#always refine your observations and never ignore new information

[isekyaaa]

wld love to hear ur thoughts abt ur last post on true selves - @milkstore

It's really simple tbh? Basically people have this assumption that if they've never opened up to you, you can't ever know their "true face." They assume that the face that they show to the world is heavily divorced from their true self. Sure doesn't help when they act differently around different people, blah blah blah. To them, their masks are lies and their heart is truth. To be honest, I'm not sure I understand why these people think this way. Are not the different faces a person wears just different facets of their personality?

Regardless, I think because people operate under the assumption that the masks they show to the world aren't their true self, they assume they can't ever be known without their consent. It's a really ridiculous assumption tbh. It'd take a lot of conscious planning and decisions to truly create a persona that is completely unlike yourself. Like you'd literally have to be insane to do that.

In reality, people do not think much before making majority of their day to day decisions. Must you play a mental chess match to decide whether or not to greet your coworkers? Do you make conscious decisions to purchase food you dislike so nobody will know what you actually like? Do you have to physically and consciously move the muscles in your face to form a smile or a frown for every interaction? If these things do not take much conscious thought, then are you not acting true to your "true self?"

Then think about the things you consciously do or don't do. If someone disagrees with you but you don't argue back, does that not say something? If you tell jokes at work to get people to laugh, does that not reveal things? Even if these actions are not a part of your "true self," does not the fact you simply did them tell something about you?

This is just talking about actions. This doesn't even go into reactions. People assume that they are the best actors and can fool the world, but they are just fooling themselves. Initial reactions are hard to hide. True happiness and excitement is hard to fake. Feigned interest is quite easy to see. Stress, anger, and hurt are hard to gloss over. Are not emotions and the reasons for them very revealing for true selves?

And kinda going into my other post, you work from there. [Observation + observation] = intuitive observation. [Intuitive observation + intuitive observation] = mid-tier observation. Etc.

In my personal opinion, while intuitive observations are where the meat of everything is, that doesn't make simple observations less... intimate. For example, you observe a person doesn't eat many vegetables. You can rightfully assume they don't like vegetables. The very fact you noticed this means that you were paying attention to them. You know something about their true self.

[d0youc0py]

So, i've read through a lot of your stuff, and its giving me instant serotonin, and i already love your writing, I also have a rather interesting ask, and you can completely ignore it if you wish to, but!- TF141 + Alejandro and Rudy learning that the new addition to their team is a bit younger than them(around 17-19), and a bouncy ball of ditzy airheaded-ness, and actually sees a them as Brother/Father figures? A little bit of a comfort for those, and myself included, who have platonic attachments to these badass men!

Your relationship with Price comes the most natural. He has always had an overwhelming desire to nurture and mentor those who are close to him- or those that he believes could become close to him. Considering he recruited you, he definitely saw you as one of those lucky few. You are a bit of a mess, needing some serious fine tuning, but you have an obvious want to learn and you soak up every bit of information he shares with you. He sees a lot of himself in you. He was only 16 when he joined the military and he wished he had a mentor to guide him and teach him so he didn’t have to learn from his mistakes, (not that he would’ve listened).

He was also the gateway to getting the other TF members to trust you- especially Ghost.

There is a lot of uncertainty in your job, but one thing you can always count on is that Caps got your back. You need a place to crash on deployment? He has a guest room. You need life advice? He feels like he hasn’t done anything right- but he’s been through enough things to know a thing or two. You had a nightmare? He office door is always open.

He’s a bit over meeting new people. And he lets you know that. For a long time he saw you as a reckless pain in the butt- a risk. You were a powerhouse on the field, yet you lacked that certain refinement. It wasn’t till he saw you and Price during a training. The Captain had your full attention and he saw an eagerness to learn that he hadn’t seen for a long time. He decided to give you a shot, throwing out tidbits of wisdom to see how you would respond. It would always surprise him when you not only listened but implemented what he had told you.

It was like a switch had flipped in his brain and he became the older brother that he had always so desperately tried to push down. He knows all your little quirks. What gets you fired up. What calms you down. He’s incredibly observant and it feels like he knows what you need before you do.

“Keep sleeping, I’ll cover your watch.”

“If you forget your MRE one more time.” He huffed taking out the said MRE you forgot out of his bag.

He’s the definition of tough love. His toughness keeps you grounded and on track. His loving side makes sure you are always taken care of (even though he wants to strangle you daily) and the first time you introduce him as “your brother” he nearly had to excuse himself to dry his eyes.

You’d think that the two of you would be partners in crime. Running around, causing trouble, giving everyone a headache. While the two of you do have your moments, Soap understands his responsibility as not only the elder, but the ranking officer in your relationship. Outside of the work the two of you are as thick as thieves, but out on the field it a whole different story. He’s serious, taking his self appointed job as your mentor to heart. This is the first time he’s taken someone under his wing and he is not going to screw it up. He teaches you as much as he can, as much as you need to not only be safe but successful.

The change is a shock to the TF at first, but they admire the way Soap “ages up” and it inspires them to do the same.

He doesn’t treat himself of your “mentor” or “elder” he treat you as though you two are equals. He treats you with respect and never talks down to you and he makes sure everyone else does the same.

The two of you hit it off instantly. Snarky comments are constantly flying back and forth between the comms and despite their better judgment the rest of the TF can just fight back a chuckle. He teases you relentlessly (out of love). All you have to do is make one slip up and this man will never let you forget it. But he also makes sure that if he can dish it out, he can take it too. This results in the two of you laughing hysterically, doing your best impersonations of each other. After long missions the two of you can often be found on the couch fighting over a blanket, watching your favorite comfort movies. You really are the sibling he never knew he needed.

Like Price he sees a lot of himself in you. You have drive. You do have a tendency to be a little too aloof for your own good, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He embraced you with open arms and makes you feel like you’ve been family for decades. He’s hard on you and demanding, but it’s just because he knows what you are capable of. He understands the trust you place in him and will do everything in his power to live up to the image you have of him in your head.

You have a permanent room in his house. He always makes sure to have the ingredients to your favorite dish on hand just in case you had a hard day. He makes sure all of your trainings are up to date so you have every opportunity to make it out alive. You are so important to him and he never lets you forget it.

He’s wary of you at first. Even after Alejandro welcomed you with open arms. He saw you as a flight risk and he didn’t want to end up dead because of it. It wasn’t until one night you confessed how much you looked up to him- how you wanted to be like him.

He had misjudged you, and he apologized for it. He made up for lost time by going out of his way to be extra kind to you until it just turned into a habit. You and Alejandro both wear him out, he wouldn’t trade either of you for the world. He’s the voice of reason when you get ahead of yourself and he’s always the one who slows down and explains things to you when you find yourself lost. His patience seems almost endless and you thank his everyday for it.

Thank you for your kind words! Hope you liked this.

[min-jpg]

Hi!! Can you do they boys getting kidnapped but its Diluc, Childe, and Kazuha? Thank you!!💗💗

Note: I just want to point out that there's no actual reason on how I choose for the reader to beat up the kidnappers since part 1,, it's totally random as long as I'm trying out different ideas whatever fits ehe. Enjoy! 💖

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Kidnapped Genshin Boys x Fem Rich!reader pt.2

Part 1 (Kaeya, Zhongli, Xiao)

Characters: Childe, Diluc, Kazuha

Genre: fluff, established relationship, some woman kicking ass action, (TW: mentions of blood and violence)

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CHILDE

Your boyfriend would definitely try to go head-to-head against the shady group of people who abducted him. The gang accountable must be living under the rock for even considering one of the most dangerous Harbingers as their prey to carry out their schemes.

However, Childe learned that there would be ramifications if he tries to be rash without gathering solid intel first. Having no knowledge of your current circumstances and whereabouts troubled him to the core. They could have already sent out a corresponding group towards you and endanger you if he failed to listen.

Being wealthy is not a foreign concept to Childe as he is also a wealthy man himself. That said, the premonition of being a target for a ransom would not be unrealistic to him. For now, he is glad that he is the victim here instead of having to witness you kidnapped.

"You know, you could've asked me nicely for some money. I might just give it to you, instead of doing all this for my girlfriend's money." Despite being in a position far from desirable, Childe leisurely sat on the chair that he was bound to, crossing his legs. He was making small talks to push away the worst scenarios happening to you. Are you safe? Are you crying? Did they hurt you?

"I don't know who you are to be running your mouth, but you should value your life a little more." Their leader emerged from the group.

Childe's ocean eyes squinted as menace casts upon his pupils, his voice lowered, "Is that so? Ironic, because you guys seem to value money more than your lives."

The head stepped back slightly, "Enough with your empty threats! You should be aware of the current situation you're in. We're not fooling around here."

"I'm not fooling around either."

As sparks were thrown back and forth, you made your way in through the main entrance. Tapping the shoulder that belongs to one of the men, "Excuse me, I need to get to my boyfriend." Your fist sunk into the side of his face when he turned towards you. He collapsed on the ground with a few broken teeth and blood spewing out of his mouth. Moving on to the next adversary in your path, you fought with full faith in your abilities no matter how intimidating they were.

Soon, the leader and people further ahead finally took notice of it. You pave your way towards your boyfriend and eventually, both your eyes meet each other. Childe puffed out a breath of relief when he finally saw you, but also registering the fact that you just took down most of the men with your bare hands.

Kicking away the men who tried to grab you, you then waved enthusiastically at Childe, "Hey girlie, hold still." Rushing right ahead to the leader, you brought your arm near your face, elbow pointing outwards. The sharp edge from your elbow jabbed his throat, causing him to choke and lose balance.

As his reaction dulled, it was your chance to strike again. Thus, you gallantly overthrew their leader and the entire gang by yourself.

After helping Childe, he stood up abruptly and placed his hands on your shoulder with eagerness written all over the face, "I never knew you could fight so well! How about a spar with me right now?" Expect your boyfriend to continuously bug you to indulge in his rampant itch to fight anyone that comes across as a worthy opponent. Though, the real takeaway from this experience was the way your hair clings to your face with sweat as the adhesive and the triumph look in your eyes. It was a rather attractive sight to relish in his taste.

DILUC

Your boyfriend would be infuriated that crooked people like these exist, much less target him to extort money from you. Just another validation to add up on how incompetent the Knights of Favonious is, he thought. Someone will have to clean up their mess, that someone being him. What better way to do that than to follow them to their hideout to seek out the whole organization?

Diluc is renowned for being one of the richest men in Teyvat. Naturally, the group thought they hit the jackpot on not only holding him for ransom, but potentially garnering some money from him as well.

The only concern he carries is your wellbeing. Diluc fears that this incident will affect you mentally. His head started filling up with formulations on ways to resolve this matter without causing any uproar to guarantee your safety.

When the head was introduced to him, he gritted his teeth to suppress every ounce of his might to not reach for his claymore. Diluc still has to prioritize gathering information first regarding the gang. His patrons at Angel's Share are usually the ones providing him with promising intel of any evildoers, but some things are just meant to be obtained by himself.

"Is this the only hideout you have? Quite in a shambles, don't you think?" Diluc's eyes shifted around the dilapidated building, observing the surroundings to know his enemies better.

The leader rolled his eyes, "It wouldn't be so bad once we get some funding from you and your girlfriend." Diluc hummed. Judging from his answer, it is safe to assume that the organization is rather a small scaling one. Defeating them right now will result in uprooting the source once and for all.

As Diluc was about to do so, a lackey of the gang ran frantically towards them, panting labored when he reached and trying to catch his breath. "What is it?" The leader question.

"T-there's... there's someone." He pointed towards a direction with fear layering his voice.

"What? Why are you so scared?" They all glanced towards the spot.

"I swear there was a woman! I don't know who it is, but she took out some of our guys on guard outside."

In disbelief that a woman could have done anything so reckless, the leader trudged to said location. As it is a spot lacking light, the darkness and shadow made it challenging for him to pinpoint if anyone is there. When he moved closer, you crept out behind from his blind spot and kicked the back of his head, causing his head to spin. Your arm lunged forward, gaining a tight hold onto his nape. You put everything into pushing him, his forehead hammered down to the floor. Creating a loud thud, it gave him a concussion.

"Looking for me?" Your foot stamped onto his back, just making sure he stays down.

Everyone, including your boyfriend, had their pupils dilated at the scene. You sighed at the silence, "All of you just messed with the wrong couple." Lifting your foot away, you stomped forward without giving them a second thought. Your arms and legs are all warmed up for many rounds against your foes.

Diluc watched you from afar as you drove your way towards victory. Although he could step in to help, he admits silently to himself that he would like to observe you a little longer. Putting his trust in your calibers to carry you far, his eyes never left your brave figure.

Once you cleared the group, the next thing to do is checking on Diluc. Already unfastening the restrains himself, he walked to you, "That was well executed. Your abilities shouldn't be underestimated. Don't join the Knights though." He stressed the last remark, scoffing. You chuckled and held his hand to guide him out of here, "Thanks. Glad to impress you, Master Diluc. Let's go home."

KAZUHA

Your boyfriend is a rather hard target to impose on for their plans of kidnapping him. His senses are just too refined for an ordinary person to challenge. Basic tactics, such as overthrowing him with the element of surprise have proven to be futile. Thus, Kazuha will always be able to evade falling prey into their hands.

The only way Kazuha could have been kidnapped is through falsifying evidence of you being in a life-threatening situation. Although he has successfully saved his own skin, not the same could be applied to you. Feeling his resolve shaken, what other choices could he have? Prioritizing your safety is the most important thing right now.

Kazuha may have faced similar situations in the past when out in the sea, encountering pirates of other crew aiming for the Crux Fleet's fortune. Being in the position as a captive for ransom is new. He actually found it amusing, rather than having thoughts of blaming you. It is not your fault that you are blessed with wealth. It is the fault of the criminals.

"Ain't you that the kid who's with Beidou? You're part of her crew." The leader questioned his target, to which he was greeted by Kazuha's silence. "Tell you what. You're just like the rest of us. We want to be rich. How about you ask your girlfriend to bring some more money and we'll give you a share as well?"

Kazuha's face darkened, "I don't know what you've heard, but it must be really valiant of you to assume to worst out of the Crux Fleet and myself. I'd appreciate it if you cease lumping me together with criminals like you."

The Crux Fleet does put up with an infamous reputation amongst the Qixing. Perhaps the abductors concluded that Kazuha has a negative conscience just like them, as in upholding a relationship with you to have a taste of your assets. Still, if he tried to talk his way out of it, barbarians like them will never reach a mutual understanding with him. Kazuha shut his eyes, ignoring any further confrontations to preserve his energy as he contemplates a plan.

He was interrupted when he thought he heard your voice nearby, carried by the wind. The others around him did not hear it since it was just something only Kazuha could pick up. Applying full concentration, he managed to form what he heard, "Get out of my way, please, while I'm asking nicely."

Opening his eyes, he turned to stare at the entrance. As if on cue, the door swung open when you kicked it down, announcing your presence. Some men fainted below your feet.

The others instantly reacted by storming towards your direction to stop your advancement. You stood still in your position, taking a mindful deep breath. One thing you learned from Kazuha is to always remain cold-headed before engaging in a fight.

Kazuha wanted to get out of the restraints to rescue you, but instead, you started dishing out few moves against the men.

When you thought you finished with the remaining numbers, their leader was about to declare his victory, "I got you!" Encircling his arm around your neck in an attempt to strangle you, you huffed and grinned towards Kazuha to signal him you have it under control.

You elbowed his stomach and felt him loosen his grip when he winced. Making enough gap between his arm and your neck, you slipped away and swiftly kicked in between his groins. The color drained from his face and tumbled to the ground, passing out in pain, "Hmph, this is what happens when you touch a lady without her permission." You brushed away the hair from your face after an arduous fight.

Jogging towards your boyfriend, "Kazuha!" He brisked towards you as well and held you in his embrace, softly rubbed your nape, "You're giving me plenty of inspirations for a haiku after such a wonderful performance." Kazuha would appreciate you refraining from such a heedless approach next time. He was comforted to see you safe and knowing the threats were nothing more than to use you, his weakness, against him. After witnessing that, Kazuha will be slightly ashamed he even doubted you in the first place, so he trusts that you can watch out for yourself next time.

[gloryofluv]

Traditionally Obscure Chapter 5

Svart! Man, I had plenty of fun with this chappy for sure!

Previous Chapter

There wasn’t much time to adjust to the sudden change once she woke up when landing. Rosa had fallen asleep against Vyn’s shoulder and was out for nearly most of the plane ride. There goes comforting him at all. Once they had their bags, Rosa was overwhelmed at the sheer chaos of a foreign language everywhere.

It wasn’t that she didn’t travel as a child. However, this felt different. A different world entirely. Vyn had coiled his arm around her’s and led her through the weaving airport. When someone shoved her while passing, nearly ripping her away from Vyn, he glared back at the man and pulled Rosa closer.

Outside, the air felt a bit frigid and moist. It was definitely different than Stellis. Rosa was gazing at the massive outpour of stunning jittering of society and its differences. They stopped at the entrance, and a man with a plaque approached, speaking to Vyn in his native tongue.

Vyn responded and gestured to Rosa. “This is our escort to the estate. My uncle’s condition is failing. We will change at the estate,” he explained to her.

Rosa swallowed and rocked her head. “Alright.”

Vyn rocked his head and spoke again to the man in the uniform. He took the bags from Vyn and bowed before leading them out of the airport. Rosa wasn’t expecting the flashing of cameras as they walked toward the extended car. It definitely was royalty by the dramatic flags that hung in the back. Well, she was going to look like crap in those pictures.

Vyn ignored them with a soft smile and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. It was almost as if he was shielding her from the people speaking in their native tongue. Likely they were trying to get information from Vyn. He assisted Rosa in the car and gave them a subtle wave before joining her and shutting the door.

Rosa smiled and nodded. “That’s eventful,” she tried.

Vyn chuckled and shook his head. “You don’t need to make me feel better about subjecting you to this.”

“I’m not trying. I’m being honest. I’m an attorney, Vyn. I can handle some press,” she reminded him.

He cleared his throat and nodded. “That’s true,” he paused when his phone rang. Vyn retrieved it from his pocket and answered it. “Yes, we just landed and are on our way.”

He waited while the other person was talking and stared at her. “She slept on the plane. We’ll see you tonight for dinner, Marius,” Vyn hummed.

“Isn’t he already flying?” Rosa questioned.

“He’s flying in his private jet. He has service,” Vyn answered. “Yes, I will inform you when we’re done with the political business.”

Their conversation finished, and he placed the phone back into his pocket. She tilted her head and observed Vyn’s demeanor. It was strained, but he still maintained his air of calm. Rosa reached out and took his hand, squeezing it tenderly.

“So, if you need me to make myself scarce,” she started.

“No,” Vyn shook his head.

There was an underlined statement. Rosa stared at his expression and collected the resistance for her to part from. It was the first time she experienced this time of fractured emotion on the refined professor. He was such a master of his own emotions that this was an uncontrollable event.

“Then I’ll be at your side the whole time,” she agreed.

He glanced out the window, and she followed his eyes. The world around them was vibrant and colorful in comparison to Stellis. Her city was built with shiny metallic jungle features. Tall skyscrapers and sheen newness. This felt something of a fairytale. Older colored buildings with bold outlining. Massive statues of gods or deities of old.

“That’s Balder, of light and purity,” Vyn declared and pointed to the statue they were passing with a staff in hand.

Rosa leaned closer to him to get a better view of it. “There’s plenty of rich culture out here.”

He gestured to a fountain. “Njord is celebrated through fountains and running water through Svart.”

She smiled at him before examining the children tossing coins in the water. “How different from Stellis.”

“Yes,” Vyn agreed.

“I stick out like a sore thumb out here,” Rosa noted as she examined some of the lighter-haired people they were passing.

Vyn tilted his head and met her gaze. “That isn’t always a disproportionate issue.”

The man from the front rolled down the window between them and spoke to Vyn. He responded with a nod and adjusted his glasses. There was a little back and forth before Vyn breathed and agreed.

“He just informed me that my aunt has requested we have tea with her after we see my uncle,” Vyn declared and grimaced in the slightest. “I wasn’t expecting her to want to engage in conversation today. I’m apologetic. I doubt the last thing you’d like to do is entertain after flying.”

Rosa straightened her form and smirked. “Dr. Richter, you’re doubting my skills again.”

“Never, Rosa,” he smiled.

“If your aunt wants to have tea and you want my escort, then I will join you,” she nodded.

The man spoke again, and Vyn scowled and responded with a gruffer texture to his voice. The driver’s tone sounded almost apologetic, but he relayed information in a fast pattern of speech.

“He says Ragnar and my uncle are at the estate today,” Vyn explained.

“So your uncle, Ragnar’s father, is younger than your father, correct?” Rosa inquired.

He rocked his head. “Yes.”

Rosa breathed and dug through her purse, checking her face in her small mirror. It was one thing to go into a royal estate. It was a whole other thing to run into someone who was volatile before. Vyn’s hand made her jerk as it touched her cheek.

“You can freshen up at the estate. Don’t fret,” he murmured as his fingertips brushed back a few stray hairs.

Rosa set down her mirror and stared over at him. Vyn’s expression held sincere care and a hint of relief. All the words of gratitude wrapped in action instead of words. Somehow, instead of shying from it, she felt more than a heated tug at her gut. Rosa felt… bolstered.

She pressed her hand over his and smiled. “Alright.”

Their little tangled thoughts subsided with their arrival at a large gate. Vyn pulled from her and straightened his posture. Rosa replicated him and knitted her fingers as she glanced out the window. Holy crow. Her lips fell apart as she viewed the expanse of the entrance.

There was an intricate garden of trees and flowers that brought a whimsical feeling to Svart’s charm. The car traveled on the driveway toward the entrance to a massive manor with a bright white and gold glow over the vibrate flowers surrounding it.

Vyn said something to the driver and dug in his pocket. He held out his hand toward the opening when the car was parked. The man took the golden trinket with a nod before getting out. Vyn climbed from the vehicle and offered his hand to Rosa. She slid over and out of the car with his assistance. It was only then that she realized her legs felt like jelly.

The potency of sea air mixed with the light floral escape that was created around the property. It danced together with elegance and uniformity. Rosa straightened her cardigan and swallowed. She was completely out of her element, that was certain. However, she wasn’t here for herself.

Vyn offered his arm, and she rocked her head while falling in step with him toward the manor’s entrance. What a shocking sensation. Rosa almost couldn’t believe all of the information she’s collected in the last twenty-four hours. Vyn was royalty adjacent. That was insane.

He didn’t speak as they entered when a worker opened the door. He led her inside, and she stifled her gasp. The description of royal castles could use an update by the country of Svart. As traditional as everything appeared on the outside, that wasn’t the case inside this manor.

Beautiful traditional marble floors that paid homage to the world of old danced with the world of new by the brilliant modern art on the walls. Busts of royalty stood on tables, but alongside beautiful baubles that shouted freshness to tradition.

“Vilhelm,” a soft voice announced.

You both turned toward the staircase to see a woman descending. She was older, but age definitely didn’t seem to catch up to her. Her bright blue eyes were surrounded by soft blond hair, and her deep violet dress surrounded with golden accessories screamed royalty.

Vyn released Rosa’s arm and bowed before extending his hand. “Your majesty,” he declared before kissing her hand.

She beamed and glanced at Rosa before speaking in her native tongue. Vyn gestured to Rosa, saying her name before concluding his explanation. The woman shifted and laughed. “Vilhelm said you came to support us. That’s amazingly kind of you, Rosa. My name is Ester. I’m the Queen of Svart.”

Rosa attempted a curtsey she’d seen in films but soon simpered and scrunched her shoulders. “It’s truly an honor, your majesty,” she said.

Ester laughed and said something to Vyn with a wag of her finger. Vyn’s cheeks were dusted with slight color before responding. The queen turned back to the woman and smiled. “I have something to help you freshen up. Edmar is in decent spirits despite the looming storm. He’s been wanting to meet you for some time, Rosa.”

Vyn cleared his throat and said something else in his native tongue. Ester giggled and reached over, touching his cheek fondly before waving them along. “Vilhelm, you remember where your quarters were? I would like to speak to your companion. She is a lady, and I would like to assist with her comfort.”

Vyn turned to Rosa and smiled. “My aunt wants to introduce you to my two cousins. They are very warm and kind, which I know you’ll have little issue with. Are you comfortable with such an affair?”

Rosa’s cheeks warmed, and she rocked her head. “Of course, Dr. Richter. I’m sure you need a little bit of time to breathe after our long flight.”

“We’ll converge to see my uncle shortly,” he clarified.

Ester scowled and said something in her native tongue. Vyn shook his head and tutted with a reply. “My aunt is expressing your formality as unnecessary,” he smiled.

Rosa laughed and shook her head. “Your majesty, he has earned that title in Stellis, so of course I’m going to use it.”

Ester giggled and rocked her head. “Vilhelm, we shall see you later. I want to help your companion dress for meeting Edmar.”

Rosa stepped toward the queen, and Vyn waved with a nod. The dismissal was tense only in a sense that they’ve only been here a few hours, and she was already being skirted off to meet more of his family members without him? Well, she was prepared for the unexpected.

Ester gazed at Rosa as they climbed the staircase. “You’re an,” she paused and scowled.

“Attorney,” Rosa agreed.

“That’s the word. Languages have different meanings,” Ester laughed.

Rosa beamed and rocked her head. “Vyn was teaching me some of your language on the plane, but it’s difficult to be able to gather enough lessons in hours to hold conversations.”

“He writes that you both work together routinely,” Ester voiced.

Does he write to his aunt and uncle? That was the first she had ever heard of it. There’s definitely a sweet affection between them. It was clear with how she addressed him. However, there was so much of the story missing.

Rosa rocked her head as they paced through a large corridor. “Yes, we do outside of the work with my firm.”

Ester made a sound and said something in her native language. “It means ‘fate plays cards for souls,’” she explained.

“Your kingdom is magical,” Rosa declared.

She smiled and patted Rosa’s shoulder. “We are ways from the gem of Stellis, but we hold charm against the sea.”

“Forgive me for being curious,” Rosa started as they paused at a large set of doors. “You seem rather close to Vyn.”

Ester rocked her head and exhaled. “Vilhelm and Edmar are. We were not fortunate to have a son, and they share similar ideals. It’s very kind of you to come with him. It takes a person of great strength to hold up brilliance when it threatens to dim.”

“I had to nearly break his fingers to allow it,” Rosa laughed and shook her head. “But he would do the same for me. I couldn’t allow him to do this alone.”

“And that, Rosa, is why you and my daughters are meeting today,” Ester smiled and rapped on the door.

There were plenty of things to unbox by their conversation. However, Rosa had little chance. Ester brought her into a room with two young women that mimicked her appearance. The heavy conversation changed to lighter as she was brought inside, offered tea and dresses soon brought in by female workers. This wasn’t just an upper-class type of behavior. This was truly the royal treatment.

[shirokh]

Ch3 Gerudo’s Way

Zelda, followed by Impa reunited with Marth and Roy, who we’re now wearing Hylian blue tunics, and Link dressed with his Hylian knight garments.

Link greeted on a formal way, staying silent the rest of the time until princess arrival. , it’s not that he felt like socialising with “famous handsome fiancé”, who would be with the girl he never imagined loving that way.

From a special portal, using Sheikah tablet, they were transported to the outskirts of Gerudo dessert. Urbosa’s old friend, Kouka was already waiting for them.

-“That’s wicked mate! This Sheikah artefact, such a good invention” Roy enthusiastically said, never knowing teleportation before. Marth was also overwhelmed by it, as Altea did not have that kind of “transportation”

“Sav’otta! As you must know, it is an urgent matter, so I need you to accompany me into the village” the tall Gerudo said.

Zelda looked at Kouka, and then to her companions. They could not enter Gerudo’s village, as they were man, or voe as they called them

-“It’s better to follow Gerudo’s law, man’s access is forbidden, so you should wait for me here...”

Foreseeing this, Kouka interrupted

-“Princess, if you agree we could give them special vai clothes so they could enter, and we would save ourselves a lot of time...”

-“Lets do this princess, I see your concern, so I don’t mind changing Hylian clothes for Gerudo ones” He immediately proposed, entering Kouka’s tent.

-“Well... maybe it’s not like...” she answered dubious, looking towards Link, who avoided nervously her eyes, following Marth and Roy who were already undressing.

-“This is kind of a joke” Roy’s voice was heard trough the tent, laughing.

-“You have to admit that as a red head look more Gerudo-ish” he laughed again, after a moment the Altea royals came out of the tent. Zelda, who was drinking water from a bottle, started coughing and choke a bit from the impression.

-“Well, how do we look with veils? “ Roy asked moving his hands as if he was dancing, to wich made Zelda laugh sincerely. They were both wearing traditional Gerudo’s outfit, a blue top with golden engravings, a veil covering their heads and face with hanging ornaments leaving only their eyes exposed, a small jewel hanged in the middle of their foreheads. The pants were kind of bloomers, so they had their abdomen exposed, but their arms were covered by delicate silk sleeves.

-“I think you are completely approved” Kouka affirmed, smiling pleased. “If your skin wasn’t as white, and your hair so blue, for the stature you could be a Gerudo vai, your face factions are really refined, aren’t they?”

Still smiling Zelda nodded, after all she didn’t expect the prince to accept this kind of requests just like that

-“Well, this is the most femenine side you’ll see of me” he said while adjusting the veil, blushing under it.

At the end, Link joined them, he wore a green top and a similar veil, which left Zelda, Roy and Kouka open-mouthed

-“It’s your turn princess” she said pulling from her arm and taking her into the tent. “I have something special for you, sent by Urbosa herself.

-“But I don’t...” she said nervously.

-“Come on, come on! If we are Gerudo for a day, guided by a Sheika you have to have similar outfits so you don’t stand out”

Within minutes, a blushing Zelda appeared, closing her arms in front of her, covering her tiny abdomen on a shy posture, she never wore something so light, but she was kind of grateful, as the sun was starting to rise and you could feel the intense heat of the dessert.

-“Isn’t she beautiful?” Kouka said smiling, and presented her with a pony tail, similar to Gerudo’s, with a pale pink top, golden accents and a similar veil, a white hip bloomer pant, both Link and Marth blushed on sight, Roy smiled making the seven veil dance.

-“Don’t look!” She said embarrassed with a nervous laugh, looking the surprised faces, especially Link’s.

“Now I feel less embarrassment, as we are wearing the same Princess, this outfit fits you beautifully” Marth said smiling, offering his hand so she could step down the small rock stair outside the tent, and held her for a minute, something Link wasn’t happy with, and without a word he reached out the Sheika tablet to Zelda, so she had to release Marth’s hand.

-“Thanks Link, let’s proceed to the village”

Marth was a good observer, so he didn’t ignored this event.

Impa went into the village with them and decided she should get more information, so she left Zelda in Urbosa’s care, determining they would meet in a couple of days.

Urbosa was overflowing with happiness when she saw Zelda wearing the outfit she sent, and admired watching Link in Gerudo’s outfit, she almost didn’t recognised him.

-“You look charming Princess, I know certain appointed knight would not be indifferent towards this” she said, giving Link a wink, while she blushed.

-“Urbosa, please allow me to introduce to you my Fiancé”

-“Fiancé!? What did I miss? You are not wasting time! I always knew that you two...

-“He is Marth!! Prince of Altea!” She quickly interrupted, as Urbosa was assuming in advance she was talking about Link, and she liked to tease them about it.

-“Oh! Sa’oten, My goodness! This is a surprise, you are a voe! I thought you were a beautiful vai from the west” she told Marth, shaking his hand, watching Link sideways.

-“I suppose it’s lucky we met under this circumstances” he answered smiling.

-“Such a curious accent!” She said with animosity, sitting then on a big cushion surrounding a table with fresh incense and cold water, so the guests followed.

-“Everything happened near the subterranean water well, the one we use to irrigation of the fields, all the new sprouts began dying, even the flowers and cactus began withering, three of my best explorers went down to look for the cause of this, maybe the water spring was being contaminated, and they never came back... it gives me a bad feeling, Princess I sent down several search and rescue teams without success”

-“It will be better to go personally, maybe I could feel some dark power in the well”

The team walked to the wet zone of the water wells, going down a big ladder with some torches to light the way down, Marth and Roy insisted to go along too.

Trying to distract herself, Zelda summoned triforce power raising her hand, a light shining arised, lighting the way in the same manner than the torches they carried.

-“I can’t feel any presence” lowering her eyes, she took her hand to her chest, holding both hands to her heart.

After walk-in about an hour, Urbosa claimed

-“I might be imagining things, but I think I heard something” She lit her torch ahead, and a black goo turned off the fire completely, it was an eyeless creature, so it wasn’t a jelly choo.

-“What the hell..!” Exclaimed, snapping her fingers to cast lighting without any effect on the creature. She then tried to cut it with her double edge sword, wich stuck to the goo, sucking it.

Marth Link and Roy unsheathed their swords, as Roy atacked frontally with a fire thrust, but that only angered the beast, at the same time as if they were coordinated, Link and Marth attacked up, wich divided the creature in two parts, one of them went right to Urbosa’s ankle, the more she tried to release herself, the more tight she was imprisoned by it, going up her leg.

Zelda tried to summon her power, but a feeling that she shouldn’t think about him or her love for him, he was forbidden, he was going to voluntarily marry someone else, so her hand would only emit a soft ball of light, there was nothing she could do, in a second the creature trapped her leg and she fell to the ground, hitting herself on the rocks, the creature quickly advanced to her waist.

Link felt despair, he had to do something before this thing ate both of the girls.

While Marth tried to pull Zelda out, Link took out a few ice arrows and shot the black flap adhered to the champion. Soon the creature freezed and with a thrust Roy broke it into pieces.

He repeated the procedure with the left part of the goo to release the princess, and as they broke it, on its insides the shapes of three inconcious Gerudo were seen.

“¡Sa’oten! In the name of the Goddess!” Urbosa said, raising up quickly and checking on the young girls laying on the ground.

“It seems that thing stole their energy, they are alive but unconscious, we need to get them up and hidrate them, before we find out if we really killed this bastard”

The three guys help carrying the girls into their backs, and went back to the city. Marth couldn’t help but notice that the princess had several wounds on her shoulder.

-“Princess! You are severely wounded!” He said as his hand was about to touch the naked shoulder of the young girl to look at the bleeding, being interrupted by Link’s arm, who prevented his hand from touching her, holding the Prince’s hand.

-“Don’t... You’r highness, please refrain from touching the wound, it might get infected” Link expressed, with a quick uncomfortable silence until Urbosa broke the moment with a loud voice.

-“Ara! We have to get this wound treated, follow me, I’ll take you to my chambers”

Ther Gerudo girls were being treated on the nursery, and they assigned a room near Urbosa’s chambers to the boys.

-“You worry a lot about the princess, Link” ... Marth affirmation was made looking at him front, as Roy was making his bed on the corner of the room.

-“It’s part of my job” he coldly answered, looking the other side to the window. Not even Revali made him feel this annoyed like this guy.

-“Not a problem then commander, from now on it’s my job, after all she is my betrothed”

-“Oy! What are you on about?” Roy came, he sensed the tense ambient, and they were front to front.

-“Nothing, I’ll go and check on Vah Naboris” Link retired making a small bow and went through the balcony, going down the stairs.

-“I wonder what is he talking about? Vah Nawbee..what?

With a confused face, Roy looked at Link abandoning the room.

-“More than that, I’m interested on the ice magic they used in the arrow, they are different from Altea’s”

-“I’ve seen ice magic before, but never in an arrow, do you remember that dragon we went after?” Roy said

-“And I suspect there is more than that, Hyrule is filled with magic, when the kingdoms unite, think of all the power we could get, I read there are also dragons here...”

-“So... you are thinking seriously on marrying Zelda and have a lot of kids?” Row asked yawning

Don’t be a wanker! What are you thinking about!? Said Marth blushing fiercely while Roy went into a bed and covered himself with a blanket

Leaving the royals behind, Link went down the valley to the place where Vah Naboris was. He climbed up to the top and after sitting for a while looking into the dessert, felt someone’s presence behind him, relaxing when he saw it was Urbosa.

-“Sav’orr! Heroe... are you gonna let her go just like that?” she stood behind him

-“There’s not much I can do...” he answered looking down, then he realized Urbosa was talking about a purple rupee about to fall from his pocket to one of the lumps of the big camel, grabbing it at the last moment.

Urbosa, with a sassy smile sat next to him.

-“It would be perfect if you could just take whatever you want into your pocket, wouldn’t it? Even the heart of a certain princess” she told, stretching her hands to the sky. Link just blushed.

-“I wouldn’t... besides she already has someone...” he answered avoiding to look at her.

-“Well, it’s a progress, at least you realized yourself you r-e-a-l-l-y care about her... huh? appointed knight? “

-“I don’t.... I mean... damn! Is it that obvious? I would give my life for her no doubt...”

-“It’s as clear as water” the chief of the Gerudo laughed. “Probably clear since before Ganon even appeared, but you were the one who didn’t realise it, It still bugs me that she accepted the proposal of that voe prince... Marth is it? It’s strange, he came out of nowhere. I would have bet my right hand she only had eyes for a single knight, I’ll find out about it”

-“No, Urbosa, I think it’s better not to complicate things...”

-“So, are you gonna let her go just like that?” She pointed at his pocket, which made Link turn quickly to verify his rupees weren’t falling, but the bag was perfectly closed.

-“You should tell her how you feel Link, I’m sure that would make her happy, I don’t think she realises you care for her not out of duty, but out of love, more than she thinks of”

That word made the knight nervous, with a red face.

-“I... don’t know, I’m not sure it’s the proper time now that she has a Prince to marry”

Come on! If you wait for the proper time, a hundred year will pass, when will it be? When she is married? You can’t take your time hero!” She said out loud while going down the sacred beast, Link could not sleep that night, and he just dozed on the top of Vah Naboris.

The next day Zelda slowly opened her eyes, she had some trouble waking up, and the moment her lids were open, she found someone in front of her, a familiar silhouette.

-“Li...” she managed to pronounce before she was completely awake, and the blurring shadow became clear. It was Marth, who was closely watching her, standing on the side of her bed, surprised she sat on the bed.

-“Good morning” the prince said with a smile

-“Princess, I assume you must be exhausted, as you slept so much”

-“What time is it?” She asked rubbing her eyes, she felt as if she had slept a few minutes.

-“It must be past supper, I brought you some refreshments from the table, you haven’t had taken anything since yesterday “ he said as he took the tray to the bed.

“Oh, thanks but it’s better if I get up already...” she mentioned, feeling spoiled by the sovereign, but the moment she tried to stand up, the force on her legs went away and she could have fallen if it wasn’t for Marth, who was near to support her, kneeling down he embraced her.

-“It’s better if you rest more your highness, it seems you are a bit weak”

-“I’m fine...” she said taking his shoulder to stand, looking into his eyes, they were dark blue, contrary to Link’s reckleness, his eyes had a calming effect.

When she was about to get up, the prince carried her on his arms firmly, walking some steps to the table.

-“Marth! Stop! I’m not a baby, put me down please”

-“I refuse... until you accept to rest some more. Besides it’s not the first time I carry you like this” he answered with a smile looking at her amused “It makes me happy that you called me by my first name, can I do the same?”

-“I ... guess you can, as long as you put me down” she said blushing while avoiding his eyes, she didn’t realized she just called his name, and he must be referring to the incident with the alcohol she had, that time she didn’t remember how she got to her bed.

-“Ok then, Zelda” still smiling, the prince walked again to the bed, putting her down with ease, the moment Link and Urbos came in from the door.

-“What the!” Link said walking protectively whe he saw the blue haired man (who he disliked even more) with his hands on the princess.

-“How did the investigation went?” Marth asked, letting the princess on her bed to sit up.

-“Ther is no trace of the creature... but in our way back, Link found something you’d like Princess” Urbosa said, as Link went to his bag to take out some hydromelons and honey, and began preparing it cutting the fruit with a small knife.

-“Honey! Thanks, along with hydromelon is one of my favourites! She mentioned as her stomach growled, having had no food in the day.

-“I don’t know what is happening,... maybe I’m just tired” she said, taking a piece of the hydromelon with honey that Link prepared.

-“Maybe it’s your moon bleeding?” Urbosa asked casually, to wich Zelda blushed and the boys looked away.

-“Anyway, I’ll make the doctor come and check on you , it’s not normal you have so low energy, and I don’t know if I’m imagining things, but the power from the triforce on you, it’s quite weak...”

The princess nodded, she felt as she ran a marathon in the desert, and consciously she knew, what she felt about Link was forbidden, which prevented her from trying to express her power and the voice that resonated from the triforce was more distant every day.

-“There is not a prudent medical explanation, it seems like fatigue, Princess, you’ll have to be periodically taking this energy potion”

Gerudo’s medical doctor seemed concerned, after checking the young princess. Impa who was getting back from her own investigation. She also seemed worried about her health.

-“It’s better if we visit Kakariko’s village in our way back, maybe Prunia can lead us in the cause of your tiredness, if it’s triforce related, she’ll know what to do” Impa felt something was wrong, so she suggested that, thy would go to Akkala before returning to Hyrule.

-“We’ll see each other soon!” Urbosa said her farewells,

Once everything was ready, they went to a Kakariko’s near spot, using the Sheikah tablet. Impa’s friend, Prunia had her investigation lab there, they met on Impa’s house.

-“I like this place, we can dress manly here” Roy said, walking in the Kakariko’s village, admiring the beautiful waterfalls in the back of a big mansion with an amazing garden, to wich they accessed trough a wooden stair. Prunia was a young intelectual woman, she was assisted by a teenager called Rotver.

-“I’ll have to make some blood tests Princess, come with me please” Prunia said, taking her to the u

“Would you say there is something you might relate to your symptoms your highness?” She asked while adjusting a rubber around her arm

“It may be... related to feeling, you know...” she answered dubiously, not knowing how to express her idea.

“Feelings... you mean about your engagement?” She asked pulling a fine needle and punturing the princess arm to obtain a blood sample on a special container.

“I ... believe it’s about unrequited feelings...” she said, thinking about Link and Mipha. A moment later prince Marth came into the room opening the sliding door at the entrance.

“I was wondering how do you analyse blood, I’m sorry for intruding, I’ve never heard of such thing before in Altea” and as they went into an animated chatting, Zelda wondered how much did the prince hear about the previous talking, holding her arm on the puncture wound while Impa game into the room.

“It’s highly adviced for you to keep resting while we have some results, please Princess you have to do so”

“And so it’ll be” Impa stated before she could say something.

They went horseback riding on their way to Hyrule, as Roy and Marth insisted to meet some of the roads of Hyrule, they game back to the castle in half a day, just to find out a Zora ambassador was waiting for them to return.

-“I’m sorry to be intruding, I already presented the case to the council and they asked me to wait for you, your highness”

-“What is it about?” Link asked, knowing Zelda had to keep rest, and shouldn’t bother herself with this matters .

-“We can’t locate princess Mipha, that’s why the King sent me urgently to ask for your assistance, an strange creature was seen in the outskirts and it might be about something else”

Everyone kept silent due to surprise. This was unexpected, after all she was one of the champions, and under the protection of the Zora’s land that was so peaceful.

-“I must part immediately” Link said, checking his arrow stock and sword

Zelda look at him, taking her hands to her chest. She was worried about Mipha, and the commander’s reaction somehow made her feel in pain Why, why can I just simply accept it? His heart belongs to someone else, that person is missing, it’s logical he goes to look for her

Impa looked at the princess directly almost begging

-“Princess Zelda, it’s better if you stay here, I don’t consider it a good time to expose yourself again to this danger, until we know the results of the blood sample”

-“It’s better if you go....” she sadly expressed, handling the Sheikah tablet to Link, “Use it as long as you need”

-“Thanks, I think I should get going...”

-“Zelda, is it possible for my cousin to go along with the commander?” Marth asked, and to Link’s desmay he called the princess by her first name, something even he wouldn’t do not because of confidence but the hierarchy prevented him to do so, he never had even imagined to refer to her with such confidence.

-“Hey! I love new adventures. Aren’t you comming Marth?” Roy asked willingly.

-“I’d prefer to spend more time with Zelda, I trust you in this mission, Roy” He said, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking at Link directly, who only made a slight grimace looking away, Zelda was strangled by the prince actions.

-“You’ll lose it! Come on commander Link!”

-“Just Link it’s ok, Salif, lets go back to Zora’s city, excuse us your highness” Link said looking down and walking to an open area to transport along with Zora’s messenger and Roy.

-“Impa, please let Revali know” The princess asked, and she went after to the dining hall, escorted by Marth, as Impa took care of the remaining things to do’

At the dining hall, the princess barely touched her food, and answered with monosyllabic to the conversation the prince tried to have, a small tear came down her cheek.

-“Zelda, you may not want to talk about what’s worrying you, but I think your eyes do not lie” Marth came near her table side from the other edge.

-“I’m ok, I’m just tired...” she said faking a smile

-“You are gutted because of your feelings for the commander, aren’t you?” The question was quite direct, making her look at him alarmed.

-“Why should I? That’s unthinkable! And what does gutted mean anyway?!” She said looking away nervous, as the tears began flowing down more and more every time until her crying was continuous, Marth offered a handkerchief and made a sign for the remaining maids behind them to go and prepare some tea, leaving them alone in the big room, once she calmed down a little, he looked at her up front and continued.

-“”Zelda, could you fall in love with me?” He asked with a frank face and took her hand, she watched him in surprise without saying a word.

-“I know the bethrotal does not mean you have to reciprocate my feelings... but for me, the little time I have met you, I realized I want to protect you, I admire your dedication for the kingdom and the people, your braveness and courage, and above all, who you are, so I consider myself quite flucky to have your hand in marriage, but I’d like it to be more than an agreement, I would like to court you properly, even if I know your heart belongs in other place”

The prince held Zelda’s hand firmly, a second later he got near with the intention to kiss her. She still couldn’t believe her ears. She never had been in that situation where someone declared the intention to woo her, and she haven’t had her fist kiss yet. She kept asking herself How did he knew she loved Link? Shouldn’t that make him walk away? Why was he acting like this?

A few inches from kissing, before their lips made contact, the noise from the doors opening with tea and some desserts interrupted them.

-“Mart.. how did you find out about...? He is going to marry the same girl from the Zora’s kingdom who disappeared” she told while they served some sweet bread and rose tea from Altea

-“I realized, despite your kingdom is prosper, and problems are solved, you suffer day by day, besides you told me some things the day of the celebration I carried you to your room along with Impa, and I overheard something when Prunia was taking your blood sample”

-“Marth...”

-“Could you consider it? This is the first time I’m so certain of something, and it’s also the first time I declare myself to anyone...” The prince said, looking away a bit shy with a slightly blushed face.

Zelda could only see honesty. The foreigner, after a month or so of knowing her, opened himself to her, she felt he wasn’t capable of hurting her, something made her feel safe around him. She stood up and dismissed the maids,, then she walked to the big window looking into Hyrule’s twilight.

-“I can’t promise you a lot... Marth, you’ll see, I haven’t told anyone, but my power and the will to save this kingdom came from my feelings for Li....”

The prince approached without her ending the phrase and hugged her, she was surprised and remained still.

-“Can you forget about him? I know it’s selfish from me, but I want to help you. Come with me, to Altea, I’ll introduce you to my parents, you’ll know your future kingdom, maybe that way you’ll have a change of feelings, or maybe that way you’ll have eyes for me”

Go with him to Altea? She never occurred that possibility, to go away from Hyrule, to go away from ... Link.

-“I don’t know, I didn’t expected this so... so soon...” she stuttered, so much in so little time was overwhelming.

-“It might be rushed l, but please you should meditate this, I’m willing to wait for you, my Princess Zelda” and in the hug they shared, he left a sweet and gentle kiss on her cheek, why kept her eyes wide, and took her hands to her chest again. He kissed her, her first kiss from someone not family related. Maybe it wasn’t in her lips, but it was something that would not leave her mind so easily.

********

Thanks for reading!!! I was a bit lazy with the greyscale, and some pics are old. Give some love to Zelink

[sometimesrosy]

Anonymous said:Apparently E wants Bellamy to forgive Clarke. Remember when you said she was going to be suspicious because Bellamy was gonna forgive Clarke so easily and this was gonna create problems between B/E. You were wrong as usual :(

Well, 1, I’m not wrong until it happens. It hasn’t happened yet. So when we find out what happens, we’ll see.

2. I didn’t hear E wants B to forgive Clarke, I heard she wants him to forgive Octavia, but she could want both, so we’ll see. Again, hasn’t happened yet. 

3. She could still be suspicious of his easy forgiveness of Clarke, and his long hard forgiveness of Echo, that doesn’t conflict. It could be the key to her recognizing that Bellamy has feelings. In other words, not suspicion, not wanting her to not forgive, but an observation. Because Tasya said that Echo was more observant now and cares for how Bellamy’s feels and wants him to be happy. And if she wants Bellamy to forgive Clarke, that might not cause problems for B/E, but he’s also in love with her, and that’s going to cause problems for B/E. If she doesn’t stand in the way of their partnership, that partnership is going to rapidly become more than platonic because they’re in love. 

4. While I did have one spec that Echo would not forgive Clarke, because of the end of season 5, my first spec about how that would work out would be that Echo would be more loyal than selfish and she would recognize that Bellamy had feelings for Clarke and also understand Clarke’s actions and honor her for sacrificing herself, and would choose to step back from that. So if it goes from one of my later theories to one of my earlier theories, which am I? Right or wrong? Both? 

4a. If it does go back to my original theory that Echo would choose Bellamy’s happiness over hers, because of her loyalty, I’m also happy, because I don’t see Echo as a bad guy and I’d like to see her get a story outside of her romantic obstacle romance. And if it goes back to my earlier theory, then that means my original season 5 theory of Bellarke is actually STILL going, and we’ll get the second half of it in season 6, which means when I said that season 5 would finish telling their character and relationship stories in season 6 and that was why it feels unfinished, I was right about that. I mean. This is a messy complex story, Interpretations can easily be partly right and partly wrong, or right but in a different way. It’s no big deal.

5. Speculations are guessing on what’s going to happen in the story when you are not in charge of writing the story. I am LITERALLY guessing. It’s educated guessing, but I recognize that this is not my story and they can take it a different tack at any point. And I might be going off on my own story in my head that I get attached to. But it’s not my story and I practice non-attachment all the time, stepping back from what I want to reevaluate my ideas. That helps my theories get better.

6. I’m not usually wrong. I’m usually pretty right. I got cryo theory before everyone. I told you Bellarke would take their people on an exodus. I described the happy ending romance of Marper, but with the wrong couple. I got the final image of s5 right. I said the bunker would be a violent disaster. And on and on. And mind you. This is not my story. I’m not telling this story. I have no inside information at all. I’m just a fan sitting in the country in Florida. Do I predict everything? No. But I get about 90% of my spec and theories right. Some of which, while fandom told me I was delusional, both canon and the writers told me I was right. Themes, character development, allusions, tropes. I don’t know why you people keep insisting I’m wrong about everything when I have been proven right so many times. Am I right all the time? NO of course not. So what. I don’t need to be. I’m more right than every single person who said that Lxa was the hero, Clarke was the LI and Bellamy was the villain. OMG. Why do you people keep doing stuff like that? 

7. If I’m wrong about speculation a year or two ahead of when we get the story, I’m okay with that. You act somehow like speculating something that doesn’t happen is some sort of proof of failure and incompetency, when it’s really just telling a different story than the ones the writers are telling. I write science fiction and some romance. I don’t write action. I recognize that I nearly always miss their action plots. But then, it’s fun to miss that, I get to be surprised with everyone while all the themes I’ve spotted and the character journeys I’ve marked come true within the new action story. 

8. If you ignore everything I say that I was right about, and pretend either it didn’t happen in canon or I never said it, then of course you’ll think I’m never right. You erase everything I’m right about. And the fact of the matter is I’m more right than almost anyone out there. And I’ve BEEN right since season 3 when I started figuring out JRs story. Because it’s not MY story and it’s not YOUR story, it’s HIS story, and the trick is figuring out HIS story and where he’s taking it. If you start erasing canon because you don’t like it, it doesn’t feed your ship or you don’t want me to be right, then you will not know what’s happening in the story at all.  I find some of my old theories from s3, and I go, hey, look, that is all still ACTIVELY happening. That means I was right. And am still right about it. That’s the story JR is telling. 

9. WHY are you people so obsessed with being right or wrong on a fictional tv show. What do you think you WIN if you’re right and I’m wrong. Why do you need to tell me when you think I’m wrong. Who cares if I’m wrong? You shouldn’t care if you think I’m never right. Do you think an anon is going to invalidate my 35 years of writing, two degrees, teaching experience and life long love of science fiction. “oh anon said I was wrong again i must be always wrong.” You know, I just found a reason for getting those near useless pieces of paper from universities and professional organizations. I’ve OFFICIALLY been certified as someone who knows her shit. I’m an expert. I understand the topic, the genre, the discipline, the history, the craft, and I know how to break it down and explain it to people. If you don’t want me to be an authority, that’s your problem. You can simply ignore me, not follow me, not send me anons, exist on your little blog with your bad and biased theories and consider me a fool. I really don’t care. You know I’m not following you, right? I know who I am and I know what I can do, and what I can’t do. I don’t need your permission or approval. You don’t need mine either. You go on with your own bad self with your own bad meta on your own bad blog. Be free.

10. Being wrong about analysis, theories or speculation just gives you the opportunity to adjust and refine your theory to make it work better for the story at hand. The goal is not “to be right.” The goal is to UNDERSTAND. Which is why fandom never knows what the hell is going on. 

[sachigram]

Hearts Like Ours Chapter 4

((click here to read on ao3!)

It's a complicated thing, the human mind.

Izaya has always loved studying the way people tick, what makes them, them. He loves the different expressions, the triumphs, the hardships. He loves people, and he loves pushing them to their limits, making them stronger than they ever thought possible. He loves watching people face their fears.

He doesn't love it in himself, however.

He hates the things his mind is afraid of, even more so now. He can't stop himself no matter how much he dislikes it, even if he knows fear is a useless thing for him to feel. It does nothing for him. Most people feel fear, and they know to stay away from things. High altitudes, deep oceans, dangerous animals—all things to be avoided.

Izaya has always charged at what scared him, full speed ahead.

He doesn't allow himself to be frightened away, even in the interest of self-preservation. He's always known Shizuo could and likely would one day destroy him—but he never factored in that he'd be alive to regret it in the aftermath.

His body was broken, and it healed. It took time and work Izaya didn't want to put into it, but he eventually got over himself enough to work through his pain and make it out of the chair, then away from the crutches.

His mind, even still sharp as ever, is far from healed. And what's worse, Shizuo has no idea, and won't leave him alone.

As payback for the crude drawings on his face, Shizuo has taken to barging into Izaya's daily life, usually just to piss Izaya off, which he's unnaturally good at. Worse yet, there isn't a lot Izaya can do about it. Sure, he could call the police, but as Namie mentioned before, it'd cause a great deal of commotion and there's no definitive proof they could even get Shizuo to leave. He could jam a knife in Shizuo's throat, but then he's almost positive Shizuo can regenerate himself like a microscopic life form, or a horrible alien creature from a horror movie. Plus, then Shizuo would almost definitely snap his neck in retaliation, and Izaya would be killing a human being anyway, if he killed Shizuo, loathe though he is to admit it.

He does his best to ignore Shizuo, and he tries to shake Shizuo off his trail when he can, but he's never been good at hiding from the beast, who has chased him for as long as he can remember. It seems every time he turns around, Shizuo is there, on his heels, reaching out to grab him.

He only wishes his body wasn't so scared of Shizuo. His heart physically aches from the constant adrenaline he feels when Shizuo is around.

“That man isn't here today?” Namie asks, breaking his thoughts.

“Yes, he is. Can't you see his daunting form on the couch?” Izaya asks, motioning to nothing. She huffs at him.

“It's getting to be strange when he isn't around. It's been almost two weeks of him barging in, and neither of you even talking. It just seems pointless, given your history.”

“You know nothing of our history,” Izaya says. “Besides, haven't you heard of an impasse? Talking isn't required.”

“Whatever,” Namie says, flipping her hair. “You're not completely stupid, though. You know things can't continue this way.”

Closing his browser, Izaya sighs, pushing his chair away from the desk.

“That was almost a compliment, Namie,” he tells her, delighting when her expression sours.

“I'm just curious to know where all this is going. Even you can't fight fate.”

“Fate. Right.” Izaya stretches, wincing a bit when his lower back twinges. “You don't share a mark with the one you love. It hasn't stopped you, has it? Where is fate in that scenario?”

She slams her hands down on the table, leaning in to glare at Izaya, who only smiles at her pleasantly.

“Don't pretend to understand my situation. It's entirely different. I'm not the one living in denial,” she hisses, pointing at him. “I don't even have a—“

“A mark. I know that. How could you possibly think I didn't know that? You don't have a mark, how shocking! It doesn't matter. You're one of the lucky ones,” Izaya says.

“Lucky!” She laughs incredulously, her eyes narrowing at him. “In a world where people are born knowing who they're meant to be with, I'm one of the lucky ones because I was meant to be with no one? Your logic is even more twisted than usual.”

“You're lucky because you're free to choose.” Izaya shrugs on his coat. “Besides, people put entirely too much stock in the soulmate thing anyway. Did you know forty percent of people never encounter their soulmates at all? Another twenty learn their soulmates died a long time ago. And then a whopping ten percent, like you, have no mark at all.”

“A thirty percent chance of meeting your soulmate before it's too late,” Namie says, “and you think it's unlucky you've found yours. Of course you do.” She folds her arms across her chest. “You're determined to die alone.”

“Dying alone is better than dying with someone who hates you,” he says placidly. “Shizu-chan will realize that, in time. It's better to let him fizzle himself out.”

“Oh, please,” she says. “The only thing you hate about him is that he hates you.”

He opens his mouth to retort something biting about her incestuous crush, but his door opens, and Shizuo strolls in, like he has every day this week. Izaya pinches the bridge of his nose. Namie looks positively gleeful.

“We were just talking about you,” she says.

“Thought I had the heebie jeebies,” Shizuo replies easily.

“Feel free to stick around, Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, and he doesn't miss the way Shizuo's eyes widen in response. “I have places to be.”

“Places?” Shizuo asks.

“A meeting,” Namie supplies.

“Lock up when you're leaving,” Izaya tells her, passing them both. He clenches his teeth when Shizuo turns on his heel and starts following after Izaya instead. “You can't come.”

“Sure as hell seems like I can,” Shizuo says, unfazed. Izaya laughs.

“This particular client doesn't like intruders. If anything happens, don't say I didn't warn you.” Izaya twirls to look at Shizuo, walking backwards so he can observe Shizuo's face. “If you end up stabbed or worse, it'll be funny, at least.”

“Is it like a Yakuza meeting?” Shizuo asks, frowning at Izaya. “Turn around. You're gonna fall.”

“Don't worry about me. It's disgusting.” Izaya turns anyway, tiring of looking at Shizuo's stupid face. “You can't just do whatever you want all the time. Maybe you'll be reminded of that today.”

Outside the building, it's a cold, biting day. The cold snap happened all at once, coming after the bout of seemingly endless rain. Izaya puts his hood up, shivering a bit as he makes his way over to the sleek black car parked across the street in its usual spot.

“Good afternoon,” the driver states. He makes a face as Shizuo climbs into the car next to Izaya, who scowls and scoots away from him. “Who is this, Orihara-san?”

“Heiwajima Shizuo,” Shizuo says.

The driver pales, clearly knowing of Shizuo's reputation. “I...see. I was sent to only pick up Orihara-san.”

“Tough shit,” Shizuo says. A moment later, the car is in motion.

“You're so annoying,” Izaya informs him, looking out the window at the people walking around, bundled up and hunched in their posture.

“That's you,” Shizuo says back. Neither of them says another word during the ride, though they do shove each other a bit. Izaya stops shoving when his head slams against the window, courtesy of Shizuo's monster paw.

“Shit. Sorry,” Shizuo says.

“Shut up,” Izaya says.

“Here we are!” The driver says, sounding somewhat relieved. “They're waiting for you inside. I'll escort you, of course.”

They exit the car, and Izaya pulls his hood up, ignoring the bite of the cold. He's always been cold natured, but his back hurts more when he's hunched over for warmth, and to make matters worse, his head hurts both from Shizuo's presence, and because he was just pushed into a window.

“This can't be right,” Shizuo's voice says. Izaya looks over at him as they walk inside.

“Shiki is a man of simple, yet refined tastes,” Izaya says. “This is the right place.”

“You've been here before?” Shizuo asks.

“Often, for meetings. Have you not been here? It's nice.”

They walk past the bouncer, who only nods at them. The club is busy for the daytime, the bass blaring through the speakers, which only makes Izaya's headache worse. He hopes they'll be out of here soon, but Shiki never keeps him long. He looks over again at Shizuo, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else.

“Why, Shizu-chan. Have you never been to a strip club?” Izaya asks gleefully. Shizuo's red face becomes even redder.

“Yes, but not by choice. Tom dragged me a few times, always saying it was for work. It was always easier to endure knowing I could punch someone soon,” Shizuo says, barely audible over the music. Izaya has to strain to hear him.

“You can always go,” Izaya informs him.

“Like hell,” Shizuo retorts.

“I hope you go deaf and then die,” Izaya mutters.

“What?” Shizuo asks loudly, frowning at Izaya like he already knows Izaya said something biting.

“I said—“

“Izaya,” a smooth voice says. Izaya schools his features as he's escorted into the private booth Shiki and his entourage are occupying. There are three women on different stages right now, all slender and beautiful in their own ways. The muscly men on either side of Shiki are busier watching them than Izaya. Killing Shiki would be easy, if that was his intent. He'll have to mention that to Shiki, one day. For now, Izaya likes having the upper hand, in case he's ever double crossed.

“Always a pleasure, Shiki,” Izaya says, holding his hand out. Shiki shakes, but not before he gives Izaya a stern once over.

“It's been a long time. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I didn't consider you'd bring a guest.”

Izaya glances over at Shizuo, who is already pressed close in the booth. Their shoulders are touching, the irony of which isn't lost on Izaya. Their marks are separated only by clothes.

“I have a new shadow. I can't seem to shake him,” Izaya says, grinning at Shiki.

“Shizuo,” Shiki says, looking Shizuo over. “Is there a reason you're here?”

“I'm with him,” Shizuo says, motioning to Izaya.

“Really? Have you two become friends?” Shiki asks. The look Izaya gives him must speak for itself, because Shiki laughs before continuing. “How odd, then. We were prepared for a chair. Not for the cause.”

“A chair?” Shizuo asks.

“A wheelchair. I was told Izaya needed one.”

The room seems smaller, all of a sudden. Izaya can feel Shizuo's eyes on him, but he doesn't meet the monster's gaze. He focuses on the man across from him, who has always been fair, yet a pain in Izaya's ass.

“Your information is wrong, but then again, I haven't been around to give it to you. I'm perfectly unscathed,” Izaya says.

“I see.” Shiki puts his elbows on the table, peering closely at him. “You don't look unscathed.”

“I've looked worse,” Izaya hisses, trying hard not to clench his teeth. He can feel Shizuo still looking at him.

“Right,” Shiki says. “I trust you got my message?”

“The one about not returning? I got it, but I'm afraid I couldn't listen. There's much to do.”

“Indeed there is. Do you have what I asked for?”

“Do I ever have anything less?” Izaya asks, smiling. What Shiki asked for was child's play, after all. “You'll find what you're looking for here.” He passes a small piece of paper across the table. “He'll be there tonight.”

“Good. It's time to put this to rest.” Shiki passes the paper to one of the muscly men, who seems to have finally remembered he's here for a job. “Now then. Why else were you here?”

Izaya pauses, his eyes cutting to Shizuo again. “We can return to that at a later date.”

“I'm a busy man,” Shiki says. “Surely you aren't assuming I'll be waiting for another meeting more convenient for you?”

Izaya bites at his tongue for a moment before laughing lightly.

“Of course not! I understand your schedule, and I sympathize. I only meant to save my own wants for another time and place. I never want to seem ungrateful. But since you insist, I'll get to my point.” He sighs softly, inaudibly, knowing Shizuo is listening to his every word. “Junichi Watanabe. Does the name mean anything to you?”

Shiki visibly stills, his eyes boring into Izaya's.

“Is this why you've returned?” he asks.

“Partly. Please, if you're able, tell me what you know of him.”

“He used to work closely with us,” Shiki says. There's a round of applause as a woman does a complicated maneuver on the pole. “He doesn't anymore.”

“He has...become a person of interest to me,” Izaya says.

“He's dangerous,” Shiki replies, glancing first at Shizuo, then at Izaya.

“I'm aware. One of his men stabbed my friend.”

Shizuo is staring openly at Izaya now, but Izaya doesn't dare look away from Shiki, who can zero in on any moment of weakness like a vulture swooping down for prey.

“I'm sure the goal was to invoke a rise from you,” Shiki says.

“A line was drawn. I'm doing my own research, of course, but you're always on about how you 'owe me one'. I thought maybe you were the man to talk to. You usually are,” Izaya says.

“I knew him. He had...radical ideas. Do you know why he might be targeting you?”

“I gave him the wrong information.”

“Deliberately?”

Izaya's stomach turns. “Yes.”

“I see,” Shiki says, looking over as a beautiful woman with huge breasts passes them. His eyes cut back to Izaya's. “You're valuable to us a source. I can offer protection.”

“And have someone in my space all day, every day? I have enough of that with Shizu-chan. I'd rather do this my way.”

“In that case, I ask you don't get yourself killed. That's all I can do.”

Izaya could say Shiki owes him a lot more than that, and mention He knows Junichi was part of Shiki's little entourage in the past. He could refuse to leave until he knew more. Instead, he offers a smile, and he stands, knowing Shiki's game, and refusing to play along.

“Then I thank you for your time. I'll see you later,” Izaya says.

“I hope so.” Shiki looks between Izaya and Shizuo again, and then he grins. “I told you it wasn't a good idea to return to the city, Izaya. But I think you've grown since then.”

“Have I?” Izaya asks.

“I believe so. I think this is all good for you. You were such a brat before.”

Outside the building, the driver is gone, undoubtedly wanting to get as far away from Izaya and Shizuo as possible. Izaya can't even blame him. He and Shizuo have an outstanding reputation.

Thankfully, Shizuo is silent as they walk. Izaya shivers, walking as fast as he can. His whole body aches, and he's ready to be in the warmth again.

“Izaya,” Shizuo begins.

“Not now,” Izaya says, meaning 'not ever.' He hopes Shizuo gets that, but he doubts it.

By the time they get back, the sun is setting. Izaya hurries inside and soaks in the warmth, and he bustles around the kitchen to make some tea, even going as far as to make Shizuo some. He's feeling rather hospitable, seeing as how whether he knows it or not, Shizuo is acting as a bodyguard. No one would dare jump Izaya with Shizuo looming beside him.

“What he said...” Shizuo murmurs, looking down at his teacup.

“It's not important,” Izaya says. “It's my business.”

“Were you in a wheelchair?”

Izaya flops onto his couch, leveling his gaze at Shizuo. “Dos that matter?”

“Yes,” Shizuo says. “Did I put you in a wheelchair?”

“Yes,” Izaya replies easily. “You did. I couldn't use my legs for a while. And now I can. End of story.”

Shizuo looks down into his cup, his brows furrowed.

“I had nightmares where I killed you. I lost control. And even if you pushed me, I—“

“Right. I did push you. I pushed you until you broke, Shizu-chan.”

“I'm sorry,” Shizuo says. Izaya ignores him.

“Nothing else matters right now. If I can't get you to leave, you'll at least be quiet while I work. I think that's fair.”

Shizuo is quiet, which is a good sign. Izaya goes to his computer and continues his research. He knows of the man who ordered the stabbing of Shinra. A cocky, vain extremist who used to work with the Yakuza. He had enlisted Izaya's help in planting a bomb in a crowded hotel. Izaya had tipped off the police, not wanting all that carnage.

Junichi must have known Izaya sold him out. But surely he knew better than to think Izaya would go along with such a massive loss of life. Izaya loves humans, even if he doesn't agree with them. He wanted Junichi to fail.

“It's late,” Izaya says after a while. He's been typing away steadily, now on a chatroom for the sake of taking a break. He usually ignores Shizuo, not wanting to give Shizuo the satisfaction of knowing he's even bothered.

“I guess,” Shizuo says. He's watching TV, sneaking glances at Izaya every now and then.

“Are you leaving soon?”Shizuo usually does. He only stayed the night once by accident.

“I wanna finish this episode,” Shizuo says stubbornly. Some cooking show is playing.

Izaya rolls his eyes and puts his head down, reading the responses across his screen. This chatroom is pure recreation, but no less interesting than any other. He replies every now and then, but it's hard to keep up with. His eyelids are heavy, and his head still hurts.

Everything hurts.

He looks up and sees Shizuo above him, eyes cold and hard. Shizuo is reaching for him, for his neck.

“Do it,” Izaya hears himself saying, but it isn't what he wants. He's so afraid, wants to run, but his body won't let him. He's just too proud t say anything different.

Shizuo's hands close around his neck. “I hate you so much,” Shizuo says, eerily calm. “Everything would be so much better without you around.”

Izaya cries, but it doesn't matter. He's dying, and he did this to himself. He knows that. He's always known this is how it would end, and he pushed anyway.

“Izaya!”

He wails, fighting the hands on him, not daring to go out without a fight.

“Wake the fuck up! Izaya—!”

He opens his eyes to find himself at his desk, Shizuo looming over him. Izaya's nails are embedded in Shizuo's arms, blood staining Shizuo's pristine white sleeves.

“What the fuck,” Shizuo breathes, letting go of Izaya when he sees Izaya is awake.

“I...”

“You were crying. And then...”

“It was just a stupid dream,” Izaya says, standing and trying to pass. Shizuo grabs his arm.

“A dream about what?” he asks.

“A monster,” Izaya says, and Shizuo flinches, but doesn't let him go.

“Did... Am I...” Shizuo struggles with words, and then he looks up at Izaya. “Am I the reason you can't sleep?”

“Don't give yourself so much credit,” Izaya says, pulling his arm free. “Go home. I'm going to bed.”

Shizuo looks at him as if he wants to argue, and then his eyes soften. He nods, and then he leaves.

Izaya's stares after him. He locks the door behind Shizuo, and then he goes back to work. He won't sleep; he knows that already.

He'd rather stay awake than relive that again.

[mwolf0epsilon]

El plan de Ernesto y la promesa de Héctor

Summary: In which Coco comes across a small problem relating to her gigantic friend’s nightly visits, Ernesto begins plotting something quite nefarious in order to get rid of Hector once and for all, and Hector makes a promise that he might not be able to keep. Characters: Ernesto de la Cruz, Coco Rivera, Hector Rivera. Setting: Gashadokuro AU, inspired by @melcecilia14‘s posts [X] [X] [X] and a continuation of my own fics [X] [X] [X] [Things are starting to pick up on Ernesto’s side of the story. You can also read it on Ao3!]

—{Enjoy}—

    There was no denying how much Socorro Rivera loved her two best friends, siblings Julio and Rosita. The two were always there for her, no matter the circumstances. She could talk to them about just about anything, be it her concern for the bitterness that steadily grew in her mamá’s heart with each passing day where her papá remained away from home, the anger she felt towards the older kids who relentlessly tormented her and made fun of her family, or even of just how much she missed her papá and how he’d sing to her every day and every night. Coco could recall whole afternoons where she’d confide to them the stories she could recall of better times. Those very few years of her life where mamá and papá would sing and dance and laugh like there was no care in the world… She’d tell them of the letters containing poems and songs, and decorated with small doodles Coco knew her papá had absentmindedly added to the paper, mind wandering away from body as he carefully considered his words, while also letting his imagination run wild. Her favourite doodle was that of a xolo puppy he’d seen on the streets one day. A cute little thing that had followed him around for a while, before tío Ernesto scared it off. Tío Ernesto really hated xolos, which was odd since he liked chihuahuas so much. Maybe it was because xolos didn’t have soft hair to pet? Regardless of his distaste, the puppy had caught her papá’s attention enough that he’d doodled it on the letter so that Coco could picture it perfectly.

    Mamá didn’t much care for the drawing, or the letters, at least not anymore. Once upon a time, she would sit down with Coco and read them to her, and then carefully turn the paper so that she could see the drawing more clearly. Those had been the days where her mother still openly loved and missed her father, heart unmarred by bitter hatred that was fed daily by the gossip of housewives and preconseptuous nuns. Stories of her loving father leaving his family for fame and younger women, like kindling to a fire. Poisonous and vile falsities dreamt up by people who couldn’t keep their nose out of another’s lives and personal adversities. These were all things Coco confided to her dearest friends. She was never afraid to talk to them about matters that would otherwise be ignored and let to fester. There was, however, a topic that she didn’t really talk about with the two: Señor Esqueleto and his nightly visits.

    In general, her gigantic skeleton friend was...Well, to put it lightly, a hard topic… Especially after what happened with Rodrigo Sanchez. The older kids kept their distance after the incident, but that didn’t mean they didn’t talk about it behind her back, focusing on what she’d claimed when she’d been trying to calm Rosita. She meant it of course, that Señor Esqueleto would never hurt someone on purpose. Just because he was bigger didn’t mean he was a bully, much less the monster they claimed he was. That was just loco! His gentleness was why Coco liked him so much! He could be just as terrible as Rodrigo and his friends, if not worse because of his size, and instead he went out of his way to be kind. Sure he was clumsy and that often caused trouble (He’d admitted to having derailed a train by accident, which was where those silly stories of a monster skeleton came from to begin with!) but he tried to fix his mistakes whenever he could. Still...As nice and caring as Señor Esqueleto was, how could she ever explain this to her friends? Her mamá and tíos didn’t believe her when she told them, nor any of the adults at the market for the matter, so could it be possible that Julio and Rosita wouldn’t either? Julio didn’t believe in magic and Rosita was easily startled, so making it seem like Coco wasn’t crazy, nor that the giant skeleton posed no threat, would be near impossible! But, then again, these were her best friends! They should believe her! They weren’t as closed minded as the adults in Santa Cecilia and she trusted them!  So why did she feel so hesitant about sharing her secret with them? She didn’t know, but she’d have to reconsider this much sooner than she’d expected.

    It was a calm afternoon in May. Three hours after lunch, while Coco was sitting besides her mother in the workshop, Imelda interrupted her shoe making lessons to bring her some news.  “I spoke with Julio and Rosita’s parents this morning.” she said as she carefully set down her tools, moving to inspect the seams she’d completed on her latest project. A pair of riding boots. She was waiting for a response, if the delay in the topic was anything to go by.  “You did?” Coco offered, peering up at her mamá with interest. It’s not that her mother and her friends’ parents didn’t talk often, far from it! It was more that they rarely did unless they were at the market or much later in the afternoon when the shop was closing. It was the only time they had, well, time to do so.  “Yes.” Imelda replied after putting down the boot she’d been examining. She turned her attention fully towards Coco, a small smile on her lips. “It seems something’s come up and they need to go to the family ranch to deal with a few personal matters that will take at least two weeks to manage.”  “Oh...Is everything ok? Is Julio’s and Rosita’s tía alright?” Coco frowned, worrying for the gentle old lady that had visited on the last Dia de Los Muertos. The one who’d given her and her friends a few homemade sweets under their parents’ nose. Dona Carmelita. A very sweet old woman. Coco hoped she hadn’t fallen ill after her husband passed.  “Rest your head mija, Dona Carmelita is fine. This has to do with Señor Roberto’s passing. The family has to tend to his last will...However, because there will be no children attending, there was an issue with what to do with Julio and Roita.” This made Coco perk up. Julio and Rosita weren’t allowed to go?  “Where will they stay if their mamá and papá are away?” She asked out of curiosity. This is when Imelda’s small smile seemed to grow.  “Why, I’ve offered for them to stay at our house while their parents are away on business. That way, they will be looked after and I will be able to send a letter informing them that their children are in good health.” Coco couldn’t help beam at the idea as she listened to her mother. Julio and Rosita were going to be staying at their house for two whole weeks? That was amazing! They’d be able to do so many things together! The young girl was practically jumping for joy at the thought.  “They get to sleep over? That’s great!” She cried out happily, which made her mother chuckle.  “Indeed...Now, how about we stop your lesson for now and you go on and tell them the good news? I asked their parents to let you be the one to tell them.”  “Thank you mamá!” Coco called out as she ran for the door.

    How exciting! She’d get to hang out with her friends for two whole weeks! That was practically an eternity! They’d be able to have slumber parties and tell spooky fun stories and have all sorts of adventures! Nothing could ruin this for Coco! And that’s when it downed on her, halfway out the door, that at least ONE THING could actually spoil her fun… Señor Esqueleto...He visited every night and her two best friends were coming over to stay two week’s worth of nights in her room.That...Was going to be a massive problem.  “....O-Oh no…” The youngest member of the Rivera family felt her heart drop. If her friend showed up during the night he might spook her best friends! And then they’d cause a lot of noise, and then mamá and her tíos would wake up, and then there’d be BIG TROUBLE for everyone. What was she going to do?!

---

    Unbeknownst to the young and worried Coco, far away from Santa Cecilia in Mexico City, Ernesto de la Cruz was fretting over his own dilemma. It had been days since he last left the hotel room he’d holed himself in ever since his horrific encounter with the gigantic skeleton that he knew to be his deceased ex-partner, Hector Rivera. The event had shaken him so terribly that Ernesto hadn’t dared set foot outside, for fear of being found and cornered by the tremendously sized spirit that he was so certain was out looking for some revenge. This of course, was a huge setback for him. He’d just reached a very delicate stage in his musical career where he NEEDED to keep the public hooked. A stage where he couldn’t afford to become some crazy hermit holed up in an hotel room, mumbling insane stories about vengeful spirits the size of mountains. Or so his agent, Marcelo, insisted.  “Ernesto it has been ages since you’ve last performed! If you keep this up, your fame will plummet faster than an acrobat with butterfingers!” Exclaimed the thin, wiry man, of physic that Ernesto found to be similar to Hector’s. He’d always found it morbidly fascinating to observe the man’s movements. More refined than that of his ex-best friend, but less heartfelt. He was less taller, his jawline less sharp, but the similarities were ironic in many ways. One would even say this was Ernesto’s way of showing he missed Hector, by mingling with people that reminded him of him...But no, Marcelo was nothing like his ex-partner in crime. Marcelo was much more conniving and clearly a money-grabber. A serpent masquerading as a gentle garden snake, ready to bite you if things didn’t work his way...Like now, where he disregarded Ernesto’s fears as soon as he smelled a weakness that could ruin them both.  “You have to pull your weight amigo, or else there won’t be much of a future for you.”  “I know Marcelo, I know! You've been hammering away at the topic for quite some time now amigo” He hissed, spitting the last world as if it were bile in his mouth. Hell would freeze over before he ever considered the greedy bastard as a friend. “But it’s just...I’ve taken ill, as you can see.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He’d made himself sick with worry just from the thought of those massive phalanges, and the rags covering up the ashen ribs, spine and pelvis. And those soul-piercing sockets that burnt with blinding yellow light... Ernesto looked terrible. Disheveled and pale, clothes in terrible need of a wash. He looked like he belonged out in the streets with the homeless instead of a lit up stage.  “I can see that, yes.” Marcelo conceded as he wrinkled his nose in disgust as he looked him up and down. Those dark eyes of his infuriating Ernesto with their judging spark. “What I ask of you is that you get better faster!”

    Ernesto rolled his eyes and turned to face away from his manager. He should have hired the other one, the short stubby man with the peg leg. At least he’d had less of an attitude. Still, hindsight cast aside, Ernesto did worry for what may happen to his career if he didn’t indeed get “better”. But how? How did one deal with a haunting on such a large scale? Going to church hadn’t helped at all. There were still stories of the beast roaming near the tracks, so any attempt to pray for protection and for Hector’s wicked soul to go away, hadn’t fixed the problem. Ernesto couldn’t afford to risk another encounter. He’d been lucky the last time, but who’s to say the odds would keep favoring him? What if the next time, it wasn’t the locomotive he crushed, but Ernesto’s compartment? A shudder ran down his spine as he thought about getting turned to canned soup by a gigantic skeleton foot. That was not a dignifying way to go…     No, he refused to be an ant in the presence of his ex-best friend’s monstrous spirit. He’d won the first time after he’d pulled all the weight, he’d win again even with such terrible odds! Hector wouldn’t take his well deserved fame from him. Dead or alive. He’d just have to find the monster’s weakness, is all! In fairytales there was always the brave hero who killed the beast, always something to give him the upper hand. And, as Ernesto considered this, he got an idea of what might be the skeleton’s core weakness.  “You know what...You’re right.” He said with a smirk as he turned to face Marcelo once more. The other seemed taken aback by the renewed vigor of his words. “How about this: You work with the PR team, pull some strings, do your magic and set up for my tour’s next grand destination. Then, in three weeks, I’ll be ready to be received by my adoring fans who’ve missed me so terribly after learning I was recovering from a terrible, most horrific illness that nearly took my life.” He circled around the other man, maintaining eye contact as he smiled and carried on explaining his idea. Marcelo seemed intrigued.  “And then, after these three weeks of rumours and brilliant PR marketing have finished, BOOM. A set of posters with the exact location of my next concert.” He waved his hands with grandeur in his intent. Setting the image for his manager. “Ernesto de la Cruz! The Grand Homecoming Concert! Santa Cecilia’s greatest musician!” He span around and walked towards the window, right index finger tapping away thoughtfully on his chin.  “Some words could be changed here and there... That artist who did my posters for that one concert in Mérida could be in charge of working on the finished thing, add some subliminal messages to entice the public... We’ve got ourselves a sensational comeback mí amigo…” And an opportunity to get rid of a few thorns in his side. Because if there was one thing that he knew was Hector’s weakness, it was those two girls of his. If he could make them, say, “mysteriously” disappear in some sort of terrible accident, then the monstrous ghost would follow them into the afterlife. That had to be the solution for all his troubles.

---

    Coco was at a loss for what to do. She’d been forced to swallow down her worries when she’d gone to Julio and Rosita’s house to tell them about their parents’ plan. The two had been excited of course, unaware of their friend’s plight as her mind raced to come up with a solution for her problem. She would either have to tell them, or she’d have to figure out a way to keep them from seeing Señor Esqueleto. But the question now was how. How do you hide a colossal skeleton from someone?     As she walked around town in deep thought, Coco pondered on this. It couldn’t be harder than hide and seek, right? Just make sure the “seekers” didn’t find the one hiding. But, then again, her larger friend wouldn’t be aware of the fact he needed to hide in the first place. No, trying to hide Señor Esqueleto wouldn’t work. The glow of his eyes would be a dead giveaway on it’s own. She’d have to tell them. There was no other way.     Turning a corner that led to the market, Coco stopped in her tracks when she saw something up ahead. Another crowd, like the one from that day when Señor Sanchez yelled at her. The young Rivera girl gulped as she contemplated investigating the matter. Last time, when she’d gone to see what had caused the crowd to form in the first place, Coco had been saddened by the state in which the gigantic skeleton had left the fountain. She’d brought it to his attention that same night where she’d interrogated him, going so far as to mentioning how many fond memories she’d had of the fountain.  He’d looked quite guilty, or as guilty as a skeleton could look, and admitted to having not been looking where he was going. And then the mess he’d made afterwards was caused when he’d crouched down trying to fix the fountain, only to bump into the stalls and damage them as well. In the end, he’d opted with leaving it as it was since he couldn’t seem to fix it without making it worse. Could it be her friend had once again made another huge mess?

    Coco pondered on it for a while before shaking her head and moving off to head back home. She could worry about that later, no point risking another scene if Señor Sanchez was around. As she walked along, she listened to the murmurs of the crowd, stopping only when she heard the exchange between two ladies.  “What a horrible sight...Do you really think Ricardo was right about hostile spirits?” One of the ladies asked the other, who was quick to cross herself and hiss at her friend under her breath just barely loud enough that Coco could hear.  “Dios mío, cállate!” She scolded “The devil hears those who speak of his work!”  “Cálmate, solo preguntaba.” The first woman sighed as she straightened the hem of her dress. “It just seems, impossible...”  “I’ve seen the drunkards of Santa Cecilia, Silvia, its very likely that they probably caused the ruckus to begin with.” Said the one clutching at the beads of her rosary, seeming far too nervous to believe her own words. “You heard what the police said. They could barely understand what that man was saying...” Coco felt her heart drop into her stomach. The police were involved? What had happened the night before?  “Pobre señor García...Su esposa estará tan molesta cuando llegue a casa, solo para descubrir que su esposo ha sufrido un gran susto!”  “Pobre? No me hagas reír, Silvia! Ese hombre es un cerdo!” the woman with the rosary laughed, shaking her head at her friend. “Sí, aunque es trágico que Madalena regrese de visitar a sus familiares, sólo para descubrir por otros que su esposo ha sido institucionalizado, no se puede negar que su esposo no era un santo. En todo caso, esto es un castigo divino!”  “Divine punish--Teresa! As distasteful as senõr García may be, no one deserves to be scared to the point of becoming a bumbling madman! You heard him screaming about the giant skeleton, that is no way for a kind woman like Madalena to see her husband!” At this point Coco moved on, not even daring to glance towards the crowd as she moved on. She was still worried about Julio and Rosita, yes, but she had at least one night before they came over. She needed to talk to Señor Esqueleto about his clumsiness. One thing was breaking a few stalls and a fountain. Another was scaring the town butcher to near death!

---

    Marcelo had gone off to do just as Ernesto had told him, leaving the mariachi alone with his thoughts and schemes. That had to be it, Imelda and the girl, they had to be the key piece into getting rid of Hector once and for all. He just needed time to prepare, is all!     Really, it was for the best. What right did the dead have to remain in the living world? None! It was unnatural, unprecedented, an abomination! Hector was an abomination! His presence an affront to mankind. He had to be dealt with. Not just because he didn’t belong among the living anymore, but also to protect Ernesto’s integrity and well-being. Just the knowledge that the monster was out there had nearly ruined him, and that simply wouldn’t do!     Ernesto was in reality, quite appalled by all of this. He hadn’t been much of a believer of the paranormal. He’d gone to church like any good kid should and he’d even prayed every night just like his father told him he had to. But really, did going to church every sunday really account for much more than a few beliefs? The strength of a god felt comforting, but the possibility of hell had always frightened him silly as a child, until he realized how oddly absurd it all was. And then Hector had to ruin the small bliss he’d found in not believing all that bullcrap everyone talked about of the afterlife. Beliefs he’d been spoonfed as a child. And now he had to go back to that shithole of a town, Santa Cecilia, just to get this to stop. Only then would he be able to go back into a stable and comfortable life as a musician.     Hector’s wife and daughter would ultimately pay the price for his insolence, but that was all for the best really. What could a temperamental widow like Imelda, or the stupid brat that had distracted his best friend so much, ever offer to the world? Nothing, that’s what! The only time Imelda had contributed even a little, was by having at least a decent taste in guitar designs. The white calavera guitar was a staple of Ernesto’s image as a musician, and that at least he owed Imelda. Not enough to spare her from his plan, of course, but just enough that he’d at least make her look decent in the eyes of the town after she tragically passed away. He’d bet even Hector would be grateful for a dignifying death for his wife.  “You’d best content yourself with your familia, amigo...After all it’s all, it’s what you died trying to get in the end.” Ernesto muttered darkly to himself as he passed around the hotel room in search of some discrete clothing. He needed to consult the library about a few matters. It wouldn’t be good to ruin his PR campaign if people were to recognize him. But he couldn’t risk ruining his grand plan either. Asking about angry spirits would get him nowhere, but recorded accounts might prove his theory right.

---

    At nightfall, after her mother tucked her in for the night and left to go to her room, Coco began to count the seconds. She knew to wait before her friend showed up, she also knew to be fairly patient in general despite being of such a young age. Tonight however, she was far too antsy to do so. As soon as she could no longer hear her mamá’s footsteps, little Coco flung her covers off and went to get her coat. Tonight she’d wait for him at the balcony.     Seated out in the cold, as she waited for the giant skeleton, Coco couldn’t help let her gaze wander up into the stars. She remembered nights where her tired father would come sing to her their secret lullaby. In some of these nights, they would go out onto the balcony to sing beneath the stars. Then, when they were done, her papá would hold her and point out the constellations. Coco never asked if the ones he showed her were really constellations (“The Silly Xolo” wasn’t in any of the books that her uncles had on that particular matter, nor was there one called the “Giant Mariachi Hat”), but then again why should she have? She could still see what her father drew out in the sky for her and it felt all the more special that he’d not only written her a song just for her, but also that he’d make up star formations just to make her laugh. The memory alone made some of the anger Coco was holding onto, melt away. It gave way to sadness as she thought of her father and how his letters had stopped coming. Was he out there now? Maybe, looking into the stars like she was? Did he still sing her song, like she did? She knew he did, deep in her heart.

    The small Rivera girl’s thoughts were interrupted as she felt the balcony tremble lightly in warning of her friend’s approach. The twin yellow lights came next, as Señor Esqueleto took notice of her almost immediately. He looked almost surprised to see her outside already in the cold. It was time to scold him. Standing up tall and putting her hands on her hips, doing her best impression of her mamá’s disapproving stance, Coco glared up into the blinding eye sockets.  “You said you’d be more careful!” she started, noticing how her gargantuan friend’s surprised look crumbled into a guilty one. He knew what she was talking about, of course he did. “You scared someone badly! That’s not ok!” The giant skeleton rumbled softly in distress, before kneeling down to write in the dirt as he’d done for the past few nights whenever he needed to communicate with her. His writing was getting better too. It was looking less like chicken scratch and more legible.  “It was an accident!” As if she hadn’t known that.  “That doesn’t make it any less bad!” Coco replied, peering down at the reply from the edge of the balcony. Reading it upside down was a bit of a challenge, but she was getting the hang of it.  “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry”  “It was even morning when you left...How did you get caught?” Coco frowned. He never stayed around so close to sunrise, so how had that happened? And why?  “I don’t know.”     Now that was silly. How could he not know how he got caught? He’d probably made some noise, or didn’t leave fast enough, or...Or anything really! Señor García could have been out for a late night walk for all she knew. She didn’t get to talk to him much, she didn’t like the smell of blood he carried because of his job.  “I was going away but I stopped. I don’t know why.” Coco frowned as she watched him quickly erase the message to write another one.  “I thought I hurt him by accident, but he was just screaming and screaming. I didn’t know what to do.” Her friend looked upset. She wondered just how badly he’d felt when he’d looked down and realized he’d frightened a person half to death. Probably not very good. It must have been a very scary experience...But speaking of of scary experiences...  “I guess it wasn’t entirely your fault...But uh...You really have to be careful from now on! And uh, I have something I need to tell you.” Coco admitted, changing the subject so as to keep them both from dwelling on it for too long. Her friend looked upset enough that she didn’t need to tell him off for too long. “My best friends, Julio and Rosita, they’re going to stay over for two whole weeks...And uh, well, they don’t know about you.” If skeletons could blink, she was sure Señor Esqueleto would be doing so, as he stared at her with his head cocked slightly to the side in curiosity. He was probably wondering why she was making it sound like such a bad thing.  “They’re going to be staying in my room...And uh, that means I gotta introduce them to you? And you to them? And uh…” She gulped “You’re going to be...Probably kind of, really scary to them?” She could see him mouthing something, very likely a simple “oh” of realization as he caught on to the issue. Of course. Giant spooky skeleton. That wasn’t the sort of thing kids were used to seeing, right? Even if for him it didn’t feel unusual. Still Señor Esqueleto knew to follow one rule. Hide. Hide when he visited his favorite little tiny.  “That means you can’t show up so soon, you have to let me tell them and then I’ll bring them out to meet you, ok?” And hopefully they’d see he was nice and not go out screaming into the night.

    Almost immediately a large smile seemed to overtake the giant skeleton’s “face” as he nodded eagerly. Coco could tell he was excited to meet her friends. Maybe eager to make more friends? It wouldn’t be too odd a thought, she knew he must be quite lonely with being the way he was and people being scared of him.  “Ok, then tomorrow you get to meet them. But you gotta promise you’ll be really careful ok? No more scaring people either. I don’t like those mean stories they make up about you…Promise you’ll always be good, ok?” Señor Esqueleto nodded once more, raising his hand and opening up the palm, miming a scout’s honor gesture, before he lowered his hand and carefully extended his pinky finger in her direction. She couldn’t help smile and do the same, her much smaller pinky dwarfed by the massive size of his phalanges, but it was the thought that counted. A promise was a promise.

    With that done, the pair went on to do as they usually did. With Coco perched up on her Señor Esqueleto’s head as he walked calmly around Santa Cecilia, being mindful of where he walked, while humming that odd and strangely familiar tune of his. It was such a soothing melody that it comforted her through out the night, until she drifted off into a fitful slumber that held none of the worries she’d carried with her all day. When  the sun began to rise, Coco found herself waking up in bed, her friend nowhere in sight. The doorframe of the balcony was slightly misshapen, which answered how she’d gotten back in bed after falling asleep. Still, damaged or not, she couldn’t help but smile at the door. Señor Esqueleto had put her to bed and tucked her in. And to make it better, she’d dreamed of her papá that night. For a moment, she wondered if her papá would become friends with the colossal skeleton when he came back home. Coco really hoped so.

---

    The library proved useful in the end. Ernesto could barely believe how many books had been made just to report odd occurrences relating to superstition and the supernatural. It was almost ridiculous...But it helped him immensely. Several books spoke of demonic apparitions, shadow people that fed on negative thoughts and feelings, possession, angry spirits… But one book in particular had caught his attention the most. “Legends from Across the Globe - A book on mythical creatures belonging to other cultures”.     He’d be embarrassed to admit he’d enjoyed looking through the curious collection of cultural horror stories, but Ernesto would not deny he didn’t feel slightly “enlightened”. Apparently, there was a japanese folklore monster called the Gashadokuro, which so happened to be a giant skeleton. Reading about it had been...Err...Disturbing. And their description did not quite match what he knew of Hector’s death, so the fact he’d come back as something of that kind was...Well, not too good. It certainly said a lot about his ex-best friend. But then again, this was México, not Japan, so what did Ernesto really know? From what he could tell, spirits seemed to be very odd with picking how they looked or came back to haunt. The skeleton thing was probably just a huge coincidence...Or maybe, now that he thought about it, it had more to do with some old conversation he’d had with Hector early on in their tour.

 “Don’t look so glum, Hector. You’ll be back before you know it, and you’ll have a lot of money in your pocket to boot! You’ll be able to provide for your family!” Ernesto had said, giving his friend a rough pat on the back as they rode the train to their next destination.  “I know but...I just, I miss them…” Hector had sighed, looking sadly out the window of the train at the landscape. “I miss my girls Ernesto…”  “You’ve been gone little more than two weeks amigo! What’s there to miss?”  “A lot...Two weeks is a lot! It’s an eternity for a child.” Ernesto shook his head at the remark, unable to understand that at all. Two weeks was NOT a lot. It certainly hadn’t left the impact he’d wanted when they performed. “I just, I wish I could see them every day and still be able to provide for them.” At that, Ernesto couldn’t help laugh.  “You’d need very long legs to accomplish that.” Ernesto chuckled, which made Hector pout in reply.  “My legs are long enough as they are, any longer and I’d look ridiculous.” he mumbled as he crossed his arms.  “Then what would you rather? Longer legs or just being large enough that they did not look disproportionate?” Ernesto asked, laughing harder at the thought.  “What….Like a giant? Goodness no! I’d be too large to play my guitar!” Hector couldn’t help join in the laughter at the absurdity of the remark. “Although, I’d certainly be able to travel from town to town in one day. I’d see my girls and be back before sundown so we could perform.”  “You’d scare people half to death as well!”  “Oh I would not…”  “Would too and you know it Hector.” Ernesto found himself wiping a tear from the corner of his eye as he settled down from his laughing fit. “But díos would it make you memorable...Millions would come to see the dashingly handsome musician, Ernesto de la Cruz, and his abnormally sized partner and fellow musician, Hector Rivera!”  “Ajá, muy gracioso ... Eres un comediante de verdad.” Hector rolled his eyes, although the smile on his face betrayed what he really felt.  “Sí, mi madre también lo pensó.” Ernesto grinned “Although, for that act I think we should give you a better look. Maybe we could paint your face to look like a calavera.”  “So I’d be what? A giant skeleton?”  “You’d be memorable.”  “And I’ll bet you’d be riding on my head singing your heart away while I played a guitar too small for my hands.”  “...Ok now that you say that, it seems less ideal. Ah well, back to the drawing board…”

     Ernesto frowned as he recalled that particular conversation. It seemed like it had stuck with Hector after death, enough so that it influenced the appearance he took. A giant skeleton. It’d be flattering if it wasn’t so annoyingly ironic. The monster that was haunting him was one of his own creation, and Ernesto hated it. But it did make him slowly believe that perhaps taking care of Imelda and Coco would indeed be the solution. After all, that whole conversation had stemmed from Hector’s desire to see them, so maybe that was what he did when he wasn’t hunting him? It would make sense...But also be a problem. What if that damned spirit had found a way to reveal to them what Ernesto had done? They’d ruin his reputation! He couldn’t allow that, not now, not ever!

    In three weeks, he’d be in Santa Cecilia. In three weeks, he’d make Hector’s two precious girls perish in a terrible “accident”. In three weeks, he would be saved. What he did not know, is that three weeks were more than enough for a few things to be set in motion. Like how Coco would be introducing her two best friends to her tremendously sized secret friend. Like how Imelda’s dreams would once more betray her and make her wonder just what happened to her missing husband. Like how Julio and Rosita would insist in figuring out where Señor Esqueleto came from. Like how Hector’s own mind would begin to mend as soon as he caught sight of one particular poster… Ernesto de la Cruz,

The Grand Homecoming Concert,

Santa Cecilia’s greatest musician!

[vennilavee]

Avalanche Part III

avalanche masterlist

Pairing: Lance Tucker X POC Reader

Chapter Summary: You can’t seem to avoid seeing Lance and you find yourself not wanting to.

Warnings: Cursing, alcohol

Word Count: 2559

A/N: I know this took forever! I’m sorry, life just got in the way. Hope you enjoy and thank you for reading-as always, suggestions are welcome xoxo

You’re really starting to regret coming back to your hometown. It took everything inside of you not to run back to Philly to be among your like-minded friends. Your mother is starting to drive you up the wall, with her incessant questions about your own lack of a ring on your finger. The thought of spending another month in this godforsaken hellhole made your stomach twist unpleasantly.

It seemed like everything and everyone was the same, except for you. This was supposed to be a happy, joyous affair and yet your mind was thousands of miles away. Maybe it was because you were being forced to face people and feelings that you hadn’t properly processed over the years. After all, your specialty was ignoring your issues until you seemingly forgot about them.

Lily had told you off for the way you behaved with Lance the other night, after he had attempted to walk you home and you had screamed at him in the middle of the street and stomped off dramatically-

“You can’t just talk to people like that!” Lily had almost spat in your face. You almost rolled your eyes- of course Lance had gone and told on you. 

“Whatever, he’s a dickhead anyways,” You mumbled. That just seem to fuel Lily’s fire even more.

“You know what- I know you’ve always been stubborn but you are an adult. Stop running away from whatever it is that makes you think you’re better than him,” Her sharp features softened when she saw the stunned look on your face, “You’re better than this. I know you are.”

That had struck something within in you, and you felt the familiar tendrils of guilt seeping into your blood. She was right- you weren’t usually the one to lash out like that. Because you usually had a lid on your emotions. Usually.

Lance clearly brings out the best in you, you think dryly. You decide to apologize to him the next time you’re in the same vicinity as him, because that would be right thing to do.

It seemed that every time you saw Lance, it was at a place that served alcohol. Maybe it was a sign from the universe, giving you a metaphorical heads up that you would need to be inebriated to deal with Lance Tucker. Any excuse to drink, right? Right.

It was probably unhealthy, the way you used alcohol to cope. But you enjoyed the way it burned, the temporary release it gave you. The temporary feeling of flying that you got whenever you drank. You craved it.

This time, you were with Mel and Lily’s best friend from college, Daisy. When you first met Daisy, you had laughed because of course the pair of them were named after flowers. Of course they got along swimmingly. Two flowers from the same stem, you had commented all those years ago. 

You spot Lance before he sees you and you duck your head a little bit, sinking in your seat. He looks good, you observe- he’s wearing that red track jacket that has USA on the back of it and dark jeans that hug his hips deliciously. You would have rolled your eyes at the track jacket if anyone else was wearing it, but he pulls it off. He can pull anything off, you think. Mel notices you duck your head and she turns her head, sighing when she sees Lance walk towards the bar with Ben. Mel quirks an eyebrow at you, waiting for an explanation. 

“Ooooh, who is that? He’s fine as hell,” Daisy turns her head as well, her eyes on his perky ass and smirks.

“Lance Tucker,” You mumble with a shrug, “We all went to high school together.”

“As in Lance Tucker the Olympian?” Daisy all but squeals, “Maybe I’ll hit that before I leave.” She waggles her eyebrows and you laugh.

“The one and only,” Mel says wryly, “Why do you look so nervous?” You curse internally. Of course Mel knows all your tells.

“I-uh... I told him off the other day. I was really mean,” You admit sheepishly, “I should apologize. I’m just working up the nerve to, I guess.”

“What did you say to him?” Daisy asks curiously. You chug your drink quickly, eager to feel that familiar, comforting buzz floating around in your stomach.

“A bunch of not so nice things,” You shrug, not wanting to explain yourself, “I guess my head has been stuck up my ass for a while and I need to move the fuck on from a few things. Coming back here always just... makes me into this person that I know I’m not.” You already feel foolish enough and don’t want them to scold you as well. 

“Personal growth and shit,” Mel echoes Lily’s words from the other day with an encouraging smile.

“Personal growth and shit.”

Lance sees you the second he walks into the bar with Ben. His heart raced when he recognized your curly hair and heard your laugh. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous to run into you. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to see you again, since the last time he had seen you, you screamed at him. Your eyes had been alight with a fire he had never seen in you, your tongue spitting venom at him. He didn’t recognize your tenacity, and he knew you were right- you were both different people. So much time had passed, of course you were different people.

He didn’t know what to do with this information, so he just went on with his days. Ben leaves the stool he’s sitting at when he sees you walking towards them with an unsure smile on your face. Lance curses under his breath and gives himself a pep-talk before facing you.

“This seat taken?” You say meekly, meeting his bright, blue eyes. He gestures for you to sit and you try to ease your mind. 

“Can’t get enough, huh?” Lance smirks at you. You laugh and feel your tension start to dissipate.

“Yup, you got me, Tucker,” You grin. You clear your throat and swirl the straw in your drink before plucking up some courage and saying, “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“You’re talking to me now, aren’t you?” He can’t help the smartass answer that tumbles out of his mouth. You ignore it and bite your lip in hesitation. You don’t know why this is so hard for you to do, to admit that you were wrong to Lance Fuckin’ Tucker. Maybe it’s because he never properly apologized to you all those years ago. But it was all water under the bridge- or it should have been. Grudges were exhausting to hold on to, after all.

“I just... I’m sorry for the way I went off on you the other day. You didn’t deserve that and I... I had no right to say any of that to you,” You say clearly, your eyes are boring into his and he has to look away from the intensity you’re watching him with. He doesn’t really know what to say. He knows he deserved at least some of that.

“Don’t worry about it, babygirl,” He says with a smirk, “You’re forgiven.” You can’t help your face from feeling warm at his pet name but you keep your face passive. You also want to say that you didn’t need or want his forgiveness, that you were only apologizing because it was the right thing to do, but you keep your mouth shut because you also know that that’s a lie. He watches the tips of your ears turn slightly red and he smirks even wider. But you don’t notice.

You smile widely at him, wide enough that he can see your small dimples. You offer for him to sit with you and Mel and Daisy at your booth and he agrees, signaling for Ben to join them as well. You discover that Lance Tucker is actually quite funny and his opinions and perspectives on things like March Madness, the weather, and beer are opinions and perspectives that you want to continue hearing about. His voice is soothing like velvet or honey- maybe a combination of both. You find yourself hanging onto every word that comes out of his pretty, pink mouth. Mel is concealing the giggle she desperately wants to let out at your behavior and Daisy is busy making eyes at Lance, but you don’t really notice. You don’t really notice much of anything- all you’re aware of his how intensely he’s looking at you while he speaks. A thought flits around in your head- I want him to always look at me like that. 

You ignore the internal tug-of-war going on inside of you and take a sip of your beer.

The next time you see Lance is when you go out to dinner with your mother and your brother. The three of you settle on going to a nice Thai restaurant- Thai food had always been a favorite for the three of you even before you moved from the east coast to Ohio. You and your brother insisted that all of you would dress up and be as fancy as you possibly could. Your mother rolled her eyes fondly at the pair of you, but complied anyway. Your mother somehow looked more polished and refined compared to the last time you saw her. Despite your frequent arguments and heated words, she was still your mom and you’d never forget all the sacrifices she made to make sure that you and your brother could have the future you both wanted.

You decided to wear a button up blouse, a pastel pink skirt, a statement necklace and pair it with black heels. Your curly hair fell comfortably over your shoulders. 

“So we still getting the same thing we always get, or are we going to surprise ourselves and try something new?” Your brother asks pointedly with a teasing grin.

“Well,” Your mother laughs, “I should know better than to get either of you to try anything new.”

“That’s just rude,” You say, ordering a bottle of wine for your table. Your mother quirks an eyebrow at you but says nothing. She used to be extremely wary of your drinking habits, especially in college but she has eased up. Ever since your father left the three of you. She’s even developed her own wine palate, favoring white wines over red wines. 

You’re proud of your mother, for taking something that absolutely broke her and spinning it into something beautiful for herself.

The three of you bicker as if no time has passed, with your brother teasing you about getting old and you teasing him about the same thing. You ask your brother about the lack of a lady in his life and your mother rises to his defense quickly- “And what about you? You’re no better! You both are going to leave me without grandkids, aren’t you?”

You resist the urge to say something sarcastic, instead stuffing your pad see ew noodles into your mouth. Before your brother can change the subject, your eye catches Lance Tucker walk in from the entrance with his mother. You almost choke on your food, disguising it with an awkward cough. Your mother and brother follow your line of vision to Lance and his mother. You ignore the wide smirk that your brother is giving you. 

You feel slightly starstruck and you physically shake your head to rid yourself of the feeling. He looks good, you note. He’s wearing a dark dress shirt and khakis and somehow you know he smells like sweet sin. He hasn’t used as much product as he usually does in his hair and you want to run your hands through the perfectly styled fluffiness and tell him that it looks good like this.

You barely recognize the thoughts floating around in your head. You groan audibly and your mother turns to you with a questioning look on her all-knowing face. Her lips quirk up and mirror your brother’s lips and you’re suddenly filled with the urge to sink into the floor.

“Stop looking at me like that,” You mumble after taking a long swig of your wine.

“Like what?” Your brother asks innocently. But they are silent and keep their quips to themselves. You’re internally debating whether you should go over there and say hello, before you chug your glass of wine and think fuck it. After all, your mother and Ms. Tucker are both friendly with each other. It would be rude of you to not say hello, right? You vaguely wonder if your mother and Ms. Tucker have planned this, and the sly look on your mother’s face doesn’t help quell your suspicions.

You nervously make your way to the table that they are seated at and you feel your courage beginning to wane as your heart thumps in your ears. You awkwardly wave at Ms. Tucker.

“Hi, Ms. Tucker, I saw you and Lance here and just wanted to say hello,” You say meekly, feeling Lance’s curious eyes on you. She jumps up eagerly from her seat and is fawning over you, telling you how it’s been so long, how beautiful you have become and asking you about Philly. You missed her, you realize. Ms. Tucker had always been a genuinely nice woman, treating you like a daughter and feeding you peanut butter cookies that you could never have at home because of your brother’s peanut allergy. She had even been there for your mother during her darkest days, when you had no idea how to console her at the age of fifteen when your dad left.

You tell her how much you’ve missed her and she gives you a watery smile. Lance stands up as well and gives you a brief hug. I was right, you think, He smells so fuckin’ good. You think you can get lost in his scent.

“You’re definitely following me around,” Lance grins at you. 

“Yeah, right,” You roll your eyes with a laugh. You briefly wonder if it would be too much to ask him to hang out with you and your brother at Griff’s after dinner, but the words come tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them.

He’s surprised at your invitation. Maybe this was you trying to mend things, trying to be civil. Either way, he takes your proposal whole-heartedly and you both miss the triumphant look his mother sends your mother from across the restaurant. He misses it because he’s trying his hardest not to stare at you- to stare at the way your skirt makes your brown skin glow, the way your top button of your blouse is casually undone and all he can think about his how that particular patch of skin tastes against his tongue, the way your legs look in those heels, or the way your ass looks in that skirt.

You smile obliviously at him, your hand resting on his forearm, before bidding your goodbyes and giving Ms.Tucker a hug and a promise that she’ll visit soon. 

You walk back to your table with a wide smile on your face and refuse to give your brother or your mother the satisfaction of telling them that they were right.

Tag List: @valynsia

[ironjohnredcognition]

The Directing mind

h/t @afx626

In all of these occasions, you are summoning impressions in your mind and then reacting to them as though they were real.

The Stoics taught of the ton hegemonikon ("directing mind") as an entity unto itself. Aurelius established it as being the uppermost authority within the mind. The important thing about this is that the mind contains the directing mind, and other things, which could be called lower faculties — such as impressions.

He did this often. If something in your mind that is not your directing mind should be in discomfort, he said, that is its concern. (Paraphrasing.)

One of the main "powers" granted by Stoicism is that you begin to realize that your mind is not one monolithic thing, but many components that interact. (Prescient of them. There isn't one modern neurologist who would dispute this.) Moreover, your Directing Mind is free to disagree with other parts: not merely to repress them and lie to itself about how the feeling doesn't exist, but to acknowledge that it is there, and incorrect.

The sense of nervousness you speak of isn't "you." It isn't correct just because you feel it. The only reason you take it for granted is that you never learned how to do otherwise.

Imagine this: You feel nervous, and instead of recoiling and getting your heart rate up, you merely interpret it as a signal. You don't let your thoughts run away; if dire predictions arise in your mind, you quiet them down so that they don't distract you. Now you can think a little more clearly.

It's hard at first, so you start with something easy. It's easier to dismiss your anger over the supermarket not having your favorite Lunchable than it is heavier matters, so you practice on little things like that. And when you check out, if you stumble with your words and feel silly at the cash register, you remind yourself on the way to the car that your stumbling has already been forgotten by the cashier, who has already heard fifty people misspeak some word today, and will hear the same thing many more times before the sun is down. The sense that other people are intensely interested in your every tiny mistake is, I'm happy to report, largely misguided, and not worthy of the trust you invest in it.

Over time, you try this technique — this deliberate, conscious granting or withholding of assent (agreement) to your impressions — and you get better and better at it for larger and larger troubles. You find that things that troubled you to no end don't seem so severe as they did before.

Ultimately, an impression (like "the cashier thinks I'm a dork") is a tool to be used, not an oppressive phantom to run and hide from — and certainly not to be mistaken for a guaranteed fact about reality. If you think the cashier thinks you're a dork, so what? (Even if it is true!) Does it change how you use the credit card machine or how you push your cart through the doors?

"You are just an impression. You have given me (the Directing Mind) information. That is your purpose, and that purpose is now complete. What I do with that information is not your concern, but mine. Isn't that why you gave it to me in the first place?"

Essentially, you are de-automating processes that have been running automatically, so that you can retrain them with better information and strategies.

There is no thought in your mind that doesn't owe you an explanation for why you should think it instead of some other thought. Remember that.

A tenet of Stoicism is that most of what we think and do is unnecessary.

An impression says, "I wish I had these capabilities I had before!" Then you dwell because for some fucked up reason our minds are set up to allow us to think that dwelling is a subset of "doing something useful," which it isn't.

You have already had the thought that you wish you had your former capabilities. This thought was worth having at most one time. Every time you re-think it, you tell yourself what you already know, without surfacing any new useful information.

Maybe you can do something about this, and maybe you can't. I suppose the place to start would be to try to recognize when it's happening, and see if you can't prevail upon yourself to replace that thought with another.

When an ancient philosopher — I forget who, might have been Diogenes — was getting old, he fell; and on this, he chastised the ground: "Don't be so greedy! You'll have me soon enough!" He didn't fight it, so it didn't seem to make him nervous.

It's hard for me to give more specific advice because I don't know what you have to work with, and my best advice is to talk to someone who knows what the hell they are talking about, like a psychologist who specializes in TBI.

If you can't afford that, I — a person who does not know what the hell he's talking about — would suggest observing these things, learning how to predict their arrival, and allowing some part of yourself to say, for example, "Ah, Mr. Hyde is nearly here again. I should preemptively go sit somewhere quiet until he has left me, and then I can go about the rest of my day." Or, "I can't remember... Probably won't be able to for a few hours... I'll write it down and come back to it later."

I would not tell myself that I have accepted it. I would be more interested in observing evidence that suggests to what extent I have perhaps accepted it. It isn't a light switch. Acceptance comes in gradations.

You really, really ought to know a few things about the architecture of your brain. That can clarify a lot.

Paul Ekman (Emotional Awareness), Gerald Edelman (Wider Than The Sky: The Phenomenal Gift of Consciousness), and many and others have written a lot on this subject. I can't type the entire contents of those books into this post, but I can give you a somewhat crude synopsis.

A few inches behind each eye is a brain structure called an amygdala. This is often cited as the "fear center" but that's like naming a gallon after a single drop. Amygdalas generate emotions, but they also play a part in facial recognition, recall of the social relationships between people, and many other processes. The amygdalas also have the distinction of terminating the olfactory nerves directly, and are naturally involved in smell.

They are not considered to be a part of the conscious mind, but they wield massive influence over it. One of their main activities is to write information directly to the prefrontal cortex. They have a generous amount of bandwidth and access with which to do this. (They have to because part of their job is to save your life during emergencies.) The primary route into the PFC (and functionally the conscious mind) is the amygdalofugal pathway.

The amygdalas are also privileged to early access to sensory data. They can "see" and "hear" things a fraction of a second before your conscious mind becomes aware of them. When you recognize a relative the very instant you see them, without any delay whatsoever, you have your amygdalas to thank. They are also capable of seizing control of your PFC and issuing mandatory commands. If you've ever found yourself dodging (or directing your car) around an extreme and sudden hazard, with unusual agility and clarity, and almost feel you're not the one doing it... yep, that's your amygdalas.

The amygdalas can write an impression directly into your conscious mind. It will arrive seemingly out of nowhere, and usually without context. Their advantage is that they're optimized for extremely fast reaction, and because they have early access to sensory data, they can get the drop on your conscious mind.

But...

Your conscious mind can also form its own impressions. It's a fraction of a second behind the amygdalas, but it does have one advantage. When you have a behavior you want to modify, you can train yourself to "smell it coming." There is always some series of triggering events, and these can be consciously detected and intercepted. If your PFC steps in before the amygdalas take control, it has a chance to assert itself. With adequate practice, it can get quite good at this.

Now you have a very rough, basic framework for understanding the fundamentals of where impressions come from, and how they can be managed — what it means to manage them, "behind the curtains." What the wetware is actually doing.

One of the corruptions of the Directing Mind mentioned by Marcus Aurelius is "this thought would be superfluous."

You can't dismiss certain unpleasant impulses, like anxiety. They nag at you. Good! That's supposed to happen! What's missing is this:

Interpret the unpleasant impulse as a signal (and nothing more!) that something is not quite adequate.

Figure out how to remove the impulse's reason for firing in the first place.

Once the impulse has fired, you can acknowledge it and do something about it. "You want me to do something? Fine, I am scheduling two hours tonight to work on this." The part of your unconscious mind the impulse came from wants it to be addressed, just like an impulse indicating thirst comes from a lower faculty that will be watching to see whether you appear to be moving toward water, and will flog you more and more aggressively if you do not.

That which originated the impulse is looking for either immediate action or reliable future action. That action must be predicted as having an optimal chance of success. If these conditions are not met, the impulse will not leave you alone — unless you have trained yourself to dissociate from it, which is really not a good idea. The impulse is a tool to be used; or if not useful, refined or repudiated. It is not something to be hidden from.

This is one of the pitfalls of Stoicism. "What is outside my mind is nothing to it" doesn't mean you ignore your problems. It just means you don't let them get on top of you, or forget the best use of your mind, or have an unrealistic expectation of what life will give you. There are concepts of "preferred indifferents" and "unpreferred indifferents." If the outside world was completely meaningless, there wouldn't be two kinds of indifferents.

It may be that you interpret the impulse as spurious. "I already set aside time for this. Why are you bothering me again?" Or, "The impression behind this impulse is based on a previous understanding of my relation to the world, but I have internalized a better one now... so what am I supposed to do with it? You must have come to me purely out of habit." Or,  "I already failed at this thing, and it's obvious that I should try that thing instead. Why are you motivating me to work on an obsolete problem? What is the useful output?"

There is no thought in your head which is immune to interrogation. All thoughts must be able to answer: "Why are you useful? Why are you the best thought for me to think right now?" "Ah, but I feel anxious!" "So what? I'm already doing all I can."

[youngwidowofbrooklyn]

Open letter to a foul weather friend.

I won’t lie, after my husband died, I wondered if you’d heard. I secretly hoped you’d reach out with kind words and offer some comfort. There’s a part of my heart that will always want that from you, even though I’ve learned the hard way that your friendship has always been conditional, unpredictable and temperamental.  

And even though I longed to hear from you, there was something else that I knew - have known for a long time - and that is that our friendship is over. As much as it hurt me to do it, I buried our friendship long before my son was born and my husband died. Two of the biggest life events I’ve experienced which you, by choices you made, were not there to experience with me.

I’ve learned a lot about myself, being a grown up, being a kind person and being a friend, in the last several years. I’ve learned how to forgive and how to expect less from others, so that when I receive more, it’s a delight and not a foregone conclusion. I’ve also learned to respect my own limitations and make peace with them. And I’ve come to know that your friendship is exhausting, painful and absolutely requires more of me than I have the capacity to give, now, and probably forever.

I don’t think you fully comprehend how devastated I was by our final fallout nearly six years ago. You turned your venom on me, caught me completely off guard, hurled nasty, untrue and hurtful accusations at me via text, and refused to answer my frantic calls to try to talk things out with you. I left you a voicemail. I don’t know if you listened to it. I wouldn’t be surprised it you didn’t. I remember that I was so sick that day. I barely had any voice at all, and I was sobbing, and I just wanted to understand why you were so vicious. You didn’t give me a chance. You didn’t give me the respect of hearing me. You broke my heart.

When we were kids, you were the coolest girl I know, by a mile. I know I’ve told you that many times, but I cannot overstate this fact. You were all the things that a teenage me wanted to be: beautiful, tough and fearless. You gave me my first cigarette, and made fun of me when I didn't inhale the smoke of the Marlboro Red, so I made it my mission to learn how to smoke properly. It’s a lesson I have yet to unlearn. You were the first girl I knew who shaved her legs, who had sex. You also stole from me, ridiculed me and ignored me. But even still. I wanted to be like you. I wanted you to like me.

When we met up again in college, you were the first friend I knew who had moved in with a boyfriend. You were friends with all the guys in the cool bands. You smoked pot and dropped acid and went to cool parties. I always felt like a big square when I tagged along.

You introduced me to all my favorite college bands. Your taste was always so much more refined than mine. You showed me Tarantino movies and Wes Anderson movies long before they were usurped by the hipster contingent. You had tattoos and piercings and endless swagger.

God, you were so fucking cool. 

You got into fights with girls in bars, just because you didn’t like the way they looked at you. You were sexy and tough.

You moved away and then got married. Then I moved away. We’d gone in two different directions. 

When your marriage was falling apart, I offered to give you a ticket to visit me in the city. You came, and immediately started an affair with my friend and downstairs neighbor. I felt exploited and discarded.

When you decided to divorce and move to the city, I was ecstatic that we’d finally be living in the same place again. I looked at apartments for you and sent you photos. When you reenrolled in college, I was proud of you. I went out and bought you a few hundred dollars worth of back to school supplies, because I knew you were low on funds, and anyway, you were my best friend and I wanted to show you that I cared.

All along I think you always resented the way I tried to give you things. I wonder if you felt like I was hanging something over your head. I wasn’t. Or at least I didn’t mean to. I just wanted you to be happy. I see now that there’s no way I could influence that.

I tried to help you get jobs. I tried to fix things for you, whenever you complained about things, I responded by jumping into action. I realize now that did nothing but irritate you.

And over the years, the fallouts kept happening. We’d go a year, two, three or more without talking. Then one of us would give in, reach out, and we’d pick up like nothing had ever gone wrong. We’d proclaim our best friendship, our kindred spiritness, and maybe we actually believed it. I know that I wanted very badly to.

I remember meeting up with you after our second or third fallout before the last.  We went to your apartment, you held my feet and I cried and told you how guilty I felt for being angry with my aunt when she died. You told me that you’d been in a bad place with cocaine in the years since we’d last spoken. You also told me you’d been enjoying making out with women recently. You kissed me in my car, and when I backed away, you grabbed my face and said, “Not like that, not like that,” and then put your tongue in my mouth. I didn’t know what to say, but I was so uncomfortable that I just let you do it and then left as soon as I could.

When I moved to New York we resumed our friendship once again, long distance. We’d spend hours on the phone, commiserating over our fears and paranoias. We made plans to visit each other. We schemed and plotted and talked shit about everyone else and proclaimed our undying love for one another.

And then a mutual friend told me that you were dabbling in heroin. I couldn’t believe it at first, that you would keep something like that from me. And I was so worried for you. I wanted you to be well. I wanted you to stop finding ways to hurt yourself. 

So I tried to set up a network for you, from another state. I confronted you, gently as I could, I asked you to get help, to go to meetings, to go with a mutual friend. You agreed, and, I’ll be honest, I was proud of myself for being a good friend and trying to take care of you from afar. I didn’t realize how much you resented my intervention. I didn’t understand that it was not my place to fight for you.

In truth, your addictions have only ever made you more glamorous to me. I always felt like your mousy, naive little friend. In my mind, the druggy art world that you seemed to gravitate to was so much more romantic than the one I lived in. And if you want to know the truth, if you’d ever asked me to do drugs with you, I would have. I so very much wanted to be a part of your world.

But when the final rift came, I realized some very painful truths. You have never, in the 30 years I’ve known you, shown up for me in any meaningful way. I’m not blaming you. You don’t owe me anything. But I look back on all the ups and downs I’ve had and you made very clear choices to not participate in my life. I invited you to my wedding. You said no. Even though I stood up for you in yours. You didn’t come see my shows, which is fine, really, except....I can’t shake this feeling that you never had interest in celebrating my successes with me.

So, that last fight that we had, which left me shaken and reeling for quite a while, it was the final straw. And my husband, who had been with me for at least ten years of my ups and downs with you, observed, quite astutely as I was hysterical and crying, “Babe. I know she’s your friend, but....fuck her.”

In this latest email you sent to me, you wrote, “There will never be another Tom Bateman.” And you are very right about that. But you should know that he was fed up with the way you manipulated me, he was angry that I kept falling for the same toxic cycle with you. And so, for my own well-being, and to honor my partner, my best friend, I am saying once and for all, it is over between us.

I won’t lie. Since the last contact we have had, I still dream about you. My heart wants us to make amends. I want to be cool enough to be your friend. But after all this time, I don't think it’s possible. You resent me because you think....what? I’m lucky? I’m smug? Do I rub my great fortune in your face? I don’t know....and I don’t care anymore. Whatever you think of me is not my business.

A few months after that fight, I got pregnant, which you now know. Yet another milestone you’ve missed out on. I’m sorry for you about that one, because my son is so special, so wise and kind. It’s a shame you’ll never know him. When I was younger, I’d just assumed that you would be there to know all of my family. Then I grew up, I guess.

When I received your first email after Tom died, a year or more ago, honestly, it gave me some peace to know that you had it in you to reach out, even though you did it in your usual too-cool and not-quite heartfelt way. I wrestled with responding to it for a long while. I saved it and read it and reread it. But ultimately, Tom’s words kept ringing in my mind.

In your second email you advised me that your ex-husband had died. I don’t know what you thought...that perhaps I would see a shared experience in that information? That I would rush to you to express my sympathy? I’m sorry that he died. He was my friend, once. But, no matter how saddened you were by his death, I promise you, it’s nothing like the experience I had holding onto the father of my child while he slipped away from us. Don’t you dare try to invite yourself into the realm that I exist in. You don’t belong here with me.

Tom’s death taught me a lot about what real friendship looks like. There are many people that I thought “of course, that’s my friend,” about ,who just did not show up in my darkest hour. And plenty more who I wouldn’t have expected who have made their presence profoundly known when I needed them most. I have no anger about the way these things shook out. Just clarity.

And on top of that, I know that I can no longer chase friendships. I don't have the strength or the time. I know that I am not a good friend right now. I’ve given myself permission not to be. I need more than I can give. My real friends understand that, and they are here to catch me as I continue to fall.

This morning I woke up to a third, and hopefully final, email from you. It was rambling and in places incoherent. It begs the question as to your mental state as you wrote it. I don’t know what you intended. It was, by turns, loving and defensive. It seems though after three attempts, perhaps it’s driving you a bit crazy that I haven’t responded, which would’ve been part of our usual cycle of friendship/estrangement.

I know you've read my blog. I am not going to write you personally. If you are looking for an answer from me, here it is. Is this what you wanted?

I wish you only the best. I wish you peace and health and love. But you’ve got to let go of me. I don’t have anything left for you.

[miss-noo-na]

“Vos Anima Mea” (Part 2)

* See Masterlist for additional chapters

Title: Vos Anima Mea

Rating: PG-13, mentions of blood.

Summary: You learn Kihyun’s secret, and to both of your surprise it doesn’t send you away.

The first thing you did with the down payment provided by Kihyun was buy all new paints, brushes, and canvas material. Kihyun had said he’d provide the materials for his portrait, but you went ahead and spoiled yourself for personal use.

The first night you showed up on schedule, but things went a little differently. You gave the code phrase at the door and instead of being taken through the club; you were guided to a different door, down a back hall, to an elevator and straight to Kihyun’s penthouse.

There weren’t any guests this time, just Kihyun, and it put you on edge a little bit.

“Don’t be nervous.” He said with a small smile as he took a seat across from you. He was more elegantly dressed today, in a black blazer with a crimson red buttoned shirt underneath and black slacks, the same long silver earring.  The dichotomy between his face and the way he spoke made you feel something strange, it didn’t add up. How could someone so boyish be so refined?

You sat on a stool and looked at the sketch pad provided to you, and fine graphite pencils. You’d informed him that before getting a proper portrait, you’d need to take sketches to get a better idea of his face and anatomy.

“Are there any ground rules?” He asked, and you shrugged.

“Not really. In fact, its better if you move as much as you want, it gives me a better idea of what you really look like.” You explained, wanting to make sure you captured his true essence, whatever that may be.

He relaxed back into his seat and put one leg up, cocking his head to the side.

“Tell me about yourself.” He said, and you let out a laugh, thinking it a joke. The laugh faded once you realized he was serious.

“Shouldn’t you be telling me about yourself?” You asked as you picked up a pencil and started making rough lines.

“I will, in due time” He nodded. “But first I want to hear about you.”

You were quiet for a long moment, peering back and forth between the pad and Kihyun’s face, partially to make up your sketches and also because staring at him for too long made you nervous.

“There isn’t much to tell.”

“Ah, I don’t believe that. You don’t end up in one of my clubs because you lead an average life.”

He had a point there.

“Outside of here it’s fairly average. I work a desk job, I knit, paint of course, and watch bad reality TV.” You rambled off the list of mundane activities and when you glanced back at Kihyun, you were surprised he seemed so interested.

“Go on.” He shifted in his seat.

“I just wanted to experience things that were different. I always felt a little different, like my interests and the things I found beauty in were different. It was like an itch I couldn’t scratch, until I started going out and observing.”

“So you like to watch?” He said, and you saw a smirk ghost his mouth. You added it to one of your sketches, even if it made you blush.

“Not like that, even though I did try a few of those kinds of clubs in hopes that was what I was craving. It wasn’t.”

He laughed a light and melodious laugh that sounded like music.

“I own one club like that, but I can’t say I visit it often.”

You couldn’t help but giggle yourself.  The longer you talked the more comfortable you got with Kihyun. He was personable and easy-going, and you found yourself discussing all sorts of things with him. Your childhood, you goals, your thoughts on the current art movement in your city, they were all talked about with input from Kihyun, and he listened intently whenever you spoke. It was nice.

“I think I have enough for tonight. You want to take a look and tell me what you think?” You asked, and Kihyun stood and approached the pad. He examined the various head sketches and some of parts of his body like his hands.

“Your detail is amazing.”

“Thank you.” You dipped your chin toward your chest.

“I like this pose here, and this expression is good.” He said, pointing to two areas of the sketch pad, and you nodded.

“That’s what we’ll focus on when I start the actual portrait.”

“Perfect.”

“Next time,” You started, standing from your stool, “You’re going to tell me more about you.”

He smiled and looked like he was thinking about it. “We’ll see.”

“I’ll see you next week, then?”

“Of course, let me walk you out.”

You waved a hand. “Oh, no thank you. I think I’m going to go downstairs and have a drink, say hi to Samantha.”

“Tell her thank you for bringing you to me.”

You licked your lips, your throat feeling dry at those words, even though you knew he meant only for your artistic merits.

“Will do, see you.” You waved and he did so back to you as you walked to the elevator.

You rode it down and entered the club from the side door, not very crowded tonight. You found Samantha immediately and as soon as you locked eyes, she started making you a drink. It was done by the time you got to the bar and took a seat.

“Kihyun says thank you.” You leaned in to say, and Samantha smiled proudly.

“I told him he’d like you.”

“My art.”

“What?”

“Like my art, you mean.” You corrected, taking a sip of your drink.

“I’m sure he likes you, as well.” She winked, and you felt your stomach tighten up, but threw her a playful glare.

“Anyway, I think it’s going to go well.”

“I can’t wait to see the finished product; your work with his beautiful face? It’ll be a match made in heaven.” She sighed wistfully, wiping down the bar top with a rag.

“You have a crush on him or something?” You said teasingly, and Samantha laughed.

“He’s my boss, but it’s a pretty common idea that he’s gorgeous and charming.  Don’t act like you don’t see it.”

“I do, but I prefer to keep things as professional as possible.” You explained firmly, and Samantha agreed.

“Yeah, he’s not the type to get involved anyway. I’ve worked here for 5 years and I don’t think he’s ever had a girlfriend, or even had a play-thing as far as I can tell.” Samantha explained, and you were intrigued by this new fact.

You finished your drink and were about to leave when you realized you didn’t have the sweater you came in with.

“Ah crap, I must’ve left it upstairs.” You said, figuring it was no trouble if you ran back up to fetch it. You said goodbye to Samantha and made your way back to the elevator.

When you walked into the penthouse you stopped short when you caught sight of Khyun in the adjoining room through a viewing window in the wall. He was with a woman.

You took a step back and paused, realizing they hadn’t seen or heard you come in. You meant to turn and leave, not wanting to bother them, but something caught your attention.

The woman pushed some hair away from her neck, laying it on her opposite shoulder, and Kihyun drew a finger down the side of her neck, feeling the pulse with the pad of the digit. He then cupped her face and pulled her forward, his head obscuring what he did next but it looked like he was kissing her there. You swallowed hard, feeling a little sick to your stomach. Jealousy was not an emotion you experienced often.

Again, you meant to leave, but that envy turned into a spike of fear as the woman gasped, whined, and a thin trail of blood was visible running off her neck and across her collar bone. When Kihyun pulled back, his lips were coated in it, and so were his teeth, including two sharp fangs.

You clasped your hand over your mouth to suppress the gasp, then turned on your heel and hurried back to the elevator.

You practically ran home, your thoughts swimming through your buzzed mind. Had you actually seen what you’d seen? Was there any mistaking it? If he had not actually been drinking that woman’s blood, what else could it have been? You remembered the performance you’d see the night you met him, how realistic the blood looked. You felt sick for a completely different reason.

You went about your nightly routine in a daze, standing under the shower’s spray for an unusually long time, just thinking about it, the images flashing through your mind.

What scared you most of all, was that when the fear faded you felt something else. Something like excitement.

If you hadn’t been mistaken, and vampires actually existed, and Kihyun was one of them, the idea alone set your nerves on fire. It was dangerous and bizarre, but you wanted to learn more. You needed to.

You battled with yourself the rest of the week, trying to decide if you should return or not. Despite drinking a woman’s blood, there hadn’t been anything violent or cruel about it, the woman seemed willing. Kihyun as a person, though you didn’t know him well yet, seemed completely harmless.

The day of, you felt the club calling to you, but you were too nervous to get yourself to go. What would you say when you saw him? Would you be able to ignore what you’d seen and go about painting as normal? And what if you did confess to what you’d seen and he was angry with you?

You decided to take this week off, give yourself time to process it, and if you felt any better about it you’d return.

You stayed in instead, making yourself dinner, hanging out in a large sweatshirt and PJ pants with your hair tied up. You painted your nails and played around with your new paints while binge watching Netflix. You tried not to think about Kihyun, but your mind kept drifting there.

Late in the evening, there was a knock on your door.

You looked around, making sure you’d heard that right and it was really coming from your door, and not a condo in the same building as yours. You never got random visitors, and none of your friends said anything about coming by.

You looked through the peephole and saw a man lift his head and you almost doubled back in shock when you realized it was Kihyun.

You cracked open the door and stared at him wide-eyed through the slit. He leaned over to get a look at you.

“Hey.” He said softly, and you opened the door a little more.

“What are you doing here?” You paused and stood up straight. “How did you know where I lived?”

“I have ways.” He said cryptically with a laugh, and gripped the door handle tighter.

“I was a little worried when you didn’t show up today.”

The fact he’d even thought of you at all, much less went out of his way to come check on you, made you feel weak in the knees, but you fought to hold onto your resolve.

“Do you want to come in?” You asked, realizing how chilly it was outside. Something about vampires probably not feeling cold crossed your mind as you opened the door wider.

He nodded as he stepped inside, and you realized how under-dressed you were in comparison to his, as usual, chic dress. You stood awkwardly in the foyer.

“Well I see that you’re fine.” He laughed uneasily, and you crossed your arms, feeling insecure.

“I am, sorry I didn’t show up. I had some stuff come up.”

“I see.” He looked down, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“It’d probably help if we stayed in contact better so this doesn’t happen again.” He said, opening his contacts, ready to put your number in.

“I was actually unsure if I wanted to come back.” You said quickly, and he looked up with surprise all over his face.

“Really? Why is that? I thought things were going well last time.” He said, almost sounding disappointed and for some reason it hurt.

“Um, well,” You started to shift around. “Let’s take a seat.” You said then, moving into the living room. Kihyun followed you to the couch.

“Sorry about the mess.” You mumbled as you moved paint supplies out of his way. He peered around your shabby, colorful abode. It was in total disarray, but not dirty per se. Just…chaotic. In a good way.

“Kihyun,” You started, breathing his name and liking the way it sounded in your voice.

“I saw something last night and I honestly don’t even know if I saw it right, maybe there was something in my drink, I don’t know for sure.” You rushed out in a jumbled mess of words. “But I swear I saw you”

You stopped yourself, looking up and catching his eyes. There was something about his face that told you that he knew.

“You saw me with that woman?”

You nodded slowly.

“And you saw me drink her blood?”

You swallowed and nodded again.

“Then you saw right.” He said casually, and you felt your brain cave in on itself, trying to work through what you’d just learned.

“Listen,” He leaned forward, quieting his voice even though it was just the two of you. “I understand if you’re scared, but I never intended on hurting you. That’s not who I am.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way his soft eyes peered into yours, you believed him.

“And I also understand if you don’t want to paint me. You can take the $6,000 and be done with it.” He said, sitting back, and you fidgeted with your hands.

“I’m not scared.” You said then, “And I want to continue painting you.”

He cocked his head. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure. I’ve searched all this time to get in touch with something otherworldly and here you are.” You laughed a little, and when you looked at him again he smirked.

“You’re a strange one, Little Dove.”

You sank your teeth into your bottom lip and looked away.

“Well if you’re okay with it, then I’m okay.” He said as he stood, which prompted you to do the same.

“I’ll see you next week? For sure?” He asked, leaning toward you, and your breath caught up in your throat a moment, feeling how close he was.

“Y-yes, of course.”

“ Good.” He smiled and saw himself to the door.

“Oh, before I go,” He pulled his phone back out, and this time you gave him your number.

“Don’t make me track you down again.” He said, clearly joking, but there was something predatory in his voice and it made you shiver.

You watched him leave through the window, and once he was out of sight you threw yourself on the couch and screamed into a pillow, all your muddled emotions accumulating into one big ball of exhilaration. You had no idea what you’d gotten yourself into, and that was the best part.

[haleruby]

Slipping Through Your Fingers (1)

Characters/Pairings: established Mal/Evie, eventual Mal/Evie/Reader (Quim) Mal, Evie, really allll the characters bc it’s my longest Descendants insert. This part is Evie, you, Ben, and an OC who you will probs want to stab.

Summary: Evie’s meeting with Ben is interrupted by an new and unexpected source, but it feels like she is missing something...?

Word Count: 3.7k

Notes: I am using a sideblog that is empty and not tagging bc this is only for your eyes, so no need to reblog/like, etc.

I think I wrote this in July 2019, so yes, older and I tried to polish. If it��s too rough/not tenable, let me know (it’s okay!) and I’ll...do something else??? Probs the TW one.

- - - - -

"I never realized it was such a fight when the barges delivered goods..." There is so much Ben, the newly minted King of Auradon, did not know about the life imposed by his father and other heroes on those who live on the Isle of the Lost. Punishment for the wrongs the villains committed resulted in exile to an island just off the coast. The need for vigilance was the guise cast over being within easy viewing distance. A small, crumbling decrepit hunk of rock encased by a magical barrier where everyone fights for the scraps they were given and tries to make a life for themselves....It is really all about survival; there is not much living. The imprisonment is just as hard on the villains as their children, probably harder because the tenure of confinement warped some of those whose mental states were already in a precarious place. All of this is left unsaid, because the truth needs to be doled out a bit at a time. Painted lips curve into a charming smile of understanding, but not one of acceptance. "That is why you have me," Evie says it lightly to dispel some of the dreary atmosphere that infiltrated the office when her report on the supply lines to the Isle was given. Being an advisor to the King of Auradon is not something she would have ever imagined herself doing, and yet here she is. "I promise to look into what you said, Evie" There is an earnest quality to his voice that allows her to somewhat believe him, though she sees the stack of papers and missives on his desk and knows of his stacked schedule. Trying to get time to meet up with Ben is difficult, but relations with the Isle need to be improved. Most of the citizens do not know how bad it really is...Of course, some likely think the harsh environment is deserved by the parents and their children who would grow up to be just as evil as them. Disproving that sentiment occurred when four from the Isle where invited over by Ben, and through a series of events, ended up choosing good, though she still gets the occasional glance due to her mother being the Evil Queen. "I understand. Thank you for-" A short rapping sounds before the oak double doors are all but thrown open with a rush of air that seems unnatural. Where is Jane? Evie did not even get past the desk set up outside the office until the part time personal assistant and student allowed her to enter. "Ah, young King Benjamin~" The voice that intoned the title dryly seems to carry on the air causing it to waft around the two occupants like a two tight silken shawl; it's smooth, and inviting but there is a condescending edge. A lean man swaggers in with two trailing behind him. His skin is alabaster, edging on an unhealthy translucency that is only highlighted by the deep burgundy and black of his robes that reinforce the lack of color to his complexion. There is a skeletal quality to his thin lips, fine nose and gaunt hallows of his cheeks that is even more unsettling when a hallow, too wide smile is given. However, what he wears and how he carries himself does not allude to one who is poor or in want of food. Is he sick or purposefully looks this way?  Silver hair is cut short and shines ever so slightly with no indication as to what his original hair color used to be. "Sir Alistair," Ben greets him with a tense smile. Jane gives an apologetic look, though she is still too afraid to question or to say something about him interrupting, even if his scheduled time was later on. There is something off about him that speaks to a power or ability she would not want to contend with that is reinforced by his expensive clothes and the badge on his tunic. Looking at the clipboard occurs to busy herself, but a nod from Ben releases her from standing there awkwardly, so she hurriedly leaves. Who is that?

Well, she does not know the man either, but the other girl who remains behind him took one glance at her and is now staring at the hardwood floors like there are strings of text printed on the boards. There is no attempt to even pretend to be engaged in surroundings.  Evie is no stranger to admiration, infatuation, or jealously given her beauty, but that look was something new. Learning how to illicit a certain reaction from others and to be alluring in such a way that translated to influence was taught to her by her mother, since outright intimidation would be more of Mal or Jay's thing. Inviting some in for favors and repelling others was how she operated on the Isle, not instilling fear or uneasiness, though she does not actively do that on Auradon now... So, why did that expression from the stranger hurt? There was a flicker of something, before neutrality snapped into place... An honest fear caused eyes to avert so quickly, it would be unsurprising if she hurt her neck. The black of her cloak, shirt, and pants does nothing to help the projected severity. Tension causes her stature to appear taut, though her shoulders are back with a straightened spine and composed bearing that would only receive minimal critiquing from even Evie's Queen of a mother. Is she royalty...? "My apologies for barging in on a meeting with someone,-" Ice blue eyes settle on the blue haired girl that seems to be observing his ward critically, "-who likely waited for the opportunity to speak with her King for ages. But this is of the utmost importance, I assure you" Evie refocuses at being addressed, but allows Ben to answer, since she was being talked of not at. "Oh, yeah, yes-" He corrects himself trying to be as refined as possible in this man's presence, "Evie, thank you for your report. We can talk again later, please?" "A relatable tact to be more beloved by the common folk. Interesting," Alistair observes mockingly at the non-traditional dismissal. The comment is only ignored because of the silent pleading in hazel eyes to not rise to take the bait, since the legitimacy of her royalty is a point of contention for some Auradonians. Yes, her mother is the Evil Queen, but she is still a queen. "We can talk later. Have a good day," Evie agrees. The relief on Ben's face somewhat soothes the need to retort; she won't make the impromptu meeting harder for him. "Pet?" The word holds a saccharine sweetness that causes unease to well up in Evie's stomach that increases when the brunette drags her gaze away from the floor boards, subtly squaring her shoulders to look at the one who called her that, but he does not even glance her way. "Leave us now." The directive is clipped, further contrasting how the initial tone lacked any real kindness. Hesitation seems to skate across her features, causing her jaw to tick for a second before it is smoothed away, or really tucked away and buried. "As you say, my lord," she automatically replies. A partial bow at the waist is given, even if it seems his attention is anywhere else but her likely out of ingrained instinct, before long strides are made to clear the room; they almost seem hurried. That is just wrong...Evie realizes she is staring, and should be leaving too when Ben clears his throat quietly giving her a small smile.

"I may send you an update about the lines later, so you can help prioritize." Is Ben trying to make her feel more comfortable at the odd display with the 'Lord' or is he in royal fix-it mode? "I look forward to it," Evie assures. Her heels make minimal clacks against the polished hardwoods. The much louder sound is the unlatching of the heavy double doors that Jane usually has to put her weight into to heave open one side when bringing guests into the office. That dramatic entrance by this 'Sir' Alistair may speak to magic... Nettling Jane for more information will not be possible with how she seems preoccupied. The desk is set up at one end of the hallway as a gate keeper post between the small receiving room and the King’s office. Mid-morning light pours in through the arched windows, making the blot of black that is angled to peer out of one appear further out of place in the hall that has blue and gold wallpaper, hanging mini chandeliers, and fancy furniture. She can't really blame Jane for the overt glances she is sneaking at the figure, though they seem more out of wariness than curiosity. They would likely not be overhead due to the distance, but it would still be a risk. Besides, the more mousey, shy personal assistant would be nervous talking about a royal in general, so doing so while another person is present is a 'no'...

There is always trying the source. A farewell is given to Jane by Evie; however, following the navy blue carpet runway that leads to the exit is not the plan. "Hello," she greets in advance, given the earlier expression. Evie takes care to stay a respectable distance away, though she does come to occupy the other side of the deep set window sill to face the other girl. A charming, attentive smile is already in place in hopes of easing this interaction. Showing interest in others usually gets them on your side. Observing the impeccably kept grounds is not what is really being done; there is too much intensity. Angling towards the window is a means of escape from interaction as opposed to finding something interesting beyond the glass of the window; it is obvious with how her eyes immediately flicked away from the panes at Evie's approach. The stranger's expression is still schooled to be largely neutral. Cold, distant, untouchable. Her eyes are the giveaway; it almost reminds Evie of Mal. They churn with emotion that is even hard for someone who prides herself on being able to read others to place with certainty. Fear? Guilt? Self-loathing? Shame? There is something dark lingering in those depths, but not malicious more so melancholic in a way that makes that unease twist tighter. Eye contact is fleeting; there is no inspection or appraisal, just a calm disregard after the initial glance that seemed to last for much too long. Evie always hated being ignored. Her mother always encouraged her to cultivate her beauty since it is the only trait that would get her anywhere in life, more specifically get her a prince. Failing to attract and hold attention bothered her as a young teen, but she has learned better now and become more self-confident. She is more than her looks. The lack of acknowledgement does not seem to come from a place of arrogance like Alistair or meanness like some of her classmates, but one that seems neutral, like being unsure if someone just really spoke to you or to someone else and being unsure if you should engage. The continued silence should be uncomfortable or stifling, instead a spark of determination is ignited. "My name is Evie," she tries again. Her voice is still kept light, though it seems like she is speaking to herself. "You seem about my age, but I would remember if you were a student here. I would guess you are just visiting? Though you could be local too, or just starting..." She can tell the other girl is listening, even if her attention seems pinned to the window. "I came over from the Isle-" Special attention is given to any small changes that would imply feeling one way or another about this piece of information, but none is found, "-with my friends a while ago, which you probably heard about. Getting used to Auradon and its culture was not easy, but I know my way around the school now, if you need a guide or some tips." Evie continues not at all deterred by the impassivity, because the brunette is still sheeted towards her even if there is no eye contact, so she just says whatever comes to mind. Patience may be needed. "You may be visiting, but I have also learned some about the city too. Mainly the best shops to source fabrics, dyes, and chemicals for my designs. Dressmaking is what I tend to do with the royals here with all their parties, galas, and balls, but other pieces are also possible. My favorite subject is chemistry; it can lend itself to fashion. I think-" The double doors again open with an abrupt snap, but less wind funnels into the hallway. Evie spots the way the brunette tenses, sees the displeasure that grounds into her shoulders as they square, and watches as that slated neutrality gains a layer of ice that somehow makes her seem further unreachable. The sight is upsetting to her, but why....? "Oh, you have made a new friend..." He comments with a slight sneer that exposes too white teeth for a second. Alistair takes his time in arriving upon the two to reinforce they are awaiting his arrival and it is not him coming to them. His final step places him well within both girl's personal space. "I must apologize in advance, Miss-?" "Evie," she supplies with forced politeness. "Ah, yes, Miss Evie." The name is said slowly, like he is swilling a fine wine around his palate as the syllables are stretched out and tested. "Daughter of the Evil Queen, and one of the four chosen children-" Ice blue eyes dance with mirth because the word choice was meant to offend, "-plucked from that wretched place. Though Auradon surpasses the Isle in many regards, you would do better finding a conversation partner in a rotten stump than my pet here," he advises with a tittering laugh at his own joke that sounds slightly unhinged. A ring encrusted hand is placed on his ward's shoulder in a gesture that should normally register as friendly, but lacks any warmth and is more a display of possession. "Being a conversationalist is not one of her talents. Wouldn't you agree?" He poses the question with a tip of the head to the subject of the comment. The silence that meets this serves as an intentional reply.

A satisfied smirk to crawls across his features, stretching the skin too tightly across the bone. Evie uses her training to remain composed to not allow the disgust to rise to the surface, though that uneasiness settles more thickly as if chains are wrapping around her insides and weighing her down at the sight of him nonchalantly touching the brunette like a possession. She straightens up minutely to project poise. "Auradon is an improvement in some ways. I don't think ownership of another person was allowed on the Isle," she says it diplomatically to lessen the barb nestled within her words. "I still have much to learn about the cultural differences." Ice blue eyes appear flintier like a glacier was cracked and the chipped pieces were inserted into the sockets of a skeleton; he is angry. "Arrangements and alliances are not that different..." Two sets of eyes train on the one who finally spoke up. Surprise almost causes Evie's lips to part a touch at how knowingly those two types of situations were said. The Isle was literally a fight to survive, so villains and their children would forge alliances, go to war, betray, and so forth. An arrangement is more of an understanding and is open ended and can be based on favors, respect, or whatever else. Mal and Jay agreed to an arrangement due to recognizing that each had a skill set the other admired. Carlos fell into Jay's due to his genius intellect and horrid home life situation that would soften most people's hearts, not that any of them had a great home life with glory day obsessed villains raising them. She eventually made a friendship with Carlos because they both liked school with her favoring sciences and knowing how to brew potions/remedies, while Carlos enjoyed tinkering with mechanics. Extending protection to her due to that had to go through Jay and then Mal, but eventually the four of them became bonded in more than just a patchwork of arrangements based on their skills and unique strengths. They are her best friends.... She loves them. But how does this girl know about what happens on the Isle...? "She speaks!" Alistair half exclaims. The anger is momentarily relinquished at the fact his charge actual said something when she was not being addressed directly by him, especially since it was not monosyllabic. That will be remediated later on. "My, my Miss Evie you have quiet the effect." While the words should constitute a compliment derision seeps into his tone as he looks between the two as if trying to puzzle something out. "But you are sadly mistaken; there is choice that extends beyond any of the crude-" His lips twist in disgust, "- back alley propositions of the Isle. I doubt there is any place she would rather be, isn't that correct?" He asks it leadingly. "Of course, my lord" There was no thought to the answer, because they all know there could only be one response.  But Evie can see that indecipherable emotion again lurking as (Y/E/C) eyes turn to meet the one leering at her. Evie decides right then that she hates this man. "I apologize then." Saying this takes more effort that she would anticipate; honeyed or veiled words would come easier than a feigned apology that alludes to her being wrong. But this is necessary... "I would love to learn more from an actual 'Sir' of the realm. My designs have been worn by royalty. I could exchange making a fine robe or coat for a moment of your valuable time?"

"I am afraid I have meetings to attend, and would not have time for the prerequisite measuring, re-measuring, and consults..." Alistair can tell there is more to the request, but cannot determine the angle just yet. Perhaps, a lesson should be taught to the pair of them, one that humiliates his charge, while also making this bold Evie uncomfortable. It would help both learn their respective places beneath him. "But we may be able to agree on a different piece?" Migrating his hand from a tense shoulder to trail down his charge's side, before seizing her hand to present it to the blue haired girl occurs with little resistance as if manipulating a rag doll. "What about her?" Evie hesitates. "...My lord?" The neutrality is still there but the slightest furrows of discomfort creases her brows, prompting Evie to regret the impulse to suggest this rather than seeking out the other girl in a different way. However, she already went this route and has to stick with it. Getting snatches of time to speak more with her was the goal in offering to design a commission free garment for Alistair, so this secures that, but at what cost? "What?" He parrots back in a similar tone, though he stage whispers to mock her quiet voice. "You do not wish to play model with a real designer, pet? It would please me greatly." Pretending she has a choice is more cruel than clarifying the why, since she has always been better with absolutes and routines that help her numb herself to it all; this will be something fresh and it is deserved. "You do want that, yes?" A curt nod is given. "Splendid!" A slow clap is given at the agreement. "Miss Evie will have her way with you-" He purposefully uses the wording with the double meaning to see if he can glean any more of the intent from them, but there is no observable difference, "-in regards to the design. I shall detail specifics later, once I see the sketches, and in return any questions you have may be submitted to me and I will pen an answer for you," he decides. "Do you have a schedule or...?" "I have classes this afternoon, but after those I am free until the start of next week." Today is Friday, so aside from a history course and some time spent in the lab, she has time to herself. "Very well." There is a pause of consideration as to how he wants this to play out. "I shall turn her over to you this evening for the preliminary work, and subsequent appointments can be made at your discretion-" A business card on thick cream colored cardstock is pulled from a pocket and handed over, "-simply send a missive and it will be arranged. Please do not think I will short you Miss Evie. Any price you set for materials is fine. I require the very best," he informs proudly. Lowering their joined arms lacks any fluidity, it is a mechanical movement, but one that is not met with flinching or outright tension, so the admonishment of his ward will not be too great. "Until we meet again."  "...Goodbye,” Evie mimics the farewell on autopilot. How he can speak of the brunette like she is not there, or an object to be passed off makes her skin crawl... Alistair leads the walk away, still joining their hands in a way that makes the innocent gesture look wrong. There is no ease; it may as well be a leash with how there is no slack given and with how the brunette trails behind him, practically pulled along except she keeps pace just enough for the action not too look forced to the untrained eye. Evie watches them go, more aptly watches her go, partially wishing for a glance or  shared look like in a novel or movie, but nothing comes. Maybe it was a mistake to try and learn more. Is she going to regret making this offer...?

[fulcrum-resources]

What are the marketing musts that one should keep in mind?

Small enterprise owners and solo-practitioners are notorious for ignoring marketing efforts. It's clean to do, isn't always it? You are ensconced in your business, serving customers, transport product and doing what you need to do to hold the cash flowing in. But in case you aren't spending time and money to market your commercial enterprise, then you definitely are ignoring a important achievement issue.

Beth Comstock, American business executive and modern Vice Chair of General Electric once said: “Marketing's activity is never executed. It's about perpetual movement. We need to preserve to innovate every day”.

Launching a business is an interesting time for a hopeful entrepreneur. You have conferences to devise, studies to do, and numbers to crunch. While turning your passion into your paycheck is not anything short of the dream, the system of getting your enterprise off the ground can also be stressful and confusing for those without proper understanding on the way to develop a advertising approach.

Following these 10 advertising ought to-haves when starting an enterprise will power you inside the right path closer to executive success -

·  Make a plan

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·  Putting out your Company’s Voice

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It is important to remain constant along with your enterprise voice. It needs to resonate with your patron base, and help clients relate to you. Your corporation voice is a manner to be diagnosed and remembered, and its miles one of the few factors of your enterprise that you have complete manipulate over.

·  Make a Content Strategy

Your content material has to be applicable to the enterprise your enterprise is in, and offer valuable statistics to capability clients. A tech business enterprise may additionally put up a blog about the pinnacle 5 antivirus software programs of the yr. A landscaper may put up an infographics to Instagram on the primary day of summer season. What will your clients want to peer?

Following a content material calendar is a first rate way to remain prepared and consistent during your advertising and marketing campaign. Content calendars are useful tools to use when making plans articles to submit, determining while to publish to social media and determining appropriate dates and instances for those moves. It may also help you continue to be on a constant posting and publishing schedule. Providing clients with ordinary, best content is a crucial component of establishing brand loyalty. Stay relevant!

·  Creating a Social Media Presence

54% of the sector’s populace makes use of social media, and having a strong digital presence will do wonders in your business. Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter – “the massive three” – are all vital channels for you as an entrepreneur to hook up with capability customers. The common individual spends nearly 2 hours each day scrolling through their common of 5 social media money owed. By posting a photo on Instagram or blasting a quick tweet, your business will be beneath the nostril of your target market in seconds.

The key to gaining a social media following is posting normal, unique content material, even as nevertheless final informational. Much like developing a content material strategy and setting up a enterprise voice, knowing what your clients will and could now not interact with will help you decide what to submit a good way to hold a hit and effective social media bills. Knowing which hashtags to include can even help drive traffic in your posts.

·  Leveraging consumer collaboration

One of the most sought-after trends in the millennial era is authenticity. There’s no higher way to create an actual emblem than by leveraging your client’s willingness to collaborate with you. With the incredible electricity of social media, your clients can communicate your brand for you and foster its growth.

Reach out to famous bloggers, touch podcasters that can be interested by your products or services and encourage a conversation about your employer. You might not be able to manipulate wherein the communication leads, but the buzz generated is regularly properly well worth the chance.

·  Cold Calling

You can purchase a list or rent a university student, bring on an intern, or have your virtual assistant assemble a listing for you. Begin by way of writing a script and giving purpose to your call. Know what you want to reap; a face-to-face visit, permission to ship records, to shut the sale or send a loose pattern.

·  Guest blogging and inviting guest bloggers

If you aren't blogging, start it ASAP. This again, is a long term investment – you in all likelihood won't see outcomes proper away, however they will come. Comment on different blogs and get in touch with famous bloggers who also target your audience with thoughts for their weblog, offering to write down for them.  You will gain subscribers and make bigger your audience. After you build your following invite popular bloggers to do a visitor submit in your blog. They will bring fans, lots of whom will stay.

·  Personalizing email marketing campaigns

Only forty four% of small business owners have diagnosed the importance of e mail advertising. The advantages of email advertising for corporations with restrained money and time are untold. Unlike many other virtual advertising efforts, it is neither expensive nor time-eating.

In fact, it’s one of the most inexpensive campaigns you may release and calls for handiest a chunk of writing ability and a sturdy list of contacts. You’re able to connect immediately together with your customers or clients with a click of a button and gather vital marketing metrics, like open and conversion costs.

·  Follow up with your list and past clients

This one seems obvious but it is often overlooked. When a brand new purchaser involves me with cash waft issues that is the first place we observe. There is a good deal untapped commercial enterprise with current clients, beyond clients and potentialities.

          What can you up sell?

          What unique offers are you able to sell?

          How are you able to recreate yourself or your product to spark new interest?

·  Tapping data-driven marketing research and analysis

While many commercial enterprise choices are powered by intuition, advertising and marketing selections must be encouraged through facts. In the virtual age, every Marketing Agency in Mumbai can tailor their advertising and marketing efforts with an amazing diploma of accuracy. Unfortunately, most small businesses aren’t shooting effortlessly-amassed statistics approximately their consumer.

Google Analytics, for instance, which gives you superior metrics approximately your web page, including leap prices and the range of unique customers travelling your site, is to be had to you at no cost in any way. Other loose marketing analytics tools, including Keyhole, offer you with the numbers you need to evaluate your social media advertising campaigns on Twitter and Instagram.

·  Cultivating personal brands with a friendly, informal tone

Spotify, via a series of billboards, used a huge amount of facts it has collected over the past few years to highlight some of its quirkiest customers: the guy who played Justin Bieber’s “Sorry” 42 times on Valentine’s Day, or the person inside the theater district who listened to the Hamilton soundtrack five,376 instances in twelve months. These forms of humorous anecdotes are endearing and deliver personality in your emblem.

But, creating a emblem extra private doesn’t necessarily require records mining or highly-priced billboard campaigns. It’s as easy as creating a emblem voice that sounds natural and in-song with your target market; a logo that facilely engages with its customers on a multitude of structures and produces spot-on hashtags and curates outstanding posts.

·  Ask for referrals

Many solo-practitioners hesitate to invite for referrals. We have a tendency to anticipate that if our clients like what we do for them they may unfold the word. Not continually so.  If you recruit the assistance of your happy customers your exercise will grow. Supply them with substances to forward or hand to their buddies and family. Make it smooth for humans to unfold the word approximately you.

     So in Conclusion,

Marketing at its heart is attractive to humans and attitudes are always converting. Marketing appeals to common sense and cause, might barely sign in within the market of today. Marketing in the 21st century is geared towards crafting truly compelling memories and types that encompass the human enjoy.

Digital marketing is never smooth. Especially whilst you’ve got a small team and absence a six-parent advertising price range.

Following those tendencies, with the assist of consistent studying and refining your approach to advertising and by no means be afraid to alter your method to reply to patron sentiment. Following new trends mindlessly will absolutely fail, but being open, assessing them accurately and integrating them into your business sensibly will simply result in success.

[73h77]

Being a student (in the college of life) Learning is a never ending processes even in the outside world life me and a friend of mine a student had this discussion. In the college of life you need to stay a student as always and study what you need to accomplish the key is always learning and drawing knowledge from many fields and combining them to make your unique way of offering solutions to problem and stepping away from an academic structure of thinking. You have to draw this knowledge as a polymath from many places, to avoid being stale and rigid to being fluid, dynamic and competent at your craft or area of study. You need to apply design thinking in a way that is unique and individualistic that it cannot be reproduced this a way that will get you a head and been a duplicate or indistinguishable from the rest. Mastering g progress should be a primary focus and repeating what you are doing day to day. You will be tested but the test is life on what you have understood and learned, to avoid being redundant or burning out at the end. This includes a keen eye of observation and analysis and knowing what to look for in that observation, being a teacher and a pioneer and a student at the same time. Being open to new experiences and not ignoring what you do not even like. These are the essentials to being a student in life, changing your mind-set that things are not heard and that there is only a learning curve that can be overcome through the deliberate precise complexities become routine and elementary. This does not mean that you stick your head in leaning but also generating income to foster the process as you progress. Making mistakes, most people are anti pragmatic you have to make mistakes to learn through failure you can have detail of what went wrong and sweeping up mistakes as quickly as possible. This is what is defined as breaking the egg to make an omelette. It’s a process that many avoid in favour of political correctness. To be on the right side in pursuit of efficacy. Distractions they are many distraction that prevent us from accomplishing our goals, take the following personal, as I wish to educate not comfort. Entertainment, leisure, friends and religion As Marx said it the Opium of the poor to add a poor in spirit that need comfort from a harsh life and is addictive and government approved more like tobacco. Analysing your tools, you should be able to analyse you tools. Tools need change in order to achieve a desire function the same tools produce the same function and yet we call things different and it is re-inventing the wheel. To produce a different effect you need to look at them at a very unique stand point. You have to be beyond genius there is no way around it anymore, we are all in a race and if the competition is running faster than you on the track you must overlap them, reaping in militant success at every turn. It’s been put simply out do or be out done, know and see that there is always someone doing more although very rare in some cases. Dominate, you have to dominate those that complain of dominance are weak they are overshadowed by their desire to be better but they lack the knowledge to accomplish that which they seek they have a closed mind towards what change, progress and operating within a dynamic environment. Over reach, this is the key to progression that you have to go into the unknown that everything does not operate in the principles you have acquired in your journey every step of the way needs a refined set of skill to overcome the hurdles a student must be vigil of this and even develop a skill of their own this is what is known as craft. Treat everything as data, even the textbook life is dynamic and the variables are always changing. Life an hour ago is not life know for example current information is data it is raw for most people that cannot understand the philosophy of the above sentence let it sink in, swim or float, the boat is always on its way. Treat everyone as a learning experience there is no randomness, everyone you meet is a lesson. Each individual is specialized at something. Learn what they know to even refine your insight this stops you from thinking of things as they should be, but seeing as they are (as it is) Read anything you can get your hands on, hey become useful at a later time to avoid the pain at missing it at an earlier time and having to face pain the ultimate disruption to learning. It keeps you a head of the curb. Engage it is noted in research that we remember more from what you do that what you read this does not mean throw away the theory it is useful, participate more, when all the senses are engaged it is wire into our cognition. Spend time with people outside your circle, in-difference brings the greatest harm, do not exclude any one based on you preference. Deeper insight is key and by that I mean perspective makes our information mastered that just another un-informed opinion. Avoid being sentimental, be logical and methodical in your approach, when in doubt put  feelings aside and use clear clean logic, everything is a word problem learning from mathematics put what you see the information in words in number they never lie. If the results do nt match account for a change in variables and human error. Refine your intuition there is no way to put this across but that voice that guides you, tells you what is there, the reality of things is that we ignore it and its really genuine and concise it’s just that as human beings we are irrational.

[digressfromreality]

Who Are You Really, Mrs. Crouch?

Synopsis: There are so many fragile things, after all. People break so easily, and so do dreams and hearts. The tragic life of Camilla Ollivander, who in secret, and never publicly acknowledged, a Gaunt. Follow through the lenses of her curious cousin, her heartbroken son and the frail woman herself as she navigates life through a series of limited glimpses. This is the tale of Mrs. Crouch.

Tom Riddle (Voldemort) 1958

It had taken him years to trace down who exactly the old man had rasped about in parseltongue. He hadn't approached her then, she of course was merely a small child at the time. Her hair braided in ridiculous pigtails, and constantly being fussed over by the mudblood aunt. Always peering through the windows of her family's shop. Obliviously to the wizards who were acutely peering back in, watching her grow over time. Being a popular spot in Diagon Alley, she had been seen by many but never really paid any real investigation. 

It was a bit of a challenge getting the information of her lineage, purebloods were experts on hiding their dirty laundry. Purebloods didn't physically endanger other purebloods. Certainly not unheard of, but definitely overlooked in this slight. He had observed her from afar over the years, ever since Morfin had let it slip that he had his fun with a pretty, pureblood lass. Tom had understood those implications; rape. As cruel and malicious as those tactics were, they were beneath him.

This frail bastard child was supposedly his cousin. She looked neither powerful nor special enough to be carrying the blood of Salazar Slytherin, his blood. She grown into a meek woman with no extraordinary talents. She had some magical application in charms, and some in potions, but not nearly enough to be noticed or excel beyond the foreign family she hid behind.

He on the other hand vastly surpassed the filthy beings that had raised him. Besides his magical strengths, his muggle father blessed him with an appearance others had vainly thrived on. A handsome boy, unlike the inbred scoundrels that the Gaunts were reduced to. The girl's true mother, Generosa, had committed suicide before adulthood. She had been unable to handle the burden of teenage motherhood and trauma of her reputation sullied. As stated before, Purebloods didn't physically endanger other purebloods. So in turn everyone assumed, she had asked for it. She had purposefully whored herself to an older man, despite being only 15 years old at the time. No one would want Generosa, not with a bastard daughter.

After her death the infant was left in care of her elder brother, Gervaise Ollivander, who had raised the girl with his own family. His own son Garrick Ollivander already was nearing adulthood himself, when they took the girl in. The girl was doted on as a prized little sister, but Camilla Ollivander was a fraud. Albeit, 13 years his junior, she was a modest girl who's birth had led to macabre ending for both her real parents. 

Today, he was going to finally confirm whether all the tomfoolery and use of precious resources had not been unfounded. He fixed his cloak, as he went to have lunch during his work break. Nothing suspicious, nothing out of the ordinary for him to come to this pub. Certainly not to spy on questionable girl.

He stepped into the pub zoning in on her immediately, slightly disinterested than before. She looked hardly worth his time, this fringed girl, half Gaunt? A pureblood, and a part of a wait staff? 

Unheard of, and yet her family defended their choices, it was to humble her. 

This prospect was great in his sleuthing, but demeaning of her ancestry. She should be served on, as him. He had managed to encroach into her section demanding her service before needing to. She was attentive of her customers, quickly shuffling passed other tables to properly greet him at his booth. She smiled lightly laying a napkin down for his perceived future refreshment. She nervously tucked her hair back, while he scrutinized her appearance without shame. He'd leer all he damn well pleased, she was rather plain in her appearance but her actions held such warmth. He gave this apparent cousin a charming smirk in return.

"Good morning sir. How may I service you today?" His eyes crinkled in amusement, her cheerful tone was too much.

"Some Mince pie would be welcomed."

He watched her hand flutter slightly to the left, a large stone veer her fingers downward. He grimaced in disappointment, that brute had finally proposed. Barty Crouch was a political force not to be trifled with. It had only been a few measly years and Crouch had quickly rose throughout the ranks of the Ministry, acquiring a reputation for hard, swift punishment. This precarious pairing had stumped him at first glance. But now, interacting with her in person, a go getter like Barty Crouch would be ensnared with such implied innocence.

"Is something wrong sir?" She quickly asked, worried she had done something offensive.

"Not at all." He hissed out in parseltongue. She quickly nodded, visibly relieved.

"Okay. I will be right back with your order." She hissed back. His smile returned, following her form as she strolled away. She hadn't even noticed her understanding and reply had been in an entirely different language. His suspicions had been confirmed.

-

Camilla Ollivander (Gaunt) 1960

Her cheeks burned as Mr. Burke had fawned over her invite. Her uncle had asked her to invite some of the other shop owners to her upcoming nuptials, even the ones in Knockturn alley. She had ignored the creeping shiver, making her way to Borgin & Burkes. She would never admit it but her original intention was to see if her handsome regular, Mr. Riddle, would also be present.

His quiet observing stance had been a pleasant constant in her hosting job. Although it was shameless, she had pined for the older gentleman. Secretly, and quietly, to herself. Other than Barty not many men had really vied for her attention. Even though, he had never given any notation of romantic interest, she feel almost a kinship to him. 

Barty had connections, considerations, there would be Ministry workers of all ranking crawling around her ceremony. If he had wanted to widen his horizons, making Ministry contacts would be one of them. She bid good day to the three men, hurriedly trying not to miss her appointment with the seamstress, Barty would be so displeased.

-

Camilla Crouch 1961

She smiled meekly as she sat at her wedding table by herself. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, watching Barty chat up various groups of people. She had bit back the crestfallen pool of emotions that threaten to creep up. It was her wedding day, and here she was waiting for him to ask her to dance. But she knew she couldn't be petty, she was a Lady Crouch after all, and their family were refined wizards. It would be soon though, her belly would be swollen with a child and she wouldn't worry about being so lonely.

"Mrs. Crouch would you honor me with a dance?" As much as she would have liked to agree, she politely refused. Her first dance of the night was strictly reserved for her new husband and not Mr. Riddle. As much as she would miss his quiet company, she knew that her new chapter in life was devoted to her husband and not meaningless work.

"Thank you for the offer, but I simply am exhausted." He smiled while giving her a knowing look as she stood and greeted Barty with a small peck on the cheek. He placed a stiff arm on the small of his new wife's back, unhappy with the attention this stranger was giving Camilla.

"We have guests to greet before we retire for the night my dear." He glared at Tom before replying, "Pardon us." This was to be the last time he was to see his cousin, and he had great assurance that she would be well guarded and taken care of. Her husband's over-protectiveness and feigned charisma gave her a wealth of security if she were to abide by it for the rest of her days. Besides she was too vulnerable to be any use to his cause.

-

Camilla Crouch 1962

It had been 3 very long days that she had been in labor and finally her son had come. His squeals and cries for air brought her anxious husband back into the room.

"Barty come meet your son." Her gentle voice called out. Her body was utterly drained from childbirth, but she was happy. She had done her duty as a wife, she had provided her husband with a male heir. Barty stared down Camilla and his new son. She looked absolutely spent but pleased with their growing family. He pressed a well-deserved kiss upon her cheek, while coaxing the boy from her arms.

"You did a wonderful job Camilla, he looks rather healthy." He proudly stated.

"What do you want to name him Barty?" He gave them a once over before settling on a choice.

"Junior." He quickly said noticing a Ministry owl perched at the window. "Martha!" He called out for mid wife. She scurried into the room removing the bundle from his impatient arms, his wife's glare went unnoticed as he trudged towards the window.

"Barty?" She questioned. His demeanor had changed. She could almost taste the dread as she knew what was going to happen. He was going to leave. "Barty, please don't. You were supposed to take the week off." He ignored her, coming up placing a chaste kiss on her cheek while lightly touching his son's face as well.

"Duty calls Camilla." He hadn't bothered to look at her disappointed face, and turned toward the midwife. "She needs her rest. Put the boy down as well." She did as she was told, as he disappeared. Camilla swallowed, the loneliness crept up on her again. She ignored her pride and listened to her husband; he was only trying to make a better world and provide for them. She smiled watching her son wiggle back and forth in the bassinet. At least she had her own little Barty to now keep her company.

-

Camilla Crouch 1973

She dabbed her son's quiet tears, wishing her husband would keep more of his promises at least for their son. He was devastated at the fact his father ignored him once again. He had only wished for his attention. He absolutely craved for the dominant figure to show some interest in him.

"He's very busy Barty. He's a very important man at the Ministry. He would have come if he had had the time. He's very proud of you." She lied, trying to comfort her upset son. The boy chuckled through the tears, disturbingly so.

"Father doesn't care about anyone. Not you, certainly not me-" Camilla cut her son off.

"No Barty. He just has a hard time showing it. Your father has never really been an affectionate man. But he really does love you, us."

"He has a peculiar way of showing it." He stated before chucking the letter to the ground and storming away. Camilla huffed as she bent down to pick up and smooth out the letter. His acceptance to Hogwarts had finally came.

-

Camilla Crouch 1976

Minister Minchum was laughing heartily at one of Camilla's jokes. She had turned towards her husband happily taking in his pleased expression. This was the first time she and her son had seen her husband in many weeks, and he had brought home the Minister for Magic with him. Their house elf Winky had been overjoyed to be making extra for her master and the Minister; her son though was rather cranky at the whole idea.

Her husband cleared his throat, "As I was telling you Harold, Junior here will be an exceptional addition to the Ministry. He has O's in all of his coursework." He proudly exclaimed of their son's achievements. She had hoped to see her son beaming back at his boastful father but they were only met with quiet anger.

"Like you care." He snarled. The two adult men were astonished at the boy's behavior, while she was utterly appalled. She raised him to have better manners than this.

"Barty," she scolded. The tickle in her throat, started to act up. Coughing loudly into her napkin, she needed her potion. Her eyes began to tear as she struggled for air.

"You've upset your mother. Take her to the other room and apologize for your deplorable manners." She felt her teenage son's arms grip around her waist as he directed her out of the room, quietly admitting his error. He felt guilty for stirring up her latest attack, she was so weak already. Her husband had covered her physical weakness for petty woman drama. He knew how to protect them, as he should. She curled into her son's side as he forced her to drink all of the potion. Junior was always such a good boy to her, his mother.

-

Voldemort 1978

Bellatrix marched in the group of potentials wishing to join his ranks. His red eyes paused on one young man. A boy really, with familiar eyes and a slightly frame. Camilla's son had finally grown, and was here to serve him. How fitting, he mused.

"Bartemius Crouch Jr. I had wondered when I would be seeing you." The boy nodded in approval, a click of his tongue showing his impatience. "You are a bit younger than my usual stock. Barely 16 now, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes my lord." He replied eagerly, nearly knocking over the next whelp with his excitement.

"How is the family young Barty?" The boy's eyes looked a shade darker, his face stern.

"My father," he spat out with such animosity it made his lip curl, "I honestly could care less. Mother is mother, fragile little woman she is." Camilla was still as delicate as ever, and the boy had developed a rather strong resentment towards her husband, as she should have had. He could work with this, but only if Barty passed one important test.

"Everyone out. I need to talk to young Barty here alone." Bellatrix made quick work of throwing the newer recruits out of the room. Voldemort gestured for Barty to move closer, he stopped to kneel at his feet. Camilla raised such an obedient boy. "Barty," he hissed carefully, "do you pledge your loyalty to me and my cause?" He nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes my lo-" he tried to hiss back before he coughed hard. His mouth was dry and his throat felt stretched at the moment. Voldemort was pleased, the boy could unknowingly understand as well. "Yes, my lord. Anything." Probably never had spoken in the exclusive language. Camilla's poor choice in a husband had brought him the most loyal servant yet.

"Your left arm Barty."

-

Camilla Crouch 1981

"I've heard about one more," Igor quickly added.

"What is that?" Crouch senior had asked, semi interested in what he had left to offer.

"The name." He slowly added.

"Yes." Crouch senior was becoming impatient, Igor was trying to stall.

"I know for a fact that this person took part in the capture and by means of the Cruciatus curse, TORTURE, of Auror Frank Longbottom and his wife!"

"Give me the wretched name!" He demanded.

"Barty Crouch!" The entire room gasped, "Junior." He finished. Senior had frozen in place, blindsided by the information that had been brought in front of the Wizengamot. Camilla began to shake, this couldn't be the truth! This was her son, this was her baby boy! She could hear the voices sputtering and began shouting as her son whipped passed them. Alastor Moody shot her son down, making him land harshly on the ground, while Wizengamot members swarmed to detain him. He began a manic struggle against his captors. They dragged him before the both of them much to their horror. This crazed man was not their son, truly this man couldn't be her son. The utter hatred in his eyes were too much for her.

"Get your filthy hands off me, you pathetic little men!" He clicked his tongue several times staring intently at the both of them. He directed his focus away from her bloodshot eyes. "Hello father." He cheerful greeted. Her husband paused before coldly regarding their son.

"You are no son of mine." Today was the day where her heart, her soul felt heavy. Today was the day she cried, she lamented to her husband for her son's safety. Selfishness and insecurity was her reasoning for her pleas, maybe even a hint of fear. Why was her pacifism being stuck down with senseless shouting and violent cursing? Her husband held her flailing arms as they dragged their son away. We're they so blind that the fear of difference was met with crippling and unthinking reactions? Her son was just barely a man, a man now who had no future because of her husband.

-

Camilla Crouch 1982

She could hardly walk, her husband had to hold her as they traveled through the sickly walls of Azkaban. She knew her end was near, death was rallying in her corner, and it something her husband had recently learned to accept. She was dying and as her last wish she had wanted was for her son to come home. Barty had proved his devotion to his wife, and relented to something that stood against everything he had fought vigorously for years.

The heartbreaking screams had her and her husband on edge, but it strengthened her resolve. Her young son didn't belong here, he had made a mistake. He was young, and he was very impressable. He had only done what he did to get back at his father's negligence. They stopped in front of darken cell, it was desolate, and dreary. She looked to her husband, as he barked for the cell to be opened for them.

"Barty?" Her voice croaked, calling out in the black cell.

"Mother?" His ashen voice answered in disbelief. He crawled from the shadows, her baby boy a shell of the man he previously was. He stared at them curiously. "Are you hallucinations?" He quietly muttered, she shook her head. They were real, they were very real. She pushed from her husband, harshly dropping to her knees pulling her broken son into her failing arms.

"No son, we are here." She cooed as he cried in her arms. Azkaban had broken their son, her heart burned with regret. How could she have left him here so long?

"Mother, I've missed you so much. I just want to go home, please take me home." She nodded, cradling her son as tight as she could. She could feel the faint feeling of exhaustion spread across her brittle muscles, death was so close.

"Yes, baby we're here to take you home. Please baby, drink this. Drink this and it will all be better." She had to have her husband uncap the vial as she poured the potion down her son's throat. He began to convulse in her arms as she nodded to her husband one last time. Hesitantly he poured the second vial down her throat. Her flesh began to stretch uncomfortably, but she bit back her cries. She was doing this for her son, she would save her tears.

When she opened her eyes next, she was staring down at her own body. It was disheartening to see how pathetic she had actually looked. She literally mirrored death, and yet her husband had brought her here as she had wished. He must have loved her as much as she did for him. She pressed a loving kiss to her (her son's) head. "I love you Barty." Despite the forlorn look upon her husband's face, he gave her a stiff nod, he loved her too. Her husband quickly ushered their disoriented son from his cell leaving her in his place. She let out a heavy sigh, she could feel the Dementors as they closed around the cell. Her time had come, at least her son was safe. She had made peace with that.