the fandom seemed to be so happy to associate him with Hermione - her innate sense of fairness would have pushed her to try and help him, and we know that for sure because she was confronted with a very similar situation (Lupin was a ‘monster’, and he was accused of being a Death Eater) and handled it very maturely. Of course, thoughts of a relationship between a student and her teacher are fiction-only nonsense, and what Snape needed back then was not a well-meaning 13-year-old but an adult with a good head on their shoulders who could take his weight and support him.

(Another alternative was for Dumbledore to involve Snape in Harry’s life from early on - but, again, we know why he didn’t do that: he kept Harry isolated and trapped with Muggles because he was afraid that splinter of Voldemort’s soul inside him could latch on to wizards, and he kept Snape as isolated and miserable as possible so it would be believable that he was still a Death Eater when Voldemort came back.

And this, well, was the heart of it all, wasn’t it? Again, Snape was set up to fail because Dumbledore wanted him there - it was essential to his plan that, even after twenty years, Snape would be this dark and mysterious figure - the lonely Potion Master nobody really knew, the one who was still suspected of practicing the dark arts and probably tortured puppies and prostitutes during the summer holidays. If Snape had become someone normal - liked and appareciated by colleagues and students, patient and good-spirited - it would have been impossible to send him back as a spy to Voldemort. If nothing else, Voldemort would have read his memories and saw too many incriminating things. So here you see the extent of Dumbledore’s - was it cold-heartedness? it was something. Harry and Snape, the abandoned boys, were both manipulated from the start - Harry into a life where he could ‘test his power’ and show his true morality, so that Dumbledore would be sure Harry would do the right thing and kill himself at the right time, and Snape into the solitary and miserable existence he endured for twenty years - day after day when the only thing keeping him alive was the promise of redemption. Which, of course, Dumbledore took from him when he told him Harry would have to die. Whooopsie.)

So, I don’t know. Maybe if things had gone ‘my way’ and Snape had had a friend, Voldemort would have won. Maybe not. Maybe Snape would have found some peace had he survived the war. Maybe not. After all, had he lived, he would have had to face the same thing he’d faced twenty years before - only this time Dumbledore wouldn’t have been there to help him. Kingsley would have needed to tesitify in front of some committee to say that yes, Snape did give them information about what Voldemort was doing, but was his knowledge of Snape’s activities enough for the jury to be certain Snape was working as a double agent for Dumbledore, and not Voldemort? Death Eaters, after all, would have many stories to tell about his involvement in murders and torture, and nobody would readily forget his period as Hogwarts Headmaster, when he’d been uncapable (or unwilling, many would say) to stop the Carrows from abusing the students. All this means that the best case scenario for him would have been, again, the same thing that had gone down twenty years previously: an acquittal, but at what cost? Many in the wizarding world, including quite a few journalists who would see the opportunity to denounce a wrong or make a quick buck, would keep on believing he was a Death Eater who’d got off scot-free. He certainly wouldn’t have been welcome at Hogwarts, and he never particularly liked teaching, but where would he have gone then? In the books, Snape was much younger than in the movies (he wasn’t even forty when he died) - he had his whole life ahead of him, especially if we consider wizards age much more slowly. Me, I probably would have traveled, escaped to some other country, but I believe that at that point, Snape needed some kind of recognition - that’s why he was so angry when Harry called him a coward. A part of him knew he’d paid his debts, and wanted out. He wanted that to be acknowledged by society - he wanted to be thanked, perhaps, for his many sacrifices. He was smart and talented - he could have been the greatest Potion Master of the twenty-first century if he’d been free to experiment - if he’d been given the money and resources and trust to do so. He wanted to finally clear his name, and that’s why he would have stayed. Harry would have helped him, of course, but I doubt this process could have been completely successful.

So, I don’t know - probably my best case scenario for Snape would be him surviving the war, surviving the trials, and setting up some kind of laboratory somewhere. People would have needed to come to him because there are potions only he can make - he could have supplied St Mungo’s, in time (of course, that would have taken a particularly charitable head healer or something, because, man, imagine buying your antidotes and blood-thickeners from a known mass murderer), would surely have perfected a cure for lycanthropy. But, again, he would have needed some kind of human presence - my best-case scenario would involve someone actively interacting with him, getting to know him, and liking him - a friendly old apothecary, maybe, or the wizarding equivalent of a PhD student looking for experience in the field - ideally, of course, someone who could teach him about love, as well as friendship, but I believe a true friend would have been enough, in a way.

Ultimately, though, it’s all speculation. It’s difficult to find some leeway in a well-built story - in JK Rowling’s world, every character did exactly what they were supposed to do, and you can’t move a piece without making the whole thing collapse. Because if Snape hadn’t died, would Harry ever have believed him? Wouldn’t he have suspected a trap if he hadn’t seen Voldemort himself kill Snape himself? Would his wish to bring Voldemort down at any cost have trumped his hatred and distrust for Snape? I don’t know, but I’m not optimistic. 

(Still, though - if you want some sugar, I like this story a lot, and I find it pretty believable, canon-speaking - and certainly more uplifting than the books.)

[idxjia-blog]

who are you?: solo interview

An interview with Jia Maialen Acosta aka Medea from Nightmare for an undisclosed magazine.

Jia was not used to talking about herself, but between the subunits and her most recent endeavor, and the issue with Danny, everyone thought she could use the positive press. So, they picked an innocuous magazine with a reporter that Jia would never be able to pick out of a line up, even if she tried. And she was generally good with faces, though she was not with people. The reporter turned on the little recorder. She saw a red light, indicating the thing was filming. Jia tried to smile at them, but she was nervous; this was her first interview by herself. “Let’s get started, shall we?” the reporter said. Jia did little more than nod, causing the reporter to purse their lips. She watched them read from a stack of cards in their hands.“What are your thoughts on your career thus far?”

Jia inhaled and regurgitated the answer she had prepared earlier today, figuring it would be a soft ball. “I think I have been very fortunate to have such a supportive fanbase, especially since they are currently cheering me on in my solo pursuits and the group. Being part of Nightmare has given me such a great opportunity to experiment with different musical styles. I mean, between the group work and our upcoming subunits, along with my latest collab track, there has never been a dull moment. I love my career and would not change it for anything else. How many people my age can say that about what they are doing?”

Jia breathed. It was just another acting job. She could do this. Then the reporter launched the next question. 

“What do you wish to show to the public?” 

Well that, was certainly a loaded question. Most recently, she wanted to show them she was not a whore, just a girl who happened to like spending time with a guy. That she was just a little lonely and felt the need to be desired. But she could not exactly say that to them. So, she went in a more professional direction, not quite lying, but definitely avoiding the truth. “I would love for them to see me in a lead role in a kdrama, since most of them seem to enjoy my old commercials. I have been the lead in a web drama before and have had supporting roles, but I have yet to have the time to actually act in a lead role. I cannot wait for the right project to come up, especially since the coven has been begging me to take a role since I was in High Society what seems like forever ago. Also, I would definitely want to share my movie collection with anyone willing to watch. I am quite proud of the amount of horror movies I currently have.”

That was sufficiently Medea, but also spoke about her career. No need to talk about how she was all over the place recently, how she felt like a chicken with its head cut off. The reporter nodded, clearly wishing to ask more prying questions, but instructed not to do so. This was a fluff piece; they both knew it.

“Have you experienced a defining point in your career?”

Ah. This one was a bit easier. She did not even have to lie or tell half-truths. “I am not sure I would call is defining, but there is definitely not quite anything else like releasing my first solo track for the public. The response was so positive and I never really expected it. I mean, I love Nightmare, that is no secret. I would give up my solo career in a minute for the group, but I have never considered myself talented alone. Finding out that others thought I was is incredibly empowering. I also hope it led to some exposure for the group. I am really proud of all the work we have done together.”

“That was a pretty great song,” the reporter said. Jia smiled at them. “Thank you.” “Alright, next question: Is there something the public doesn’t know about you?”

Up until recently, Jia would have said not much. She was a quiet person, scandal free, a good Catholic girl. Sure, her parents hated her career choice, but it was hardly the worst thing to be hiding. Now, she had to hide things like the fact that she screwed up and was hanging around with negative influences.

“A lot of things. I am a bit of an introvert. A simple, but surprising one is that my favorite color is pink. It has been my favorite color since I was a child, since I saw the Power Rangers. I know I wear a lot of black and red in shows and out in public, but I do own a lot of pink. I wear it back home especially, since my sisters make fun of me otherwise. They say I wear way too much black as Medea already, that I look better with a little color in my outfits. I swear, they dress me up every time I go to visit them, even though we are all adults. I guess that happens when you are the little sister.” Jia laughed, to show she was joking. It was well placed, fabricated. Maybe she was a better liar than she thought.

"Has anything influenced the direction you’ve taken either in music or achievements?”

Oh good, another softball. Jia had been in the public eye for a long time, albeit in a minimal capacity. She mostly talked about how international she was, knowing it would cater to her fans in Latin America and back home in the States. Besides, it reminded them she was talented in her own right, something she frequently needed to remind herself of.“American rap has definitely influenced my personal musical career. As for my achievements, I grew up acting in Los Angeles then acting in Korea. I think I was meant for a stage of some sort. I tried a bit of everything, but I don’t think anything has been as fun as being a member of Nightmare. But I learned a lot living in Los Angeles about different types of music. I am also multiracial, so I grew up listening to a lot of different things. My favorite singer in Spanish is Becky G. I would love to collaborate with her someday, if it was possible in any way, shape, or form. She is amazing. I love her.” She really did. If she was into women, she would be into Becky G, no contest. 

“In what aspect have you most changed since debut?” 

Jia thought for a moment. That one was a tough one. She had lost her innocence, optimism, naivety.  Whatever confidence she had was shot; she was running on fumes because her company didn’t seem to know what to do with them and now they were floundering. It sent a pang straight to her heart. She kept smiling. “Though I am used to acting in front of a camera, I have never been a very extroverted person. I like time by myself, especially to recharge. I have always been really reserved and shy, which was why my parents got me into acting in the first place, though neither of them have ever been really big fans of performers. It was to help me stop being so quiet. I do not like talking unless I have to because I think we have to be careful with our words. I prefer to listen and only chime in when I feel it is absolutely necessary. Now, I am much better about talking to people and being a bit more extroverted outside of the camera. I have built so many relationships because of it.”

“If you were given the chance, would you do it all again the same way?”

No. She would run for the hills screaming and become a doctor, or a nurse, or a professor. Except, not really. Because she loved this thankless job. She could not even go back and say she wouldn’t sleep with Danny, as awful as that turned out; she needed him. She needed someone. 

“I am not sure I would change anything about the journey I have taken. It has been a wonderful ride in every way. I have met so many people and Koala T. has been great to me. I am so proud of all my sunbaes in the industry and all the amazing people I get to work with. I am not sure I would change anything about my situation. Well, maybe one thing. I wish I had picked up more Korean as a kid. It would have made it much easier when I moved here and especially when I became a trainee and had to step it up. Still, I think I am pretty good at it now.”

“I am a big fan of your work with acting, though I also, like I said, really enjoyed your recent collab and look forward to the subunits. So, would you choose singing or acting if you had to pick one?”

Jia spoke without hesitation; she respected acting, she even enjoyed it, but she would not hesitate to leave it. It did not embody her like singing did, like being with the girls did. “Acting is great. I owe a lot to my previous experience as an actor and what kind of person it made me into. That being said, I would pick rapping in a moment. I love it more than anything else. It was a bit unexpected, considering I did not have much formal training until I was a trainee, but I love it. Besides, acting is so solitary. I would have to give up being a part of Nigthmare and being with the rest of the girls. I could never do that. I love them. They are like my sisters at this point. Besides, there are still so many things to explore within my musical career.”

The interview was coming to a close, thankfully; Jia was exhausted even by the short line of questioning."Alright, final question: Who is the single most influence person to your career? Be it in a musical capacity or otherwise.”

Jia was not sure what to say there; she was her own influence. Everyone else either did not believe in her or was her friend, so she could not trust they were being honest. Still, an answer that had never passed her lips came to her. She talked about her grandfather, something she hardly ever did because it felt weird, considering he was gone. But it slipped past her lips before she could stop it; it was a story that needed to be told. “I know I talk about my family often, but they really have been really influential in my life. Someone I do not talk about often is my grandfather. We moved to Korea to be with him. He has been gone a few years now, but he lasted a lot longer than they thought he would with cancer. I never really saw him before he got sick, but we became close once we moved in with him. He was quiet like me and he loved books. He, my dad, and I would get together to talk about them. He always made me feel so smart, saying what I said was important, even though I was just a kid. He taught me how important it was to value everyone and cherish every moment. I miss him a lot. I hope he is looking down at me from heaven, proud of everything I have accomplished.”

The reporter gave their first genuine smile.