#Too ambitious. Always kills me. Why do I always try and go above and beyond when it comes to things I get really passionate and invested in

[picklesthenonbeanary]

Sad thespius holding plushie click clack (and some other drawing for it that I’ve decided I’m not going to hold hostage on my rant draft that’s just been sitting unfinished for so long agghhh) :[ made these for my felt mask au (currently on hiatus as I have to focus on school and stuff and I can’t function good with more then one big thing racing through my mind) and like aggghhhh! I’m sorry thespius! I don’t want you to be sad but like he’s literally turning into a plushie and I can’t just make that not sad, I need to write my sad horror angst wahhhhh.

i miss my au, need to return to it at some point, maybe make more art for it since that’s like the only thing I can do currently. All of these drawings are from like early February and January but I just hadn’t posted them yet on here </3

silly lil self indulgent things that I really wanna get back into but keeps getting pushed to the side for other self indulgences and school, sigh. Welp I really hope future me returns to this because I really wanna see this through and finish it aggghhhh!

[felikatze]

give me the a brainworms i am deeply invested in this man

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okay first of all you asked for this. second of all if i am a little off track from the game that is explained by me just building thoughts like building blocks without looking back. third i was supposed to be studying for an exam but this counts as practice right? it's character analysis anyway lmao.

buckle the fuck up, my dearest anon, because I have sub headings.

1. A as the Player Character

Let me begin with why I am obsessed with this horrid little guy in the first place: he's a silent protagonist. I am always obsessed with protagonists. It's a law of nature. I love taking hollow characters and dissecting them for scraps. It's a long standing practice of mine.

Being a silent protagonist, A, as X, does not have a set personality. However, there are patterns. Firstly, as any semi-silent protagonist, A is a reactive character. He does not start incidents, he only responds to situations, presented by the Sephirah, as they arise. He does not actively seek out new information, merely going about the routine of expanding departments, but expresses curiosity when information is presented to him.

I'm aware fandom likes to characterize X and A differently, likely because they are initially presented as different characters. I, on the other hand, would like to pose the theory that they are more similar than expected.

I believe that A is also a reactive character, rather than active. Despite the fandom wiki describing him as stubborn, the goal A pursues with such fervor, the completion of the Seed of Light, is not actually a goal he set for himself. Carmen is the one who set this goal for him by leaving him her legacy.

Throughout the backstory we get relating to the Cogito Project, A is Carmen's assistant, whereas Carmen is the driving researcher. This is how many of the City's inhabitants seem to be; going with the flow of goals set for them by superiors. Yes I will get into his attachment to Carmen later.

The above is not to say A isn't stubborn. Once he has accepted a goal as his own, he will pursue it at all costs, as is obvious from any and all flashbacks leading to horrible deaths. But the point isn't his pursuit of the goal, but where that goal comes from. Even Lobcorp itself supports this, despite what Hokma may say; A as X follows the "simple" task of managing the Corp's day to day activities, and executes any mission given to him by the Sephirah. He outranks them, and doesn't actually need to do their missions, but does so anyway. Players are driven by the reward offered by those missions, of course, and A might be the same in that regard. Nonetheless, at no point in gameplay do you do anything somebody else hasn't told you to.

The overarching narrative of the Script would be the most obvious example. Every single person in the game follows the script, whether they know it or not.

Lastly on this note, a phrase we hear attributed to A, "Machines must behave as machines." Now, Angela may be attached to this phrase because it bears significance to herself as a machine, and informs most of A's unjust treatmeant of her. However, what if it doesn't just apply to machines? The phrase reads as such, "Everyone must act according to their own role."

2. A, Carmen, and the disease of the mind

So, A will at any cost pursue goals Carmen set for him. Question is, why? The obvious answer would be saying he's in love with her, which like, true. But also, how did Carmen come to be so precious to him?

Let us return to the comparison, "This is how many of the City's inhabitants seem to be." We don't really know why exactly most characters joined Carmen, excluding mainly Daniel and Benjamin. But this does not mean we can't have theories.

Carmen's ideal was curing the "disease of the mind." What is the disease? Complete hopelessness. The inability to form aspirations and dreams, to think of a better future. A is a very reactive character who does not set goals for himself. Therefore, I personally conclude, that initially, Carmen's ideology resonated with him because he could identify with the disease.

This is the point where I start rewatching Lobcorp story clips. Dear god.

So, by briefly binging day 27 onward, I've come up with lines that very much support this lil theory of mine:

First, from Carmen, a description of the disease, "People lock away their own potential."

Second, a line from Angela, after the memory synchronization, "You've locked yourself in this prison without bars."

Carmen describes A as humble, and Benjamin thinks he is warm. If I suppose A was one of the diseased initially, Carmen would be the catalyst for this change. Carmen was someone with big aspirations, with plans to heal what is wrong with the City, and it gave him hope. He was one of the diseased, but through time with Carmen, with that relentless optimistic spirit, he may have been cured, for a time. It's not a stretch to say that she was his light.

But lor shows us what happens when the seed of light sprouts wrong, doesn't it? It distorts. A grasped hope for the first time and then it is ruthlessly crushed. Carmen was everything. Yes, A is described as a jack-of-all-trades, as a genius in all pursuits he puts his mind to, but what does that matter in the face of someone who can unite people? Who can give them hope of a better world? Who can inspire them to actually use the talents they have?

And what kind of pressure is it to put the legacy of a messiah in the hands of the diseased?

3. A and the Perception Filter: A is weak to White damage

No, I am serious about that. He's extremely weak mentally. Obviously death of a loved one is a changing experience for absolutely anybody, but Carmen's death destroyed him.

Not only did he refuse to confide this grief to anyone and bottled it up, now everybody looked to him to lead the project, but he just isn't Carmen. He isn't an ambitious person, he doesn't have the same optimism, he can't bring people together, but people expected him to, and he failed. Hard.

While he was without a doubt talented in science, he was also just an average guy.

After her death, A grew to hate humans. He lost trust in them. He refused to confide in anyone, and be confided in by anyone. Thus, the team fell apart.

In both lobcorp and lor, we get interesting tidbits about precations taken to protect the manager.

Firstly, Lobcorp's perception filter. The cartoony art-style of the game is a result of the game being in first person. Through the eyes of the manager, everything is cartoony!

This is a measure undertaken to specifically protect the manager's psyche. Angela tells us that, before it was deployed, the manager would frequently go insane, one notable incident including the manager trying to hang himself. When we first hear this, the previous managers and X are still separate in our minds. However, they're all A! A went insane multiple times without it.

This is understandable, considering that employees also frequently go insane and try to kill both themselves and others. But they're there in action, confronting the Abnormalities directly. Just watching them made the manager go mad. They could not handle the responsibility for the employees' deaths.

In lor, Angela explains why she picked the Rabbit Team from R Corp as their main contractor instead of any other team. One team was simply too big for L Corp's narrow hallways, and the other team... dealt in psychic damage. It was simply too big of a risk for the manager. But the manager is always secure behind the cameras. Would that teams methods just be that brutal visually, or would their attacks have reached the manager?

Combined with his immense grief at all of his friends and coworkers dying in part because of him, A cannot bear to look at death.

4. A's greatest flaw: Avoidance

A common thread during Core Meltdown flashbacks: A refuses to look at suffering. He just can't. Whether it be looking away from Elijah writhing on the floor or hanging up on Daniel's panicked report of death.

This is actually the thing Angela takes the biggest issue with, and what hurt her most. A would never look at her, acknowledge her, and she did not understand why. But I think A did not refuse to look at her out of maliciousness. Rather, it was out of grief over Carmen. He could not look at her without being reminded of what he lost.

Angela's creation came about because A wanted someone to guide him, someone like Carmen. He threw himself into the project to the point it made Benjamin happy that A was passionate about anything again. But as soon as the project he distracted himself with is complete, he is filled with regret. Carmen cannot be replicated, and he breaks again.

Furthermore, tying this back to my first point about A being a reactive person, we see Angela take charge over A. She's the one recruiting employees and leading the business. It was likely a relief for him to be able to step down from the leading position.

But avoiding it made everything worse. He did not act when he saw Elijah's unchecked ambition, he did not act beyond a simple check at Gabriel's decay, he gave Giovanni the same hope he clung to to no avail, et cetera et cetera.

Avoiding his problems is making them worse and sending everything down the drain (including his psyche), so he deals with it the only way he knows how, avoiding them more!

Biggest example of A's big avoidance problem as his psyche crumbles: the memory wipe. A, in perhaps his one singular moment of acknowledging his emotions, recognizes that he is incapable of fulfilling the Script in his current state. His grief is just too much.

By erasing his own memory, he could start fresh without his grief, because he might've really killed himself otherwise. His suffering became bigger and bigger, and he coped by avoiding it.

The memory wipe allowed him to distangle his problems. Through his interactions with the Sephirah (which I will not individually detail for the sake of my sanity and because I dumped all this on a friend on discord already), he can deal with and actually process his issues one at a time.

As the motto describes, only by facing the fear can he build the future. Only by finally facing his grief and acknowleding it, seeing that the past cannot be changed and he has no choice to move forward, can he actually do so.

5. The Sephirah as ghosts

Lobotomy Corporation feels like a ghost story. I've touched upon this in my previous A post.

As you reach the Corp's lower levels, there are less Sephirah. First there are four. They act like normal employees, and do not breach into the story's underbelly until you reach their core supressions and the facade breaks. Second, counting Tiphereth as one, there are three. They still go about their duties, but they know what they are. Third, there are two, and the facade is gone. They know what they are, and they will tell you about the sins of the past.

And finally, you reach Keter, and there is only one.

This gradual decay of the facade is what really gets to me. I said that by interacting with the Sephirah, A deals with his issues one by one, but that's what the Sephirah are, in this case. Representations.

The people the Sephirah used to be are dead, and the Sephirah are their ghosts. The core supression involve putting these ghosts to rest. Doesn't it match the progression of a typical ghost story? Find the ghost, find what they used to be, and help them move on.

So, if everyone is a ghost, then A is alone.

But, behind the scenes, the Sephirah are still there. They are still people, and they have changed for the better, too. As always, A simply does not look.

(Does he even see the good others see in him? Does he look away from praise, too? Did he even realize Benjamin's admiration for him? Will we ever know?)

6. A's end.

A's progression of moving on would be fine and dandy if it did not end as thus: A does kill himself.

A sees himself beyond the point of no return. Everyone is dead. He is alone. Carmen is never coming back. He can't call it quits now, or else everything has been in vain. (Even if the last days show us a part of him wants to just quit, so badly.)

So, there's only one thing left to do: follow the Script to its ending. Fulfill Carmen's legacy at all costs. Death as the ultimate release.

This is the point where I admit I do not like the death as release trope. But the game does a good enough job as presenting it as the only option A had, or the only option he saw himself as having.

However, I've mentioned it before, I'll mention it again: A was not alone. Death was his release, but he left wreckage. In order to end his own suffering, he inflicted the same pain he went through on others.

Throughout the game, he moves on and pushes through. The ending shows that in reality... he didn't.

At least in lor the characters stick together and help each other heal.

This has been most of my thoughts on A, amounting to my longest analysis post ever, having taken me approximately two and a half hours to complete, and clocking in at 2337 words including up to this paragraph.

Thank you anon for giving me the incentive to verbalize all of this, so I can finally be at ease having inflicted my thoughts on everybody else.

[djinmer4]

Matchmaking for the Greater Evil (4/4)

Jiang Cheng waited four months, two AWOL Cultivation Conferences, one missed visit, and entirely too many unanswered letters before he hopped on Sandu and flew to Qinghe.  Truly, it was a remarkable exercise in patience.  He sent no letter and brought no retinue but even so, the Nie retainers let him in without even an aside glance, directing him to the usual location and letting him navigate the familiar halls sans a single guard.  The same way the Jiang retainers would allow Huaisang to wander Lotus Pier alone.

He paused at the door to Huaisang’s office, the familiar rush of pride filling him.  He was pretty much the only person outside of the Unclean Realm who even knew that Huaisang had an office and that he even used it for its intended purpose.  Unfortunately, the tide of positive emotion ebbed away.  Wanyin had seen, had been allowed to see more than others but it still hadn’t been enough.  Pride souring into the usual feelings of failure, he kicked the door open and shouted, “Just because he was a rat, doesn’t mean you have to turn into a turtle!”

Fuck, that wasn’t how he had meant to start this conversation!  Jiang Cheng felt the heat rush to his face and was sure he was as red as a brick.

Huaisang looked up, dark eyes wide and face slack with confusion.  After a second, he waved his fan to the cushion in front of his desk.  Jiang Cheng gladly slumped to his knees, trying to reorganize his thoughts.  His friend waited patiently while Wanyin tried to remember the speech he had prepared earlier.  Giving up, he at least tried to remember the one he had given his nephew.  “What I meant to say was, it’s okay if you’re mourning him.  He was a bastard-”  Huaisang narrowed his eyes, and he backtracked.  “He was a treacherous snake, but you were friends once.  Even after he killed your brother, he still cared for you.  It’s alright to miss that.”

“I don’t miss him.”

“Are you sure about that?  You did the exact same thing after Mingjue died, holing up in Qinghe and not seeing anyone.”

 “I don’t miss him.  I may have missed Meng Yao a bit, but I don’t miss Jin Guangyao.  And I finished my mourning for Meng Yao a long time ago.”  The older man put down his brush and resumed fanning himself lazily.  “You know, this isn’t how I anticipated this conversation going.”

“What did you expect then?”

He lifted the fan in front of his face, only letting his eyes show above the blades.  “More screaming?”

Jiang Cheng snorted.  “I did most of my screaming in my letters.”

“So I read.  But perhaps you have questions?”

Satisfied that the other wasn’t going to seclude himself any longer, Wanyin relaxed and shifted so that he could sprawl out in front of Sect Leader Nie’s desk.  “I’m not an idiot.  I may not be as smart as you or Wei Wuxian but I heard enough to put things together without needing to have it spelled out.”

The fan lowered and a smile drifted across the other’s face.  “What about Lan Wangji?”

“I’m absolutely smarter than him,” he scoffed.  “I knew that Wei Wuxian was back almost immediately.”

“Of course, of course, forgive my doubt.  But really, not even one question?  What about . . . “ Huaisang’s eyes drifted above their heads to a corner of the room.  “Jin Rulan?”

“I’m pretty sure if you had intended to kill my nephew he’d already be dead by now and I’d be at war with someone else.  Possibly Jin Guangyao.”

Huaisang’s nose wrinkled adorably as he frowned.  “That’s true.  Jin Ling wasn’t even supposed to be there, but no matter what happened he inevitably showed up and you almost always followed.  I felt like tearing my hair out trying to compensate for the two of you.”  He glanced up.  “Wei Wuxian?”

“As if you were going to resurrect a different demonic cultivator to be your investigator.  Wei Wuxian’s a walking force of chaos and your friend, it only makes sense you’d want his help in uncovering the Chief Cultivator’s crimes.”

“I’m not so sure we’re still friends,” he said under his breath.  “Mo Xuanyu?”

“I didn’t remember Mo Xuanyu even existed until Jin Ling reminded me on Dafan Mountain so why the fuck would I care about him?”

“You’re so mean, Jiang-xiong.  Still,” he snapped his fan shut.  “If you’re not here to yell about my underhanded methods or to ask questions, why did you come?”

“Now you really are being an idiot.  I’m here to support you.”

For a few moments, there was silence, broken only by the birds twittering in the garden behind the office.  When Huaisang resumed speaking, his voice was very soft.  “I always knew you had a soft spot for me.”

“Don't act like you haven’t known for years that I’ve been in love with you.”

“I knew.  I expected you to give up a long time ago.  Never did figure out why you never moved on.”

“I thought . . . I knew you had to have a reason for acting the way you did.  You were too smart not to realize what was going on.  If you didn’t want anything to do with me in that way, I was sure you would have just rejected me outright.  But the fact you never pushed me away beyond those first few years after your brother died made me think that you had a reason you couldn’t say yes.  I was certain of that after you gave me that cloak.”  Jiang Cheng shrugged.  “Admittedly, I didn’t think ten-year revenge murder plot was it, but in hindsight it now makes sense.”

“I knew that cloak was a mistake,” he muttered to himself.  “So what did you think I was waiting for all those years?”

“I thought you were waiting to get married.”

Huaisang gaped at him.  “Wait, what?  You thought I was waiting to get married to accept your courting offers?  Please tell me how that works because that explanation is completely ridiculous.”

“It’s a reasonable conclusion!  We both know you care about your sect more than your reputation suggests and you don’t have an heir yet.  It makes sense that you’d want to focus on getting one before allowing yourself to follow your heart.  It’s what I tried to do after all.”

“So you mean . . . the blacklisting wasn’t on purpose?”

“Why the fuck would you think I did that on purpose?”

“No reason at all!”  He fidgeted with his brush a little then put it back again.  “In any case, I do in fact have an heir already.”

Jiang Cheng frowned.  “Who?  I’d know if you had any children.”

“Not a child.  Nie Zhenzheng, my second-in-command.  Also my cousin.  He’s got three kids already.”

“Isn’t he the one who’s always harping on you to get married?”

“Yes, that one.  He says he went from being a comfortable fourth in line with two healthy cousins and an older brother who were all capable of having children, to second with only a cut-sleeve between him and the throne.  He’s rather desperate to get more buffers between him and the position of Sect Leader, but that’s part of the reason I trust him as second-in-command.”

Wanyin nodded.  It was pretty clear why Huaisang would prefer an heir and vice who wasn’t ambitious but still competent.  “So do you have any other grand, overarching plans that need to be accomplished?”  He reached out to take the older man’s free hand.

“Not . . . really?  I’ve got ideas about how to deal with the Nie Sect’s qi deviation problem that I’m planning on focusing on.  I always knew I would need a goal to pursue after I got my revenge.”  He looked down at their intertwined hands.  “Jiang-xiong, Wanyin, are you sure about what you’re asking?”

“Why not? We like each other, neither of us is planning to get married, you’ve accomplished your goal.  Unless there’s something else I don’t know about?”

“Jiang Cheng,” Huaisang sighed but didn’t pull away.  “What do you want out of this?  There are things, there will always be things I won’t be able to give you because of our positions.  I’ll never be fully honest with you.  Even without having to hide from Jin Guangyao, there are things pertaining to the Nie sect that I will never tell you.  You’ll always come second to that.  I can’t even say I’ll never hurt you because there will probably be times when Qinghe and Yunmeng will clash.  What could I possibly give you that would not be better served elsewhere?”

“I already know all that; I’ve thought about this for years and I’m willing to deal with those things.  I’m not asking you to be completely honest with me or to put me above your sect.  I won’t be completely honest with you either, that’s just what it means when two Sect Leaders get together.  As for not harming each other . . . “ He grimaced and felt heat flood his face.  “At the last Cultivator Conference before everything went down, I called you a ‘witless coward’.  I’d be losing more face than I can stand if I took you to task over that.  I know better and you don’t care much but I know there are times when I hurt you.”

The other hummed a little in agreement.  “You do tend to let your temper get away from you.  But on the other hand, you did apologize later that evening.  You always apologize to me and you don’t even apologize to Jin Ling!”

“Yes, I’m working on that.  But as for what I want . . . A-Sang, what I want is to know more of you.  There are parts of yourself that you won’t share with anyone and there are parts of yourself that you’ll share with people who aren’t me.  But I want to be certain that I know more of you than anyone else.  But this isn’t just about me.  What do you want out of a relationship?”

Eyes wide and mouth slightly pursed like a doll, Huaisang looked so adorably confused that Jiang Cheng couldn’t resist dropping a kiss on the hand in his grasp.  “What I want . . .” he sighed but still didn’t separate their hands.  “The problem is I don’t know what I want.  I never thought about having a relationship.  I had my plan for Jin Guangyao, I had contingencies set-up for Zhenzheng in case I died in the process, and I had goals set up if I survived.  I have my sect, my birds, and my porn.  The possibility of getting a cultivation partner didn’t even occur to me.”

“Ouch, was I really so easily dismissed?”

“That’s not what I meant, just that I never allowed myself that kind of hope.  I can’t tell you what I want because it’s going to take time and a lot of reflection before I even have a clue.”

“I can wait.  Hell, I’ve waited eight years already, what’s a couple more?”

“Even if it turns out that I don’t want you?”

“Does Heaven truly bar the way?”

Huaisang’s eyes drifted and Wanyin knew by memory what he was looking at.  The books they had exchanged, the incense burner filed with the coils Jiang Cheng had sent him.  The large painting of Lotus Pier across from the bookcase and had taken the Nie Sect Leader two entire trips to finish.  The gash in the wall when Jiang Cheng had gotten drunk and had tried to demonstrate how he had taken down a demon to the other man.  The office was filled with mementos of their years of friendship.  Jiang Cheng promised himself that he would make this work.

Huaisang smiled.  It wasn’t the one he used outside of the Unclean Realm, tremulous and ingratiating.  This was warmer and more confident, his eyes seemed to glow and there was no shaking anywhere to be seen.  “No, I don’t think it does.”  And for the first time, Jiang Cheng stopped second-guessing himself and kissed that smile the way he always wanted to.

[lifblogs]

Get Lost More Often

1915 words, read on ao3

Anakin decided he was an idiot. He wished he had come to that conclusion before taking a hike around Lake Louise in Banff National Park and getting lost. Obi-Wan had warned him against it, but he’d wanted to go anyway. And here he was, freezing his ass off on his way up a peak. Why did he need to climb his way up instead of returning to Fairmont Château where there’d be a nice cozy bed, and hot chocolate, and one of those electric fireplaces? The wind had had the audacity to snatch his map out of his hands, so now he had to get up high to make sense of his surroundings. Hopefully if he made it to the top he’d be able to see the hotel and plan a route back in his head.

It wasn’t that Anakin wasn’t smart. He just did reckless things from time to time. Okay, all the time.

Anakin stopped his hike upwards, and tried to find the best path to continue onward. Right now the ground was becoming more rocky than ever, giant boulders clustering together. He realized it was the perfect shelter for a predator like a lynx or a cougar, and unfortunately there were quite a few of those. But he figured he’d smell one before he was in danger. Maybe. A very tentative maybe. And then there was the off chance that some other large animal would bother him.

He cursed himself as he grabbed hold of a rock and started to climb, his durable hiking boots thankfully helping him scrabble upward. Through the lush greens of the conifers he was able to see a gap, and past them, down, down, down was the lake: all a brilliant aqua that would surely kill him within fifteen minutes of submersion.

Despite being lost and bitterly cold the trip was still worth it just to get a look at that extraordinary glacier melt.

A twig cracked, and Anakin scrambled up and over the rock. He turned, but nothing caught his eye.

Probably a squirrel. Hopefully a squirrel.

Rather than staying in one spot he had his eyes roam all around for at least a minute. He spotted movement in a tree, and was surprised that it was a lot of movement, a branch making a loud thwack as it snapped back into place. Right above that branch was a black furry mass clambering up the trunk.

Closer inspection showed it to be a black bear.

If you let a black bear know you were there and proved that you were big it was relatively harmless. So Anakin stood to his full height, waved his arms, and shouted a greeting at it.

The bear startled, and nearly fell out of the tree, which set Anakin laughing. And then it was on its way.

Anakin had to be on his way now too, taking note of the lengthening shadows. He did not look forward to the idea of being stuck out here at night.

“Just keep climbing,” Anakin told himself as he took to a rocky path through the thinning trees. “Find the hotel.”

~~~

“He should’ve been back by now,” Obi-Wan told the small young woman in front of him.

He had gone to one of the lodges near the hotel that had local rescue and rangers. The woman he was speaking to was short and slim, and had her brown hair up in a bun. A few curls had come loose. She seemed all business in her brown ranger’s uniform, yet she had come out from behind her desk to comfort him.

Obi-Wan was stroking at his beard, anxious from Anakin’s absence. The woman whose name tag read Padmé Naberrie had a reassuring hand on his arm as he gave her all the information he could about his friend.

“I’ll find him,” she assured him, and then she set to work, gathering gear, relaying information, getting someone to cover the desk.

Obi-Wan sat in one of the beat-up handmade wooden chairs.

Oh, Anakin. Why are you always like this?

This vacation had been Anakin’s idea. Obi-Wan would’ve preferred somewhere warmer, and had thought that’s what Anakin had in mind when he used the word exotic. Heading north to try and see all of Canada’s lakes had, however, been how Anakin defined the term. So instead of relaxing at a beach or even just inviting his friend Cody over for drinks, he was here, waiting for Padmé to head out so Anakin could be found.

When she seemed about ready, a heavy backpack hoisted on her shoulders, Obi-Wan grabbed his own pack.

“I’ll go with you,” he offered.

“No offense, but you’ll only slow me down.”

“But I’m strong,” Obi-Wan argued. “And I can move quickly if need be. Please, I just want to find my friend. He’s like a brother to me.”

She eyed him, probably trying to figure out just how muscular he was under his jeans, flannel, and fleece-lined jacket.

“Fine,” she relented. “But there are two rules and two rules only: do exactly as I say, down to the letter, and follow my footsteps about four to five feet back.” Obi-Wan frowned in confusion at that last one, and despite the seriousness of the situation, her brown eyes seemed to glimmer with amusement. She started leading him out, as she offered further explanation: “You don’t want to get hit with the branches that snap back after I pass.”

“Right.”

Padmé led him over to a large all-terrain truck, and once they got in, they headed out.

“So tell me about Anakin,” Padmé inquired.

Obi-Wan did, even as the road became dirt and then their path took them off of it, the vehicle bumping along and jostling them inside.

~~~

Anakin reached the summit of the peak, but there was a slight problem: it was sundown. Sure, he could see the hotel, but traveling there in the dark? Maybe he could stay here. He had a flashlight, he had plenty of back-up batteries. And there was a bigger problem than the dark and cold if he decided to travel. From what he could tell with where the hotel was positioned, he’d have to hike across grizzly territory, or risk taking a much longer route and getting lost yet again.

~~~

I wonder how Obi-Wan’s doing with looking for me.

There was no doubt his friend was looking for him, or had gotten someone to help. He was just like that: always caring, always ready to save Anakin’s ass despite his feigned reluctance.

Then he had a better idea than traveling in the dark and lower temperatures. He could make a signal fire. So Anakin set to work, and in fifteen minutes he had a decent fire going. Now all he could do was sit and wait, he supposed.

Anakin settled down onto the ground, and then started in on the water and energy bars he had in his pack.

“There, did you see that?” Obi-Wan asked, pointing at a flicker of orange light that was up high in the darkness.

He and Padmé had been traveling on foot for some time now, Obi-Wan following her lead because he had no idea how she was able to figure out where Anakin had been, though he noticed she’d often travel back and forth in straight lines, doing that for many yard sometimes, until she’d hurried them on. Despite his worries for Anakin he liked being in her presence. He trusted her, and he wasn’t totally sure why. Maybe it was her sure and steady demeanor, and the calm, reassuring way she spoke to him.

“Yep,” she told him. “Come on.”

Anakin wasn’t sure how long he sat there, working on deep breathing to calm his nerves every time he heard something moving, which was near-constant. The night was loud with all kinds of night-time creatures, and it left him uneasy. He huddled closer to the blazing heat of the fire, pulling his jacket tight around him, and shoved his hands into his armpits. Eventually, he heard steps clumping against the ground, branches and undergrowth rustling, rocks clattering.

Eventually it grew so close that he was on his feet.

Stupidly, he asked, “Who’s there?”

Turned out it wasn’t so stupid after all because next thing he knew there was a petite woman in a ranger’s uniform stepping into the light of his fire.

Anakin let out a breath of relief, which was cut off in an excited shout as Obi-Wan stepped out from behind her.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” the ranger asked.

He grinned at her, beyond relieved by her presence. “I’m fine. Mostly just cold and hungry.”

Obi-Wan put an arm around him. “Come on, let’s get you back.”

The ranger said, “You know, you really shouldn’t travel out here alone.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And you should’ve had a map.”

“The wind took it.”

“Better to stick to a trail.”

“I got that… now.”

But Anakin was too happy at being found to be annoyed. He was actually glad that she clearly cared.

All conversation that didn’t have to do with getting back to civilization died down.

A few hours later—hours of pain-stakingly making their way down the peak and around the lake with only the  light of their flashlights—they came to an open area where there was a large truck parked on the dirt.

“Nice ride,” Anakin commented, as he climbed in, Obi-Wan relinquishing the passenger’s seat for him.

Anakin had expected something a bit clipped from the ranger, but to his surprise she grinned at him.

“Want to see how fast it can go?”

Anakin soon had a look to mirror hers. “Hell yeah.”

They set off, the night racing past them.

“Not to be a downer, Padmé,” Obi-Wan cried, “but hitting something and overturning this isn’t really what I had in mind!”

“Relax,” Anakin told him.

“Relax? You were missing all day.”

“Yeah, and I’m here now.” He turned to his savior. “So, Padmé, is it?”

“Yep.”

“Pretty name.”

“I could say the same for you.”

He laughed. “But at least you have the prettier face.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

“No?”

“Well… maybe. But hey, maybe I should get lost more often.”

“Do you two mind flirting later?” Obi-Wan asked.

Padmé flashed Anakin a secretive smile that left a giddy feeling soaring through his stomach.

~~~

When they made it back to the lodge, Padmé gave Anakin her number.

“What are you doing up here anyway?” she asked him as she handed him the slip of paper.

“Exotic vacation. Wanted to see all of Canada’s lakes.”

“That’s ambitious.”

Looking her up and down and liking what he saw he responded, “I’m an ambitious kind of guy.”

“Great, then take me out with you next time. Or we could do something else. Are you staying at the Fairmont?”

“You bet!”

“How about I see you there tomorrow night for dinner?”

“Can we do dessert too?”

“Only if you’re thinking about the same dessert I am.”

“Hell yeah, I am.”

She gave him a quick embrace and kissed his cheek before saying, “Great, it’s a date.”

“It’s a date!” Anakin called as he left, getting into Obi-Wan’s car.

“You got her number, didn’t you?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Sure did.”

“I’m getting exiled tomorrow night, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are.”

Obi-Wan sighed, and rolled his eyes, and then pulled out onto the road. “I swear, you’re going to be the death of me, my young friend.”

[flutteringphalanges]

Summary:  “Am I in Hell?” Agatha’s voice was hoarse, a hint of fear in her tone. “That depends on your definition,” Dracula answered. “Perhaps.” His fingers felt cool against her burning skin, the fever raging through her body. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it,” she mumbled. The count chuckled, gazing into her eyes. “On the contrary,” he smirked. “I’m going to save you.”

((In which Dracula cares for a gravely ill Agatha))

Characters: Agatha Van Helsing/Dracula

Rating: M 

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: Thank you for all of the comments and reblogs! This was a much darker chapter to write! I hope you guys like it! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! -Jen

                                         Chapter Nine

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." -William Congreve, 1697

The rain had stopped long ago, but the puddle from the aftermath collected at the bottom of her feet and up to her very edge of her dress. She ignored the numbing feeling it brought on by the cold air, her mind still reeling from before. As the sun finally broke through the clouds, offering with it a little warmth, she finally stood up. Agatha ventured towards the edge of the balcony and looked out. It was a beautiful sight to behold if she was to be honest.

For the briefest of brief moments, a part of her wondered what would happen if she merely flung herself off the edge. Down, down, down to the solid ground below. But the bigger and better part of her waved away that feeling. That same urging need to fulfill her grandfather's dying wishes. Her family's pact. So she turned around and strode with purpose back into the dark castle.

"Emotion is a weakness, Agatha. It kills. Murders. If you allow yourself to feel, you allow yourself to be vulnerable. Look at where it got me. Your father. Be hardened. Don't let yourself become a victim. Love leads only to pain. Save yourself the trouble. There is no happiness at the end of a rainbow."

Abraham watched as Agatha cradled the dead rabbit in her arms. It had been a pet she'd kept hidden from the older man. But he had found it and did what he claimed was best for his granddaughter. The girl looked up at him with a tear streaked face, anger fierce in her blue eyes.

"I hate you!" She snapped. "I hate you! I hate you! I HATE you!"

"You'll understand with time what I did for you was in your best favor." He said quietly, turning his back on the girl. "Now drop it and come inside. It's getting dark and it isn't safe to be out in the opening when it is."

It was quiet. The air still around her. The only sound that broke the silence being her wet feet as she walked across the stone floor leaving damp footprints in her wake. Agatha's eyes scanned the area around her. No sign of Dracula. Good. Maybe he had turned in for the morning. That would make things easier. Not that the idea of a good, solid fight wasn't overly tempting.

Descending the staircase, she made her way over to the table where the stake still lay untouched. She picked it up, examining it closely. The wood was carefully carved, free of splintered. Agatha couldn't ask for a more perfect weapon. Had the Count really been that reckless as to leave something like this out? Perhaps he no longer worried that she was a threat. The idea of such a thing only made her blood boil even more.

"Don't you have any family Anyone who cares for you?"

Agatha stood outside of the infirmary as they lay a blanket over Abraham Van Helsing's corpse. The only other person in the world she knew was gone. Perhaps she had an extended family, but she knew not where they were or had any means of contact. Her grandfather had made sure of that. Separation was safe. Something he'd taught her.

"No." She answered quietly, finally addressing the young woman who spoke to her. A nun of all people. "I don't."

"Oh," the nun said softly. "That must be very lonely. Surely you need someone."

"I don't mind it." Agatha said with a half smile. "Sometimes it's better that way. You don't get hurt. Or broken. Perhaps being by myself was what life always had in store for me." That and her mission to end Count Dracula. "I'll manage."

"But you don't need to." And the woman rested a hand on Agatha's arm. "Come with me to my convent. You'll be welcomed there. You don't have to be alone. God always has room for another."

Religion. Christianity. The young Van Helsing gazed down at the nun's hand. To be somewhere. Maybe able to find herself. Maybe able to study more in the process. Had she much of a choice? What money had Abraham left anyway? Barely a cent to his name. Agatha thought long and hard before inhaling deeply.

"Okay," she finally decided. "Okay."

What exactly would happen when she struck him deep within his chest? Would he immediately turn into dust? Burst into a flaming pillar? The possibilities seemed endless as Agatha traveled down the all too familiar path towards Dracula's coffin. She'd be quick. No hesitation. If she should show the slightest amount of pause, he'd be able to take advantage of the situation quickly.

Her still mending hand began to sting from how hard she was gripping her weapon. But she ignored the pain. Ignored how chilled her wet feet were against the stone. She was hellbent. Ambitious. Abraham would be proud. But the further she walked, the closer she got to the cellar, the more she began to wonder if she was really doing his bidding. Doing it in his honor. No. No, it was something else. Something Agatha was forcing herself not to think about.

"A nun's heart belongs to God and God alone. We embrace those around us, but our true love is to the Lord and his teachings."

Agatha sat on the opposite side of Mother Superior's desk, hands folded tightly in her lap. She hadn't been at St. Mary's Convent for very long, but already she was being assimilated in. The head nun wasn't as old as she had anticipated. A round face with a firm voice that still held some friendliness to it.

"I hold no intentions of romance," Agatha assured her. "I never have. You needn't worry about that."

Mother Superior smiled. "I'm not worried about you, Sister Agatha. There's something different about you. I'm not sure what, but I think you'll do well as a nun." She straightened up in her chair and held out her hand. Agatha took it without hesitation. "Welcome home, Sister. Welcome to your new family."

Slaughtered. Just like her rabbit. He'd slaughtered them all. Her family. Mother Superior. Each and every nun. Why had she allowed herself to forget that? Ignore what he had done. The horrors. The hatred. He hadn't batted an eye. So many lives lost and she forgave it. Or rather, from her actions, acted as such. She swallowed thickly. What was wrong with her? Agatha Van Helsing. Protector. Altruistic. Supposed to guard all those around her. A failure. Laughing stock. A singe on the Van Helsing ancestral lineage. Not anymore.

Her name was Mina. Frail. Blonde. Tiny little thing that had stumbled upon their convent in desperation. Agatha knew why. Jonathan Harker now in their care. Or what was left of him that was. The girl knew nothing of what vampires were. Sheltered from such tales. And yet, here she stood before the nun of all people. The woman who knew Count Dracula like that back of her hand. At least that is what she had convinced herself.

"I...I don't understand." The young woman stammered. "Johnny was attacked by a...vampire? But how could someone be so...cruel?"

"Not someone, something. A beast so vile has no heart, Mina. He's poison. Venomous. Count Dracula literally drains you dry. Takes away your life as if it were a mere scrap of spoiled meat." Agatha felt a little guilty for her words. For how timid the girl looked. But she needed to know the truth. "You are Christian, yes? Despite my status, I do not hold the same beliefs as you. But I swear to you, what attacked your Jonathan is the literal Satan."

"I cannot lie to you, Agatha." Mina murmured, nervously playing with her hair. "I'm frightened."

Her eyes were wide. So round. For a moment, Agatha thought she was gazing into her own reflection as a little girl. But immediately, she snapped back to her senses.

"You should fear him. Be terrified. Because the emptiness within him, any prospect of empathy or sympathy has been smothered." She finally answered.

"What must I do?" The girl asked, staring at Agatha as if she knew the answer to every question in the world. "What do I do?"

In that moment, Agatha really hadn't an answer. But she said what had been spoken to her so many times as a nun. "Pray, Mina. Pray for Jonathan. Pray for us all. And maybe, maybe someone above will listen." She paused before exhaling slowly. "Though, I can't say He's heard me yet."

Agatha approached the coffin that sat in the center of the room. No longer did boxes occupy it. Just the single casket. Fist still clenched around her weapon, the former nun managed to heave the lid open. There he lay. Still. Pale. Count Dracula in a deep slumber one might mistaken him for being dead. He was technically.

"End him."

The words rang in her head as if Abraham was speaking to her from beyond the grave.

"Do it!"

She raised the stake, positioning it over his chest. Over his heart. Her hands were trembling. Why was she shaking? Agatha sucked in a breath, trying to collect herself. This was it. Her life's work. Just one fluid motion and everything would be finished.

"Now!"

But before she had a chance to bring it down, Dracula's eyes flew open. In a matter of seconds, Agatha found herself thrust backwards. She collided with the stone, the wind knocked out of her by the motion. She panted, now face to face with the Count.

He had her pinned against the wall by the wrist, her hand still gripping the stake. Dracula's fingers tightened around her with such force he could have easily snapped the bones in two. But he didn't. Instead, he stared into her eyes. Expression still. Mouth pressed into a thin line. There was no malice. No resentment. Humor. He just stood there, holding her back.

"Abraham taught you well." The vampire stated. "Well. But not well enough."

"I sure as Hell plan to get farther than he ever did." Agatha spat back causing a small smile to cross the Count's features. "I don't plan on letting you live."

"Oh?" Dracula said, cocking an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Much to Agatha's confusion and alarm, he brought the fist that held the spike to his chest. Applying pressure, she could almost begin to feel it give way into his skin. Her eyes flickered from her hand, to the spike, and then his gaze. But instead of any reaction she'd expect, he merely gazed back at her emotionless.

"So do it," Dracula challenged. "End me, Agatha Van Helsing. If that's what you truly desire." He smiled and began to push harder. "End me."

[thekoshertribble]

Women of Star Trek #20 “Mirror, Mirror” Marlena Moreau

“Mirror, Mirror,” the first Star Trek episode to feature the Mirrorverse, introduces us to some truly nefarious characters: the mirror counterparts of Sulu and Chekhov are pretty frightening, and even though Spock appears to be good at the end of the episode he is still quite intimidating. However, we are also introduced to a new character who is arguably just as formidable, and more complex: Lt. Marlena Moreau, the “captain’s woman.”

Marlena might be the most dangerous person on the ISS Enterprise, next to the captain. She is the only person besides Kirk to have access to the Tantalus field - she uses it to spy on prime-universe-Kirk kill mirrorSulu’s henchmen - and she can use it without the captain’s knowledge. She could easily assassinate anyone on board, including the captain. (So why not just kill him? Killing the captain would likely open up a power vacuum with various factions of officers and crew fighting for the position. It’s too risky a move to take.) 

There are a lot of questions I have about this character. Yes, she gets a lot of screentime and plenty of dialogue with Kirk but we’re still left with some big questions, two of which I’ll try to address:

1) What is a “captain’s woman” anyway, and

2) What is her endgame? (Why does she kill Sulu’s henchmen and why did she want to go to the prime Universe?)

So let’s begin. We first meet Lt. Moreau in mirrorKirk’s quarters. A very confused primeKirk finds her sleeping on his counterpart’s bed. She wakes, and seeing Kirk return, gets them some drinks to chat over. “We had quite a time in the chem lab picking up after the storm,” she says. From this first line, and from her blue uniform, we can assume that she is a science officer specializing in chemistry, but we don’t get any more details. (What does she do in the “chem lab?” Chemical weapons? It’s the mirror universe so that sort of thing is plausible.)

Anyway, Marlena doesn’t seem too focused on that aspect of her career. In her later confrontation with Kirk, after he refuses her advances, she makes her intentions clear: “I’ve been a captain’s woman and I like it. I’ll be one again if I have to go through every officer in the ‘Fleet.” She feels that mirrorKirk hasn’t given her enough attention and respect, and therefore wants to transfer to another ship. “On the Enterprise, I am humiliated. On another ship, I can hunt fresh game.” Marlena appears to have two different roles on the Enterprise. First, she is a science officer (possibly working on chemical weapons). This is her official role, but she also appears to have a secondary, unofficial yet equally significant role, that of the “captain’s woman.” I think this role is similar to that of the crewmen who ally themselves with certain officers onboard as “henchmen.” It’s probably not on their official records, but it is just as important in their day-to-day life on the ship. There are likely numerous women or men in Starfleet who act as parmours/concubines to other officers or crewmembers. Like the “henchmen,” these paramours act as free agents, partnering with officers of their choosing for status and security. (And of course, they can switch sides if the balance of power shifts.) By this logic, Marlena is one of the most powerful individuals on the ISS Enterprise, and not just because of her access to the Tantalus Field. As the Captain’s Woman she is granted a high degree of respect and security; anyone who threatens her risks incurring the Captain’s wrath. 

Marlena clearly sees her role as the Captain’s Woman as an active partnership. Not simply satisfied with being a paramour, she is invested in Kirk’s rise to power, offering her own advice and observations. In her first conversation with primeKirk, she quickly reminds him of her part in this relationship:

MARLENA: You're still in trouble with Starfleet Command. What you've got in mind this time is beyond me. You're scheming, of course. The Halkans have something you want, or, is it all some clever means to advance you to the Admiralty? Kirk. The Cabinet itself? KIRK: Further than that, if I'm successful. MARLENA: Really? Well, you must know what you're doing. You always do. If I'm to be the woman of a Caesar, can't I know what you're up to?

Marlena sees Kirk as an ambitious and cunning individual, slowly and ruthlessly advancing his career; so why not join him on his way up the blood-stained ladder? And why not give him some tips? When Spock presents Kirk with the ultimatum, Marlena has this to say:

MARLENA: Let's drink a toast to Spock, The only man aboard with the decency to warn you, and he'll die for it. They'll never find another man like him.

KIRK: I don't intend to kill him.

MARLENA: Are you going to act against the Halkans before the deadline?

KIRK: No, but I'll avoid killing Spock.

MARLENA: Just get him out of the way, he and his men.

KIRK: I'll get out of his way.

MARLENA: Shall I activate the Tantalus field? You'll at least want to monitor him, won't you?

Marlena admits she doesn’t like the Tantalus field, but she suggests Kirk use it to protect himself from his imminent execution. She regards it as a necessary evil. (She uses it on Sulu’s henchmen, but the motivation behind this particular act is a bit different, but we’ll tackle that later.) Marlena is clearly active in this relationship, and she expects the same from her Captain. Unfortunately, it appears that he hasn’t been keeping up his part of the bargain, at least according to Marlena. We don’t get a lot of info on why MirrorKirk and Marlena are having problems, but this line is indicative: “I'm afraid I'm a little out of practice. Maybe that's what happened to us? It's very hard for a working officer to shine as a woman every minute, and you demand perfection.” Kirk and Marlena are officers, outside of their relationship. Marlena tries to put the blame on herself, but it’s most likely Kirk who is neglecting to pay attention to her. This continual neglect culminates when primeKirk rejects her sexual advances, and she reaches a breaking point: 

KIRK: I've got to go.

MARLENA: Ship's business? An important task on the crew deck? Well, I guess it's over. 

To her surprise, PrimeKirk ultimately assures her that she is still the Captain’s Woman, “until he says you’re not,” and leaves her to ruminate on why her captain is suddenly acting like a stranger...

...Which takes us to the second big question: what is Marlena’s ultimate objection? Why did she save primeKirk and his crew, and why did she want to go with them, back to their universe? I have two contrasting theories:

Theory #1: Marlena is seeking security. I’ve illustrated above what I think the “captain’s woman” role is, but the episode doesn’t explain why Marlena is so adamant about being one. Does she just want status of being a partner to powerful officers in the imperial fleet, or is there more to the story? As a Captain’s Woman, Marlena is one of the most powerful and most secure individuals on the ship. She’s almost untouchable. She’s a smart woman, but she’s living in a world that values physical violence, and her combat skills appear to be lacking. (For example, PrimeUhura disarms her almost immediately.) So maybe Marlena is ultimately looking for ways to become powerful (i.e. more secure) without being a skilled fighter. Why be a good fighter when you can “partner” with one instead? This is not to say that mirrorKirk is a safe partner - he’s not, he’s most likely abusive, mentally and/or physically. We see evidence of this in Marlena’s “breakup” with primeKirk. She has to ask him if she still has her rank after threatening to leave: “I’ve got my rank - don’t I?” There’s a lining of fear in her voice, she’s afraid of some kind of retribution, physical or otherwise. She’s confused by primeKirk’s belief in her abilities, and by his gentleness: “It's been a long time since you've kissed me like that. You're a stranger. Mercy to the Halkans, mercy to Spock, to me.” If Marlena’s objective is to get herself to a place of relative safety, then the discovery of a less violent parallel universe would completely change her plans. Like the Tantalus Field, being a “captain’s woman” is a necessary evil, the best survival tactic in a violent universe. 

Theory #2: Crack Theory! Marlena is seeking glory. Okay, this is a bit more far fetched but hear me out. Remember the conversation primeKirk had with her about the Tantalus field:

Marlena: Now, I always thought that was funny, The great, powerful Captain Kirk who owes everything to some unknown alien scientist and a plundered laboratory.

KIRK: Well, if you don't take advantage of your opportunities

MARLENA: You don't rise to the command of a starship or even higher.

MirrorKirk would not be as successful as he is without the Tantalus Field, a device he found by accident, and then exploited. What if Marlena is doing something similar, with her discovery of the prime Universe? Remember, Marlena is a scientist. She could study the process Scotty developed to bridge between the two universes, combined with the ion storm phenomenon. Marlena might have wanted to travel to the prime Universe with the prime Crew, (pretending she wanted to go there to be secure like in theory 1), in order to study them and assess their weak points. With this information, she could be a one-woman vanguard leading the Empire to conquer the prime Universe. 

Like she said, you can’t rise to the top unless you seize opportunities. 

Up Next: The Apple

[officialtrashbin]

Silent Blue

The Black Order Fandom asked for both Corvus/Supergiant and Corvus/Proxima angst, so I put it into the same story. Enjoy!

Rating: T+, implications of sexual situations

***

Corvus didn’t know he was asleep until the sensation of falling jolted him awake. He was seized first by panic and then by the immediate understanding that something wasn’t quite right in the world, and for the first time in years, his heart was pounding with something other than anticipation for battle. Instinctively, he reached over and grasped the sheets to his left, only to find the bed as empty as it had always been. His hands trembled as they bunched up the linens, which felt much too slept in, and much too cold, to have been anything less than occupied by another body in another life.

His mind stumbled, forgetting something that hadn’t quite left him. Whatever it was, he realized it must have made him happy—otherwise sleep wouldn’t hurt him this badly.

***

Dwarf hadn’t stopped looking at him. In fact, Corvus’ little brother had spent all morning nosing about, entertaining small talk and, gods, even made breakfast. Corvus glared suspiciously down at the plate of minced meat broiled in herbs, and asked, “Have you done something that warrants pleasantries to ease my inevitable wrath?”

“No, Brother, of course not.” Dwarf exchanged a glance with Supergiant across the round table, who put her tumbler of tea to her lips as an excuse for an absence of words. “I simply wished to express my gratitude to my favorite broodmate. You’ve been working quite diligently as of late.”

“Dwarf,” Corvus said, “I am your only broodmate.”

“How surprising,” Maw uttered from where he sat at Dwarf’s side, munching modestly on eldroot. “I assumed your species killed the weak ones.”

Corvus ignored him and reluctantly took a seat beside Supergiant. He glimpsed around the table. There was a particularly large gap between himself and Maw, and a red flag went off in the back of his mind.

He said, “We’re missing someone.”

The reaction was immediate. Like being shot or stabbed, not the weapon itself but the impact of it, piercing. Dwarf went ramrod straight. Maw’s unwavering gaze averted to the floor. Supergiant set her hand upon Corvus’ shoulder and quickly told him, “Great Corvus, you worry about nothing. It has always been the Four Dreadlords. What makes you believe otherwise?”

“I don’t…I don’t know,” he replied grimly, rubbing his temple like there was something that didn’t belong in his skull. He wondered if his head always felt this heavy. “I have an unusual feeling in my chest. In my mind. Do you sense it? Something is missing and it troubles me.”

“Stress,” Dwarf interjected.

“Yes,” Supergiant agreed. “That must be it. What shall I do to ease your worries?”

Corvus looked at the bracket of sunlight that spilled through the squared window and fell across the empty spot—the anomaly of existence, he thought: to be around so much so often that even the void of space felt full to bursting, and all nothingness was unwelcome where it had once reigned as everything.

Thunk.

Dwarf’s elbow struck the table. The silence rattled and shook apart, and Corvus was jolted violently from his thoughts. He saw Supergiant was still watching him, anticipating his answer to the question he found himself forgetting. All but his mind seemed resolute.

He speared a cube of meat through with his foreclaw, and ambitiously lifted it to his teeth.

“Nothing,” he lied. “There is nothing you can do for me.”

***

When Corvus became an established hunter, he learned first that the scent of his prey was the same constant as a memory: made distant by time. He could retain his recollection of it just enough to always track the hit. Unfortunately, there was no telling just how long it had been since he last got a whiff of the scent in the room that didn’t belong solely to him. He searched quite valiantly for answers where there was none to be found, taking in the close scents of the pillows and sheets, which smelled like him, but also, something distant. Something forgotten. The foot lockers were full of his clothing, yet ruffled through—items shifted around in a hurry, re-folded just as desperately—but it all looked misplaced, as if there had been a search in haste only to turn up nothing.

He didn’t know what he was hunting for. Frustrated, Corvus gathered his glaive and exited his room.

From the shadows of the corridor, a familiar voice told him, “Searching for what isn’t there is little better than an exercise in madness.”

“Perhaps I’ve lost my mind,” he said. “Tell me, has something beyond my control caused this, or have I truly abandoned my sanity in the pursuit of universal extermination?”

Supergiant shrugged passively. “You received a nasty blow during the Battle of Estobi last week. Your glaive healed your physical wounds, but there is a chance the mental damage was irreversible.”

“Impossible—”

“Is it?” She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a weary glance. “Or, maybe you have so many thoughts lately, that they are beginning to blur into one continuous consciousness.”

“Supergiant, drop the façade. I can always tell when there is something wrong, and I want my answers. You may give them to me, or I will have them out.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line. For a while they held each other’s eyes, and finally, the woman exhaled a sigh. “Shall we make a deal?” she asked him, holding out her hand. “I will take you along the path you believe has the answers. When we reach the end of it, if there is something there, I will tell you all you want to hear. But if there is nothing, you promise me, you will drop this obsession over thin air.”

“It is not an obsession,” he deflected.

“Agree to my terms or drop the subject, Corvus Glaive. We have important matters to focus on.”

He diverted his gaze to her hand, then back up to her face, and then down to her gesture again. Slowly, he reached forward, and they sealed the agreement with a firm grasp.

Supergiant went to his side. Something shifted sideways in his chest, that uncomfortable feeling again, falling upwards—someone should have been in her place. “I wish,” he said to her then, “I could understand what it is I am experiencing. Tell me—tell me I haven’t yet lost my mind.”

She put her hand on his shoulder. If it was a gesture meant to be reassuring, it didn’t work.

“Not yet.”

***

Supergiant went with him to the outskirts of their outpost on Titan. Corvus followed the tingling under his skin and the scents of everything around him, through almost all the base and along the perimeter, unyielding, even as the hours passed like long shadows beneath their feet. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t exhausted by his determined push ever forward, but, they had shook on it, so she committed herself to his desperate want for understanding.

They came upon the edge of the plateau, where the ground dipped down into a deep crater, trapping them between a wasteland of stars and the deep earth. Corvus exhaled heavily and perched on the flattened surface of a stone.

“Perhaps,” he said, “I am going about this the wrong way.”

Supergiant crossed her arms again. “I see few options when you yourself do not even know what you are looking for.”

“I—can you truly not feel it? Look into my mind, if you must, I am telling you. It feels as if there is a hole in my chest.”

She lifted her shoulder at him. Her hips skewed right, a stance she only took when her guard was down; something he would know anywhere. The edges of her face were darkened by the shadow within her hood, giving her abyssal eyes the same context as the sky above them, which seemed to yawn open and swallow them whole, its maw spanning the far flanks of the horizon. Corvus was rendered still by how far away everything seemed—even Supergiant, who stood a mere stride out of his reach—and he corkscrewed his eyelids shut and tried to focus on the sensation. He’d been here before.

The nights on Titan were frigid in this hemisphere. Something spoke in the back of his mind of concern for Supergiant and he asked her, “Aren’t you cold?”

“No,” she said plainly. “I am never cold. My suit is thermo-insulated, as it’s supposed to be. Even if I was, what are your intentions to deal with it? Take me in your arms and stifle me with your own torrid heat?”

He furrowed his brow and said, “You sound biting.”

“Irritation is a natural reaction to those who waste my time, Corvus Glaive. If you’re quite finished being convulsed with melancholy, I would appreciate returning to our duties with the Order.”

Corvus rose to his feet and went to her. “This was your idea,” he said thinly. “You refuse to admit to whatever it is you know, and for that, you are wasting your own time.”

“There is nothing to say,” she struck back. After a moment she added, gentler this time, “Corvus, please listen to me. Why do my words fall so helplessly on deaf ears? Have I ever led you astray?”

“You haven’t—”

“Then why are we still out here?”

He reached a clawed hand upwards, sliding delicately under the hem of her hood to cup her cheek. She felt jagged, more than he was anticipating, and much to his surprise she allowed him the unprofessional closing of their distance. Her expression softened.

“You have my apologies,” he said. “You—you are right, Supergiant. I am worried about thin air. We’ve come all the way out here, yet I’ve failed to locate what upsets my spirit. Still, if I might—if I might try something, before we turn back.”

Supergiant glimpsed at his mouth, split half-open to reveal jagged teeth that looked sharp enough to tear flesh, then back up to his deep eyes. “If it will give you rest, do as you wish.”

He leaned in and touched his lips to hers. She went rigid. He was quite warm, quite gentle for the General of the Mad Titan Thanos. His affections were tender when his methods were not. Subconsciously, Supergiant’s hands went to his hips, drawing him closer, relaxing into him as he deepened the kiss. She tilted her chin, he slid his tongue in; teeth, rough against her lower lip, but she couldn’t grasp the dangerous sensation of being this close to them because he quickly broke off, set his shoulders, uneasy, and receded away.

She went pointedly quiet. They had barely kissed for more than a few moments but she was winded, and so was he, panting evenly, trying to control it. He put the meat of his palm to the corner of his mouth and caught the dripple of spit that might not have been only his.

“Corvus,” she said, her voice unreliable, as if he might find something else beneath it, “why did you do that?”

“I wanted to,” he replied. “I awaken from these dreams I cannot remember, dreams of blue and war and death. Will you…help me understand it?”

“You know what you ask of me.”

“Do I? It seems there is a lot I do not know.”

Supergiant looked at him pensively. He wanted to press for answers but didn’t know which way to go to gaze underneath the blanket over her words. She spoke like the depressed key of an old piano. There was something not quite right underneath.

“I have never been with anyone else before.”

“I know. You may reject my offer, if you wish.”

“No, it’s—” She looked like she had more she wanted to say, but instead she told him, “That is fine, Corvus, just not here.”

“Of course,” he said, gazing into the noir mists of her eyes. He thought of unseen places beneath cold, soft earth.

He took her hand in his and led her back the way they had come.

*** 

They wound up back in his bedchambers, despite her attempt at persuading him to hers, and Corvus felt how rigid she went when she gazed upon the bed. That was an answer to one of his questions: she knew something he didn’t, but she was giving him information out of order, further jumbling his mind as it tried to piece together where, exactly, the lines became cracks. It was a challenge to play mind games with a parasite. She was in his head always, even when she didn’t mean to be. It made him feel inadequate.

He took her cheek in his hand and said, “You may still change your mind. I will never think any differently of you.”

“I will be—fine,” she forced out. “Fine.”

Corvus nodded. Slowly, he kissed her, and it felt like he was awakening again—the jolt, heart slamming against the cage of his chest, hands trembling. He reaffirmed his mouth on hers but it was difficult to focus on the sensation when his chest hurt so terribly. Maybe he was dying. Still, he thought of: his lips on the expanse of blue skin along a soft inner thigh, his hands prying legs open, a delicious wetness on the flat of his tongue.

“Have we done this before?” he asked.

She startled, caught off guard. Corvus knew that meant she had to stop thinking about everything, which the Order couldn’t afford to do, and there was a terrible coldness that lanced through his chest. “No,” she answered quietly, “I told you that I have never been with anyone else before.”

“Then why is this familiar to me?”

“We haven’t—” Something was going awry. The surreal isolation of the dark enveloped her, and she stumbled over her own thoughts. “Are you—Corvus, what did you remember?”

Oh. No, no no no.

She wasn’t supposed to say that.

In a flash, Corvus threw himself away from her, slamming her back-first into the wall, and he was screaming. “What did you do, Supergiant?! What did I—who, did I forget?!”

She steeled herself, eyes blown wide open despite how she pushed back against his unholy strength. “Corvus, unhand me! This isn’t—”

“Answer me!”

“I did what you told me to do!”

“What did you do?!” He fisted her cloak and slammed her back again, his terrible, animalistic nature ripping its way out from under the surface of his skin. She was jolted against the wall, something popped in her chest and she felt an intense warmth spread through her torso, as if someone had cracked an egg and let it ooze inside of her.

“Corvus, listen to me! You do not want this! Let it go.”

“I can’t!” He shrieked, flying into a frenzy. “How dare you! How can you stand there and ridicule me without remorse? You, who tore my mind in two and have the audacity to tell me to let go! Let go of what, Supergiant? Let go of who?!”

Supergiant fisted her hands in the collar of his cloak, but she succeeded only in bringing him closer, his malicious expression close enough that he could snap his jaws and take her throat out.

A single, traitorous tear gathered at the corner of her eye.

She whispered to him, “You do not want this.”

“You have no right to say otherwise! Tell me what you’ve done to me! Tell me who! Tell me why!”

Defeated, she raised her hand to his forehead and gave him what he wanted.

***

 The crack of lightning. A wall of blood.

Then, blue.

 ***

 Her name was Proxima Midnight.

She was everything, and then she wasn’t.

 ***

 He opened his eyes, winded and brimming with satisfaction, and then—blue. A fan of azure hair filled his peripheral vision. “Midnight,” he said desperately, “my love,” but the pain of all that existed outside the space between them became a distant ache. Wherever he had been before this was made inconsequential in her presence.

Proxima reached across the thin ravine between their bodies and pulled him into her. That was how this went for someone like him: surrender, embrace, accept. His lips dipped into the divot of her neck, and he took in the scent of their after-sex, bodies slick with sweat, his hand falling complacently on the dip of her stomach. He splayed his fingers across her skin.

“My love,” she uttered, “what crosses your mind?”

“It is in these moments that I wish the nights were longer,” he whispered, his voice reverberating through the deep chasm of the memory. “I can never get enough of you. Is that a strange feeling to have, even though we are together most days?”

She said something to him, but it faded. Distant. Incoherent.

 ***

 When the noises faded back in, he opened his eyes once more. She was looking up at him, beyond him. Over the horizon, he heard the screams of the falling, the Outriders and armies of Thanos bringing slaughter and conquest through the city. Something wet slid dangerously through his fingers.

“My love,” he said, “do not leave me alone. The nights are so, very long without you here.”

She didn’t answer him.

It was difficult to speak, he realized, with only half a body left.

As the fires burned around him, Corvus dipped his head into the crook of her neck and took in her scent. Ash, blood, the electricity of the air. There were no words for it, only that aroma of familiarity.

She smelled like home.

 ***

 “Enough!” He shouted, slamming Supergiant back by her shoulders. She cried out as another stab of acute pain shot through her chest and broke her hold over him fully. “Why did you take her from me?!”

“You asked me to!” Supergiant shot back. “You told me to erase your memories!”

“Why would I do that?”

“You know damn well why, Corvus Glaive!”

They fell into silence, the proverbial tension of ragged breathing and wanting to say more but having said it all already. Gradually, as his memories returned, his resolve crumbled and he moved forward on reflex, taking Supergiant in his arms. He dropped his head into her shoulder. She pressed her hands to his back. For a long while they held each other, unsettled and quiet as the darkness.

“The nights are long,” he muttered. “They are unending.”

“Shall I take it all away?” she asked. She had asked it then, too, after the burial. He recalled that now, like déjà vu, the sensation of living through the present all over again. Back then, he had said yes because it would have made things easier. Now. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“No. Not…not yet—let me see her, one last time. I have to see her. I have to tell her—”

“Corvus, you mustn’t do this to yourself. Let me take it away…for good this time.”

“Please.”

Supergiant sighed, her breath unnaturally cold, even through the thick material of his cloak. She lifted her hand to the back of his skull and gave him what he wanted.

 ***

 When he went under, coaxed into sleep by her power, she guided his body to the bed and set his head against the pillow. The tear burned a terribly hot path down the furrow of her cheek. She smeared it away with the back of her sleeve and went to the door, where Dwarf and Maw had heard her mental call sent out, and gathered now in the alcove. “He is asleep,” she said to them, casting her hood up. “Not for long…though I may prolong the effects, if you so wish.”

“I knew this would never last,” Maw said.

“We need Corvus at his best,” Dwarf added, “but I do not—I cannot allow you to execute the fallback policy.”

Supergiant scoffed humorlessly. “We are without other choices.”

Maw and Dwarf looked at each other pensively.

“Are you certain this is what you want?” Dwarf asked. His words were like a bruise, swollen and ugly with the truth of what happened here. It hurt to touch. To know what resided beneath.

“No,” Supergiant said, “but it is what I must do.”

Maw exhaled. “This feels quite unnatural.”

“It is what he wanted, when we took our vows. Do you forget?”

Maw was in pain too. They all were. Death was what they had all sought yet Proxima was the adhesive that kept them together, before it, but for what came after—they didn’t yet know. There no one way to explain how hard they had all taken it, how personal this was. Supergiant had once fallen off a cliffside, head-over-heel, down the steep incline and that was what it felt like now, to cope with the agony of losing her: the tilted carousel of motion, the sharp jabs of pain in her back and stomach and shoulders, the incoherent blur of sky and ground that couldn’t be deciphered one from the other.

“In the morning, things will be different,” she said. “Please, leave me to do my work.”

Maw went first. Dwarf didn’t go until Supergiant shut herself back into Corvus’ bedchambers. His opinion, all he wanted to say to her, was pillowed under the surface of his chest. Supergiant told herself it was for the good of Thanos’ dreams. That was what mattered.

She would do all that was necessary to preserve the Order.

 ***

 Corvus didn’t know he was asleep until the sensation of falling jolted him awake. He was seized first by panic and then by the immediate understanding that something wasn’t quite right in the world, and instinctively, he reached over and grasped the sheets to his left. His hand met Proxima’s, and she stirred, startled, as he grabbed hold.

“What is it, my love?” she asked him, rubbing the weariness from her eyes.

He turned his head to face her. “Midnight, my dear Midnight…I had the most terrible dream…”

She put her hand on his cheek. “Ssh, I’m here.”

“But for how long?”

“Always,” she said, stroking the arch of his cheek with her thumb.

Slowly, the stillness of the night settled over him. He pulled her close, burying his face in the crook of her neck and trying to remember her scent. It was all desperation. The love he wanted to give her forever, the love he never wanted to forget—all was rendered silent in his mind, coursing through him as gently as the wind. Here, he felt alive, and safe.

“Always, my love,” she repeated, more firmly. Her hand went to the back of his head to hold him close. “Even worlds apart, we will find each other again.”

Corvus realized he couldn’t open his eyes. Sleep was overtaking him, even as he dug his fingers into her back to anchor himself to her, to this, to right here and right now.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he whispered against her skin. “Please, Midnight—”

Proxima’s voice was cold steel, always the one certainty in his life. Hands against his skin, lips to his forehead. She was everything.

“Sleep well, my love. There is nothing left for you here.”

***

 He awoke to an ache in his temples and a deep pang of fear in his chest, but as quickly as the feeling lingered it dissipated, and he knew immediately that he had been dreaming. That was unusual, for someone like him.

Turning over in bed, Corvus was met with the familiar visage of dark eyes and blue skin, and he saw she was already awake.

“Wife?” he said, attempting to brush the bangs from her face, only to find she was without hair. Ah, how silly of him. Instead his fingertips traced the arc of her cheek bone downwards, to the curve of her chin.

“Good morning,” Supergiant said, turning her head to gaze at him. The warmth in her eyes returned. “You look tense. What is it, my love?”

It felt like he was forgetting something.

Corvus furrowed his brow, perplexed, but found that all was right with the moment and smiled, taking her hand in his.

“I just had the most terrible dream…”

[the-desolated-quill]

Luther 5x04 - Luther blog (So... now what?)

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

I’m extremely annoyed. Yes it’s because of the ending and no it’s not because Alice is dead. In fact that was the one bit I actually liked, believe it or not, but we’ll get to that later. For now let’s discuss the fifty eight minutes leading up to it.

So the hitman that killed Benny in the previous episode has kidnapped Alice and Mark, using them as a way to lure Luther to him. First up I’m irritated that Alice has once again been made the role of damsel in distress like she was in the Series 3 finale. I’m sorry, but she deserves better than that, thank you. Also, poor Mark North! His return in the previous episode was a pleasant surprise, but Neil Cross has done absolutely nothing with him. Paul McGann is brilliant as ever, of course, but he has no good material to work with. You could have replaced him with a lamp or a prize Yorkshire terrier and it wouldn’t have made a difference. What a waste of great talent!

Same goes for Wunmi Mosaku has DS Halliday. Over the course of this series, we’ve learned precisely nothing about her and she and Luther have never spent any significant amount of time with each other to truly bond. Her main role in the story seems to be to cover for Luther while he goes AWOL and to get killed by Alice so that it would give Luther something to be pissed off about in the last five minutes.

A lot of the problems in this series stems from Cross trying to juggle all of these plot points around like a one armed clown that has gotten too ambitious for their own good. The initial premise of a creepy murderer/sex fetishist and his scheming, malevolent wife has often been pushed to the side to make way for increasingly convoluted story threads that seem to be picked up and discarded more times than a TV series adaptation of Constantine. Even the whole hitman plot is resolved within the first fifteen minutes. Rather than doing what the hitman wants, Luther just goes to George Cornelius and the two of them just go and kill him. So what was the bloody point of any of that? (Of course this comes back into play later on, but we’ll come to that).

Anyway, with Vivian in police custody, Jeremy is now completely unshackled and free to hammer as many nails into as many corpses as he likes. Except he doesn’t do that. He instead plays ‘Happy Families.’ No, not like the card game. He instead kills the teacher who witnessed the murder in the first episode and from her house hires everyone from plumbers to escorts to come round so he can kill them and stick masks of his own face onto them. I swear this guy changes MOs like Warner Bros changes their DC movie schedule. I get that this is a power thing, but that’s not what was driving him initially. He was having these uncontrollable urges because of his job as a heart surgeon and was encouraged by his wife to kill people as a form of sexual release. It was never about displaying strength. It was about managing weakness. As creepy as ‘Happy Families’ is, it doesn’t really fit with what’s been established about him before. And when did he get the time to make masks of his own face?

Vivian on the other hand has been a really strong character throughout this series and I love how she’s outsmarted in the end. She of course has been entirely complicit with her husband’s actions, but is claiming she was merely a reluctant accomplice trying to rescue Jeremy, sticking to her story that she was trying to save the kidnapped woman from the previous episode, as opposed to disposing of her. However Luther picks up on the dynamics of their relationship and uses it to his advantage. Whereas Vivian wanted to keep the killings private for the sake of her career, Jeremy was always very public about his obsessions, allowing it to bleed into his work life. Turned out Jeremy had been keeping records of their crimes for years, written in code so that his wife wouldn’t realise what he was doing. This was such a satisfying moment and that dawning realisation on her face, that her husband had dropped her in the shit, was just absolutely priceless. Both Idris Elba and Hermione Norris were outstanding during this interrogating scene and Dr. Vivian Lake is without a doubt the highlight of Series 5.

So Vivian is convicted and Jeremy is captured, which leads to one last plot thread to take care of. Alice Morgan and George Cornelius. I have to say the final confrontation between Alice and Luther was extremely gripping, well written and exceptionally performed by Elba and, in particular, Ruth Wilson, with many callbacks to their first encounter in the first series. We see Alice grow increasingly desperate as she realises that she no longer has any control over Luther and as the scene goes on, you slowly realise that there was only one way this was going to end. With either one or both of them dying. Yes that was a surprise, seeing Alice fall to her death, but I felt it was good decision on Neil Cross’ part as it allowed their story to come full circle. It would have been a good ending not just for the series, but potentially the entire show itself. Luther ends the same way he began. Staring down a big hole with the body of his arch-nemesis lying at the bottom. Very poetic.

That’s how it should have ended... but then the last two minutes went and spoiled it.

Schenk finds out Benny is dead as well as discovering the body of the hitman. Naturally he assumes George Cornelius did it, so he goes to arrest him, only to then be presented of a photo of Luther holding a gun (bearing in mind that while Luther did shoot at the hitman, it was George that fired the killing shot). At which point he toddles off and arrests Luther for murder, even stripping off his tweed coat for symbolism’s sake, and our weary hero gets taken away in handcuffs. The end.

Okay. Let me explain why this pissed me off so much. First of all, this is the third time we’ve seen this happen. Luther being framed for a murder he didn’t commit. It’s just boring and unimaginative at this point. Second, it just feels incredibly forced, trying to build up hype for a Luther movie or a potential series 6, And third is what this does to Schenk.

Now I like Schenk. He’s a great character and Dermot Crowley has always given an extremely good performance. What makes Schenk stand out for me is how his character is presented in the context of the show. When we were first introduced to him in Series 1, he was the head of complaints investigating Luther, and Luther’s reaction to his first appearance spoke volumes. Luther has made many enemies within the police department during his career, but Schenk was the only one he was ever actually intimidated by. And the reason for this was because Schenk is a bloody good detective, and the show justifies this. In the first series finale, Schenk was the first one to realise something wasn’t quite right and realise that Ian Reed had framed Luther for Zoe’s murder. Also the dialogue between Luther and Schenk implied a kind of mutual respect between them that we’ve never really seen with any of the other coppers Luther has worked with. In other words, Schenk is not an idiot. He’s a great detective in his own right and, above all, he knows Luther. He knows him and respects him enough to give him the benefit of the doubt.

This episode feels like an utter betrayal of his character because in order for the final cliffhanger to work, Schenk has to be an idiot. What proof is there that Luther killed the hitman? A photo. There could be any number of reasons for that. The gun could have belonged to the hitman and he picked it up. It could have been self defence. And it doesn’t discount the fact that there’s CCTV footage of George Cornelius pulling a gun on the hitman. So doesn’t it seem more likely that george was the one that killed the hitman? Also Schenk knows Luther and knows this isn’t the first time he’s been framed for something like this. Surely he must know by now that Luther would never do such a thing. Okay, Halliday gets shot minutes after Schenk instructs her to bring Luther back for questioning, but considering he knows Alice Morgan is back and later finds her body lying at the bottom of a hole, doesn’t it seem more likely that Alice killed her and Luther attempted to make an arrest? (which is what actually happened). But surely the biggest giveaway should be that when Schenk does find Luther, he’s injured with several gun and knife wounds, again all pointing toward self defence.

Now look, I’m not saying Luther is squeaky clean, because obviously he fucking isn’t, but there’s more evidence to suggest Luther’s innocence than his guilt. In a court of law, guilt must be proven beyond a reasonable doubt. There’s more doubt here than at a scientific conference hosted by Dr Oz. It’s just utterly moronic and it really pissed me off.

In a way Series 5 represents the best and worst aspects of the show. There’s some great ideas, great character moments and superb performances, but also an abundance of overly convoluted plotting, poor pacing and moments of utter stupidity, all culminating in a massive cock-tease cliffhanger that does more to annoy than entice. If Luther does come back for another series, I confess I won’t be in that much of a hurry to watch it after this.

[politicalmamaduck]

The Last Shot

A Smuggler Ben Solo/Dark Side Rey arranged marriage fic for @the-reylo-void. Many thanks to @lariren-shadow for her inspiration and betaing, @rapturousaurora for betaing, @cosetteskywalker for the above moodboards, @aionimica for her drawing of Rey in her wedding dress, @roselinathart for her drawing of the wedding, and @lenuca for her chapter moodboards!

Read it on AO3 here, and listen to the playlist here!

Chapter Eighteen: Jakku | Chapter Seventeen: The First Flashback | Chapter Sixteen: The Rendezvous | Chapter Fifteen: Tatooine | Chapter Fourteen: The First Mission | Chapter Thirteen: Goodbye to Naboo | Chapter Twelve: The Wedding Night | Chapter Eleven: The Aftermath | Chapter Ten: The Wedding | Chapter Nine: Naboo | Chapter Eight: The Time in Between | Chapter Seven: The Negotiations | Chapter Six: The Duel | Chapter Five: The Discovery | Chapter Four: The Bargain | Chapter Three: The Bounty | Chapter Two: The Meeting | Chapter One: The Treaty

Niima Outpost seemed to be the only center of civilization for miles. It was that much less civilized now that the main proprietor, a large Crolute, lay dead just outside his stand.

Lightsaber slashes and burns were the tell-tale sign that Rey and her Knights were there.

The Dark Side of the Force impregnated the collapsed structure.

Ben stood back at a distance, neither participating in the slaughter nor interfering. It was not his place to dispute his wife’s form of justice upon the being who caused her so much pain and humiliation. He could not blame her; he only pitied the scavengers who had so little that they sold their souls along with their bodies in hopes of receiving meager portions day after day under the fierce sun.

Rey sighed in relief. Unkar Plutt would never enslave anyone else ever again. She and her sisters just ruined the Jakku economy, but she hoped that between her marriage and the treaty either the First Order or the New Republic would take an interest in the planet. Due to the secrets she knew were hiding in the sands, she vastly preferred the former option, but even the Republic’s pathetic democratic ideals would be an improvement over Plutt’s hardhearted, iron clad control over the black market.  

The Plaintive Hand plateau, in the Valley of the Eremite past the Goazon Badlands’ interminable sands, was their next destination; the Imperial and Rebellion ship remnants and skeletons became much more numerous the farther they headed away from Niima Outpost, indicating they were headed in the correct direction.

Rey always knew there was something hiding in the desert, beyond her capabilities as a mere scavenger to find. She bided her time, asked questions where she could, and snuck data from the First Order’s archives when she was certain she would not be caught. The Empire died and was reborn above Jakku; Rey knew her parents had to be there for a reason.

The location for which they searched was nearly buried in the sand; turrets and cannons remained nearby, also buried and broken. It took both Rey and Falisa’s hand prints to open the ancient looking bunker door; the others had to use the Force to clear a path through the sand. Once they entered the hidden underground structure, they found octagonal hallways and a matching computer bank ravaged by both the sands of time and the desert; blood trailed lower into the structure, as if a struggle occurred below and someone crawled--or was dragged--upwards. The blood was crusted over, long ago dried in the heat and fetid air. No bodies remained, however; the bleeding person must have escaped, or been taken away.

“Something terrible happened here,” Ben said, looking back at Rey and her Knights. She was looking down at the floor, deep in thought.

“Something went wrong,” she said, her brow furrowed.

She knew her grandfather stored artifacts here, among other things. There were none left to adorn the bare, utilitarian walls, but she could feel the Dark Side energy’s remnants. The place practically resonated with it, sending a shiver up her spine. She could feel rage and power in the thrum of energy that went unused. This facility served more than just that purpose, however.

Rey passed through a hallway leading deeper underground, feeling the dark presences all the more strongly the further she went. Upon entering a larger chamber, she leaned over a bridge to look down upon a well filled with rocks and debris. The dark energy seemed to echo all around her, calling her downwards. Her hands grasped the bridge as she tried to contemplate what purpose these chambers must have served, and why her parents were on Jakku in the first place. The Empire’s last battle took place just above; why were they guarding this sanctum filled with dark energy?

Far behind her, in the main chamber or anteroom, Ben and Maeve were fiddling with the computer bank.

“These are ancient,” she said, licking her lips from the heat and dry air. Ben nodded. “They served some Imperial purpose, though.” He pushed his hair back from his face and attempted to get the system started.

Maeve examined the dusty tangle of cords and wires underneath, coughing as she accidentally blew dust in her face. She was the Knights of Ren’s slicer and technology expert; while Rey could fix anything mechanical and pilot anything, Falisa was the political strategist, Oona was the seductress, Riona their muscle, Keeva an expert in languages and martial arts, and Fionnuala the best at battle mediation and healing.

Emerging from underneath the computer desks covered in dust and grime, Maeve eyed Ben again. “Everything looks connected and ready under there,” she said, coming around the bank to peer over his shoulder. He was entering manual command inputs with no success.

“My lady?” Keeva called down the hallway to the deep chamber where Rey had gone. When she did not respond, Keeva turned to Falisa. “Should we go check on her?”

Falisa’s red eyes flashed. “We would know if something had befallen her. Still, perhaps she could use assistance in her explorations. Take Oona with you. We will remain here for now.” She turned her eyes back to Ben, who pretended not to notice as he brushed his hair off his face once more.

Rey had sat down on the bridge, sinking into a deep meditation. The answers danced before her eyes and mind, too quick for her to catch, always on the tip of her tongue. She heard a man screaming, dark artifacts laughing as he fell and became the catalyst for something. But for what? Grandfather, help me, she wanted to scream. She wanted to scream and lash out and destroy the entirety of Jakku. Let it all burn, let it all know Rey Palpatine’s wrath. She was no longer no one, abandoned and worthless, merely a scavenger trying to survive. She found her place and would press every advantage, use every drop of strength and energy within her to make sure no one would ever face her fate again. She was wrath, she was vengeance, she was a desert fire, holy and pure in the dark.

Her anger burned through her swiftly and surely, turning to her frustrations’ most recent source. Surely her destiny was far greater than what Snoke had given her so far. A mere apprentice, lashed forever to a Light Side smuggler? She and her Knights could do so much more for the galaxy than stand mere sentinels while the New Republic attempted to bring democracy to the Western Reaches.

You are the Contingency, a woman’s voice whispered to her from the depths below.

“Mother?” Rey asked, but there was no one there. Her vision swam and her fingers grasped the shadows, finding nothing. The spectral figure she thought she saw was gone.

The demesne is clear, the board swept clean; a new demesne must be made, said a man, who appeared to be standing next to her, looking down towards the well. He wore a crisp white uniform, unblemished by the sand and dust. His posture was military, but his accent betrayed him; Rey knew him instantly for someone who had grown up on Jakku.

Rey blinked, and the scene changed. Your Empire is gone. I have killed it. You have friends. You aren't alone. Let's call them to us, shall we? the man continued, struggling with someone who Rey could not make out in her vision’s haze.

The ghosts of the Empire past remained here, angry and ambitious.

It's come to this, then? Death on a dead world. You've driven us all to the edge of the galaxy. To the edge of everything.

That voice was unmistakably Grand Admiral Sloane’s, Rey realized. She needed to have another talk with her. She needed answers. Where were the answers?

Ben and Maeve succeeded in turning on the computer bank, which displayed schematics for a ship and a set of coordinates in the Unknown Regions when Rey emerged from the depths with Keeva and Oona, looking as though she was in a trance. She walked arm in arm with Riona back to their ship, saying hardly anything to any of the Knights or Ben before collapsing onto her bunk, her hand pressed over her face, searching the depths of her mind and the twisting sands for what she knew had to be there.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: per questions and suggestions from my dear beta, it may be helpful to check out this Wookieepedia entry if you are unfamiliar with the Aftermath trilogy or need a refresher/haven’t read it recently! I’m also happy to answer any questions you may have. Thank you so much for reading and sticking with me! <3

[theticklishpear]

You always have the best advice, so query? I'm starting in on a story that's been bugging me for five years now, but I'm having a bit of trouble with it. Basically it's about a girl (young woman? 19yo) who inherits a decrepit old house from her murdered grandmother. The catch is the house is in an small college town in the rural south and it's populated solely by preternatural beings. Witches, werewolves, fae, kappa, etc. and she doesn't know. By small town I mean 40-70,000, so smallish. (A)

and the college is entirely preternatural beings as well. But MC doesn’t know anything about this because her grandmother married a human and got the hell out of dodge, basically. Anyways the house has a ghost who is not loving the roommate life, and MC just figures she’s got a small kid breaking in and tries to make friends with what is basically an angsty Victorian dude who died young and is bitter* about it and fashion. Anyways I’m struggling with the whole town bit since I grew up in a city and I only lived near a small town once while in a tiny ass college in Indiana for a year. I know I want them to be pretty set in their ways, since a lot of them are super old, and kinda racist in a ‘human?!?!!?’ type way. But beyond that I’m fairly lost? Also plot is killing me. I have a lot of subplots (tea witch? Tea witch!) but no real major plot. Super rambly sorry, but any advice you’ve got would be greatly appreciated!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

so like, I realize 40,000 is not what most consider a small town, but I’m basing this off the town near where I went to school. So Madison, Indiana? Which has an amazing downtown totally visit worthy. Thanks again though!!

Or…12,000 people. Where on Earth did I get 40,000??? Sorry ignore that last one. 40,000…. wow.

Thanks for the kind words! I do my best–and don’t worry about rambly. I tend to get rambly, too. Let’s see what I can jump-start for you.

I’m going to start with finding plot in your setting and how to deal with your subplot ideas first and then move on to That Small Town Feeling™ under a cut, if that’s okay.

Finding Plot

Plot is all about finding the story, and the story is sorting out what you want to talk to the audience about. If you’re just looking to show off the town and the scenarios the character has to deal with as she learns where she’s moved to, then you’re probably not looking for a huge, high-stakes, world-changing kind of story–you might be looking for smaller things to showcase the supernatural abilities and characteristics of the people around her.

It might help to think of this more in terms of shorter story arcs that overlap to create a larger picture of her life in this new, strange place. The old SyFy show Eureka is probably a good place to start looking to get a feel for the way these kinds of shorter-arcs-to-paint-a-larger-picture look.

Think about what her goals are in this new place. Why did she come? What is she trying to do? Is she trying to make new friends so she can feel more like she belongs? Is she trying to fix up the house so she can sell it? Is she looking for a job so she can actually afford to live here?

What kinds of conflicts do these goals create with the people in town? Are there folks who are actively opposed to her being in town? How do they react toward her? How do they keep standing in her way? Are there others who welcome her and go out of their way to give her opportunities, thus creating a bit of inter-town tension?

Some of the best initial conflict is going to be with the ghost in the house, obviously. So think about what his goals are and what he wants. How does he go about trying to accomplish those goals? Does he have friends that help him? This doesn’t have to be the whole story arc; at some point she’ll have to find out the nature of the town she’s arrived in, and the arc of dealing with a ghost rather than rowdy kids won’t be so important or intriguing. So how does their relationship change once she finds out his nature? Does he ever help her with anything?

What kinds of conflicts do the creatures’ natures provide for your character? Does she accept their mythic natures well? Does she take it poorly? How do these new identities change how she sees the town or how she interacts with it.

Struggling with “the story you want to tell” but not worldbuildingConcept Is Not PlotFrom Concept to PlotGetting Started with Your Story from @plotlinehotlineThe GOTE MethodHow to Transform Raw Inspiration Into a Solid Novel Plan from David Safford20 Basic Plots from @thewritershandbookNaNo Overview Week: Conflict Resources from @writeblrconnectionsBuilding Tension with the Six Key Components from @hollyhamwrites5 Moral Dilemmas That Make Characters and Stories Even Better

Handling the Ideas

For the ideas about other real Characters™ in town like your tea witch and whatnot, these are perfect characters for scenes! You can explore them through your character’s curiosity without having the weight of building an entire complex plot out for them. If, as you’re writing, they become a recurring character, then consider what they’re doing in the time they’re not “on-screen” with the main story. What are they pursuing? What are they trying to accomplish with their life? What kinds of troubles are they going through?

Not all of their story has to go on the page, but throwing in moments where a character may see them on the street exiting a store, or wearing a new pendant they were given by a partner, or cleaning up a mess made in an attempt at magic (or something) will help to give depth to the character and a feeling that the town continues to live and move and breathe while you take your audience away from them for scenes elsewhere.

If you’re feeling particularly ambitious, think about how these various smaller side characters and ideas interact with what your main character is trying to achieve. Can you build threads of other things going on that your main character only sees parts of that later become the main character’s focus once she’s started to settle in to the weirdness of the town.

If a selkie’s backyard above-ground pool springs a leak and collapses, blocking off the street out of the character’s neighborhood, you’ve not only created an obstacle toward your main character’s goals, but also provided a hook for your character to go do something with that character. Or maybe several side characters are working together toward something, and while you follow the main character’s struggle with a fae contractor’s refusal to install wrought iron railings in the antique staircase, the side characters’ plan fails and things happen in town that the main character has to handle or is impacted by later when she’s out trying to accomplish something else.

Small Town Feeling

Okay, so Madison, IN is just shy of 12,000 people, like you said. In your initial ask, though, you mention the town for your story being approximately 40-70,000 people, which is a rather large difference. So I’m not entirely sure if you mean to base your story off 12,000 or ~55,000, but I assume you’re going for kind of the smaller end of things, maybe 30-45,000.

I grew up moving every two years, and I’ve lived in two towns of the size you’re talking about, and in fact, one of those two towns is where I’m living now, so I’m fairly well equipped to talk to you about some things about towns that size. (One was ~60,000; where I live now is ~55,000 centered around a university, with a small add-on town that’s growing into this one that’s ~14,500.) My grandparents also live in a small university town that’s a little over 30,000 whom I visit on a regular basis. Unfortunately, none of these were in the south–they’ve all been in the west–so while I’ve been in the south, I’m not entirely sure how some of these things change for that locality. Obviously, these are generalizations; they can be twisted, bent, exaggerated, ignored, whatever you want to fit your story. It’s all believable here.

Everybody knows where everything is in town, and they forget that new folks don’t know that the Brass Rail restaurant used to be an old train station. This means that people always say things like, “Oh, it’s down where [a non-existent store] used to be.” And that means nothing to the new person. “Great. What’s around it now?” Or, “Have you been to that new place where the [non-existent thing] was?” …. “Maybe?? Where is it?”

There are a couple of “main drags” in town, and at least two of them involve the street names “Main” and/or “Center.” The rest are named after location-relevant historical people or places. There’s usually the commercial drag, the old downtown drag, and the university drag. (I mention this one particularly because you mentioned there’s a college in this town. There are distinctly different amenities around the university than around the rest of the town.) They vary in how nice they are and take pride in either their ability to maintain the facilities (in the commercial districts) or in how long they’ve survived in the town (in the old downtown districts).

Changes at the university are the Talk of the Town forever and people who work at the university never get to hear of anything else because everyone wants your opinion on the latest department name changes and the removal of the extremely-dangerous-but-extremely-nostalgic landmark on campus. Universities and colleges employ a lot of people, so parking hang-tags are a common sight around town, and can be a hot-ticket item for car theft. If someone new moves to town, it’s safe to assume they’re either a student, a university employee, or working at one of the packing plants (or in our case, the semi-conductor plant) in town. People will talk about those changes for years past when anyone cares.

Stores tend to be a mix of mainstream and homegrown. Where I live right now is about 50/50, but the smaller it gets, the more homegrown stores there’ll be. And a lot of those homegrown stores will have strange stock lists. You’ll get a yarn store with hardware in the corner, and an old-fashioned candy store attached to a specialty clothing boutique attached to a seasonal decorations store. It can get weird and quirky.

Going to other nearby towns/cities isn’t a big deal. Everybody has to go at some point for something, because there just isn’t a shop for everything in town. Driving an hour (probably closer in the south, tbqh; the west is very far-flung) to the next town isn’t new, and it’s not treated as anything special. You just do it.

Roads are not in great condition and they never will be. Smaller towns do not have the monetary infrastructure to be able to keep the roads nice even within town, and that means all over town, not just isolated to poorer communities within town. The main drags may have pot holes or sink holes open up that are enough to take out your car, and it may take months for the city to fix them. And even then? The fix was pouring road surfacing into the hole until it looked level, but that road surfacing isn’t concrete and it sinks and compresses over time. That pot hole will be back in a matter of days, weeks, or months if you’re lucky. It won’t be as bad, but it sure will dip your car.

The streets don’t make sense sometimes. Some sections do–some are convenient grids, particularly around the university–but some sections are weirdly meandering. Some parts of town seem to be where the state decided to dump all their one-way signs, which results in either a lot of backtracking or out-of-towners driving the wrong way. Stop signs are common. Stop lights are reserved for major drags and intersections, otherwise it’s a 4-way stop. But it does seem like the city is always evaluating whether they need a stop light–the long black wires stretched across a street to gauge how many cars drive through are very common–regardless of whether one actually gets put in. Where sections of town grew into each other wind up with really weird junctions, and sometimes they get nicknamed. “It’s in that complex of buildings down by the wiggly bit” is a legit direction to give someone. Don’t worry about your town layout being perfect. Downtowns are particularly notorious for poor layout.

Special note: My town is where the state comes to test new road layouts, interchanges, and junctions, so we have a lot of weirdness going on. When I say don’t worry about your layout, I freaking mean it. Towns are weird.

Roads are 2-lanes most of the time, by which I mean 1 lane each way. Main drags are usually 4 (2 both ways) with a middle turn lane for a total of 5. That’s it. It doesn’t usually get bigger than that, and that’s usually at the commercial drag.

Outside city limits isn’t that far away, and while it’s mostly farms and whatnot, there are reasons to head out that way. Sometimes it’s faster to go out to the back roads to get home than it is to go down the main drags.

There’s an absurd amount of pride for something trivial about the town. There’s a festival each year for something weird. There’s events around town for things that would never happen elsewhere. The farmer’s market is A Destination (it’s nothing particularly special, but folks talk about it like it is). The rotary club is a visible entity (and it’s a little weird just how visible they are).

There’s a definite culture about the town. Attire for certain events heightens or relaxes depending on not only the size of town but the location within the country. There are expectations about How Things Are Done that don’t change. Holding on to the past is how they know they’ve survived, so they cling to it. There’s a prevailing slant of political opinions and religious practice, with a small smattering of other minorities that most folk ignore. Some of those minorities are LOUD, though, and that can grate on folks. In a university town, they tend to be a bit more accepting of other ways of life and belief, but mostly because “accepting” can just be “ignoring without actively disliking.” Don’t rock the boat and we won’t rock you.

You are known. This obviously isn’t a thing isolated to small towns, but it’s noticeable. People in towns this size all mingle in the same places–everybody has habits and routines, and you become a part of that with time. You wind up with relationships with your serving staff at restaurants and you know when certain grocery store clerks have their shifts. Heck, I don’t go in to the Perkins here in town that often, but the manager knows me and comes to talk, and when I need to reserve space for our NaNo group every November, I don’t even have to say anything. When I come in in October, she just sits down at my table with her book to schedule the group in. I left a scarf there and when I came in three days later, she just handed it to me over the counter without me having to see if they’d seen it. People know you, and the world is small: They know everybody else, too.

There are a few well-known figures in town that maybe not everyone has met, but they all know who they are. The McKee family runs the pet store and plant nursery on the main drag, and they’ve been running it so long that when you say you’re a McKee, everyone asks you about the store. Gloria Howell is the best real estate agent in town and everybody got their house from her. Tom runs one of the coffee shops downtown but he’s also the in-town LGBTQIA+ front-man, so to speak. Everybody knows him and everybody’s got their opinions.

If there’s anything more specific you’re looking for advice on in regards to your town, please let me know. These are just basic generics since the question wasn’t very specific. Good luck and have fun! -Pear

[projectmedusarp]

Welcome Kara! We’re pleased to announce your audition for Nova Sinclair / Pyrokinesis has been accepted! Please send an ask to the main from your account within the next 24 hours so we can set you up with the OOC blog. We can’t wait to have you join us!

{{ PLAYER INFORMATION }}

NAME: Kara

AGE: 26

TIMEZONE: EST (Eastern Standard Zone)

PRONOUNS: She / Her

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I’m normally pretty active during the day/night, but my schedule can be a bit unpredictable because I’m a nanny and the kids aren’t organized enough to tell me when they need rides ahead of time lol. So sometimes I have to randomly disappear to take them places. During the summer, I’m pretty much free after 1pm but for driving kids around (and I have most weekends off). During the school year, freedom comes roughly after 3:30 or so.

PREVIOUS ROLEPLAY EXPERIENCE: I’ve been RPing since I was eleven and on neopets so… god, like, fifteen years? Roughly six on tumblr.

PERSONAL TUMBLR CONTACT: Link Removed

TRIGGERS: Incest

{{ CHARACTER INFORMATION }}

CHARACTER: Nova Sinclair

PRONOUNS: She / Her

AGE: 31

FACE CLAIM: Natalie Dormer

POWER: Pyrokinesis

QUOTE: “The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.”

PERSONALITY:

Witty - Nova’s got a quick sense of humor and a snappy retort for pretty much any situation. She is a clever woman with a sharp mind and tends to use jokes as both defense and offense. It’s a talent that gets her far with her writing and it’s good in sales, as it tends to make people relax around her.

Affable - Nova is the agreeable sort with a talent for making people feel comfortable around her; it’s that old school southern charm. However, though it takes a hell of a lot to rile her up, she is not what anyone would call a pushover. Mostly she’s agreeable because she just doesn’t have the patience for conflict and avoids it if she can help it. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, after all (though she’s never really understood why anyone would want to catch flies).

Curious - Some call it nosy, Nova prefers curious. She likes to know things, likes to be involved. She likes to know about people and she likes to learn about a variety of topics. Of course, sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong has gotten her into trouble a time or two, no matter how hard she tries to avoid it. Some people don’t appreciate others poking into their business. Especially a writer who will (and has) used stories she hears in fiction.

Imaginative - Nova creates situations in her head and sometimes can conflate them into something worse than they are because she tends to imagine the worst possible outcome. It serves her well in her writing. Not so much in real life, however.

Ambitious - Nova has worked her way up from the bottom to the top, a true rags to riches story that she tends to keep to herself. She has always had big dreams and is good at getting what she wants. She isn’t above doing whatever has to be done to meet her goals.

Reserved - A lot of people let Nova’s friendly, cheerful front deceive them into thinking she’s easy to get to know. She isn’t. She’s secretive and not at all forthcoming about herself or her life. She doesn’t let people in easy and trust has to be fought for. She likes to keep herself to herself and it’s hard to get past the high walls of privacy she’s built to the person beyond it. Though Nova has plenty of acquaintances, there aren’t many she’d call friend and she prefers it that way.

Judgmental - Nova’s far from easy to impress and if you make one wrong move, she’ll judge you for it instantly. She’s got a strong sense of what she’ll tolerate and what she won’t and she tends to be quick to write people off when they cross it. Second chances aren’t her forte. Friendly, sure. Forgiving? Not so much.

BIOGRAPHY:

Nova was born in New Orleans and lived there with her single father until the age of ten, when he was killed in an accident on the construction site he was working on. Nova was left with very little and she didn’t much like foster care either. At around thirteen, she ditched her foster home and became a bit of a street urchin. Easy to get lost in a city the size of New Orleans, and that’s exactly what she did for a very long time. She mostly conned people out of their cash with a sweet smile and her big, bright eyes, asking for bus fare from strangers or a couple of bucks for lunch because “my daddy gave me some cash this morning, ma’am, but it must’ve fallen out of my pocket on the way to school.”

Ever since she was small, however, Nova had a quick and creative mind and she used it to her advantage. It meant that even on the streets, she had big dreams and a strong will, one that would get her on her way to the top. When she was sixteen, she lit out of New Orleans. She worked on a river boat for a time, sailed her way up to Memphis, then took a bus over to New York City. In Nova’s mind, that was the place to be when you had big ambitions and wanted any chance of making them come true.

With nothing but a backpack full of clothes, a battered notebook of scribbled stories, and forty-seven dollars in her pocket, Nova set up at a local shelter and breathed in the air of the big city. She liked it immediately, the brisk pace, the clipped northeastern accents, the way everyone minded their own business. It was exactly what she’d been looking for and Nova was gonna make it work for her.

It was in this shelter that she met Dotty Fisher, a middle-aged shelter worker who took a particular shine to Nova in her early days in New York. Nova liked her too, this woman with a kind smile who made her think of how a mother should be. Bit by bit, she began to trust Dotty, even let her read some of her stories. When Dotty came to her about the idea of getting her GED and trying to go to college, Nova enthusiastically set about doing it all and ended up graduating with honors a handful of years later. She got a job and a crappy little studio apartment and got to work soon after. She had much bigger fish to fry.

Nova’s first novel was published when she was twenty-five, a thrilling mystery that became a best selling novel. Following that success, Nova purchased a small bookstore, which she now runs while writing on the side. Since the first novel, she’s written two more, both hugely popular, though her preference for anonymity meant that she’d written all of them under a pen name.

Nova was quietly celebrating a movie deal in the works for her first novel when she drank the tonic water that would chance her life as she knew it. It was definitely a bit of a shock for someone whose life is spent surrounded by paper to discover she could manipulate fire – all she’d been thinking was how she wanted the fire in the fireplace to burn a little hotter, a little brighter, and suddenly the flames shot so high that they blackened the stone mantle – and she has been quietly and curiously testing her powers out since.

Alone, of course. With someone like Nova whose ear was always to the ground, it was impossible to miss the murmurs of disappearances plaguing the city…

HEADCANONS:

Sometimes when Nova is stuck on a particularly hard section of her writing, she’ll sketch out a scene to try and form a picture in her head. She has no real talent for drawing, however, so her desk is often littered with nonsensical stick figure drawings, most of which are only half finished.

Nova is a notorious pen chewer. It’s a habit she hates, but can’t seem to break. At least twice a pen has exploded in her mouth and her face has been stained with ink for days, but no matter what she tries, she can never get herself to stop.

Nova bought her own store instead of keeping her job at someone else’s because it means she can mostly set her own hours and doesn’t get in trouble if she’s a few minutes late getting back from lunch or if she shuts the doors a few minutes early. For this reason, there are no store hours posted on the store front and those who want to shop there kind of just have to get lucky about when they decide to go. Surprisingly, her most frequent shoppers tend to find this charming. She has one regular who acts unfailingly surprised any time he shows up and she’s actually open.

She’s a deep sleeper, the kind of person who likes sleeping in a freezing cold room with tons of blankets piled on top of her. She tends to keep late hours and wake up late, so the book store is never actually open before noon on any given day.

Nova is queer as a two dollar bill. It’s not something she flaunts, but it’s not something she hides either. She’s just always been more interested in and more comfortable with women. 

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION: Nothing currently (:

[jackfallows]

What’s a Cryptogram Puzzle Post? An Autobiographical Essay on Comics, Symbolism, Magic & Game Mechanics

Back in March this year, I began probably my most ambitious self-publishing project to date – Cryptogram Puzzle Post. The main barrier I’ve faced in terms of marketing so far is that it isn’t easily summed up in a sentence but this is also what I find most infectious about it from a creative perspective. For now, I’ve been describing it as ‘a monthly bundle of interlinking puzzles, codes, spells and illusions inspired by witchcraft and alchemy’. If you want to know more about what that looks like in real terms or how you can support it, there’s lots of information over on the website.

But I wanted to get into the guts of it here because although it may seem as though it’s sprung out of left field, it’s actually been a natural, even inevitable, distillation of all the things I find fascinating in life. And I want to define the links and interplay between those things because deconstructing everything is also a favourite pastime of mine, and kind of the umbrella under which the whole project could be placed.

So let’s start with comics - the love of my life and the medium and community that has served as the well from which I’ve drawn the majority of my craft. First off, let me just say that I think the comics industry is as problematic as any other kind of mass media industry. For starters, it’s unfairly pigeon-holed when represented in more mainstream media like television, so that our cultural understanding still tends to follow two very tired assumptions; either they’re about superheroes and therefore for straight, white, twenty-something men with poor social skills, or they’re sub-literature designed to bridge the gap into ‘proper’ literature for young people (and as such are silly and should be ‘grown out of’ by a certain age). I think these stereotypes exist for a reason but of course, I don’t subscribe to either of them and it’s been very encouraging within my lifetime to observe a significant shift in not only attitudes towards comics but also a diversification of their content, audiences and creators.

However, in no way is this to say that the industry isn’t still rife with abuse, misogyny, bigotry, and fascism in certain pockets; from Frank Miller’s steady decline into a paranoid right-wing fantasist to the endless list of creators who have been called out for sexually aggressive and/or abusive behaviour to little or no repercussions; not to mention the almost weekly onslaught of covers objectifying women’s bodies so barely-acknowledged at this point that it’s almost become its own tradition. And the list goes on, of course. In other words, there have been countless reasons to bow out of comics over the years, and where that urge has avoided me then at the very least I’ve felt a tangible level of trepidation when meeting people for the first time and telling them I’m a cartoonist, or work in a comic shop, or collect comics.

But the thing that keeps me coming back is the medium itself, the mechanics, the symbolism, the process, the untapped potential and the infinite possibilities not yet explored (impeded, even, by the cultural assumptions discussed above). People like Scott McCloud, Lynda Barry and Chris Ware have explored these ideas in ways far smarter than I could or would presume to here, so if you want a more thorough exploration than the one I’m about to offer, I recommend seeking out their work, writing, interviews and talks on the subject. But here’s how I think a life in comics has given way to this project, and why I think fans of comics have responded supportively to it so far:

Comics are a language of symbols. When a cartoonist draws a character, object or background, they’re rarely trying to recreate the way we engage with those things in real life, and if they’re the kind of cartoonist I get excited about, they’re also not trying to recreate the way we engage with those things in any other medium either. That’s why ‘wide-screen’ comics, photorealistic artwork and other such tropes tend to turn me off – trying to force Hollywood in there where it simply isn’t needed, overlooking the tools at your disposal, borrowing too heavily from more socially accepted mediums, following the money etc. all just leave a weird taste in my mouth. On the other hand, the cartoonists I admire concern themselves with trying to distil characters, objects and backgrounds into a form that will convey the idea or feeling they wish to communicate most efficiently. This is why when I run comic book workshops, the first thing I try to establish with participants is that being a skilled illustrator is not a prerequisite for making a successful comic book.

If it was possible to just smash that idea, we would not only kill part of an unhelpful culture surrounding comics that sees it being graded unfairly against other mediums in what we perceive as its “ballpark” – i.e. in terms of what TV shows or illustrations have that they don’t (slick production values or soundtracks for example), but we also see something like the recent groundswell in indie comics publishing where suddenly hundreds of unique voices are not only speaking loudly, they’re being heard for the first time and are being the first things heard by a new generation of fans.

The comic artists I most enjoy have an understanding of clarity, flow and immediacy, and they can bend those skills to fit a multitude of purposes, art styles, lengths and formats. From a creative perspective, that immediacy is also one of the most soul-crushing aspects of the medium as a creator too; often the hours of tedious monotony and forwards planning and experimentation is concerned with subtraction – it’s about streamlining the work to a point where the images and text become so consistent to the reader that they almost go actively unnoticed, only registering on a subliminal level. The potential hours that can be put into creating a panel may very well be to achieve the aim that it is only ‘read’ for a fraction of a second between other panels. Conversely, drawings and compositions can be utilised to make you linger, they can offer modes of engagement that are intrinsically linked to the story, or that act as a set-up for a contrasting pay-off later on. They are a medium; a language of symbols that it is discouraging to see so many people learn only to the extent you might learn the conversational basics of a foreign language at school. There’s a lot to be said beyond asking the time and ordering drinks.

And this habit of reducing things into symbols is manifest in so much of human endeavour for as far back as we are able to catalogue and observe; whether it’s the language systems we’ve developed to communicate with each other, the records we’ve kept as cave paintings, hieroglyphs, tapestries and books, the short-hands we use in our study of chemistry, mathematics, engineering and so on, down to the instant-recognisability we aspire to with logos and branding. And this last arena is a true testament to the power of symbolism, as it has given way to one of the most competitive industries on the planet. Capitalist and consumer culture relies on our almost primal relationship with symbols in order to thrive – what is McDonalds without the golden arches? What is Coca Cola without swirly white lettering against a red background? Symbols permeate everything we do, from the red, amber and green lights on our roads to the WiFi symbol stuck to the coffee shop window.

But our understanding of these symbols is a learned one; there is often no inherent link between the signifier and the thing it signifies, except a common (but not necessary) visual clue. Even words themselves are meaningless sounds and shapes until we actively build those connections between them and our lived experiences; which is to say there is nothing inherent in the word ‘orange’ that has anything to do with the fruit or the colour; if I wanted to (and I don’t) I could teach my child when he’s born that ‘orange’ is the word we use for chairs and he could go on reclining on oranges without any confusion about what that word meant on his part. In other words, a symbol out of context is devoid of content. And the meaning of symbols is not fixed or immune to personal, cultural or historical forces either.

So where does witchcraft and alchemy come in? Well that part is probably less surprising to people who know me or my work but there were slightly more considered reasons than pure aesthetic preference (although it’s still not certain which reasons had most bearing on the decision). I’ve been fascinated with witchcraft for a long time but have only properly started researching over the last year or two. To begin with, I was gearing up to make a long-form comic about a present-day coven that would act as a vehicle to explore the survival and recovery of abused people and their associated mental health issues.

The more documented history I’ve devoured, the more distinctly I recognise an evil that has survived the ages, as rampant now as ever before but appearing very differently – namely, man’s hatred of (powerful) women. Not only that but I recognise a culture of deafening silence surrounding abuse and/or the mistreatment of people suffering with mental health difficulties. There is so much parallel to be drawn between the dangerous and hysterical witch-hunts carried out by hateful, bigoted and above all terrified men in Salem during the 1690’s and their counterparts on Twitter, 2017. But I’m not about to draw those parallels because, like with the mechanics of comic books, far more qualified and interesting people have already taken the time to do this for us. As a survivor, a queer and a person who suffers from mental health issues, there is enough in there for me to identify somewhat with that history while also being so foreign to it that there is always more to learn.

This is especially true where actual practiced magic is concerned, as opposed to baseless prosecutions against hated women who weren’t witches. For example, actual witches frequently used (and still use) symbolism in their craft, science and medicine. Alchemy was considered magic until science caught up and now we shorten ‘alchemist’ to ‘chemist’ when we pop into Boots for our prescription. These were people breaking ground based on experimentation and intuition, understanding the flow and symmetry in the world and using that to redirect things when they got out of whack. Lots of it probably didn’t work, or worked as a placebo, lots of it did but not yet very efficiently, lots was deliberate superstition but all was carried out with conviction that there was more beyond what we can currently name and observe in the world, and there is good reason to explore it.

As part of my own recovery process over the last year or so I’ve gotten into meditation again and although there’s a bit of a gross cult surrounding ‘mindfulness’ at the moment, a lot of the basic ideas in there are ones I can get behind. Being in open, green spaces and just spending a bit of time taking things in and giving my attention to them does great things for my brain, and its encouraged by mindfulness – slowing down enough to be present and observe. I think the reason this works for me is because, subconsciously or otherwise, I begin to recognise the balance of things, not unlike a witch in a meditative state (or ‘trance’ or ‘possession’ as it was often misdiagnosed). Nature has its affairs in order – it knows roughly where the earth is on its axis and orbit around the sun, there are cycles of give and take on each level that allow everything its fair chance; again, I probably can’t tell you as much about this as David Attenborough but it does make perfect sense to me. If you have suffered trauma or live with mental health issues, you are used to being dominated by the fear of everything that is out of your control and the universe can really throw you a bone by convincing you there are some cogs in the machine still turning as intended, a few basic rules that all things must follow and a way to pretty accurately predict possible outcomes.

Which brings me nicely to games. I’ve had a lifelong relationship with tabletop games that is as passionate as it is strange to lots of people. My favourite thing about buying a new game is unboxing it, looking at all the pieces and above all else reading the rules; I like to play the game too, of course, but only to see the rules come to life. I’m not competitive, I’m not a very good strategist and I’m more likely to try and create a game when I’m bored than I am to play one I already own. A good rule system has the same effect on my brain as observing nature in action. I find the symmetry and the variables and the interplay between theme, aesthetics and interactivity completely spellbinding. Games are a rich and diverse medium, that allows creators to build worlds, tell stories and engage the ‘readers’ of that story in a way unlike any other. I have had gaming sessions where just as effectively as any novel or comic or movie, the mechanics have been able to immerse me in fully-realised fantasy universes, make clear and nuanced political points or elicit strong emotive responses.

In short, I’ve been spoiled, and as such there are two things within this medium that I think it’s wasteful to overlook. Firstly, a tabletop game is a kind of ritual and whether it’s played alone, with friends, partners or strangers there are people present and the ritual cannot be completed without them. Factoring human beings and all their associated quirks and abstractions into your game mechanics is a way to instantly give ownership and investment to players and to potentially increase the replayability of the game itself to an infinite degree. Like a coven of witches chanting in a circle, if one of them disengages because they have nothing to do or nothing of bearing to observe until it’s their turn again, the spell can quickly be broken and the ritual made a failure. People should be at the centre of the game play, rather than being the robots procedurally facilitating it.

Secondly, there should always be an element of choice for any action a player carries out; even if there is only one obvious choice in terms of achieving a given goal, the ability to wilfully sabotage that goal for no reason other than exercising the right should be built in; even if the choices given involve rolling dice and leaving the outcome in the hands of fate; even if the choices given are all stinkers and none of them appeal. Players should be given agency otherwise they cease to be players at all. We need the freedom to explore and learn through action if we hope to fully understand the universe created by the game designer. What kind of witch would create a spell for something that will happen inevitably anyway? The worlds we build in games should have balance and symmetry but should in no way be prescriptive or unable to be influenced by the players, otherwise the magic will die.

These considerations become interesting when transposing them onto puzzles, of course. With a puzzle, the experience you attempt to create for the gamer is one of unravelling a mystery with a single, concrete answer. So player choice lies in how to interpret the symbolism on each page and building in red herrings, or dichotomies, or even multiple paths to reach the same conclusion. And human-centred play lies in recognising the format of the game play; it’s printed onto paper and will be picked up and handled, it’s usually a solitary experience and therefore will slow down and speed up, placing more importance on maintaining a consistent atmosphere and making the puzzles reflective of the story and vice versa. In essence, I’m trying to provide the tools necessary to carry out a ritual that will transport you to and engage you in a fictional world. And like many of the comics and games that I enjoy, this wouldn’t be possible without tapping into that primal relationship we have with symbolism or that naturally meditative state we achieve when attempting to find the balance and order in the world around us (be it fictional or otherwise).

I don’t think I would class Cryptogram Puzzle Post as magic or comics or even as a game in the strictest sense but it definitely couldn’t exist without everything those mediums have taught me. And I’m excited to find out how much more there is to learn.

[captain-erwinmerica]

Masquerade 6: Interlude - Fall To Your Knees

Notes: As I said on here and on twitter, this is a backstory chapter, a lot of people were wanting to know why Victor feels so strongly about Yuuri, and here is a novel as to why. RIP me I don't want to look at this chapter ever again. 

Find the rest of Masquerade here or on Ao3 here

There is a hell, believe me I’ve seen it. There is a heaven, let’s keep it a secret.

- BMTH

Somewhere, someone was prodding at old wounds. Trying to start the same old war.

And Yuuri couldn’t stem the flow of rising unease in his chest that said this might be where him and Victor would be given their last chance to walk away from each other in one piece.

The incident where he’d nearly killed Victor in Hong Kong seemed to mean nothing now, that fresh scar above his hip, that small thread of trust they’d forged was now frayed under the tension of repeated conflict between the two families. Yuuri thought that this might be one of the biggest trials he would ever face, and if he didn’t come out of it alive, then it meant he simply wasn’t strong enough.

Two years since his first real meeting with Victor, Yuuri was 21 years old now, Victor 25, and it’d been an excruciatingly slow six months of someone picking at the edges of their operations, ambushing arms shipments and killing their men without so much as an explanation or cause of provocation. First it was just the containers that turned up empty and bereft of anything inside except rusted metal, bits of old rubbish and the smell of foul play, then it was the men sent to oversee transport that were never contactable again, Yuuri had been given the task of tracking them down and come up empty handed for both weapons and men every time.

It was finding new sources for drugs and weapons and being told that said sources had exclusive dealings with Russians only, it was rumour after rumour from too many ears that said the Russians were offering goods at better prices to people that Yuuri’s family already had dealings with. It was nipping at the ankles, it was the incessant buzz of a parasite in the ear, this irritable thing that wound you up tight until you eventually lashed out to erase the source of annoyance.

Six fucking months of this unceasing, relentless prodding, six months of murder and continued losses, and it was dangerous to even set foot outside of Japan now.

The tension within the family, within Japan; was nauseating, it curled its invisible claws around Yuuri’s throat and applied this unwavering pressure, the kevlar vest he now wore under his waist coat was just another layer to add to his burden, and Yuuri couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to stop and take a breath of truly fresh air.

Because it all lead back to Russia, to Victor. Victor and the Russians who just so happened to be in the city at the same time their tampered with shipment was going through, the Russians; who were reported to be encroaching on territories in Thailand and China that were meant to be the Katsuki’s area of trade and business.

It all lead back to Victor, who was said to be more vicious, more ruthless, more terrifyingly ambitious than he’d ever been before, and growing more so by the day.

That’s how someone wanted to make it look, anyway.

Yuuri had been in constant touch with Phichit for information, messages came from him every day, there was photos and screen shots and emails, there was hard evidence on the Russians whereabouts when things went sour that said that even though they were in the same location; they were busy doing something else.

Most importantly; it looked like the exact same thing was happening to the mafia, and that someone behind it was making it point in the direction of Yuuri’s family.

Those pieces of information presented to Yuuri’s boss, aka his father - who might look cheerful and harmless but was anything but - was one of the things that kept the two families from tearing each others’ throats out all over again, just like they had 21 years ago, months before Yuuri was born. The whole underworld agreed that it was better for the forces of Russia and Japan to leave each other alone, official law enforcement entered the fray last time, and that only made business hard for everyone.

Old wounds indeed.

The other thing was that Yuuri had asked, nearpleaded to be the one to talk to Victor. He already had a significant position within the family despite the majority not knowing the truth, he’d laid down his strengths and knowledge in the guise of reasoning as true desperation bubbled in his gut. He’d done it to be the one to liaise with Victor and his men in order to maintain this tepid peace, because it was clear to both sides that this was just a ploy to rekindle old hatred.

Yuuri couldn’t think of anything worse happening, he’d been seeing Victor for two years, and he would be dead set lying to himself if he said that he’d be okay to part ways now, because of this. There were feelings, too many if he was honest, too much time spent day dreaming and wondering what Victor might be doing, too much thinking about him. And definitely too much hoping that Victor was thinking about him too.

There was too much contemplating how far Yuuri would actually go for this, for Victor Nikiforov. Yuuri knew there was a point of no return; and he could see it was fast approaching.

So Victor and Yuuri had maintained a necessary neutrality between the two families, meeting after meeting surrounded by countless men on both sides in mutual territory, their masks plastered on skin tight, true selves smothered in self control even as Yuuri slowly suffocated underneath his own facade.

There wasn’t even any true respite when he still met Victor in the early stages of this impending clusterfuck, they’d have their meetings with people watching every interaction between them, every word and every expression they made with no room for a smile let alone an error. They’d settle what needed settling, and then later on those nights Yuuri would slip out of his hotel for a few hours and meet with Victor so they could fuck their frustrations away.

They hardly spoke, Yuuri couldn’t ever think of anything to say, any words to bridge the silence of growing distance between them, because it’s not like they could talk about it, he couldn’t just ask what was going on, if Victor really knew anything after all, just as Victor couldn’t ask him.

They might as well have said ’I don’t trust you.’ and walked away right then, the cleanest kind of cut that always hurt the most at the time, but less likely to fester.

The facts were there, but the longer things had remained unsolved, the more they looked for someone to blame, the more they needed someone to blame, the more they started to question the truth of what was right in front of them.

They were both guilty of it, Yuuri knew, and they were both in mute denial that this was the way things were going to end, they were better off saying nothing at all.

So they’d embrace at the door when Yuuri arrived, lost in their own thoughts with weapons still loaded and ready under the thick fabric of their suit jackets, and Yuuri felt desperate. Desperate as Victor squeezed Yuuri against his chest to not let go for the longest time, desperate because Victor looked just as tired as what Yuuri felt, his spark dull with lack of sleep, his smile tight lipped as it curled the corners of his melancholy eyes.

But he still said Yuuri’s name the same, all whisper like a treasure best kept to himself, a sigh from deep within his chest that seemed to release some of the tension in Victor’s wound up demeanour, it wasn’t ‘Katsuki’ behind closed doors, he was still Yuuri to Victor.

And the unease slowly ate away at him from the inside out, because Yuuri was only just starting to comprehend the way his heart clenched at the thought of Victor never saying his name like that again, like Yuuri was something more. He was probably already beyond the point of no return.

So they’d always ended up in this urgent, rough sex with bodies as close together as possible, frustrated and horny and much too mindless about each other to differentiate as they fell into bed to alleviate their stress.

The last time they met, Yuuri felt something inside him crumble as he begged Victor for more, for everything. He’d had his back flush against Victor’s chest as they both knelt back on their knees, and Victor had clutched Yuuri so hard against his own body, fucked him deeper than he ever had in this illusion that maybe if they merged together like this then no one could hope to pry them apart.

That was two months ago, the last time Yuuri saw him, and that’s also when the rumours about Victor’s newfound temper started.

Yuuri had been confined to Japan for the last two months to weed out any potential snakes on the inside, stuck with no way out as things escalated, and that need to cast the blame onto someone, anyone, had spread to both their families and led to a horrible state of stagnant communication and rising hostility.

And then amongst the irritation and flaring tempers; there was simultaneous breakthroughs.

In a last ditch effort of his own; Yuuri had reached out to all his connections, and Seung-gil, a quiet, hired man who was mostly interested in helping himself, who Yuuri had met on his first overseas trip; had been able to confirm that the underworld in Korea right now was crawling with activity. They were getting ready for something. The Korean gangs were preparing to pounce once the inevitable fallout between Russia and Japan began, eager for the spoils of someone else’s war.

And at the same time, this rather skilled manipulator had sent word out to both families for a rendezvous in Tokyo of all places, the message from the head of the Chung family never said what he wanted, never gave answers, it only said it was time to settle things. Round and around the message went in Yuuri’s head, this riddle that he couldn’t even begin to understand because the Chung family was supposed to be on good terms with his.

The instinct in Yuuri’s gut, in his body and every fibre of his person told him something bad was going to happen at that meeting that was set for two days time.

The timing was too good, too well placed within the friction to be coincidental, Young-soo Chung of South Korea was an old timer, just like Yakov Feltsman who was set to give full leadership of the mafia to Victor any day now, and the eccentric Katsuki Toshiya, Yuuri’s father. Chung was cunning and experienced, and Yuuri couldn’t shake this sense of dread that plagued his sleep.

Because there wasn’t a thing Yuuri could do, this one was out of his hands, out of his control, and that suffocating hand of anxiety around his neck only tightened its fingers. Yuuri’s father himself had decided to go to this meeting.

Yuuri wasn’t going, and he knew Victor was because he’d got word from Victor himself that he was in Tokyo right now, where Yuuri currently lived as he finished the last of his studies.

If things got volatile there would be nothing Yuuri could do to stop the worst from happening, to Victor, and even though he hadn’t grown up with his father, he was still Yuuri’s flesh and blood nonetheless.

So here Yuuri was; currently tossing and turning in bed at his one bedroom apartment with the lights off and curtains shut to the always busy Tokyo night outside, restless as he wracked his brain for something he could do.

It’d been a long time since he felt this weak, this useless, maybe he should just kill Chung before the meeting could even take place.

The sound of traffic in the streets below kept up its constant background noise of honking horns and slamming car doors as Yuuri stared through the dark in the direction of his ceiling, thinking too many things at once as he’d done lately, Victor Nikiforov the first and foremost thing on his mind.

The digital clock on his nightstand read 10:13pm, not that late, but not that early either, he knew it was reckless, there would be eyes everywhere, ears listening, people lurking. It didn’t matter, this was Yuuri’s city, under his family’s control as sure as the port town of Hasetstu was, and he was going to see Victor if he wanted to.

However before Yuuri could even swing out of bed and set his bare feet on the thick carpet; there was a quiet, continuous knock that traveled to his room from the front door.

With a spike of adrenaline and his pulse thrumming, ready, he picked a gun from the draw of his nightstand. Yuuri knew the layout of his own apartment in the dark, knew where his dresser was, where the sofa and coffee table was in the lounge, where the table and chairs were in the dining area enough for him to tread quietly around all those toe breaking obstacles in the dark.

The knocking never stopped, this, subtle yet constant ’thock’ on the wooden door that got louder as Yuuri drew close, until Yuuri was standing behind the door itself, ready to give himself away with the metallic noise of undoing deadbolts and locks.

If it was a visitor that had bad intentions then his door would have been kicked in by now, if it was someone he knew they would have called ahead, it could be anyone, and all Yuuri wanted it to be was Victor, even if he’d never given him his address.

He took his chances with gun in hand.

The metallic clacks as he slid the deadbolts back and turned the locks were jarring in the stillness, and when he pulled the door open on quiet hinges Yuuri let himself take a much needed breath to clear the tension from his body.

Because Victor fucking Nikiforov was standing there in the dim light of the apartment building’s outdoor walkway, hands plunged deep into the pockets of his unbuttoned navy trench coat, its collar turned up at a wicked angle to conceal his face from the sides and back.

A black scarf draped messy about his neck, and still Yuuri had to marvel at the fine suit underneath that jacket and scarf that fit Victor’s body like a second skin. Charcoal blazer and tight fitted slacks showed the powerful length of his leg, underneath, an obsidian coloured waist coat atop his crisp white shirt, and the ever present black tie with impeccable knot and gold tie clip.

Speechless, Yuuri could only gape like a fish out of water as he finally saw Victor’s face, his hair disheveled from sneaking about in the night, flustered cheeks, breath fast, eyes alive as he looked at Yuuri with his heart shaped smile and pounced like the predator he was.

“Yuuuri!” ignoring Yuuri’s gun, Victor laughed in the quiet as he lunged to give Yuuri a bone crushing hug, to shake Yuuri back and forth in an effort to convey his excitement like a puppy reunited with its owner. And it was like in their time apart Victor had already come to all his own decisions, his mind clear, doubt no where to be seen anymore.

“V-victor!” all Yuuri could do was stutter as his heart went a million miles an hour all over again, exhilaration at the sound of his name on Victor’s lips, how it still sounded just right the way he said it. “How? What are you doing here?”

In his night clothes, a loose t-shirt that showed too much of his tattoos and baggy pants, Yuuri had never felt more naked in his life. Standing in the dark at the open door of his apartment with the chill night air creeping in, the sound of the city beyond the doorway, the flashing lights and the possibility that people could see two frames hugging in Yuuri’s apartment if they looked hard enough.

Victor Nikiforov was hugging him in all his suited glory, with all his fabric layers and hidden weapons, his reputation and his name, and yet he was so unequivocally baring all to Yuuri for him to see.

“Don’t you think,” Victor crooned in his ear with a hot breath as he squeezed tighter still, “that if I knew who you were when we met, that I wouldn’t know where you live?” and still Victor didn’t let go, humming in the doorway as he nestled into the top of Yuuri’s hair with a smile.

And that was when Yuuri realised he could breathe too, his body awash with this warm relief as he snaked his arms under Victor’s trench coat and returned the embrace at last.

“True.” Yuuri agreed with a mumble as he shut his eyes, questions forgotten for now.

“You’ve been busy, you look tired, Yuuri,” Victor commented after a time, pulling back to brush Yuuri’s bed hair out of his eyes, “but you’re extremely cute like this, I like it.”

That was a bit more than Yuuri’s heart could take right now, he was too tired to deal with Victor’s blunt observations. So Yuuri huffed in a fluster as he extricated himself from Victor’s arms to shut the door and lock it all over again with Victor Nikiforov inside his actual home, where he lived and slept and thought lots of things about the man in front of him.

“What are you doing here, Victor?” Yuuri queried again as he flicked the lights on to get a better view, his heart afire with the decision he could now see in Victor’s eyes.

“I missed you, Yuuri.” was all Victor said, longing in his tone as he sighed his truths.

That’s when Yuuri knew the point of no return had already been and gone.

It was about the most risky thing Yuuri could do, letting Victor stay in his apartment in the current situation, but as Victor kicked his shoes off and shrugged out of his coat; Yuuri didn’t want to say anything to stop it from happening, and this was a completely different silence than the ones they’d found themselves in before.

“So this is where you live?” Victor chirped as his blue eyes traveled over the clean lines and modern decor of Yuuri’s apartment, taking in the bullet proof vest thrown on the back of the leather couch, clips of ammunition on the glass coffee table, suit jacket on the back of a dining room chair.

Besides those disarrayed signs of Yuuri’s waning efforts to keep the place tidy, this area was otherwise un-lived in, a tired space that Yuuri couldn’t really relax in. So he stood dumbfounded as Victor took it all in with bright eyes like his christmases had all come at once, that was until his eyes found Yuuri again, standing there barefoot and vulnerable in his own house.

Victor was there in an instant, a gentle kiss on his forehead, a thumb caressing Yuuri’s cheek with a touch so thoroughly tender that Yuuri didn’t know what he’d done to deserve it. And Victor looked worriedfor the first time Yuuri had ever seen him as he looked Yuuri over properly, brow creased and jaw tight with unspoken concern.

“You’ve been thinking about things too much.” Victor noted as he stepped close, “I could see it on your face last time, you tend to close yourself off when you’ve got stuff on your mind.” and Victor ruffled Yuuri’s hair in an effort to pull Yuuri out of his withdrawn state. “I don’t want you to make that face, Yuuri.”

There was no denying it, no arguing that he didn’t want to show this part of him to Victor either, so he just looked up at Victor, lips pressed in a thin line as everything he wanted to say balanced on his tongue.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to say anything.” Victor didn’t press for more, didn’t press for what needed saying, he probably never would, he’d wait until Yuuri said it all on his own. Instead he just tugged at Yuuri’s loose cotton shirt and noted his low riding pants about his hips.

“Let’s get you back to bed.” Victor suggested finally, and he gave Yuuri a little push as he circled him, loomed in close behind and bumped his chest against Yuuri’s back, reverently running his fingers along the patterned skin of Yuuri’s bare forearms, and he’d never touched Yuuri like this before, either. “Lead the way, love.”

Victor didn’t take in the surroundings now as Yuuri walked to his bedroom feeling like some shy teenager as the person he realised he liked so much was following him, eyes set on Yuuri’s back, and it didn’t feel wrong at all to leave himself open like that, defenceless, it didn’t feel like waiting for a knife in the spine, or a gun shot that would never come. After struggling with it for so long, Yuuri knew what this meant.

Absolute trust. Distance makes the heart come to decisions before the head has time to process it, it seemed.

The wide king bed with twisted white sheets was scattered with lamplight, a glowing beacon in the monotone of night, Yuuri craved the succour his soft mattress offered, and Victor could see it too.

With precise movements, Victor started at the buttons of his charcoal jacket, fingers working down one by one until he was pulling his arm out of the sleeves and setting it on the footstool at the end of the bed.

Sleep was the last thing on Yuuri’s mind then, especially with Victor looking at him as he stood there with his holsters uncovered, straps over the top of his black waist coat, metal grips gleaming in the light like an invitation to touch.

Yuuri’s breath froze in his chest all over again as Victor took Yuuri by the wrists, slender fingers encircling all the way around, he raised Yuuri’s hands until his fingers brushed cold steel, leaving them there as Victor dropped his arms back to his sides.

“You do it, Yuuri.” Victor smiled then, gentle and encouraging as he stood there in the soft light. Yuuri wondered how many times Victor would surprise him, because they’d never done this before, either.

So Yuuri did, hands much steadier than they should be, with a life time of practice he pulled the guns from their place and placed them next to his own on the night stand, he loosened the straps and lifted the holsters over Victor’s head, and then he was just Victor Nikiforov standing there in a suit.

Victor hummed the same tune he always did as Yuuri worked on his buttons, first on his waist coat, pushing it back off his chest when he was done, then it was his tie and dress shirt, the cufflinks at his wrists, and then Victor was standing there shirtless, the only thing remaining his dress slacks.

Yuuri would always stare, this time even more so, because Victor was more defined than he was before, the separation of his chest, the lines of his obliques and the ridges of his abs. Relaxed, and yet he still looked coiled to strike at any given moment, his body honed into a weapon in its own right in the months this ordeal had dragged out. Yuuri didn’t need to ask if the rumours of Victor’s new found ferocity were true, not when he could see it for himself.

What he wanted to know was why.

Victor saw the question on his lips before Yuuri could even open his mouth, answering as he unbuckled his belt and promptly let his pants fall to the ground around his feet. “I decided I was getting annoyed with not being able to see you properly, so I did something about it, I think I smoked Chung out before he was ready.” was all Victor offered, so matter of fact as he pushed Yuuri back onto the bed and forced him to lie down amongst the soft covers and pillows.

Yuuri’s heart wouldn’t ever get used to this, and it raced as Victor settled in the bed next to him, his head atop Yuuri’s chest as he snuggled up close to Yuuri’s side to drape his arm over Yuuri’s stomach. Once again, their bodies touching as much as possible.

“Your hearts going crazy.” Victor chuckled, “You act like we haven’t slept together before, Yuuri.” and he teased as he kissed the spot where Yuuri’s heart was beating under his ribcage, snuggling even closer still.

Yuuri was sputtering all over again, hands covering his eyes in embarrassment as Victor reached over to turn the lamp out.

“Sleep well, Yuuri.” and Victor kissed him in the dark before settling back down, chaste and casual in a new blend of intimacy that Yuuri didn’t know he’d needed until now.

Yuuri welcomed this weight on his chest, it was solid and something tangible he could wrap his arms around, something substantial, and it could never be a burden if Yuuri was the one that wanted it in the first place.

He thought he might actually be dreaming already, away in the clouds in this alternate reality where things weren’t as complicated as what he made them, but it was real, because then Yuuri fell asleep.

Yuuri woke up with that familiar weight bearing down on his hips, a burning in his soul and a fever on his neck, flushed from head to toe with a different kind of desperation gripping his body.

“Wake up, sleeping beauty.” Victor drawled and nipped at his pulse, that’s when Yuuri properly woke up, yanked from the incoherency of sleep to waking lucidity in a rapid breath as he opened his eyes. Because was Victor bearing his ass down with nothing but his black briefs on, straddling Yuuri as daylight slashed its way in through a gap in the curtain, falling in a perfect line of illumination over Victor’s extremely suggestive position.

Yuuri thought he might still be asleep as he looked up at Victor, his hair in all directions except tidy, his smirk dirty, and his eyes looking down at Yuuri like it was time for breakfast.

Yuuri didn’t even fucking know what the time was, he’d slept in, he knew that much because the sun was out, but he’d needed that bone deep sleep more than he thought, needed this fresh feeling in his muscles and the clear head it gave him. It was all because of Victor who was still on top of him, quite content to watch Yuuri squirm underneath him.

And he couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away to check the time anyway, couldn’t understand why anyone would want to turn their gaze away from this. He couldn’t even voice the words ‘good morning’ for fear of the unintelligible noise that might come out in its place, so Yuuri just whined this time, feeling the heat rush to his cheeks with a blush.

“Awake now, hmm?” Victor laughed with a shift of his hips, feeling Yuuri’s hard length press against the clothed crevice of his muscled cheeks, his eyes turning to menace as he did so. “And happy to see me I think.”

“Mm, I am.” He’d been caught too off guard to fight this frivolous Victor, already too far gone after only a few waking minutes, and that only made Victor beam in delight.

“Take this off.” came the near command then, and Victor was tugging at his shirt as he said it, pushing it up Yuuri’s stomach to kiss at his chest, up to his throat, up his jaw as he pulled the clothing up and off and finally came to Yuuri’s mouth to hover with the lure of impending pleasure.

“That’s better,” and it was all hunger as Victor looked down at Yuuri’s body, at the tattooed gods of wind and lightning on Yuuri’s arms, at the chaos imbued on his skin, “so much better.”

The real kiss came then, toothy and rough as Victor bore his hips down, grinding against Yuuri to wind him up until Yuuri couldn’t think, until he was running his hands up the flexing lines of Victor’s thighs, all the way up to snake under the fabric of his briefs so he could dig his fingers into the firm flesh of Victor’s ass.

Victor just growled at that, smiling this wicked thing against Yuuri’s lips before he pulled away an amount that was so teasing it hurt. “Have I ever told you, Yuuri, that I love making you squirm beneath me?”

And oh, when Victor talked like that, low and threatening and full of power, it was the easiest way to make Yuuri short circuit, to have all the fuses in his head blow in a puff of smoke, of course Victor knew this because it was one of his favourite ways to torture Yuuri, to wind him up and make him snap.

“You’re so cute,” Victor cooed in his ear with a hot breath, that puppy dog persona long gone, “do you know that this is what you do to me, when you sit on me like this I want to fuck you so hard that I can’t think straight.”

And Victor just kept rolling his hips back and forward, working the inside of Yuuri’s pants into a sticky mess as Yuuri pulled Victor’s cheeks apart to rub himself against Victor in a desperate dry rut like some sex crazed teenager.

He could count on one hand the amount of times he’d fucked Victor, only because he liked being fucked by him so much more, and that wild animalistic look in Victor’s eye was the reason why. But if this is what he did to Victor, then Victor was stronger than he thought, because Yuuri was powerless in the face of pure temptation sitting on him right now. Somewhere in the back of his mind he noted that he’d have to test that restraint of Victor’s next time.

“Do you understand what you do to me, Yuuri?” and Victor was on the edge of sadism now, his hips paused, hands caging Yuuri in as he loomed above him to make himself the centre of Yuuri’s world.

“Victor, please.” was all Yuuri could come up with, a moan on his lips as he gave up his inhibitions with a buck of his hips.

He got a conflicted pout in return as the tendons in Victor’s neck grew taut in his restraint, his eyes wild and ravenous and so vast that Yuuri thought he might drown. “Yuuuri, that’s not playing fair.”

“Please.” Yuuri whined again, turning to nibble at Victor’s wrist because he didn’t know what to do to make Victor give him what he wanted.

Victor cursed then as he snapped in turn, pupils blown like Yuuri knew his own would be. “Fine,” Victor lowered himself to rumble at Yuuri’s throat, a heated warning of danger on his skin, “I’ll make you cum like this then.”

True to his word, Victor did. Their bodies rolled together in a spell of lust, Victor’s hand moving between them to pull his dick out from the top of his waistband, slick and hard in his grip as he tugged at his length in a show for Yuuri to see.

And that was too much for Yuuri to take, watching Victor Nikiforov ride him as well as get himself off at the same time, so with one last maddening rock of his hips Yuuri came shamelessly in his pants, pulling Victor down with all his strength in a desperate bid for friction and something to be inside of.

His fingers dug further into Victor’s skin as he practically mewled Victor’s name, bliss flooding his veins as his toes curled in the sheets. And then it was listening to Victor’s hoarse breath as his hand moved faster, hearing it catch and stutter in his throat as he sat back, eyes shut with all his muscled coiled under tension.

Rapt, Yuuri watched Victor’s hand moving faster, his hips bucking into his closed fist, stomach muscles clenched, Yuuri saw the moment Victor’s body unraveled as he groaned this primal noise with a release of breath and came all over Yuuri’s body.

Then it was the rapid rise and fall of chests as they took time to breathe, panting as they came back to common sense and self awareness.

“Good morning, Yuuri.” Victor chuckled at last as he looked down and saw the mess he’d made.

“Good morning.” Yuuri mumbled back, cleaning up could wait, he still didn’t even know what the time was.

“You look refreshed.” with a rush of air, Victor fell back down next to him to make himself comfortable again.

Yuuri found the shirt they’d thrown aside and scowled when Victor laughed again as he watched Yuuri wipe himself off, the uncomfortable mess in his pants would have to wait for a shower.

“Don’t make me throw this at you.” Yuuri warned as he found his bearings for the first time in months, and he couldn’t help giving in again he realised why, “but I am, thanks to you.” he threw the shirt away then in favour of another good morning kiss. Victor welcomed it with a pleased hum and open arms.

“You’ll need to be for when we meet Chung-”

Victor hadn’t even finished his sentence before he felt Yuuri stiffen for an entirely different reason, that happy morning feeling gone, his rigid walls back up in an instant as Yuuri was forced to remember the helplessness still to come.

“What is it, Yuuri?” Victor asked, flat and cautious.

And it was now or never if he wanted to start talking to Victor about these things, about working together, about helping each other, about trusting each other.

“I’m not the one going this time, Victor.” there was no such thing as never, Yuuri decided it would have to be now.

That didn’t mean that Victor was going to like what he had to say however, it didn’t even mean he would understand, because he looked up to Victor then, who was staring back at him with a blank look on his face like Yuuri had just spoken a language he couldn’t understand.

“Why not?” came the query, like Victor shouldn’t even need to ask such a simple question.

Given in to the notion of talking, Yuuri answered with a resigned breath, “Because it’s complicated.” and Yuuri wasn’t lying when he said that, it wouldn’t make sense to anyone who didn’t know the truth about Yuuri, as competent and capable as he was he was still considered adopted into the Kastuki name, not blood by any means.

They would sooner send Mari than Yuuri, a known legitimate child who was busy running their family operation in Osaka all on her own.

“Nope, I won’t have it.” Victor frowned then with an interruption to Yuuri’s thoughts. “You’re coming and that’s final.” and it was clear he’d made up his mind on something he’d planned in the blink of an eye, Yuuri saw it all.

“Victorrrr.” Yuuri warned again, “you can’t, it will look suspicious.” and even as he said it, Yuuri was still hoping Victor could pull it off.

“It won’t seem suspicious if I’m not lying, Yuuri.” Victor spoke low, serious as he fixed his eyes on Yuuri with the full force of his next words. “I’ll contact your family and say that I don’t trust anyone but you to come, I’ve been dealing with you this whole time, it makes sense, so they’d better get it right.”

Yuuri couldn’t find his next words as they died on his tongue, surprised once again with the ease that Victor said things that Yuuri struggled to even think about. “How can you say that so easily?”

Victor ruffled his hair, pushing it away from Yuuri’s eyes as that same look Yuuri had seen last night crossed Victor’s face, resolution.

“Because, it is easy, Yuuri.”

It was only 15 minutes after that, after a brief shared shower and time enough for them to both get dressed that they found themselves standing in front of Yuuri’s door again, both ready in their three piece suits and ties as they used this day to prepare for tomorrow.

And in the quiet Yuuri finally came to the decision that he needed to give something back to Victor to show his own trust, however minuscule the gesture might be. So as Victor pulled on his navy trench coat, Yuuri stepped forward; shy all over again, and he really should be over it this late in the game, he probably would be with anyone but Victor.

With fast hands and all of his skill, Yuuri slipped his hand into Victor’s breast pocket before Victor could see what it was he was giving him, choosing to step away and stare at the floor as Victor made a puzzled noise and looked what it was.

Yuuri heard the surprised gasp before he felt Victor crush him in a hug all over again, those blue eyes big and watery as he smiled his ridiculous smile, “Yuuuuri!” Victor near sung, “You really are the best.”

Victor squeezed him tight, forcing the air from his lungs as he protested about Victor crumpling his suit, and who would have thought the key to his apartment could make Victor so happy.

“Let yourself in next time.” Yuuri said at last, hoping there would be one.

It was only after Victor left that Yuuri realised the danger they’d both been in last night, and he realised he was terrified of it as he came to grips with one of the worst things that could have happened, worse than the last 6 months, worse than tomorrow, worse than even being found out. Worse than all of the above put together.

There was no thrill to it this time, only dread and sickening cold sweats that left him short tempered for the rest of the day, brooding and determined. He’d found a resolution of his own now, and if he’d made this choice then he was going to stick with it, he’d just have to be strong enough to stop the worst that’d nearly happened.

Because not ten minutes after the door shut behind Victor; Minako came knocking, wondering why he was late.

Of course Victor Nikiforov got his way, half the higher ups protested, half agreed that sending Yuuri would be better, only because he was more disposable than the head of the family. Thankfully, no one voiced that it was questionable or suspect of the Russian to request Yuuri to attend alongside him. It’d spread through the family that Yuuri was good at dealing with Victor, and Yuuri couldn’t help laughing to himself, because the truth was that he was horrible at dealing with the real Victor, the blunt, charming, childlike Victor that could make Yuuri - someone with a fearsome reputation of his own - blush at the drop of a hat. He really should do something about that.

As it were, Yuuri was the one at the meeting now, and everything about it was so incredibly cliche that Yuuri wanted to slam his head against a wall. Old school through and through; Chung requested a man from each party to come alone to an abandoned shipping warehouse amidst others of its kind in the industrial area next to Tokyo Bay.

They could have met at a classy casino, a low key bar with quality liquor, a traditional Japanese ryokan for dinner at least, but no, Chung had made his intentions clear by making it a warehouse, because you couldn’t shoot anyone at any of the places Yuuri thought of.

So here we was in the crisp mid morning air, wrapped in the layers of his multicoloured skin, his classic black suit and tie, bullet proof vest and thick double breasted overcoat to conceal its protective bulk. Impatiently waiting with men positioned in the area who’d been given explicit orders not to move until he said so, just like Victor would tell his own men as they’d planned.

Yuuri stood in the large square of sun that fell into the warehouse through the giant roller door, looking at the inside of the building that was empty of everything except cobwebs, rat droppings and old shipping containers that were placed far too strategically for Yuuri’s liking.

Shadows lurked in the corners, behind each container, waiting in the smell of old rust and concealed deceit. It made Yuuri’s skin crawl, had his fight instincts rearing to retaliate before there was even a real threat. There was plenty of room to move if he needed it, plenty of shadows to make his own, beckoning him just as much as they threatened him.

None of the containers were placed to provide a covered escape, all set back far from the door in an expanse of exposed concrete. The sensitive skin behind Yuuri’s shoulder blades itched, and still Yuuri waited in the maw of the giant building filled with dark colours of ill intent.

The steady rhythm of composed footsteps brought Victor to him next, his expression forbidding, jaw rigid, eyes set to kill. He looked to Yuuri as he arrived, a walking representation of the Russian Mafia, classy designer suit, black on black, polished shoes, shoulders set wide that tapered down to a trim waist.

He looked dangerous, menacing, the definition of intimidating, and Yuuri thought he was fucking beautiful.

“Let’s get this over and done with, shall we?” Victor questioned in a drawl, not daring to risk letting any of his affections slip through.

So they walked side by side into the warehouse to wait, the silence between them companionable, which was probably not what Chung was expecting.

You couldn’t see it on his well aged face as he walked in however, the silver wisdom of old age streaking the black hair at his temples, his grey eyes sharp and clever, and he was wearing a suit just as well fitted as Yuuri’s own.

He didn’t bother to greet them as he strode in, steps confident, chin held high as more men walked in behind him, Yuuri counted ten, his mind taking a hundred different paths as the thought of options, if he just killed them all now…

“I thought we were meant to be coming alone?” Victor’s smile didn’t reach his eyes as he tapped his foot, his tone empty of any mirth the gesture offered.

The small framed Chung only smiled back, “I never said anything about me not bringing anyone.” he turned to Yuuri then, looked him up and down, and Yuuri could feel himself being weighed and measured in the space of time it took, instincts screaming as the moment stretched out. “So Toshiya sent the young one after all.” came the quiet observation.

“What do you want, old man?” Victor cut in with an impatient sigh, clearly provoked by the way Chung looked at Yuuri, at Yuuri’s slicked back hair, at the intelligent glint of glasses, “You’ve cost me men and money, and valuable time I could have spent in bed with my significant other. The only reason you’re not dead is because I want to know what you’re up to.”

Victor wasted no time getting down to the thick of business as he usually did, and Yuuri had yet to say a word, still thinking rapidly about the possibilities of the situation, and he didn’t like any of them. The pressure in the warehouse grew with every heartbeat, the increasing volatility pulling at peoples’ nerves.

“You’re not the one I’m here to talk to, boy.” and Yuuri had to give it to the old man, who was still as composed as ever in the face of the gathering storm in Victor’s eyes.

It was with that that Yuuri’s suspicions were confirmed, that heknew that Chung was here for the mafia’s blood. When the conflict spread 21 years ago; Chung’s family took a large loss as they got caught in the crossfire, Chung’s wife, his oldest son, all blood on Russian hands, they would have been completely wiped out if it weren’t for Yuuri’s family.

’Time to settle things.’ the missive had said, and that’s when it all fell into place, 21 years later, Chung had tried to start a war all over again and failed in his repeated attempts, this was his last ditch effort.

Chung’s men gathered behind them in a barricading semicircle, eyeing Victor and Yuuri alike as the air sharpened with the promise of bloodshed.

“This is a waste of time.” Yuuri finally put in, tone as cold as the air around him, and he was irritated that he hadn’t seen this earlier, frustrated. He wasn’t seeing reason as well as he should, all he could think of was that someone had tried to make him fight with Victor. “The past is in the past, you think to provoke my family into something you’re not strong enough to do on your own?” and Yuuri got closer to boiling point with every word, feeding off Victor’s simmering temper beside him.

Things were spiralling into the wrong direction faster than Yuuri could have predicted, the shadows dancing in the corners in a call for violence as the moment hung on the precipice of chaos.

Young-soo Chung obviously wasn’t here to talk much at all, because Chung just shrugged this impish shrug, leering at them both in turn as the pack of men shifted in anticipation, not as confident as they were two seconds ago. “I thought if Toshiya came he would be more amiable to using Mr Nikiforov’s life here as means to secure an alliance.”

“Alliance?” Yuuri deadpanned with a grit of teeth as he bit back a snarl, “after you killed our men as well?” ’after saying you want to kill Victor.’ was what Yuuri really thought. With each word spoken; Yuuri shuffled as subtle as he could in Victor’s direction, eyes locked on the men in front of him, waiting for the first move to come.

“Ah, an oversight on my part, I didn’t think things would remain civil between you this long enough to be found out. Heh.” Chung chuckled to himself like this was still all a joke, as crazy and eccentric as Yuuri’s own father.

Every muscle in Yuuri’s body screamed as Chung looked at him, decades of hate and dreams of revenge in his age old eyes, “You needn’t be involved in this, I get Victor there, and you get to walk away. Toshiya would understand.”

That’s when Yuuri’s body made the decision of how far he’d go for this on its own, moving on instinct alone with his thoughts far behind as the air in warehouse finally exploded with the abrupt thunder of gunshots firing from a single barrel in rapid succession.

“No!” Yuuri launched himself into the barrel’s line of fire with a powerful spring off his legs, angry, desperate, scared that he wasn’t fast enough. And as time slowed between life and death as it always did, as he flew through the air, as the bullets hit one by one; Yuuri came to the conclusion that vest or no, he still would have made the exact same choice.

Yuuri hit the ground with a muted thump, glasses thrown off his face, half wheezing, half groaning as he doubled over on himself in a crumple of fabric and limbs, oblivious to the shocked silence in his struggles not to pass out. Because once again, vest or no, he’d still been shot at close range and it still fucking hurt like a jackhammer to the chest even if the bullets hadn’t reached his skin.

Yet through it all, he managed to roll over and glare at Chung, who finally looked surprised, who finally knew he’d made an error in underestimating Yuuri.

“I’m not him,” Yuuri coughed his declaration, his mind clear as he was finally able to speak what his heart wanted to say, “and Victor is mine.”

He thought that dying might have been better, pain ricocheting through his body as the pathetic sound of his wheezing filled the warehouse, and as he lay there with tunnel vision and distorted hearing; he was well aware of all eyes on him. Of Victor’s eyes on him lying there at his feet, telling Victor everything he wanted to know with this one action.

“Yuuri, you…”

It was in the same ominous silence before a storm, in a quiet lull of temporary peace that Yuuri was glad he’d never made an enemy out of Victor Nikiforov, because Victor looked down at Yuuri, he saw that Yuuri had offered everything in order to keep this thing between them, to keep Victor safe, and in turn; Yuuri saw Victor lose control.

Victor’s eyes were glowing with menace as he looked up and smiled again, this malicious curve of his mouth that showed his perfect white teeth.

“You shot my Yuuri.” was all he offered in explanation before he walked forward, not hurried, not slow, but at his own pace as he pulled his weapons with sickening speed and opened fire in the face of everyones shock.

Yuuri watched with blurred vision as Chung toppled to the floor with a shout, clutching at his knee caps that Victor shot out one after another with well aimed precision.

Then, he was amongst the rest of Chung’s men, unfazed even as they rushed him all at once, none of them stupid enough to fire a weapon amidst comrades.

It was terrifying how Victor made murder look like this graceful dance, a glide in his step before striking out with his pistol to crack someone’s nose, a spin of his body to kick out behind him and break ribs with his heel even as he fired at the man in front of him.

But Yuuri only counted three dead when it looked like Victor would be overwhelmed, because no matter what anyone said; ten against one weren’t realistic odds no matter who you were.

How ridiculous would it be for Yuuri to save his life only for Victor to get himself killed moments later, Yuuri mused to himself as struggled to sit up.

The shouts and grunts of the scuffle echoed through the building, the ruffle of fabric, the sound of blows landing as Victor edged closer and closer to madness.

It was the glinting steel of a knife that had the fog from Yuuri’s brain dissipating, the sharp edge that caught the sun as one of the men pulled it from his coat to lunge at Victor from behind. With every ounce of skill he had; Yuuri found his own weapon and took aim, shooting a leg out even as cringed at the thought of accidentally hitting Victor.

The man went down to a knee as he cried out, clutching at the bloody hole in oblivious panic, Victor saw the opening and sneered, dropping his weapons to take the man’s horrified face in-between his two palms and twist his neck with a violently sick crunch of snapping vertebrae.

Yuuri managed to take out one more at the same time, his aim steady to hit a bullseye to an unsuspecting temple, the man dead before he hit the ground.

And then Victor was standing amidst scattered bodies with three men left, hungry for a fight with blood spattered across his face in a breath taking contrast between the deep shade of red and the pure hue of his pale skin.

Yuuri would never understand the primitive instinct that kicked in sometimes that gave men too much pride to fight with a gun at moments like this, like fighting barehanded would somehow give them extra merit when it would only get them killed.

Victor caught the first charging man in the chest with a swift front kick, his leg raised high as he leant on his back foot to lash out with his heel and rip the air from the man’s lungs. The man tumbled back with groan, scattering the other two, and Victor wasted no chances.

Then it was Victor pulling an incoming fist into his body, using the momentum to bring the man close and sweep his foe’s feet out from underneath him. Yuuri swallowed hard as he watched Victor hold onto the man’s wrist and stomp on his shoulder as he fell, the pop and crack of breaking joints loud even as Victor stomped again and again.

And Victor kept going, mindless, the rise and fall of his foot mashing the man’s face, his teeth, his nose, he kept going even as the last man came to his senses with the display of brutality to realise he wasn’t going to win. His hand had only just reached the inside of his pocket before Yuuri took him out, a shot to the chest, a shot to the neck, one last shot to his face as he pulled the trigger three times over.

It was only when there was no movement, no one standing, only the sounds of men in pain and the bubbling breaths of the victim of Victor’s wrath that Yuuri let himself fall back down, his own breathe shallow and rapid as his ribs screamed.

He could hear Chung grumbling in agony, halfway between conscious and aware as pain controlled him, he could hear Victor stop, feel the weighted void of silence as Victor came back from wherever he’d gone in his rage.

With his cheek pressed against the welcome cold of the concrete, Yuuri watched again as Victor knelt with bleeding fists and empty eyes to pick up his guns, jaw set, the face of Victor Nikiforov on again, perfect in its impenetrable obscurity.

Victor gifted a bullet to each, not saying a word as he finished them all off to leave Chung for last, and he stood over the old man, impassive in all his power with shadows that belonged to him, and he pulled the trigger with explosive cracks from the barrel, unflinching against the recoil.

Victor emptied both clips of ammo into the now dead body, pulling the trigger even as the empty click of no more bullets took place of live rounds.

“And Yuuri is mine.” Victor finally declared, there was this new sheen to his ocean blue eyes, possessive, greedy, protective, manic, and Yuuri knew it was all for him.

They hadn’t just crossed the line, they’d erased it from existence.

Because Victor ran to Yuuri then, falling to his knees before he even stopped running with slide of his knees on the concrete. He pulled Yuuri up, frantic as he cradled Yuuri’s face in between his warm, shaking hands, and he looked at Yuuri like he was the one who’d been shot, his face a twist of agony as he slowly checked Yuuri over.

Yuuri could hear Victor’s rapid breath as they both sat on the floor with corpses surrounding them, the morning air back to its usual temperature now that the chaos had passed. Their men would be here shortly, no one in their right mind would hang back at the sound of that much gunfire. “That’s twice you saved my life.”

“Victor…” and why did Yuuri never know what to say when it came to the most important moments of his life, speechless in the face of Victor’s tender expression.

“This is why I trust you, Yuuri.” Victor whispered, his eyes shut in pure relief that Yuuri was otherwise not actually dying.

“The vest, it was nothing.” he rebuffed those valuable words, stubborn, disbelieving that Victor could put so much faith in him.

“It would have made no difference.” and once again Victor knew Yuuri better than he knew himself, his smile real and heartfelt as he pulled their faces closer.

“So don’t do it again, because you can’t do something so selfless like that and then be selfish enough to leave me behind, Yuuri.” Victor was grumbling now, lips pouting even as his eyes grew watery with overwhelming affection.

“I can’t make any promises about that.” and Yuuri had only just regained his breath for Victor to steal it all over again as he crushed Yuuri against his chest with a half laugh, half sob, Yuuri couldn’t help but do the same as he clung to Victor, everything else in the world meaningless now apart from the person in his arms.

“Then stay close to me, Yuuri.” Victor whispered in his ear, speaking the words they’d always wanted to say, turning it into something real that Yuuri already knew he would do anything for.

“I’m stuck with you now, aren’t I?” Yuuri chuckled, falling further and further into this dream that’d already come true, the stark reality of mayhem surrounding them would follow them both everywhere from now on.

“Yep, I’ll never leave.” was all Victor said.

And there was nothing in Yuuri’s life that he’d ever wanted to hear more.

[amatchgirl]

Things We Loved in March

Did March even happen? I feel like we’re all sort of stuck in this weird limbo stage of WTF is going on and when is this whole virus thing going to end so we can all get back to our normal lives.

Here’s the thing: being stuck at home without the ability to see our friends, participate in social activities, have access to copious amounts of food, and limiting our spending of money on materialistic things has really opened my eyes to just how lucky we are, and how grateful I am for the basic necessities and my family.

However, that doesn’t mean the situation is ideal. In fact, it’s stressful as hell. There are a lot of unknowns and the impact all of this has on our mental health may be too quick to realize. We are all going through huge transitions in the way we operate and function in our everyday lives. It’s complicated, frustrating, sad and upsetting all at the same time, but I think the best we can do is take it day by day. And above all, appreciate what we DO have. Focusing on the positive things is essential, but always easier said than done.

Things I’m doing to stay grounded during quarantine

practicing self care through exercise and movement. I have started doing at home workouts and am loving the energy and ‘me’ time they provide. It’s also fun to do them with Tony because we can encourage each other.

getting outside. breathing in the fresh air. enjoy the sunshine whenever possible.

connecting with others. it’s funny but I swear I’ve had more conversations with friends and family over the past few weeks then I have in the past few months.

eat nourishing meals. I’m using this time as an opportunity to create more and am loving it. It’s actually nice to forget about all the supplements and diet culture trends we tend to lean into. Right now I’m digging frozen veggies, canned beans, dried lentils and all the nuts.

stress baking. every single week I’ve been baking something exciting and different for Tony and I. I can’t stop!

recognizing emotions. I’m trying to be hyper aware of how I’m feeling in a time of serious unknowns and swift transitions, because I don’t want to stuff away my emotions and trade them in for something like binge eating or not eating.

practicing gratitude. every day I write down 3 things I’m grateful for. can be small or big — it doesn’t matter.

I want to hear from you: how are you feeling and coping? Are you doing anything to keep yourself grounded during this time?

Recipes from March

Here are all the recipes published on Ambitious Kitchen this March that you might have missed. Did you make any of them?!

Damn Good Salmon Taco Bowls For Two: wow, these bowls were so delicious and great to make when you have no idea what to do with fresh or frozen salmon!

Vegan No Bake Chocolate Peanut Butter Oatmeal Bars: love that this recipe is like a granola bar and peanut butter cup had a baby. Options to make them with dates or pure maple syrup!

The Best Healthy Recipes Using Yogurt: if you need to make a recipe with yogurt, I’ve got you covered.

Sheet Pan Kickin’ Curry Honey Mustard Chicken & Veggies: a wonderfully easy weeknight meal. Tony has been obsessed with brussels sprouts lately and this is SO good. Sometimes we even leave out the curry powder.

Flourless Paleo Chocolate Almond Butter Cookies: I republished this recipe and you guys fell in love. Minimal ingredients, lots of chocolate flavor.

Blueberry Pie Bars with Oatmeal Crumble (vegan & gluten free): omg these bars are SO good and easily vegan and gluten free. Feel free to use jam if you don’t have blueberries available.

Snickerdoodle Tahini Date Smoothie: yes, this smoothie actually tastes like a snickerdoodle cookie!! It’s unreal.

Healthier Pasta Recipes for the Perfect Dinner: for when you need ideas for all that pasta you have in your pantry.

Easy Pantry Recipes for Every Meal: all my favorite pantry friendly meals!

Healthier Carrot Cake Banana Bread with Cinnamon Cream Cheese Frosting: when carrot cake and banana bread had a baby.

Spinach & Goat Cheese Quiche with Sweet Potato Crust: the perfect make ahead breakfast to crush on.

Incredible Caramelized Onion Spinach Chicken Pasta Bake: okay you absolutely have to make this spinach chicken pasta bake. So ridiculously yummy!

Healthy Peanut Butter Rice Krispie Treats: another one of my must-makes. This recipe is simple and no bake and one of our favorite treats to whip up!

Delicious & Easy Ways to Use Canned Tomatoes: do you have too many canned tomatoes? Then check out these recipes!

Best Ever Healthy Banana Bread Recipe: my new and improved banana bread recipe is a healthier take on classic banana bread. Made with greek yogurt, naturally sweetened and seriously moist.

Carrot Cake Baked Oatmeal Cups: another must make for breakfasts or healthy snacks! I couldn’t stop scarfing these down.

Fluffy Coconut Flour Pancakes with Wild Blueberry Maple Syrup: if you have coconut flour, then why not try out these pancakes? So easy.

Greek Salad Pinwheels: snack inspo!

Things we loved in March

Below you’ll find a few products I’ve been loving:

Tony and I started watching Westworld from the beginning. It’s not my favorite but whatever. We also binged Tiger King on Netflix, which was truly insane and SO good. Highly recommend. Other shows I go in an out of include The Morning Show, Killing Eve and Ozarks. I need your Netflix/Hulu/HBO/Prime show recommendations!

I’ve been using Majka Energy Bites & Lactation Powder to help boost my milk supply and recently made these yummy energy bites. Use the code ‘ambitious’ for 10% off your first order!

I have been loving this TULA 24/7 moisture cream. It’s incredibly soft, hydrating and lightweight enough to wear under makeup too. Seriously amazing! Use ‘AMBITIOUS’ for 15% off.

I’m beyond obsessed with this Hungry by Nature Paleo Granola! Started by a local chicago blogger, this granola is UNREAL and a great buy if you want to support a small local business. The chocolate cherry is my current fav.

Sidney has blow outs every once in a while and this Branch Basics Oxygen Boost has become our new BFF. I spray his clothes with Branch Basics all purpose cleaner that I make from their concentrate, then sprinkle the oxygen boost on top and spray again, then usually rub together to help get the stain out; let it sit for 1 hour on the stain and it’s gone in the next wash cycle! Use the code ‘AK10’ for 10% off your Branch Basics purchase.

Just because your breastfeeding doesn’t mean you have to give up alcohol. I got these Milkscreen for Breastfeeding test strips to test my breast milk so I don’t have to pump and dump if it isn’t necessary.

Sidney has been loving his Lovevery Play Gym that we got him. He sits and stares at the contrast cards and laughs — so cute.

Recently got this gorgeous lululemon Find Your Unwind Pullover and can’t stop wearing it.

I just got these Women’s UA HOVR Phantom RN Running Shoes for running and walking outside and so far I really love them.

Umm these Dang Foods Chips are AMAZING!

I recently started using this Honeymoon Glow by Farmacy and my skin feels SO freaking soft. I can’t believe how amazing it is. I use it every other night and honestly am SO obsessed.

We’ve been craving so much pasta lately and this 30 minute Healthier Pasta Carbonara has been one of our favs!

Have you heard of Three Wishes grain free Cereal?  They recently sent me their Original, Cinnamon & Honey flavors and I can’t get enough!

If you happen to have a jar of almond butter, then you need to make my Almond Butter & Raspberry Jam Cups (this month’s exclusive IG recipe!)

I personally LOVE reading Llama Llama Red Pajama to Sidney.

Okay, that’s all I’ve got for you. Hope you’re keeping your head up! I’ll be back with more delicious recipes soon. xo.

from WordPress http://sweetly.site/things-we-loved-in-march/

[archiveddvrpg]

Congratulations, LIZ! You’ve been accepted for the role of TYBALT. Admin Rosey: Liz, welcome, welcome, welcome back! Reading the application over is such a treat for the admin team as a whole. Your interpretation of Tiberius is so shameless, vibrant, and utterly unique that I couldn’t help but swoon a second time over when reading it. You give him such a vivid voice and direction -- I’m over the moon that he has come back into the fold once more. The Capulets kids are so ready to wreak havoc, I pray for the group as a whole. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Liz.

Age | 27.

Preferred Pronouns | She/her.

Activity Level | Since English is my third language, it takes not only inspiration, but a lot of effort to write, so I might not be able to pop out replies on a daily basis, but I shall always be around for plotting and developing the character. Overall, I’d say 5-6, writing-wise, and 8-9 plotting-wise.

Timezone | GMT +4.

In Character

Character  | Tybalt, Tiberius look-at-me-the-wrong-way-and-I’ll-step-on-your-throat Capulet.

What drew you to this character? | It’s been a while since I played a “villain”, and it’s a challenge I love to take on. At the face value, Tybalt is a bad guy - murderous, ambitious and ruthless. To be given a chance to dig deeper and find redeeming qualities, discover his many layers and hidden depths, which explains why he is the way he is – I find it to be the best part of writing a villain.

In history books, the names of villains and heroes are written with the same ink. Scratch that, history is written by the winners. In psychology, anger is a secondary emotion. There’s always a root cause emotion hiding underneath it, in most cases, fear or hurt. But, not when it comes to Tiberius. No, his anger stems from desire. The desire to make his mark on the pages of history. It’s not an ego thing, really, it’s more about – what’s the point of living if you don’t make it count? Endless money, beautiful women and fast cards do not interest him. He only cares about power - as a means to an end. The end being engraving his name in history for days to come. And honestly, his own and his family name are one and the same. He sees himself as the most efficient and capable weapon to guarantee the Capulet glory.

He isn’t a psychopath who can’t understand human emotions and have empathy, he just considers himself above it all. There’s a weakness in compassion. Even if his heart tells him to show mercy, he will only do it if it benefits him in the long run. Tiberius is rage given a voice, but his anger doesn’t control him, he controls his anger. Sometimes, he randomly shows either unexpected mercy or completely exaggerated ruthlessness. That’s part of his long-term game, too - always remain unpredictable, so the enemy can never anticipate your next move.

To sum up, he believes “you only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough”, and I’d love to bring him to this amazing journey.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character?

The King without a crown | Maybe he isn’t technically the leader, but I’d love to see him grow into a person the whole organisation gravitates towards, and listens to his command, even if his title doesn’t give him the ultimate authority by default.

Cat & Mouse | Tiberius is a violent person, but his violence is never personal, it’s always strategic. Every rule has an exception though, and there’s a person behind the enemy lines he simply enjoys making miserable. He beat the ever-living shit out of them on more than one occasion, always dropping them off in front of the hospital to make sure they make it out alive, so he can come back for more.

Friends in high places | Imagine if Tiberius had to set aside his knives, guns, and fists for once and, for once, be forced to get his way with smiles and champagne. There’s a person he needs on his side, and they’re too politically or socially powerful for Tiberius to punch into submission. But, absolutely have the attempt to try a different route blow up in his face and him resorting to good old, violent ways.

Regrets collect like old friends | Him killing someone that Rafaella, or Juliana truly care about. No, he won’t regret the act, but maybe regret being smug about it, in front of them. Tiberius trying to make amends would be a fun spectacle to watch.

Hell has no fury | One of his soldiers betraying him. For now, he’s confident his leadership methods are foolproof, and guarantee loyalty. How shall he deal with the idea that he might be wrong? Will he try to change anything? Or will he make such a vicious example out of the treacherous rat that no one else will dare to do the same? Maybe both…

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes.

In Depth

In-Character Para Sample: Again, write as much or as little as you need to get your interpretation across.

He should have learned by now that when you were in charge of a group of men that may or may not contain one or two specimens of profound idiocy, things were going to get in the way of plans. There were always things; new things, old things, the repetition of things he thought he’d already resolved - problems, you called those - that were, apparently, beyond the mental capacity of certain barely-evolved ape-like goons that he called his family. The other family, of course; not the ones he sat quietly - or not so quietly - down to Sunday dinners with, but the other one - his Capulet soldiers. Yeah, that one, the one we don’t speak of in a legally inclined environment.

In fact, the problem he was presented with when he reached their safehouse - his base of operations - was of such an absurd level of imbecility that he’d contemplated shooting the poor bastard who’d solicited his assistance. Somehow, some way, by some twist of stupidity, they thought it was a good idea to execute a Russian loyalist on a Montague territory. It had taken most every swear-word he knew in every language he spoke to express his utter disappointment, before he instructed these useless piles of crap never to snort cocaine while on task. The place reeked of blood. He hadn’t been there when his men executed the loyalist who wouldn’t give up the information Tiberius needed, but he could tell, it had been brutal.

The body had been carried out, dropped off at the side of the room. There were a couple of guys standing nearby; Tiberius could hear that the topic of the evening was “the blonde with a huge rack”. Empty bragging from one of the guys; he knew that no blonde with a huge rack had gone home with him last night. If she had, it had happened after he left, and she would hardly have been as attractive as the man in question suggested. He loved him like a brother, but the guy did not have game. He had money, at times, but not game. The Dark Lady whores never turned him down.

“I look down, and she’s got her mouth wrapped around my cock…”

He heard the words, registered them, and he grinned. Empty talk. Big talk. He’d heard it all before. After raining fury upon them for making a mistake, Tiberius had calmed down. He walked up to them. “Let me guess, and then she asked you for my number?” he even offered a joke.

The guys broke out laughing, even the guy the comment was directed at. A crude joke here, a crude joke there, it kept them on his side, and it kept him on their level. Not to mention that it kept him where he felt comfortable. The captain of Capulets, where he could be as brutal and crude as he wanted without worrying about hurting people’s precious feelings; it suit him just fine. One day, he wanted to be the general. He was going to be the general. But for now, he loved being in charge of these morons he called his soldiers.

As the conversation started again, this time revolving around another loyalist’s latest conquest, he let his eyes stray from the party and take in the sight of the dead man. He couldn’t see his face; his arm had landed over his head when he’d been dropped there, hiding it, but he could still see the consequences of all the beating he took. It was like writing across his body; several large cuts, giant bruises, a rib sticking out of his skin. He could see his body moving, his chest rising and settling weakly. “You said that he was dead.” He didn’t realize until he’d said it that he’d interrupted the conversation, just to utter a statement in an accusatory tone. Everyone was suddenly silent, staring at him.

“Yeah, but… He’s as good as; we didn’t think it’d matter.”

He felt like clearing his throat, but didn’t. He didn’t like being lied to, or being served near-truths. “It doesn’t,” he barked, passing the speaker an annoyed look, “But if he isn’t dead yet, he isn’t dead yet. You don’t have to spare my feelings.” He finished his statement with a smirk, and the others laughed slightly. Feelings, pshh. Like any of them had that. He looked at the body again, the weak but desperate way it breathed. “Isn’t Alessandro’s closed over the weekend?“

“Aww, not Alessandro’s! That’s my favorite sandwich place!”

Tiberius smirked. “You don’t have to stop eating there.“ Some of the others laughed, one or two nudged the speaker in the side, waggling their eyebrows and making eating gestures. The man looked sick to his stomach, but it passed quickly, like it should. “Don’t blame me, anyway; blame Alessandro for going out of town at the right time.” It was the easiest way to handle it, really; find the nearest closed sandwich shop or restaurant under their care, make use of their machinery and avoid eating there for a couple of months, until there was no chance of human mixing with ham anymore. It made it easier to dispose of the bodies when they were in little bits, after all. “There a car out back?” he asked when the conversation between the others started to fade, and one of the guys dangled some keys and nodded. “Alright. Let’s move him.”

“What the hell are you waiting for? You want me to perform the last rites, or something?“ They stopped stalling and picked up the body. He groaned. "Stop.” The guys looked mildly concerned. “Put him down!” They dropped him, hard. He groaned again, weakly. He grabbed the man’s head, twisted it in a sudden motion. The snap was followed by a silent exhale. It almost sounded peaceful. He got back up, nodded to the guys. They picked up the body, carried him out. Looking down, he realized that there were stains of blood on his hands. Someone handed him a rag. He cleaned most of the blood off, subsequently dropping the dirty rag on the floor. He was done here. “Chop him and bury him,” the order went directly to one of his closest, and he nodded in response, “I’ve got a party to get to.”

Extras: here’s a link to mock.

[freehway]

THINGS I KNOW THAT I SOMETIMES FORGET…

Okay my little darlings. I’ve been meaning to write this up for a while. I hope it is helpful to you. What follows is a list of reminders I made for myself a few years ago. I’ve been reading about and studying these types of concepts, across the disciplines of physics, psychology, art, religion, and spirituality, for decades.

One day, when I was playing in the woods and feeling particularly “tuned in,” I saw this big beautiful rainbow, and I thought about how rainbows are seen as promises from God/the UNIVERSE. I felt that the promise the UNIVERSE was making was that, knowing what I now know, I should never have to really feel pain again.

Now, I know, that’s awfully ambitious. But I must say, with these things in mind, it’s hard to feel bad about anything. However, it is also hard to keep these things in mind, which is why I still flounder myself from time to time.

The following comprises some of the things I’ve learned over the years, which if kept in mind, can free one from a great deal of negative emotion and upset. After seeing the rainbow that day, I wanted to clarify these ideas for myself.

Of course, in the heat of the moment, when we’re already upset, it’s often too late to use these concepts. However, if you work with them enough, and internalize them, they should help change your thinking enough to curtail some of those moments before they get to that irredeemable point. There’s certainly more that could be listed here, but this was for my own personal use, and the concepts which I focus on here are those that corresponded to my own set of negative thoughts and emotions (thinking about how bad something is/was, worrying about something bad happening or that I’ve done or will do something wrong, etc.).

So, without further ado, here it is, just as I once typed it up for myself:

With everything that you know, with all that you’ve learned and experienced, you see there is no reason to feel anxious, no need to worry about anything, ever.

1. Nothing “bad” can ever really happen, because “good” and “bad” don’t really exist in an absolute form. For every event we could call “bad,” there are “good” things that came about as a result. The same is true for events we might call “good.” Without a divine perspective, it’s foolish to think we could know what might be “good” or “bad.” There is no such thing as “evil” in nature; the hawk is not “evil” for killing the rabbit. So it goes with human endeavors. I often remind myself, the UNIVERSE knows better than I do. Labeling events as “good” or “bad” is a shallow reduction of life.

2. Everything happens for a reason. This has been proven to me in so many remarkable ways, time and time again. Consider instances in your life where struggles and setbacks actually led you to a greater place. How can we deny that the UNIVERSE is working out a plan for us? That plan is more beautifully complex than we could ever imagine, with our limited human brains. Just trust the unfolding.

3. Everything has always, and will always, turn out okay. You’ve made it this far, right? If you trust the unfolding of the UNIVERSE’s plan, you know that it will guide you to your highest joy.

4. When negative emotions are being caused by my thoughts of other people, I’ll tell myself, “Eh, I don’t care about them.” This may sound a bit cold, but my weakness is actually caring too much. So, I have to remind myself to have no concern about what others think, as it almost never has any real bearing on me anyway. Furthermore, we assume we know what they think, when really, we have no clue. And what about solipsism? What if other people don’t even really exist? They might not even be real. And if they are real, you don’t know what they really think anyway. Even if you did, you certainly can’t control it. So, who cares? It doesn’t even really affect you, does it? Whatever they’re thinking only affects them.

5. When negative emotions are being caused by thoughts regarding time, I’ll remind myself that time is actually meaningless. This is what modern quantum physics has uncovered. Time, as we understand it, DOES NOT ACTUALLY EXIST. I will write a separate post on this soon, in case you’re not convinced or you need to understand this concept a little more concretely. Whether you understand it right now or not, just know that it’s a false premise and that you can move beyond it. Give up thoughts of past and future, for your true nature is eternal.

When I say your “true nature,” I mean the nature of your soul, your energetic core, your inner being, the thing that will remain after you’ve shed your earthly vessel. You should probably come up with your own terminology for this. I often call it THE PEARL, since I like to think of a ball of shiny, pearly-white energy right in the center of my body. In Invitation to a Beheading, when Cincinnatus divests himself of his physical form one night before bed, Nabokov calls it the “pearl ring embedded in a shark’s gory fat- O my eternal, my eternal… and this point is enough for me- actually nothing more is necessary” (90). That imagery really spoke to me.

If your true nature is eternal, then concepts such as “past” and “future” are meaningless. You dwell in a realm beyond time.

6. If anything were to ever “go wrong,” (and that’s in quotation marks because if nothing is really “good” or “bad,” then nothing can truly be seen as “going wrong”) you can simply cross that bridge when you come to it. An example of this that really hit home for me- I often avoid busy places, such as gas stations which I know will be crowded. Sometimes, I experience anxiety the moment I leave the house, readying myself for what I think will be a terrible ordeal in a busy public place. However, I realized one day, that I was given a brain for a reason, to solve problems and overcome challenges with it. As I drive down the road toward the dreaded gas station, all the fear and anxiety is utterly useless. But once I get there, I can use my brain to navigate the situation. I will use my eyes to look around and find empty pumps or parking spaces. I will use my brain to successfully make it through. I know that I’m smart enough, and capable. It will be a perfect opportunity to use my brain, exactly what it’s meant for. Furthermore, whatever we’re worried about is almost never as bad as we thought it would be.

That seemed to cover my most common anxieties, but then I decided to take the exercise a little further. I wanted to really get at the heart of things, so I dug deep, looking for any tiny source of fear/worry within myself. I wanted to cover every possible avenue, and really, I think what most of us fear the most are pain and death. That really seems to be at the heart of it all. So, I wanted to tackle those too:

7. There’s no need to fear pain. Being no stranger to pain, you know how to handle it. You can go within, deep within yourself, where THE PEARL resides, a peaceful place, like the bottom of a deep lake, with the things of this world nothing but ripples on the surface that cannot reach you. Alternatively, you can leave your body and rise above and beyond the pain. The pain can even be made spiritual, in some ways, a clear reminder of the physical form and it’s parameters (which allows one to grasp the non-physical much more clearly, since the opposite of a thing inherently clarifies a thing by showing what it is not). We’ve all felt pain. And we’ve all conquered it. Remember, you have that strength within you, that WARRIOR ENERGY, that you can always call upon again. The pain will not overwhelm you; it will not destroy you; and at some point, it will subside.

8. Even death is nothing, merely a new adventure, wherein perhaps you’ll finally find some answers.

I know, I know, that last one is a gross oversimplification, and of course everyone will probably always have some anxiety surrounding their own death, but it was thrown onto my list that day because I wanted to cover all aspects of my own negative emotion, giving myself absolutely no reason not to feel joyful.

As I typed this, I realize that I did not deal with the concept of loss, probably because this has only begun to weigh heavily on me very recently. I have a deep fear of loss, and find it’s sometimes difficult to appreciate things while I have them, because I’m so worried and upset at the prospect of losing them (mostly people, but others things too, pets, my youth and beauty, my home, etc.) Nabokov makes an excellent point though, in one of his books. He says something along the lines of “Everything I really need, I always carry within me. Nothing real can ever truly be lost.” This is coming from a guy who lost everything. He was 17 years old, had just inherited a mansion and sprawling estate, fallen in love, written his first poems. And overnight, all was lost. He had to give up his happy life, his wealth, his beloved homeland. Not long after, his father, who he was very close to, was murdered by a man who was trying to kill someone else. If Nabokov can overcome loss, then I’d say we probably all can. And he’s right- what’s real, the stuff that really matters, is always with us anyway. Like memories of Nannan and Poppop- we will always carry them with us. They can never really be lost.

Okay, my beautiful beings of light and love, that is all for right now. More to come soon. I ordered two books from Amazon last week, that I can’t wait to share with you-

“A Religion of One’s Own,” by Thomas Moore

and

“The Empath’s Survival Guide” (can’t remember who it was by, but will post about it later)

Lots of light, and all my love, go out to you.