#anyway every time i play this game i see it through a slightly different lens and that's pretty cool

[hidden-highlands]

xenoblade 1 spoilers under the cut // just some musings & ramblings

i just reached satorl marsh in my current replay of xenoblade and the more i replay the game the more i appreciate this section in terms of its narrative implications

and i'm mostly talking about dickson here (because let's be real when am i not) but like ??? everything he says during the brief segment that he accompanies the party is absolutely loaded with double-meaning. damn near every sentence out of his mouth is cast in a new light upon completing the game and learning of his true identity & motivations

which is why i find it so intriguing that during that one scene between him and shulk ('so it is written') he brings shulk's parents up out of the blue for seemingly no reason ??? specifically he says "forgive me, shulk. sorry i couldn't save your folks."

at this point shulk's already moved on to talking about exploring the world; it's dickson who circles back and drops this comment about shulk's parents, rather awkwardly at that, into the conversation. and it just kind of struck me how weird that is? most of what dickson says in that scene alludes very subtly to his identity and motivations. he initially starts the conversation by reminiscing about finding shulk on valak mountain -- which, ymmv here, but to me reads very much as, like, "shit that time's flown by and you're already stepping into this destiny that's been set out for you pretty much from birth". all his talk of 'shulk being part of a higher plan' seems, on first watch, to be extremely heavy-handed writing for the sake of the audience; only on subsequent viewings does it become clear it's dickson trying to nudge shulk in the direction he wants him to go.

but the parent comment. in a scene so full of double-meaning and hidden intentions, it sticks out even on subsequent replays for not seemingly having a double meaning ?? and yet. i can't quite settle on a satisfying reason for dickson saying that. he would have known there was no way to save shulk's parents, given how they died. shulk himself hadn't mentioned them before that point in the convo. and, if we accept the game's characterisation of dickson as this duplicitous, power-hungry guy who's remorselessly willing to kill those he's been closest to for the last fourteen years, then why would he care at all about the deaths of shulk's parents, these two people he didn't even know?

the only way i can make it make sense in my head is by rejecting that characterisation. by rejecting the idea that dickson was nothing more than power-hungry and remorseless. sure he was duplicitous as all hell, and he probably didn't start out caring about shulk (and the others) but i think he did, by the end. (i have so many reasons for thinking this but i'm not gonna elaborate bc this is already turning into an essay lol) and i think his comment about shulk's parents is his way of... admitting guilt? or remorse? at the fact that it's shulk who got wrapped up in this. at the fate that shulk has in store for him. and that if they hadn't died in the tower that day, shulk probably would have lived a normal life, raised by genuine people who cared for him, instead of by someone who was deceiving and manipulating him to satisfy the whims of a cruel god.

because dickson wound up caring, too late, and that comment is perhaps the only means he has of admitting his regrets (even to himself)

(besides, it would also explain that "can't say i feel so good about deceiving these kids" line at the end of satorl marsh)

[marley-manson]

I love all your MASH posts! Do you have any thoughts to share on the varying ways the characters relate to queerness?

Thank you so much <3

You bet I do! I hope what you’re looking for here is a bunch of sexuality and gender related headcanons, because that’s what I’ve got.

None of these are hard and fast when it comes to like, writing fic or whatever, and there’s obviously room for a ton of different interpretations which is cool, but this is kind of like the default lens I watch the show through lol. Also I prioritize the show’s vibe over strict notions of historical accuracy wrt homophobia, but at the same time based on a couple books I’ve read it’s not necessarily historically inaccurate for a military unit to have a bunch of barely closeted people and for no one to really care lol, from what I’ve read it really varied depending on the unit and COs. It got dicier in the 50s as opposed to the early 40s with some official policy changes and the lavender scare, but probably still not impossible, at least according to anecdotal evidence.

Also obviously since this is based on mountains of gay jokes it’s not going to completely fit every moment in every episode, but ykw, the implications are still a lot more consistent than you’d probably expect lol.

So anyway. This got long so it’s under a cut.

Hawkeye:

Bi, has known it for a long time, and is perfectly secure and comfortable with it. I like to think he favours men a little over women, like a kinsey 4.5. No real reason, but it’s my headcanon so there.

Was somewhat into the gay scene back in the states, has had lots of anonymous sex and short term flings and maybe couple longer term male partners.

Carlye knows he's bi though he was probably monogamous while he was with her (I say this because their first scene together reads so strongly to me like he's trying to imply he's with BJ now to save face after learning she's married lmao).

On the slightly effeminate side but doesn't play it up much (I'm differentiating this from the onslaught of combatative jokes, I'm talking mannerisms and speech patterns), though he's happy to lean into queeny stereotypes a little to piss people off. Very nearly canonically a bottom lol, though I can see him occasionally switching, and very nearly canonically into tall, broad guys with a sense of humour, full lips, a nice ass, and a big dick based on the shoe size jokes.

I think his dad knows and is relatively cool about it too. I don't see it causing a lot of drama in his life, I think he's one of the lucky ones, which contributes to his relative lack of fear.

Though that said one headcanon I have is that some kind of close call with nearly getting caught or accused and discharged happened between season 7+8, which is why he tones it down so much in late Mash.

Hm what else... I just posted about this lol but after the war I can see him getting more politically engaged and casually joining the gay communist scene.

Trapper:

Also bi and knows it, more careful and discrete about it (back in the states) what with presumably being from a pretty catholic family and being married. My logic is if the jokes are Hawkeye's bi evidence, then Trapper with almost the same amount and as a totally game participant has the same evidence, but he does have a more conscious of consequences vibe to me.

I’m torn on whether Trapper was somewhat into the gay scene stateside, or if his experience was mainly just anonymous sex while cruising. I could see an argument for the latter being more realistic and plausible, BUT I’m kind of enamoured with the idea of Trapper being just as out, in the old school ‘part of a community’ sense, as Hawkeye. It could even be a fun nod to their original book backstory where they’d coincidentally met once at a football game - except they vaguely recognize each other from the Boston bar scene lol. Maybe they fucked in a bathroom stall once.

Either way I like to think he and Hawkeye started hooking up almost immediately, then became friends, then caught feelings, and Hawkeye was the first guy Trapper ever had romantic feelings for. It doesn't perfectly fit every moment - eg if you take their exchange at the end of George (what secrets do you have in your past?) as a gay reference, which I mean considering the context it's impossible not to, that implies Trapper doesn't officially know, but it ain't about the exacting details, it's about the Vibes.

Henry:

Mildly bi swinger. He's still cheating on his wife and vice versa because they're supposed to only fuck other people as a couple. Maybe doesn't really think of himself as bi bc it’s group sex, at least at first. I'm pretty sure someone was deliberately implying some of this lol, c'mon I saw Dear Dad 3, and he gets some of the most eyebrow raising gay jokes and moments.

(One of my favourite jokes: Henry makes a PA announcement about a meeting at 0700 hours. “Is that AD or BC?” "I don't know, I never could tell with Henry." Note that AC/DC was contemporary slang for bi.)

Also has a crush on Klinger, obviously.

Klinger:

Bi and nonbinary, initially repressed about both. Comes to terms with being bi partway through the show since he's clearly hooking up with Radar by season 4, so. I like to think he had sex with Trapper at some point in season 3 too, and idgaf about Laverne here. Maybe he figures it doesn’t count if it’s with dudes. Comes to terms with his gender much later, post-canon. Would probably consider himself a transvestite, historically speaking.

Like the way he still wears his pink housecoat, complete with a bow sometimes, even after dropping the section 8 attempts? The fur coat too? In one of the most recent episodes I rewatched, in season 10, he had a bra in his footlocker, and in a season 9 episode he had pink heels stashed in one of the file cabinets, uncommented on. Soon Lee wants to see him in a dress. It all fits.

I think after he gets back to the states he opens a dress shop, slowly and organically starts acquiring a discrete trans and drag queen clientele since he's very skilled at altering women's clothes to fit a masculine build, makes some friends, gets invited to some events, and starts fully embracing his femininity.

Margaret:

I kinda like the repressed lesbian take. Her attraction to men always feels so forced and performative, like she's trying so hard to fit a role. I can also see her as bi, but I vote lesbian. I think she fucked women in college, including Lorraine, and has told herself it was just an immature phase since. Also repressed butch. Someday she finally gets that crewcut.

Radar:

Repressed gay or bi with some internalized homophobia, but chills out about it eventually. I mean come on, that scene where he gets offended when changing in front of Hawkeye? His typical noooo stoooop reactions to the gay jokes in general? Klinger was his plausible deniability dude where he could be like 'it's not gay bc i think of him as a girl.' They break it off somewhere in season 5.

Father Mulcahy:

Gay but a catholic priest, so off limits. Knows he's gay but doesn't act on it. Chill with all the gay vibes around the 4077 in accordance with his fairly live and let live attitude, regardless of whether that actually makes much sense for him as a Catholic. Whatever, there’s always exceptions to common rules and maybe he’s one of them.

Frank:

Repressed bi, but not all that repressed. Like he knows it, but denies it in his head in a way that doesn't even convince himself, like reciting a rote platitude. Internalized homophobia up to here. Would absolutely still date a guy if anyone likeable ever expressed genuine interest because he's that desperate for approval and easily malleable.

BJ:

I tend to favour the repressed gay or bi take. I see the reasoning, it makes sense to me, and it’s a fun way to watch the show. It fits what I percieve as his initial awkwardness with Hawkeye’s gay jokes in his first few seasons, including occasional no homo style defensiveness, or bringing up his own masculinity, etc. Also the way he doesn’t seem to notice that Hawkeye is blatantly hitting on him at the airport bar. The gay read in particular fits the way his fixation on his family is explicitly framed as a coping mechanism too.

I really enjoy thinking that BJ knows Hawkeye is into men and specifically into him by like, around season 7/8. Maybe not a sudden realizaton, but a sort of gradual understanding. It adds a certain je ne sais quoi to their late series interactions, and feels oddly appropriate.

I like to think he realizes he’s not straight in whichever way and is in love with Hawkeye about a year or two after going home lol, amid a crumbling marriage. But I don’t endgame ship them, so I think this revelation comes too late, Hawkeye has already moved on, and he goes back to San Francisco and either saves his marriage or finds himself a nice boyfriend.

Charles:

Gay, aware but possibly refuses to act on it due to internalized homophobia and ~respectability~, or if he does, he’s very discrete and careful. On the hunt for a suitable lavender marriage.

Potter:

He’s the token straight to me, sorry.

Random related thoughts:

I think Hawkeye and Trapper and Henry and Klinger fostered the carefree anything goes atmosphere of the 4077 just by being the way they are and being chill.

I like to think there was a gay poker night once a month. Zale accidentally crashed it in Pay Day. Klinger goes even though he doesn't consider himself anything but a straight man at first, but he's always down for a poker game and he points out that he fits in just fine.

Whenever new lgbt people arrive at the 4077 they go to either Hawkeye or Klinger first since they’re so loud, and early on Klinger might point them in Hawkeye’s direction, and Hawkeye tells them where the Seoul + Tokyo bars are and invites them to the poker game.

I think Hawkeye's subplot in Of Moose and Men was coded homophobia. Textually it was the officer being offended that Hawkeye is insubordinate, but come on, "I don't want that man touching me," followed by a sex joke about Hawkeye giving him a sedative in the ass? Followed by dude continually being disturbed by him? They really made "goof off" sound like a slur lol. Rally Round the Flagg Boys also had a milder version of this with communist substituted. Idk if it’s intentional in either case, but the vibes were there.

Margaret found out that Hawkeye’s bi at some point not long after they slept together. I could see him coming out to her during one of their heart to hearts, honestly, maybe even by accident. Maybe it helps her come to terms with her own sexuality too.

By season 4 Hawkeye and Klinger are both aware of each others’ sexualities and sort of bond over being the only 2 somewhat out guys left in the main cast. The way they start hanging out more, for a while Hawkeye’s gay jokes come out more in scenes with Klinger than in scenes with BJ, and just in general their mid-show interactions tend to have that ‘the two out cousins at the family reunion’ solidarity vibe.

I think Hawkeye thinks BJ is straight throughout the whole run of the show, but also knows BJ is sort of using him as a platonic wife replacement. Actually I think Hawkeye encouraged it early on while lowkey trying to seduce him, eventually had to be like ‘damn guess he’s straight after all,’ but by now it’s too late to reverse course and so he’s stuck pining in this weird pseudo romantic friendship.

Aaaand okay I have to stop at some point so I’m sure I have more but let’s call it good.

[addiesu]

Futsal Boys!!!!! Spoilery Episode 3 Thoughts

*SPOILERS*

Episode 3 - I liked this episode! I feel like I cared more about the characters this time around, and the pacing was a little better. I don't know if my mood was off last time, but I greatly preferred this week's episode.

I think I'm starting to understand this anime a little more in terms of structure. It's hard to explain, but it reminds me of Wave!!, just with slightly more plot. I didn't really like the way they did Wave!!, so I'll have to see how this goes. I also think this is the type of anime best experienced all in one. I don't think the episodes really stand well by themselves and don't make a great plotline when you watch them as they come out. So, when all the episodes are out, I'll go back and watch it from the very beginning and see if my opinion changes.

Another thing I notice is that this anime is very dramatic. Not quite Pretty Boy Detective Club dramatic, but it's still up there. Especially when Nagumo went from 0 to 100 on Sakaki, although I think the implication was that he was touchy because Taiga rejected his offer to play Futsal again.

Speaking of, Taiga! I'm still intrigued by him and I'm glad we got a little bit of backstory for him. I'd like to see the emotions Taiga holds for Nagumo because going nutso on a guy and punching him (even if he was being an asshole) is quite a strong reaction. Especially since he probably knew it would get him in loads of trouble. I notice that the next episode is called 'Taiga and Ryu', so I hope we see a little more backstory for them.

Also, Haru is hiding something. That REALLY piqued my interest. I'm excited to find out more.

Things that caught my attention:

-That little bunny Nagumo has on the back of his hoodie.

-Are we gonna get these intimate night time/sunset chats every week? Because I love them.

-There's just something about Nagumo putting the gloves in Taiga's hand that just makes me feel things. I don't know what, but it's wholesome.

-HARU IS HIDING SOMETHING.

-Sakaki is trying.

-Nagumo going 0 to 100 because his b̶o̶y̶f̶r̶i̶e̶n̶d̶  best friend rejected his offer to play Futsal again.

-That finger injury is definately coming back to bite them in the ass. It's going to hinder their performance, Taiga is gonna come in and save the day and then they're gonna recruit him. At first Taiga is gonna be all like 'I'm not coming back' and Nagumo's gonna be all like 'Please?' And Taiga's gonna be all like 'fine'. That's my prediction anyway.

-RUNNINGU

-That picture of Taiga and Nagumo as kids

-*Slap slap slap slap slap slap*

-Hurricane Kodama supremacy

-Tomoe's little blush when he's told he did well

When I was watching the scenes back to remind myself of what I wanted to type and I got to the sunset scene, I felt really emotional over it? Like the first time I was just thinking it was really dramatic, but now I'm getting emotional over it? This is why I think this anime will be better on the second watch. That said, I think it'll be better for the wrong reasons. When you get to the end of an anime and you rewatch it, it's great to see the scenes at the beginning through a different lens, when you know how a character thinks. The anime was good the first time around, but it's enhanced when you know the character. I think Futsal Boys is gonna be mediocre the first time around, but better the second time when you know what's going on. Is that a bad thing? Not necessarily, but I question if anyone would want to give it a second chance enough to watch it over again. Also, there is a game and a few audio dramas as well and I wonder if the anime is better if you check those out too? I don't believe any of them have English subtitles though so I guess I won't know.

I will keep watching though. I'm still interested in this anime and I am really exited still to see how it goes.

[bookwormsid1015]

BNHA: Midnight Clouds

A CloudNight Oneshot

The wind combs through his hair gently, and Oboro lifts his head to greet the darkened sky. With the sun long forgotten beyond the horizon, all that remains is the faint chill lingering in the air and the silvery brilliance of the full moon above him. Up here, where the sky is endless, the air is colder, and yet it’s also much easier to breathe. Nothing can touch him so long as he remains on his cloud cruising above the shining city of Musutafu, not even his invisible fears and anxieties.

Today had been a particularly taxing day, with his teacher drilling the importance of quick time reactions in himself and his classmates. Oboro’s head still aches from where a baseball had struck him, and although the cut it left had been reduced to nothing but a small red blotch thanks to the nurse’s efforts, Oboro can still feel the ache of it just above his right eye. It was nothing more than a standard exercise, one where he and his classmates had to utilize their quirks to react to having balls thrown their way, and yet Oboro can’t help but think back on it pensively. While his friends Yamada and Aizawa were able to pass the exercise with little to no issue, Oboro struggled so much more, especially since all he could think about was the wellbeing of his peers.

“It’s good that you think about others before yourself, but that type of thinking is dangerous in hero work,” his teacher had told him sternly after class. “If you want to become a hero, you need to figure out how to balance your will to save others with the need to save yourself. You can’t save anyone if you can’t look out for your own skin.”

Those words struck a chord with Oboro. It resonates in the back of his mind, even after the school day ended and he was allowed to go home. It followed him all throughout his time studying, eating dinner with his family, and even as he played video games with his friends.

In the end, Oboro decided to take a flight, just to take his mind off things.

He’s always been that type of person, Oboro supposes. Ever since he was little, he never had much thought for his own wellbeing and instead focused on others. He remembers being no older than six, getting beaten black and blue on the playground for standing up to a bunch of bullies for harassing a kid he didn’t even know. He remembers playing sports in middle school, and somehow always coming home with a sprained ankle or bloody nose, having taken a ball to the face whenever he’d try to save his teammate. He remembers his online friends laughing at him, people jokingly calling him “meat shield” since he never failed to sacrifice his own avatar for the sake of others. It’s always been like that. Self-sacrifice is second nature to him; it’s part of the reason why he wanted to become a hero. Where else would such recklessness be celebrated?

Oboro utters yet another sigh, and cold air rushes to greet his lungs. He’s happy he’d brought a jacket and a pair of goggles with him, in addition to his cozy plaid blue pajama pants and white tee shirt. As amazing as his night flights are, it can get pretty chilly in the air, especially at night.

Oboro glances down from his cloud, and to his surprise, he finds himself cruising through a familiar neighborhood. Kayama only lives a few blocks away from him-- the close proximity of their homes is part of the reason the two became such close friends-- and Oboro’s azure eyes widen slightly at the figure sitting cross-legged on one of the tiled roofs.

Kayama is sitting on top of the roof of her house, her back facing him as she stares up at the dark sky with her glittering cerulean eyes. Her short black hair falls in spikes around her shoulders, and she’s clad in Tinkerbell pajama pants with bunny slippers and a black tank top. Her thin black glasses sit on the bridge of her perfectly angular nose, and Oboro finds himself entranced by the strange stillness surrounding her. For as long as he’s known the girl, she’s been this bright, glowing ball of energy, flaunting her glory everywhere she goes without a hint of shame. Seeing her so still, so quiet and thoughtful just catches his interest somehow, as if this sight that he’s seeing is akin to a wildlife photographer honing his lens in on a majestic deer. 

Before he knows it, Oboro is directing his cloud down to her.

“Hey, Kayama!” Oboro calls to his senior, and Kayama jolts in surprise at the sound of his voice. She turns around to look up at him, and Oboro flashes her a bright smile as he descends toward her. “I wasn’t expecting to see you out and about this late at night! It’s rare!”

Kayama smiles and tucks a stray raven lock behind her ear. Her hair, Oboro notes distantly, is more of a deep indigo color instead of true black. “It’s not being ‘out and about’ if I’m just chilling on my own roof, Shirakumo,” she replies. “Besides, I could be saying the same thing to you.”

Oboro shrugs and his cloud disappears beneath him with a small pomf. “Fair point. Mind if I chill with you for a bit?” he asks, already walking over to her. The red roof tile is cold beneath his bare feet, but Oboro doesn’t pay it much mind. Kayama is his only center of attention right now.

The older girl utters a pleasant laugh. “Sure, sure. It’s nice having some company every now and again,” she says, and pats the roof tiles beside her. Oboro wastes no time in plopping down right next to her.

For a long moment, neither of them say anything. They just look up at the infinite dark sky above them, and Oboro revels in the beauty it has to offer. The night sky isn’t completely dark, he notices with awe, but instead it’s bright with the stars twinkling distantly and the full glow of the pale full moon shining down on the world like a flashlight. Clouds also drift lazily in the heavens above them, and Oboro traces their shapes in amazement as he notices them fade between grey and white, depending on their proximity to the moon.

The night is full of silvery brilliance, and Oboro breathes it in contentedly.

“Ever notice how expressive the sky is?” Oboro finds himself saying. “Like, I know it’s just oxygen and shit, but I just like to think weather is just the sky showing off it’s different feelings. Like, sunny days are when it’s happy and full of energy, while rainy days are when it's feeling down and wants attention. Nights like this are my favorite, though. It’s sleepy, but at the same time it wants to see how us little people are doing.”

Kayama glances away from the sky and back at the teenage boy beside her. Her lips quirk up into a smile, and Oboro quickly realizes with a grimace just how lame he sounded. “Gah! Ignore me, I dunno why I said that,” Oboro rambles, his face heating up in embarrassment.

Kayama just laughs. “No, no it’s okay. Don’t worry,” she assures him with a gentle pat on his shoulder. “I never thought of it that way. I don’t usually look at the sky and look for some hidden meaning; I just take it for what it is.” She flashes him a glowing smile, and Oboro’s heart seizes up in his chest. “I like that about you, you know that? You have a refreshing perspective on things.”

Oboro chuckles awkwardly. “Do I?” he asks.

Kayama nods her head. “Totally do. It’s nice.”

They sit again in silence, though this time, Oboro’s attention isn’t on the sky above. Instead, he sits there for a moment, just watching her as Kayama turns her attention upward. The silvery brilliance of the moon illuminates her high cheekbones, the curve of her nose, and highlights her full, plump pink lips. It reflects silver in her dark hair, and her blue eyes glimmer under its elegance like twin sapphires. Here, under the moonlight’s kiss, she looks like a goddess, even more so than usual.

It’s common knowledge that Kayama is beautiful. In fact, Oboro is willing to go as far as to say she’s one of-- if not-- the most beautiful girl in UA. There’s just something so wholly compelling about watching Kayama strut her stuff down the school halls, her chest puffed out and chin held high, walking forward without a wink of hesitation nor shame. When she speaks, it grabs his attention, and when she looks at him, his heart forgets to beat. Even Aizawa and Yamada-- who clearly have different romantic tastes-- agree that Kayama is undeniably attractive.

Sometimes, it surprises him that he’s one of her closest friends.

Kayama turns to look at him, and all thoughts in his head die the second her stunning blue eyes fall to his azure ones. “Shirakumo?” she asks, and her smile suddenly turns mischievous. “Why are you looking at me like that? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re checking me out.”

Steam literally explodes from around his ears (damn his quirk) as his face turns fifty shades of pink. “NO! Nope, no, nuh-uh! I wasn’t doing anything like that! I was… uh…” he turns his brain around in a panic, looking for anything else to say. “I was just thinking about class today! Haha, yeah! Just kinda got lost in thought and stared off into space!”

“Oh?” Oboro isn’t too sure if he’s imagining the hint of disappointment in her voice or not. “Well, how was it? I know Hokiko-sensei is a real hardass. Or he was when I had him last year, anyway.”

“Yeah, he was. He…” Oboro redirects his attention away from the beautiful girl sitting right next to him down to his hands clasped together in his lap. He utters a heavy sigh. “We, uh, well, we did some exercises today about quick time reactions. Basically, he threw shit like baseballs at us, and he assessed how quickly we would react to them. It was supposed to be an easy class, but I got knocked around more times than I would’ve liked.”

“Why?” Kayama asks, her cerulean blue gaze becoming thoughtful and serious.

Oboro shrugs. “We were all getting assessed simultaneously, so while I had to make sure I wasn’t getting pelted by baseballs, I also had to make sure my classmates were doing fine. Ya know, and vice versa,” he explains.

Something clicks together in Kayama’s stare as realization washes over her pale face. “Let me guess: you were so preoccupied by your classmates that you forgot to look out for yourself?” she guesses, and Oboro balks at the accuracy.

“I-is it that obvious?” he whines.

Kayama’s laugh is somehow reassuring. “It’s obvious because I know you, dummy,” she tells him, and lifts a hand to gently flick his forehead. “It’s how we met, after all. Don’t you remember that time when we were in middle school? Some girl was making fun of me and you came over to chase her away? Even though we didn’t even know each other?”

Oboro’s chuckle is shaky, and he can’t help but cringe in hindsight. “I must’ve looked like a white knight or something… Ugh, and they called us boyfriend-girlfriend for the longest time after…” he recalls with a shudder.

Kayama laughs. “Yeah, it was a little weird, but it was also super sweet. It takes guts to help a person out like that, especially if you’d never met them before.”

Oboro turns to her fully, his smile wide and hopeful. “Then you agree with me, right? Me looking out for everyone else isn’t a bad thing?” he says.

Oboro’s confidence wavers at the clear disapproval in the other’s eyes, and Kayama redirects her attention back to the dark heavens above them. “That’s the thing, Shirakumo. Society has conditioned us to believe that certain traits are black or white, when in reality, they’re a moral grey,” she tells him sagely. “At times, anger isn’t always a bad thing, and while envy is an ugly way to feel, it isn’t always derogatory. They can help us cope with situations that are unfair to us or hurtful to others. In some ways, even kindness can be bad. Unhealthy even. It’s always the good people who are taken advantage of.”

Kayama turns to face him, and Oboro’s heart stills as she offers him a gentle yet firm smile. “There is no good or bad when it comes to our feelings and habits. You wanting to help others can be helpful, but if it comes at the cost of your own health, then it’s definitely not something you should be brazen about.”

Oboro sighs deeply and runs a hand through his cloudy hair, his expression crumpling into a grimace. “I know, I know, it’s just… I don’t know,” he mutters. “Ever since I was little, people have told me the true essence of being a hero is putting others’ needs before my own. And it always made sense, you know? Like, I know you’re right, and I know that my habits aren’t healthy, but…” Oboro utters a resigned sigh. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Kayama scoots closer to him and places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You’re too down on yourself, you know that? I know you, Shirakumo, and I know that you have all the tools you need to become an amazing hero. The only one who doesn’t see it is you,” she tells him, and adds with a small laugh, “Besides, Aizawa and Yamada look up to you, you know? You don’t know it, but you’ve been a really good influence on them. Especially Aizawa.”

Shirakumo lifts his head and turns to face her, his azure eyes wide with disbelief. “Damn, Kayama, how do you do it?” he asks, his words taking the other aback. “You always seem so confident and self assured. When you’re serious, you can spew some amazing wisdom, while I…” Oboro looks away with a sigh. “I’m all about the fake stuff. I’m not even confident most of the time, I just… force myself to act and say things I don’t even completely agree in. It makes me feel like such a fraud.”

Kayama’s smile doesn’t waver in the slightest. “What can I say? Not all of us are perfect, besides…” the light in her eyes dims a bit. “If you really think I was always this way, then maybe you are dumb.”

Oboro scoffs, though his lips betray a smile. “Gee, thanks,” he says wryly, causing the other girl to laugh.

Kayama stands up and stretches her arms over her head. Shirakumo pointedly turns his attention away as her tank top lifts just a bit, exposing a glimpse of her toned stomach. “All this talk about insecurity is kinda draining. Come on, ” Kayama extends a hand out to him, “my mom made cookies earlier. There should be enough left over for you and me to split.”

Shirakumo stares at her hand in awe, temporarily taken aback. Usually, Oboro is the type of guy to keep his insecurities and fears hidden. He wants people to know he’s reliable and helpful, and he wants to be this pillar of reassurance for those around him. And yet, whenever he’s around this girl, he just feels more… vulnerable. Like he can finally look at these hidden parts of himself-- parts that he’s disgusted with-- and somehow feel just a little more content with them. Looking at Kayama now, Oboro can’t help but realize just how amazing she is. Not only is she beautiful and smart, but she’s confident and reliable; she genuinely cares about the people around her, and while her mannerisms are a little weird, creepy even, it also makes her so much more… her.

And Oboro wouldn’t change her for the world.

“I love you,” the words stand at the edge of his tongue, the temptation to risk it all becoming more and more overwhelming by the second. “You make me want to be better. You inspire me. I want to see you become an amazing hero, and I want to be beside you when you finally achieve your dreams. I love you.”

But he doesn’t.

Instead, Oboro reaches up and takes her hand. “Your mom makes the best cookies,” he says with a smile. “My mom has been asking for her chocolate macadamia nut recipe, by the way. Think she’ll be willing to share her secrets with me?”

Kayama laughs as she pulls him to his feet. Although he’s several inches taller than her, she doesn’t seem bothered at all having to smile up at him. “Maybe, maybe not. No promises, though,” she says. Kayama turns around and clambers down to the edge of the tiled roof, where she steps onto her window sill. She smiles back at him. “Come on! I managed to get my hands on one of Bon Jovi’s limited edition albums, the other day, and I’ve been waiting to listen to it with you!”

Oboro laughs as he follows her lead down to her window. “Immaculate taste as ever, eh, Kayama?”

Kayama’s giggles are music to his ears, “What can I say? It’s a living.”

[ae0nx]

FRUITS BASKET S2 EPISODE 9 RECAP AKA THE KYORU CHRONICLES PART I

Look... I’m gonna be honest. I wasn’t really in the mood to do a Fruits Basket recap this week. The world’s always a mess but this time it was definitely a personal attack and I’m still dealing with it but this episode was a needed mental break. A bit triggering at times... but it was golden.

Let’s goooo...

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

Lol, I love how the creators right out the gate were just like: “Look... you know what time it is...” 🤡😺

- I love Kyo in that green jacket, I don’t even know why 😂It definitely fits in well with the autumnal scene and his hair... He gets outfit appreciation this week again for the same outfit... just because.

HEART EYES, MOTHERFUCKER

*grooves to the opening song like an AC character*

- Tohru’s so happy that Kyo was invited that she’s in tears? On one hand... SO sweet! On the other hand... girl. 😩

Another adored moment between these two. Even though this episode is all about Kyo’s feelings for Tohru. I adore seeing how easy things are between him and Tohru now. At allll timesss. Gimme bucket loads of kyoru content, mannnn

Even though I’m still frustrated at these kids fighting each other, I really appreciate that this moment (and even previous episodes) has shown that Yuki has slowly been figuring out how to play the game of appeasing Akito but also trying to figure out how he can be better and stronger and more clever than the shitty situation that he’s been given. The walls are crumbling, indeed... Yuki wins Best Boi this week. I would’ve given it to Kyo but I lowkey give it to him every week so...

Tee hee... 😺✨💖

...Right, I genuinely don’t know what to say on an emotional front about the Akito and Kyo scene besides “this moment is gross and awful and Akito is a terrible, disgusting, manipulative person” so I’m just gonna talk about my appreciation for how the scene was displayed and edited.

That anime fish eye lens used for intense situations? Classic.

I really did like the flashback scene though. It starts when we see Kyo literally physically threatening Akito and yet Akito through words alone bests him... easily. The colour toning is great, it gives a slightly underwater feel which just increases the suffocating feeling. The way the scene flips from this scene to present day showing how Kyo, despite the time gap and despite all the personal developments, is still in Akito’s suffocating and entrapped position. 

I love how inhuman the designers and animators make Akito through their movements and body poses. I’ve gone into it before but I thought it was worth saying again-again.

HEARTBREAKING. But, this is some visually stunning content. I love this full on visual representation of Akito’s curse. Seeing how different it is from the other zodiac members (obviously) but also how it could be interpreted as a metaphor for how tied Kyo is to his fate in his position in the zodiac. The stuff of nightmares! Chilling!

- Kyo saying ‘please, stop’ broke. my. heart. Yuma Uchida, as always, was great. I love how different he sounded when he said that. So hurt and weak, it’s almost alien for Kyo...

- Dickheadedness aside... I really find Akito’s view on perfection being monstrous an interesting viewpoint... (even if they are mostly saying it just so they can have the upper hand)

THIS IS THE MOMENT, GUYS...

I ACTUALLY SQUEALED. 😍It hurts so goood....

- I’m glad that Momiji’s question from ‘The Foolish Traveller’ moment was brought back again to bring a full circle as to how Kyo felt about Tohru. Such a great throwback.

- But wow, Kyo having to say he hates Tohru to protect her from Akito. Aka the ONLY MEMBER OF THE ZODIAC WHO DENIED THEIR LOVE FOR ANOTHER PERSON TO PROTECT THEM, CAN I JUST SAY. Golden. Heartbreaking. Kyoru.

- STOP HITTING, KYO!!!

Not so much of a comment on what was said in this scene but more so the position of Kyo’s body. I’m sorry, I’ve turned into one of those yoga heads right now and there’s no going back. 

I noticed his position is somewhat between a ‘child’s pose’ and one of the variations of a ‘cat-cow pose’. Child’s pose is known for showing vulnerability and surrender. And the cat side of the cat-cow pose is known for tensing everything up for eventual release into cow pose (as well as it easing out your spine). Also known as by cats... getting ready for attack.

I feel like this winds back to what I was observing about Yuki earlier in which he’s pretty much playing the game that Akito has set up but he’s approaching it in a smarter more clever way. And I think through this visual representation, it shows Kyo is doing the same. 

I wouldn’t say that both Kyo and Yuki are at the point where they feel they are worthy of happiness and believe in themselves and are ready to tear the wall down but you can see... they’re kinda getting ready to do so... whether they’ve noticed or not.

Lol. Ohhhhh, the times that we’re in...

- Yuki and Kyo working weirdly in sync is always my favourite <3

Oh... kid... 💔 All of Kyo’s thoughts of whether he deserves to live and questioning why he keeps going on is... a lot... to say the least...

- I do really love the way Kazuma’s VA delivered the speech of how hope will always bloom again even if you crush it. Toshiyuki Morikawa pretty much nailed how Kazuma would say it in a frank and stern way but also making it seem gentle enough to accept as advice. We stan.

Also, this!!!! 👆🏾

KYOKOOOOOOO 😭(I envy anime only fans sooooooo bad rn, hee hee heeeee)

At first, I didn’t really love the fact that Kyo and Yuki knew (or knew of) Tohru before the beginning of the Fruits Basket story as it kinda ties into my disdain for the ‘tied together by fate’ plot line. But as time goes by, I can’t help but just be swayed by how cute the younger versions of the trio are and the uwu feels. Whatever... it cute. For the most part anyway...

I was literally hitting my chair arms by how frustratingly bittersweet this last scene was. Kyo’s ‘I’m putting up a happy front so the love of my life doesn’t worry’ face?! <3

Tohru’s genuine happiness to see Kyo?! <33

<333!!!! Look, I was already dead by this point but THEN

👀... 

AND THENNNNNN

💔🤬

BUT THENNNN!!!!

Like what am I meant to do with my heart at this point, dude? Do I mend it? Do I guard it? Like... what?!?!

That was a hell of a last few minutes. I love this episode.

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

This was really fun! A great way to take my mind off current things. It wasn’t all smiles but it showed pretty much how a glimmer of hope is enough to keep going and that’s exactly what I needed to hear this week and probably for the rest of my life :) 

Hope you are all keeping mentally as well as physically well and #blacklivesmatter. ALWAYS. 💜

See you next week!

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: Towers of Midnight prologue (part 1)

I’m back, with as much verbosity and discussion of identity as ever, this time featuring Lan and Perrin.

Loial gets the epigraph this time. Good for you, Loial. Live your dreams.

Prologue: Distinctions

Wait a second. Hold on. Is this… are we… am I being greeted, upon my return to this series after several months, by a Lan POV? Is this possible?

Mandarb’s hooves beat a familiar rhythm on broken ground as Lan Mandragoran rode toward his death.

Because of course. Of course we get Lan’s POV, for the first time in the series, when he is riding at last to his private war with the Blight, to avenge the country that died decades ago and whose death he has always seen as his own, only delayed. Of course we get his POV now, when he is riding to what he believes is, at last, his death.

This has always been his purpose. He is a sword, a weapon, an oath, a fallen nation. A weapon doesn’t get to have a voice. A dead nation doesn’t get to speak. A sword can’t tell its own story. Especially because, all that time, he was held back from this, which he has always seen as his purpose. His only purpose. He let himself be bonded all those years ago but he never really gave up that sense of… I was about to say identity, but it’s both identity and total lack thereof. Identity, but not as a person, not as someone with agency and a story to tell. Just a weapon, forged for a single purpose.

And so, riding to his death, this is the closest he comes in the main series to feeling alive. Now that he is fulfilling that purpose, now that he is following the one path he has always considered his own. This, here, this ride to his death, is his entire identity.

So yes. In that sense it is beautifully fitting that we open with his POV for the first time in the main series, now as it draws towards its end. Now that he is freed, such as it is, to at last meet what he believes is his end, and his beginning, and the task that defined his entire… well. ‘Life’ sounds rather ironic there, but it’s the best I can do.

Anyway, we’re one line in and I’ve already written several hundred words, so I guess even after a hiatus nothing’s changed.

Turns out the earth is apparently quite literally salted here. So that’s a good start.

He’d turned away from it twenty years ago, agreeing to follow Moiraine, but he’d always known he would return. This was what it meant to bear the name of his fathers, the sword on his hip, and the hadori on his head.

All three representative of something dead, something lost, something gone. Something he accepts as lost. He doesn’t ride to revive Malkier, he rides to bury it (though I’m sure he wouldn’t mind praising it along the way). His entire life and self have been defined by this, by death and the past. The wheel of time turns, and stories fade and must ultimately be left in order to find a future, but Lan, for all his wisdom in some areas, has never really understood that. Or, perhaps more accurately, never felt it could apply to him.

I think in some way he did understand it, in that he bound himself to Moiraine even when it meant leaving his burned past and his private war in order to fight for the future of the world, but even then, it was only… temporary. Ultimately, he accepts the past as having a hold on him, accepts the idea the has never had and never will have a future.

It is, in a way, a parallel to or slight variant on Rand, on a different scale. Rand struggled (at least I think it’s past tense at this point) for so long to figure out how to accept Lews Therin as a part of himself without the terror of being bound to his past life’s fate. And on top of that there’s his whole he belongs to the Pattern, and to history. Moiraine saw that as future history – something that is not yet but will be history, but is future from where we stand. But Rand – and Lan – end up with a slightly different view of that. Rand fights against the memory of a doomed past and relinquishes all sense of freedom or choice or agency (until he gets better), and Lan lets the past own him and define him and guide him and kill him, all without ever dreaming to have a life of his own.

Riding to his death didn’t pain him

And why should it? Defined by death as he is. If you never think of yourself as someone who gets to be a person and have a life, what fear would death hold? He was only ever a… placeholder? A delayed strike, a remnant, a part of something dead that just hasn’t got around to lying down and stopping yet.

But knowing she feared for him… that did hurt. Very badly.

There’s a slightly bitter part of me that can’t quite get over the disappointment that the first Lan POV we get in the main series isn’t written by Jordan. Because Jordan’s writing of Lan in New Spring was beautiful. Spare but surprisingly lovely, and yet all threaded through with the idea and mention and thought of death, not in a morbid or even grim way but just as a part of the lens through which the story is told… it was so perfectly suited to Lan, and this feels… less so. It’s not bad; it’s just. I feel like I have a sense of what it could be and it’s not quite that.

Then again we’re still only like two paragraphs in, Great Lord of the Dark Lia would you get on with it already.

He hadn’t seen another person in days.

Too soon for a self-isolation joke?

Oh look, the first of his army has arrived!

Because the Golden Crane flies for Tarmon Gai’don. Man, that scene.

This kid’s like ‘hi! I’m here! I brought things, and supplies, and I’m just so excited, and and and’ and Lan is like ‘okay but who the fuck are you’.

Come on, Wheel of Time, let Lan Mandragoran say ‘fuck’.

Bulen? That sounds familiar, and he looks familiar to Lan…he’s definitely from New Spring. He was the errand boy, wasn’t he? Well, three cheers for conservation of characters.

��But when word spread in the palace that the Golden Crane was raised, I knew what I had to do.”

Really, Bulen? Do you not remember what happened last time someone tried to raise the Golden Crane in Lan’s name? I mean I’m all for it and Nynaeve is certainly a long way from Edeyn and that scene of the Golden Crane flies for Tarmon Gai’don still gives me at least two-thirds of an emotion when I think about it, but you’d think the kid would have grown a sense of self-preservation after what went down twenty years ago. Then again, no one in this series has a sense of self-preservation, so why change that now?

El’Nynaeve! She gets her title! She once had to fight so hard for people to respect her as Wisdom, and then as Aes Sedai, and now people who have barely met her give her a royal title! Because she’s out there raising an army and a nation from its grave!

(Yeah, yeah, you could point out that she has to fight for all the titles she earns, while this is one given to her by virtue of her marriage to a man, but honestly I’m just going to enjoy hearing this random kid call her El’Nynaeve because he already thinks of her as his queen because she’s just that cool. And you can’t stop me.)

Well, if she could play games with the truth, then so could he. Lan had said he’d take anyone who wished to ride with him. This man was not mounted. Therefore, Lan could refuse him. A petty distinction, but twenty years with Aes Sedai had taught him a few things about how to watch one’s words.

I’m dying. Sure, the prose is Sanderson, but the sentiment it expresses? Is absolutely Lan. It’s a slightly more grown up and jaded version of New Spring Lan, and it’s pretty much exactly what I imagine Lan’s internal monologue throughout the entirety of The Eye of the World looking like. He and Moiraine are well-matched in that for all their extreme competence, and wisdom, and ability to set everything aside for the sake of the world… they are also capable of great pettiness coated in a fine veneer of dry humour and presented as Done With Your Shit.

Lan’s just like ‘nope, no cranes to see here, golden or paper or otherwise, just denial as far as the eye can see.’

Lan would not call anyone ‘son’. He has an epithet for everyone but that is not one of them.

“My father was Malkieri,” Bulen said from behind.

Lan continued on.

“He died when I was five,” Bulen called.

Yes, well, that’s something you have in common, give or take a few years.

Lan’s not here for anyone’s tragic backstory but his own.

Except Bulen, for all that he never learned self-preservation, apparently learned how to tug on the heartstrings.

“I would wear the hadori of my father,” Bulen called, voice growing louder. “But I have nobody to ask if I may.”

Damn it, this kid. Was that me or Lan speaking just now? We may never know.

Lan’s still trying to send him away, because Lan Mandragoran does not need to adopt any more wayward children who are only trying to find their way, and Bulen’s just trying every angle of attack he can possibly find and this kid sure has an arsenal.

“I hardly knew who you were, though I know you lost someone dear to you among us.”

Because if appealing to your tragic past doesn’t work, maybe appealing to his will. I have to admire Bulen’s determination to make a slightly nostalgic nuisance of himself until the Uncrowned King of Malkier finally gives him a sticker.

“I spent years cursing myself for not serving you better. I swore that I would stand with you someday.” He walked up beside Lan. “I ask you because I have no father. May I wear the hadori and fight at your side, al’Lan Mandragoran? My King?”

I’m fine. This is fine. Everything is fine and I do not feel emotions.

And Lan’s cursing Nynaeve for the oath she made him swear but what a conflict this must be for him: to be confronted with the life of his nation, when all he wants is to avenge its death. To have someone look to him not as a sword or a reminder of what is gone but as a father, a king, a leader, a symbol of something returning, something renewed.

It is, in a way, not entirely unlike his conflict in New Spring. Only he’s already learned to crush that hope before it even makes itself known, because it can only end in pain. And yet, it doesn’t stop finding him.

Nynaeve, when I next see you… But he would not see her again. He tried not to dwell upon that.

Don’t say that where Nynaeve can hear you. But really, I think I’ve said this before, but Lan is one of the characters whose survival I am most confident in, largely because of this. Because to let him die… sure, it wouldn’t really be surprising, and in a way it would fulfil the ending he wants, but it wouldn’t… move his story anywhere. Whereas to take a character so certain of and accepting of his death, someone who never believed he should even have a life at all, whose every waking moment has been in waiting of his end, the truly satisfying ending would be for him to get to live. Not just in the sense of surviving, but actually living.

Because again, it’s not unlike a part of Rand’s story, recently: the rediscovery of life. Of the purpose of it all. On Dragonmount he saw it two ways: once as meaningless, pointless, because victory just brings another battle and every lifetime is pain and he has no freedom and why not just end it. But then as another chance, the possibility of life and love and something better. And I think there’s an element of that threaded through the series as a whole. This idea that yes, things fade and die and are lost, and yes there is pain and duty and a Pattern woven, but in amidst all of that the point is to live. Not to just survive until you can die for the cause, but to actually live along the way. It’s that question of what are you fighting for, what is the purpose of all of this? Rand has, at last, found that. Lan… still needs to.

“We ride anonymously,” Lan said.

Sure. As anonymously as Rand riding into Tear, pretending gloves could hide his identity. Whatever you say, Lan.

“You tell nobody who I am.”

There’s a whole Thing here about erasing his own identity, which is almost ironic in that the fact that he has a POV at all is a way of showing him embracing that identity, except that the identity he is embracing is the denial of self to all intents and purposes in favour of a duty and a dead nation that defined him before he could ever define himself.

I mean. It’s just a throwaway line. But I’m me, and so it’s not.

***

Oh hello Perrin, what are you doing in a prologue? Shouldn’t you be off in a real chapter with all your friends? Run along now.

He seems to be at a forge, though, so that’s a good look.

Some people found the clang of metal against metal grating. Not Perrin. That sound was soothing.

I like this, because especially without the surrounding context it plays so well into one of the central dualities of Perrin’s character: that of the gentle, careful one who wants to build things and work a forge and know peace versus the side of him that is terrifying in battle and feels alive when fighting and runs with wolves. Metal on metal, in a forge or a battlefield.

Oh it’s a dream. That works too. Rand dreams of his sworn and fated enemy and sits with him by the fire as they both take a moment away from the tasks neither of them truly want but cannot relinquish, and Perrin dreams of a forge.

He was making something important.

A nation? A decision? A bed to replace the one he ‘lost’ in the bushes? Tell us, Perrin.

Understand the pieces, Perrin.

Ah, and there it is. Such a crucial task for the ta’veren whose power manifests largely in the forging of nations, in bringing people to him and together, in binding. But to do that, you have to know what you’re binding. Which requires not denying it, but I think perhaps Perrin has finally moved beyond that.

Hi Hopper. Want a belly rub?

What am I making? Perrin picked up the length of glowing iron with his tongs. The air warped around it.

Well that is the question, Perrin, is it not? Time to let yourself answer it. Time to move past instinct, or exceptional ability in emergencies that lapses into denial once they’re over. He’s so good in those situations, but he struggles with the times in between, the times when his thoughts catch up to him. And now… he needs to push past that, and be able to truly accept it all, to not just swing the hammer but to know what he’s making, to plan it, to be deliberate and purposeful – which is so much a part of him in some ways, but there are areas he avoids.

Hopper’s like okay okay but can we get our symbolism by chasing things or something fun? You humans and your hammers, I swear.

Master Luhhan would be ashamed to see such shoddy work. Perrin needed to discover what he was making soon

I mean, there’s really nothing for me to even add to that.

More hammering, but he’s angry now.

It should all be better now! But it isn’t. It seems worse somehow.

He continued pounding. He hated those rumours that the men in camp whispered about him.

There’s a pun here to be made about hammers and pounding and Berelain but I am an adult and therefore I shall refrain.

More to the point, though… he’s directing his anger at the rumours but I think it’s rather more about that first part. That things should be ‘better’ now, but they aren’t, and he still doesn’t know what he’s making. He was driven, focused (too driven, too focused) and he had a task and so he could pursue it with single-minded determination, but as soon as he completed it… he was back with his thoughts and a nation following him and a role he has partway accepted but still hasn’t quite come to terms with. He still doesn’t fully accept what he is, who he is, what he can do, what he will have to do.

And so he’s doing what he can, and trying to forge those bonds and face what’s coming but there’s a part of him still holding back, still uncertain of what that means, or still reluctant to face it.

It’s an interesting scene because the framing is so similar to Perrin at the forge in The Dragon Reborn, and yet the tone is so utterly different. That was meditative, deliberate, beautiful; Perrin in his element, creating something perhaps not beautiful but well-made, functional, perfectly suited to its purpose. That was Perrin as he saw himself then, when he knew who he was – or at least, who he wanted to be. This… the work is sloppy and Perrin doesn’t even know what he’s making (whereas then, he decided almost immediately but without urgency; it was just an ease and comfort in knowing what the metal would be) but he’s pressing ahead; this is his identity but he’s still forcing it, and so it all feels wrong.

Hopper’s like okay well why don’t you just, you know, not, and ah, we’re back to the wolf thing. Just because Rand has perhaps finally figured out how to balance the different aspects of himself doesn’t mean all the characters have.

Perrin wasn’t nearly as in control as he’d assumed. The wolf within him could still reign.

But, like with the forging, trying to force it isn’t really the answer. Accept, Perrin. Look at the pieces you actually have. Understand them. Understand the different parts of yourself, and take them as they are, and then you can forge them and fit them together. But you can’t do it by ignoring what they are and just trying to force them into what you think they should be. Especially if you don’t even have a clear idea of what that is.

Problems are not amusing, Young Bull, Hopper agreed. But you are climbing back and forth over the same wall.

At least it’s not that damn garden wall in Caemlyn.

But I like how directly this is acknowledged, first with Tam last book and now with Hopper, here. That Perrin keeps wavering over this same conflict, keeps taking two steps forward and one step back, keeps doubting himself and questioning himself and fearing this aspect of himself that he taps into at need but then runs from again.

I like it, as a way to play out a character arc in a way that isn’t just linear growth. Sure, it’s frustrating as all hell sometimes, but it feels real. Because sometimes we don’t Learn The Important Lesson and then move on with our lives never having to face that problem again. Sometimes you overcome your doubts or fear of something once, or find your way past an obstacle, only to find that when it comes up again, hey, turns out it’s still pretty difficult. Not everything is conquered the first time, or the second, or…

PERRIN DO NOT ASK HOW TO REVERSE YOUR WOLFPOWERS. EMBRACE THE WOLFPOWERS. YOU’VE ONLY GOT TWO BOOKS LEFT.

Ah, Perrin, so much self-doubt. But then, his timeline is a bit behind Rand’s, I believe, so he is rather due for a last moment of crisis before the storm breaks.

The quenching barrel is boiling and Perrin doesn’t know what he’s forging and all his movements are almost…clumsy. Rushed and uncareful and the exact opposite of the spare economy of motion from that first forging scene. Because he’s no longer moving with the comfort of surety in who he is and what he’s doing; he’s doubting himself and his task and his capacity and his purpose, unsure and afraid and trying to force some things and ignore others and it doesn’t work that way.

Oh, I like this.

The glow faded. The chunk was actually a small steel figurine in the shape of a tall, thin man with a sword tied to his back. Each line of the figure was detailed, the ruffles of the shirt, the leather bands on the hilt of the tiny sword. But the face was distorted, the mouth open in a twisted scream.

Aram, Perrin thought. His name was Aram.

That is excellent. And it reminds me so strongly, with the twisted scream and the naming, of that scene that absolutely ruins me in the Rhuidean sequence, where Lewin veils his face and the wind rises and he screams ‘I am Aiel’, as those who call themselves Aiel turn from him and name him lost.

And that Aram is forged from steel, from Perrin’s forge, because Perrin as he sees it made him what he became (took him from a life of peace to one of violence), and it’s a perfectly formed piece; it’s not like a misshapen lump of metal, but it’s still wrong. Not what it should be. Not what it should have been.

Why had he created such a thing?

Oh, Perrin.

What a question. Because of course he holds himself responsible. But… while he may have been a catalyst of sorts, this was Aram’s choice. But that doesn’t make it hurt less. A child of peace, who lost everything and came to Perrin for permission to learn the sword, to fight and kill, and who eventually lost even that and died for it. A follower of the Way of the Leaf, brought to a life and death of violence at Perrin’s side. Perrin, who for all he argued with the Tuatha’an about their pacifism still wished for a world in which it could be true, and, I think, wished a little bit that he could have known something like that for himself.

Aw, we left Malden, do we have to go back in the dreamscape?

Did Perrin really look that imposing?

Yes. Next question?

A squat fortress of a man

I am dying. What a phrase. Who needs a brick shithouse when you can have a squat fortress.

And he’s holding the axe again in his dream. He made that choice, but like so many other things, it still occasionally wavers. He is still not sure of who he is. That, he still hasn’t truly decided and accepted and understood, for all that he’s grasped pieces of it around the edges.

A horn or a hoof, Young Bull, does it matter which one you use to hunt? Hopper was sitting in the sunlit street beside him.

“Yes. It matters. It does to me.”

And yet you use them the same way.

I like this exchange because Hopper is right… but so is Perrin. Because perception is absolutely a part of it. Perception, and choices, and a… claiming, of sorts, of his identity. Yes, he uses the hammer to destroy, just as he uses the axe. But to him, the fact that the hammer can be used for another purpose matters. It makes a difference because he chooses to see it that way. Which is, in its way, just as important as Rand choosing to see his fate not as inevitability and despair but as another chance. The smallest shift in perception, looking at the same thing from a slightly different angle, and yet it makes all the difference in the world.

I just like things like that, where these ideas can be simultaneously so close together and so far apart. These infinitesimal distinctions that alter an entire worldview. One small shift and everything falls into place, even if from the outside you’d never understand that there was a difference.

When Perrin fought, he came close to becoming someone else. And that was dangerous.

But is it someone else? Or is this like Rand and Lews Therin, where he fought so hard to hold to the distinction, because he was too afraid of what it might mean to let Lews Therin be a part of him. Perrin is so afraid of what accepting the wolf aspect of his nature might mean, that he sees it as a different person. As someone else. As something he could lose himself to, rather than as something he needs to find within himself and embrace as part of who he is.

Ah, identity.

“Why are you making me dream this?”

Yeah, sorry Perrin, but no.

Though for some reason this reminds me of that dream Rand and Moridin shared and Moridin finally being like ‘okay so what are you doing here’ and Rand thinking Moridin had brought him into the dream and really, boys, do I need to get Egwene in here to teach the lot of you how to dream responsibly?

Except wait, no, Egwene dreams about Gawyn so she’s not responsible in that regard either. Damn.

Anyway.

So Perrin’s re-living Aram’s death in his dreams.

Perrin stepped back. He refused to fight the boy again.

The shadowy version of himself split off, leaving the real Perrin in his blacksmith’s clothing. The shadow exchanged blows with Aram.

Because Perrin is fighting himself: the blacksmith who wants peace, and the warrior who runs with wolves. But he doesn’t see how they can reconcile, how he could possibly be both.

Also everything about Aram’s story is still rather beautifully sad. A lonely branching of the Aiel’s ongoing story, an offshoot of the main Rhuidean sequence, truncated before it could go anywhere, lost with who knows how many others.

Right before Aram would have killed Perrin.

The horn, the hoof, or the tooth [���] Does it matter? The dead are dead.

[…]

“I should have taken that fool sword from him the moment he picked it up. I should have sent him back to his family.”

Does not a cub deserve his fangs? Hopper asked, genuinely confused. Why would you pull them?

“It is a thing of men,” Perrin said.

Things of two-legs, of men. Always, it is a thing of men to you. What of things of wolves?

“I am not a wolf.”

This whole argument with Hopper is excellent because again, Hopper is right. But so is Perrin. And it’s so perfectly… it’s Perrin’s dream, and whether Hopper is actually there or not is almost irrelevant, because it’s essentially Perrin arguing with himself. At war between the two sides of his nature, and he goes around and around because until he accepts that he can be both, that he does not have to be defined as the man or the wolf, he won’t be able to find answers that make sense. Because it’s an argument where both sides are right, but he’s trying to pick only one. And so he can never win, never progress.

Perrin in his dream is literally forging figures of the people from the Two Rivers. Just like in reality he is forging them, binding them together, making them into what they must be to face the Last Battle with him. It’s not subtle, but it is rather lovely.

Though lines like this:

The figurine continued to glow, faintly reddish

Still give me flashbacks to last book, and Rand, and a certain ter’angreal of mass destruction.

But figurines like this wouldn’t be forged; they’d be cast. “What does it mean?”

Hey, at least you know enough of dreams to understand that Here There Be Symbolism, even if you don’t quite understand what of. We’ll call that a solid B+.

Hopper doesn’t think much of symbolism unless he can eat it. That’s fair.

Laughter in the distance? Moridin, are you fucking with people’s dreams again? Though he doesn’t seem like much of one for laughter these days.

Either way, dreamtime’s over. Good night, Perrin.

Next (ToM prologue pt. 2) Previous (TGS final thoughts)

[highdwightofmylife]

YO I DIDNT ASK FOR THE AUS THING BUT CAN WE GET IMAGINES FOR DWIGHT WITH A NEW KILLER SOULMATE, AND AS THE MATCH STARTS HE RUNS LIKE CRAZY AND DOESNT REALIZE UNTIL THE KILLER IS ON HIM THAT THEY WERE CHASING THE STRING TIED TO HIM, NOT JUST TARGETING HIM FOR FUN??

HHHHH YES OF COURSE OHMY GOD!!! I had to write a ficlet for it, I had to. Thank you thank you thank you foR GOOD CONTENT I LOVE YOU!!!

also the reader can be any gender it doesn’t matter

Dwight Fairfield x Killer!Reader | Red String Soulmate AU

[Under the cut because it’s longer than I intended]

The string wobbled tauntingly in front of you. Like a cat, you tried to pounce on it. Crimson thread wafted delicately across the dirt, narrowly missing your hands. It always seemed to be yanked just out of reach, your fingers barely grazing the ghostly cord. 

It had never been so active, and it had never bothered you this much. The thread usually lay dormant and dead on the soil, never indicating that there was anything truly attached to it. You believed it too; you were a killer. Why would you have a soulmate? Why did you deserve one? The string never moved. It never insisted that the person on the other side was even existent. 

Your first few trials in the realm of The Entity had gone off without a hitch. You had your duties now, and you did them without hesitation. But there was no enjoyment. It was a means to an end. A task you were being forced to complete. It was your job now. The survivors that had the unfortunate luck of crossing your path had not been lucky. Perhaps this round would be different, as the red string around your finger was proving to be quite the distraction. You had to know why it was being yanked! 

For several minutes, it had your attention. It had started with a light tug at the beginning of the trial, but had slowly developed. What had once been a gentle pull was now a violent jerk, and you refused to stay in the dark about the matter. You had to know. You had to. 

You furiously shoved bushels of corn out of your face, your eyes on the thread with a predatory focus as it twitched across the dirt. The mysterious force was not pulling you in a straight line; you had weaved through the cornfield in a plethora of directions, doubling back over and over again. You didn’t understand. There had to be a reason for this. Glowing crimson scratch marks were etched into the soil, but you paid them no mind. Whoever the survivor in the area was, they could wait. You’d let them play their games and complete a generator or two, as long as you could figure out what was pulling at your string. 

There was a thud and a squeak a few paces in front of you. Your thread pulled taut and you felt yourself be yanked through the corn. Boots slid on the dirt and your knees crashed down into the farmland. Your hands hit the dirt, your knife embedding itself into the ground.

Shuffling. Whimpers. 

Your eyes snapped up. You were not alone here. It had to be one of the survivors, crawling pathetically around the corn, blindly feeling his way around. You stared. He didn’t seem to know you were here, but you knew he felt your presence. You knew that he’d be able to hear your terror radius. He cast worried looks over his shoulder and in every direction – including directly at you, and didn’t seem to see. 

There was a string tied around the pinky finger of his right hand. It coiled around itself across the dirt, and when your eyes dared follow it, you found that it connected to yours. Your heart stopped. Had… Had he been… The one pulling it? Was… Was your soulmate alive? Real? 

A glint amongst the corn caught your attention. A line of bloody thread swept over a pair of glasses, cracked in the left lens. Where they…? Confused, you gently picked them up and looked back up to the man. 

He was close to you. Only a pace or two away, absolutely terrified as he dragged himself through the dirt on his knees. Ragged breaths escaped him, accompanied by fearful whimpers as he desperately searched for his glasses – the glasses that you had in your hands. He crawled slightly closer, and seemed to hesitate.

He must have noticed you. The man paused, breath hitching as he watched your knees. You stayed deathly still as he began to drag his gaze upwards, sweeping up your body and landing on your face.

His eyes were brown. A thick shade of mahogany that glinted with honey when the light hit them. They were unfocused, staring at you through a hazy fog, but he could see you. 

“H…Hello?” He whimpered. You could see him shaking. His eyes flickered nervously to the side, and he began to slowly withdraw. As if he was attempting to escape from a wild bear. “I-If you’re a survivor, p-please tell me.”

You looked at the glasses. You looked back at him. Your duty was to kill this man. The rusty hooks that were erected on the farmland were begging you to hang him upon them like a crude decoration. Your hands ached to grab your knife again and you heard the whispers of The Entity in the back of your head. You had a job to do. 

But you couldn’t. 

“I… I have your glasses,” you spoke hesitantly. The anxious survivor paused his escape attempts. You could almost see the cogs in his brain turning, likely trying to figure out who you were. “Here, put your hands out.”

His hazy, blind eyes tried to look at you. He squinted, furrowing his brows and biting his lip. It took him a few moments, but he finally seemed to get the courage to act. The man sat back on his knees and shakily held out his hands. He was holding his face back, almost like a child waiting to see what an older sibling was putting into their hands as a ‘surprise’. Like a spider, or something worse. 

You quietly shuffled forwards on your knees, and the noise made him shut his eyes in panic. He winced, squeaking in fear, but he did not lower his hands. They shook and wavered in the air, but he was brave enough to keep them up. You understood that this really must be terrifying for him. He didn’t know who you were. He was likely hearing the violent thrum of your terror radius on repeat. He could see you properly. 

Slowly, so as not to startle him, you pressed the glasses into his grip. He flinched and froze regardless, but seemed to realise what he was touching pretty quickly. His fingers coiled around the plastic arms of his eye-wear, and you felt a spark as his skin lightly brushed against your fingertips. He jolted at the feeling, pulling his hands back with his glasses safely in his grip.

He timidly brought them to his face and began to slide them over his ears. You watched with interest, waiting for him to realise that you were supposedly here to harm him. His dark eyes blinked a few times behind the lenses, his gaze shifting from the dirt to the corn to the knife in the ground to your knees.

And then to your hand, which was lying uselessly on your lap. You watched him do a double take, looking towards his own fingers and then back to yours. He’d seen the thread. 

His head snapped up to meet your eyes again, but this time, he saw you. The man didn’t say anything, but you could see the terror on his lips. The unspoken questions that died before he’d even had the courage to say them. He glanced down at the knife. And then to the string. And then back to you. 

The poor boy was heaving again. Panicked breaths rattled around inside his lungs as he stared, waiting for you to act. You didn’t know what to do. You had a duty. But… But the more you looked at him; the more you stared into the depths of those dark eyes, you couldn’t. 

“You’re safe,” you told him, though you knew he had no reason to truly believe you. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“Y-You’re…” His voice quivered, “y-you’re not?” Brown eyes shifted to your thread-bound finger, but managed to find your gaze again. You shook your head. The Entity was whispering angrily in the back of your thoughts, but you tuned it out. You knew you’d be punished for this, but you didn’t care. Not currently, anyway. 

You tried to smile for him. His breath caught in his throat. This all seemed absolutely ridiculous. You were supposed to be out there, inflicting pain upon the survivors. But here you were. Kneeling on the dirt in front of an anxious man who had been rendered useless by merely losing a pair of glasses. Here you were. Smiling like an idiot. 

The thread on your finger didn’t seem so taunting when you looked at it. The colour had softened, and no longer screamed crimson into your vision. A pale, rosy hue. Before you’d even realised what you were doing, you held your little finger out to him. His eyes shifted nervously to watch you. 

After a few, quiet moments of uncertainty, the man rose to meet your grip. His finger, bound by the soft thread, shakily curled around yours. He dared meet your eyes again. You saw a twitch of a smile on the corner of his lips. You saw the spark of something in his eyes. You felt like you’d gained something.

[ianmrid]

Pokémon!

Thanks Baz! I hope nobody is going to expect that quality of article going forward: we are returning to my articles, full of run-on sentences, typos, and inconsistent use of apostrophes.

Anyway, Pokémon Platinum: Completed!

However, unlike in Generation 3, I know I’m not done yet. My Pokédex needs some work, but that is because I have been holding back a few pokémon that I want to use in the other pair games in Gen4; remakes of the Gen2 Johto adventures, HeartGold and SoulSilver!

I am very excited to play these as they are often cited as the best games in the whole Pokémon franchise, so I will be saving my graphs, my top tens, and my artworks until I have wrapped them up, so for now, let’s focus on my Platinum team.

Ziggy the Empoleon: Probably my second-favourite fully-evolved starter this generation, Empoleon has a great typing in Water/Steel, and is just a badass-looking emperor penguin with a trident face! It partly gets its name from Napoleon, and it is even the same height as it’s namesake. Due to the Napoleon connection, my Empoleon was named Ziggy after the scene in Bill and Ted’s Excellent adventures where Napoleon goes to the Ziggy Pig restaurant. Unfortunately Ziggy had to carry three of the required HM moves - Defog, Surf, and Waterfall, but on the plus side, Surf and Waterfall are both decent moves in their own right. Finally I added the STAB Steel-type Flash Cannon move and the HP-recovering Shell Bell held item, since with a type combo that already provides a lot of good resistances, this just made Ziggy even harder to take down!

Crocus the Toxicroak: Another interesting new type combo in Fighting/Poison, I really like Toxicroak’s design, and it is nice to see a Frog-based pokémon who doesn’t have to be Water-type. Toxicroak isn’t the strongest pokémon, and gets completely wrecked by Psychic-types, but Crocus still managed to hold her own. I gave her the Fist Plate to hold to power up her Fighting-type STAB Brick Break, and then rounded out actually useful moves with another STAB - Poison Jab - and the Dark-type Sucker Punch which gives some priority that also has the benefit of being super effective against those dangerous Psychic-type opponents. As with every team member in Gen4, the last slot went to an HM - in this case, Cut.

Hodgeheg the Shaymin: A rarity for me; including a Mythical on one of my teams! In fact Shaymin is only the second Mythical I have used, following on from Mew on my Gen1, Pokémon Blue team. I used the event Shaymin from Diamond or Pearl so that I could nickname it - Hodgeheg might not be one of my most inspired, but I like it - and because it was at not too high a level for me to use from early on. Shaymin actually has a second form - Sky Form - which is Grass/Flying, which is accessed when Shaymin holds a Gracedia Flower, but I much prefer the far more adorable Land Form. With the held item slot free, I gave it a Miracle Seed to power up Grass-type moves and loaded its moveset up with those. Seed Bomb for power, Leech Seed and Giga Drain to damage while healing, and Synthesis for pure healing power! Combined with some good stats, Shaymin was very tricky for opponents to take down.

Sukhoi the Garchomp: The pseudo-Legendary of the Sinnoh region, Garchomp is an insanely powerful Dragon/Ground-type and  I named mine Sukhoi after a Fighter Jet, since Garchomp seems to be a sort of land-shark crossed with a plane. I rarely love using these really powerful pokémon, but they often require a lot of levelling up, so when trying to complete the Pokédex, it often makes sense to use them on your team and not have to just level grind them at the end. Sukhoi however, was one of my favourites from this category, partly due to the Ground-typing and my love of using STAB Earthquake on everything. The region’s Champion, Cynthia, also uses a Garchomp as her ace, so it was fun to see who’s was best. (Spoiler: it was mine). I rounded out the move set with STAB Dragon Rush (plus a held Wide Lens to improve that moves shoddy accuracy), Flamethrower for coverage, and of course an HM; Rock Climb.

Blimpy the Drifblim: Blimpy might not be my best nickname, but I never actually planned on using the Ghost/Flying-type Drifblim when I originally caught and named it. I’d ear-marked Rotom for this slot, but I really needed a pokémon that could learn the HM Fly, and Drifblim fits the bill. Luckily, I still really like Drifblim - it’s a bit fragile, which isn’t too surprising given it’s a balloon - but it helps mitigate that with a huge HP stat. I gave Blimpy STAB Shadow Ball, Thunderbolt as some much-needed Electric-type coverage, and also a Wacan Berry to hold. This was useful in reducing damage taken by Electric-type attacks and using it up would also activate the Unburden ability, doubling Blimpy’s Speed for the rest of the battle.

Bangs the Glaceon: Finally, Bangs - named for his Jess-from-New-Girl hairstyle - was another pokémon I didn’t originally plan on using. However, strong Ice-type coverage is just so useful that in the end I decided Glaceon would be the best choice. It is quite late in the game before I could finally evolve my Eevee as you need them up near an Icy Rock, only found near Snow Point City. Once this was done, Bangs just really needed Ice Beam (powered up by an increased chance to land a critical hit through the held Razor Fang) in order to destroy a lot of the Elite Four and the Champion. The other moveslots were given over to the remaining HMs; Strength and Rock Smash, as well as the ever-useful Toxic.

Meet the team:

This was definitely not the exact team I thought I would be using, as both the required TMs and the dire need for some Ice-type coverage - especially when fighting Cynthia - led me down a slightly different path, but I like it when the team grows a little more organically sometimes!

My time in Sinnoh is now drawing to a close, but I’m very excited to head back to Johto and finished off my Gen4 Pokédex - starting with Pokémon HeartGold.

[cilliansaccent]

Class of Temptation - CHAPTER THREE

Leave a like, reblog or comment below to show your support and love! Enjoy…

PLEASE READ:

No mention of Cillian’s true family or relatives. All names are made up.

This is a TEACHER x STUDENT fanfiction, it’s going to be kinky and very taboo!

I will write whenever the mood grabs me, so I apologise if there are long breaks between chapters :)

——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——-

Background: Tessa is a twenty-three-year-old model from a broken-up family, living in London with her best friend and starting a course on Drama and Theatre. Though, when she gets closer to the super hot Mr Murphy who is her much older teacher, there is a battle of lust and love between them. They’ll have to figure out what to do with their tight relationship as other issues begin to rise and nip at their heels…

Word Count: 2,141

!!Warnings!!: None.

Chapter Name: First Day

Brief Chapter Outline: It’s Tessa’s first day of class and she goes through it without any hassle. But a letter comes in and her mood changes drastically...

——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——-

Tessa was early for her first class, walking towards it. She wore wet look pants and a tucked-in black shirt with TOMMY JEANS across it in bold red writing. She had a pair of white sneakers with the trademark Tommy Hilfiger branding on the side of red, blue and white stripes. She liked the brand, most of her clothing was bought from the store. Well, she is one of their models for their brand. 

She hoped no one was there already but also unsure if she was able to even enter the class. As she came to the door which was slightly ajar she peeked her head in. 

Mr Mur- Cillian was already inside setting up the chairs in a large circle. She counted about forty chairs. 

Cillian turned and spotted someone peaking in, "Come in." He called out, standing in the middle of the giant circle he had made. 

Tessa pushed the door wider and stepped in, "Good morning." She said as her nerves began to start. 

"Morning, Tessa. Welcome back." Cillian gave her that heart-stopping smile. He wore a button-down blue shirt with rolled-up sleeves to his elbow and black jeans and a pair of brown loafers. He looked good. 

"Yeah. Nice to uh, see you again." She smiled as she stepped to the chairs. "What are you doing?" She asked seeing all the tables pushed against the walls. 

"Preparing the morning class. Instead of the old, sit at your desks thing I thought it would be good to get everyone involved." He said as he gestured for her to take a seat. 

"And what would that be?" Tessa stepped through and took a seat, setting her bag in front of her legs. 

"Can't say. You'll see." He said as he finished up, "By the way, you are very early. Class doesn't start for another hour." 

"Oh, yeah. I know. I wanted to make sure I was in the right class." She blushed lightly. 

"You found the right place fast too. I had students who would come in with the campus' student guides cause they couldn't find the place." He chuckled as he came over and took a spot next to her, a chair in between them and crossed his ankle over his knee. 

"Oh, well. You won't expect that from me, I'm pretty good at remembering where I have to go." She explained. 

"I hope so. I'll make sure everyone comes early. Makes it better to start the class right away." He said, "So, tell me about yourself a little? I remember you said you're a model?" 

"Yeah. I um, I work for an agency in Central London but I do shoots for various brands. Currently working with Tommy Hilfiger." Tessa said trying her best to meet his gaze. She wasn't used to this type of attention, most of it was through a camera lens which she never got to met the gaze of the person behind it. 

"Huh, I can see the clothing you wear. What is it like?" He continued, genuinely interested. 

"Fast-paced, constantly changing clothing, makeup and hairstyles to fit in with the shoot. Can be some hours to a whole day or a couple of days." She explained clearly. She was okay about discussing her work but never about herself to strangers. 

"Seems intense. Do you think that will affect your studies? This class does have a lot of practical sides to it." He frowned a little. 

"If it does, I will make sure to give you a heads up. I can miss some shoots but not all, it won't be seen as a professional." She stated. 

"Hm, okay. We'll see how it goes." He nodded. "So you get to go overseas as well?" He moved on. 

"Yep. I can when we have big events happening. I tend to go to as many as I can, I love it." She laughed lightly. "Most of the events are in Europe so its shorter trips." 

"So I'm assuming you're quite a big deal?" He asked his smile never left his face. 

"Uhhh... I mean, I don't know. Maybe not as big as you are but I do have a large following on social media." She shrugged. Tessa never saw her number of followers as important, just the support and care she received from her fans what made it important. She wanted to make sure she created a caring and supportive environment for all types of people. 

"How big, may I ask?" Cillian was always curious about others especially if it came to learning that they worked in a completely different industry than himself. 

"Well, almost six hundred and thousand followers on Instagram and about two hundred and fifty thousand on Twitter. I rarely ever use Facebook, only for updates for the ones who don't use the other two media." Tess shrugged. 

"Wow. That is big." He chuckled. 

"Yeah. But I honestly don't care about the number, as much as it sounds bad. I'm just after a good happy environment for all." She shook her head. 

"I'm curious, how do you deal with it all though? Can it get daunting?" He asked her. 

"Yeah, a hundred per cent. There are days where I take breaks from it all to recollect myself. I guess any person with a big following will always attract the good and bad kind, but I don't let it get to me. It's only words on the internet." Tessa stopped there. She felt like she was just blabbering on nonsense to him. Who wants to listen to that anyway? But Cillian did not seem annoyed or bored, he was really into it. 

It made her nervous and intimidated. It showed. 

Cillian spotted the odd look across her face as if she had said too much and began to step back. So he stepped back faster, "Nice, that's good. Well, I'll let you sit here and relax while I do some paperwork before the rest of the class comes in." He said and gave her a gentle smile as he stood and sat behind his desk. "Do you mind if I play music?" He asked. 

"Oh go ahead. I don't mind." She gulped as she pulled out her laptop to set up her documents and look at her uni email for any updates. 

Cillian played some cool jazz, rock, alternative, some genre she never really heard before. It was odd but she kinda liked it. 

When the hour was up, people began to file in. A mixture of guys and girls all dressed in various clothing types. They took their seats around the circle until it was somewhat full, about five seats unoccupied. 

Cillian started the class and began to introduce himself. Tessa could see some of the girls, the flashier ones watched him with such unashamed desire for him. 

It made her internally cringe. What the hell? 

The first thing they did was go around the class and introduce themselves. Their name, what they like, and why they picked this course. 

Everyone seemed here for the same reason, to get into acting for a play or movie. Or whatever fancied them. A lot of book readers, she thought once it came to the five flashy girls. 

The leader, or so Tessa thought made herself to be super good at... everything with acting. The other four nodded in agreement, but Cillian didn't seem one to phased by the sexual attraction the girls seemed to give the vibe of. 

Tess wondered why they were taking this class in the first place if they claimed to be so good. They were the only ones who had said that. 

Then it came to Tessa and she slowly stood. All eyes on her, "Hi. I'm Tessa Miller. Uhm... I love music and reading and uhm... Relaxing. I... Took this course because I want to expand my path into something new." She gave the class a tight smile and hastily sat back down. She had gripped her hands tightly in her lap and kept her eyes downcast. 

The last ten people went before Cillian praised them all for telling him about themselves before they spent the next two hours playing games. 

It consisted of a lot of small groups doing things, and she worked with a few different people in each game. Cillian tried to get every person involved and to constantly swap seats. 

Then it got serious and he took them through the module for the first term. There was a small project that was to be started by the following week, a short play with two people that was basically a monologue and acting it out for ten minutes. 

Tessa was paired up with a guy named Julian. He had blond hair that was combed back and faded edges. His eyes dark brown and his facial features were strong. 

The class went on as they went through some basics and more introductions to the whole acting thing. By the end of the class, they were to state an interesting fact about their new partner and then class was dismissed after the tables and chairs were put back in order. 

"So you're that model chick on insta?" A voice came from behind Tessa and she turned around to face of the five girls that had eyed off Cillian the whole time. "Didn't think you would actually do the course." Sofia laughed, flicking back her dark brown hair over her slender shoulder. 

Tessa kept her face neutral. To be honest, she wasn't even sure what to make of this situation. "Okay? Your point?" Tessa wanted to head into the library ASAP to get the reading material for tonight's homework. 

"I'm quite proud of you. That's so cool." Sofia said with that hidden malice that Tessa could easily pick up on. 

She knew how people can act fake. 

"Ah, thanks." Tessa gave her a smile, "I really must go. I have things to do." Tessa bobbed her head once. 

"Okay. See ya next time, Tess." Sofia and her squad walked past her. Tessa watched them go, laughing and muttering to each other. 

She would work hard and not let anyone else try and deter her from that. She was not the kind to let others trample on her. 

She headed to the library and get to work on her task given to her. Once she had finished her given tasks, she had headed home to rest. On the train, she thought back to the class. 

Most of the guys in the class had watched her like she was some meal as she did the warm-up games Cillian had prepared. She was used to the stares and tend to not pay much attention to it. If they verbally spoke to her in a way that would make her uncomfortable, then she would say something. 

But she would stay alert no matter what. Especially towards those group of girls. They seemed off and trouble circled them. 

She was glad to be back in her apartment and flopped on the bed as she discarded the letters on the coffee table. But one had fallen to the floor and she reached to grab it. 

It had been addressed to her in that familiar writing she knew. She quickly sat up and frowned, this time it wasn't thick. 

"Fuck." She muttered as she battled with her thoughts before she ripped it open. Time to see what else the bastard wanted. 

Reading the letter felt like the world had stopped. Her father and his bitch of a wife was going to come down in December to have a Christmas altogether. He wanted the family back together and he was willing to make amends. Also, he had added he wanted to see how Tessa was going with her studies. 

Was he really? Why now of all the times? She prayed silently to whatever God heard her in hopes that this wasn't some other shitty way of pinning the blame on her or her two eldest sisters. It would be totally messed up and would make her even angrier than ever. 

Tessa chucked the letter aside and rubbed her eyes. Great, she did not want to deal with Grace or her stupid sons who always bullied her. This was not how she pictured it. 

She tried to distract herself by playing her cello in her room, a cover of With or Without You and various other slow songs for the most of the afternoon until Esther came back from a shoot. 

The pair made dinner but Tessa would not tell Esther yet about the news she received today. She wasn't in the mood for it and Esther seemed to sense Tessa's change in mood so she had left her to her own thoughts for the rest of the night. 

Silence yet inside Tessa's head was a roaring tidal wave. 

[nythroughthelens]

I didn't know I was blind in one of my eyes until I was 24 years old My first eye exam was courtesy of the New York City public school system. I was 9 years old. 

That year a dentist and eye doctor visited the school to give exams to children whose parents couldn't afford such vital health services. Falling squarely into that less than fortunate category, I was able to get my eyes examined for the first  time.

The exam was rushed. I remember the eye doctor's crisp white coat and his gruff tone. I was asked to read a chart on a wall with my right eye. 

I replied quietly that I couldn't read the letters.  

The doctor appeared only slightly bothered, “Not even the top letter?”

I heard myself apologize automatically, “No, sorry sir.”

“Are you sure ?”, he asked sounding slightly perturbed.

I started to question reality, “yes?”

And that was the end of the exam.

I was diagnosed with a lazy eye and prescribed glasses with one comically thick pane of glass on the right side. 

I wore glasses like that for years. I also had chronic headaches. At a subsequent visit with another eye doctor in my early teens, headache concerns and failure to read letters on the eye chart with my right eye were interpreted as a need for a stronger prescription. 

When I was 18 years old, I moved out on my own and I stopped wearing glasses. I broke the one pair of glasses that I had and since I didn't have money for eye exams I concluded that it didn't matter anyway. My internal reasoning was that if I had a lazy eye, it wanted to be lazy. Why bother it further? Let it be lazy if it wants. 

My headaches stopped.

Years passed.

When I was 24 years old, I finally got health insurance from one of my jobs. Feeling residual guilt over not wearing glasses for years, I booked an appointment with an ophthalmologist. The exam involved a lot of questions, lights, and intricate machinery. 

At the end of the exam the doctor said: “I am about to ask you a strange question. What ear do you use when you use the phone?”

I answered without hesitation: “Oh! My left ear. That's my good ear.”

She then asked what no other eye doctor had ever asked me.

She asked me what I saw out of my right eye.

I felt seen for the first time.

I had never articulated a response to the question that she asked and I replied: “ I see scattered light only the light looks like it's being seen through broken glass like light through a crushed kaleidoscope.”

Hearing myself say those words out loud was revelatory. 

The doctor told me that she suspected I had cortical blindness with blindsight (more on this below) and scheduled an MRI.

After a pretty intense brain MRI, I was diagnosed with cortical blindness in my right eye. 

Here are a list of random facts that apply to my subjective experience with cortical blindness and blindsight:

1. I have had it since birth. 

It could be genetic or it could have been due to my mother's health when she was younger. My mother experienced extreme trauma and malnutrition as a child when she was in concentration camps for four years (this is way too long to go into here, maybe one day I will write about that story). It's been shown that malnutrition and trauma can lead to future issues with reproduction. 

However, no one knows for sure what caused my cortical blindness and it will always be a mystery. I am ok with that. 

2. I see the world with my left eye. 

I use my left eye when I use a camera. It's what I look out of when I make art, look at people, work, and do 99% of the things I do.

I don't think about my right eye at all usually. Some situations that have forced me to think consciously about my right eye: -When I was in pre-med, microbiology lab was a big issue for me due to the binocular microscopes.

-Escalators used to make me extremely anxious since my depth of field is limited.

- 3D films give me headaches and make me nauseous because my brain tries to process the visual output with both eyes.

-I absolutely love road trips but cannot drive because of my cortical blindness.

3. I have Type 1 blindsight. 

Blindsight is a peculiar thing to attempt to explain.In fact, I have never even tried to write about it before so bear with me if this doesn't make a lot of sense.

Here is the explanation of blindsight on Wikipedia : “Blindsight is the ability of people who are cortically blind due to lesions in their striate cortex, also known as primary visual cortex or V1, to respond to visual stimuli that they do not consciously see. 

The majority of studies on blindsight are conducted on patients who have the conscious blindness on only one side of their visual field. Following the destruction of the striate cortex, patients are asked to detect, localize, and discriminate amongst visual stimuli that are presented to their blind side, often in a forced-response or guessing situation, even though they do not consciously recognize the visual stimulus. 

Research shows that blind patients achieve a higher accuracy than would be expected from chance alone.Type 1 blindsight is the term given to this ability to guess—at levels significantly above chance—aspects of a visual stimulus (such as location or type of movement) without any conscious awareness of any stimuli. 

Blindsight challenges the common belief that perceptions must enter consciousness to affect our behavior; showing that our behavior can be guided by sensory information of which we have no conscious awareness '' 

I seem to be able to sense people by their movements even without seeing them. I can sense when routine patterns are off by even a tiny amount. This feeling is amplified on my right side. I used to say I felt like I had a version of spidey-sense. When I was officially diagnosed with blindsight, my spidey-sense made totally sense.

If I am close with or around people for a while, I don't even need to look at them with my eyes to see them because I know with pretty good accuracy what is happening around me even if (or especially if) it is happening in my right eye field of 'vision'. 

If I am really into / crushing on someone and around them for any length of time my blindsight is even more intense when it comes to sensing their presence and movements. Blindsight can't be switched on or off. The intensity seems to differ depending on circumstance, surroundings, and even connection to people. It isn't ideal all the time since it just makes me feel hyper-aware of people and myself which then makes me retreat super awkwardly since I also have social anxiety. Fun :/

3. I call my right eye vision: colored glass world. 

I don't always see or visit colored glass world. In fact, most of the time, there is no conscious awareness of colored glass world. 

This is the closest image I could find to show what it kind of looks like (however, I can see shapes and light):

Unlike blindsight, I can absolutely go into colored glass world at will or I slip into colored glass world when these circumstances occur:

-When I am really tired or when I daydream I tend to slip into right eye vision because it feels soothing to escape into colored glass world.

-When I am super happy. 

-When I play piano I get into a flow state and colored glass world meshes well with this state. I have played classical piano since I was 3 years old and used to specifically memorize long pieces of music just to play the music while in colored glass world.

4. That ear question the ophthalmologist asked me wasn't totally out of left field.

It's not so odd to have a dominant side when it comes to sight and hearing when cortical blindness occurs in one eye. I can hear out of my right ear but it's just slightly different in a way that I can't quite explain. my left ear. I am hyper-sensitive to sound.

I also tilt my head to the right when speaking with people as if I am presenting my good eye and ear. Once people know this about me, they can't unsee it. 

5.The irony of the fact that I ended up in careers that rely entirely on my vision is not lost on me.

I am currently a photo director and producer at Vox Media for Curbed. I am also a photographer who does commissioned art for games, film, books, and other media and have had two photography books published.

My second book, NY in the Snow, was the culmination of seven years of going out into every major snowstorm in New York City to translate into art all the feelings of isolation, nostalgia, and loneliness I felt while surrounded by the vast snow-filled cityscapes.

I never wrote about my vision in the book. In fact, it only occurred to me when the book released in stores and I was actively promoting it, that my snow photography was the closest way I ever came to showing everyone else how my right eye vision meshes with my left eye vision.

I spent hours waiting for the right combination of people and cars to enter the stormy backdrops.

Did I ever slip into colored glass world while shooting and editing the images during that time period? 

All the time. 

6. I finally got glasses this weekend.

After I was diagnosed with cortical blindness, I was told that all the years of headaches were due to constantly putting a thick prescription in front of my right eye. It was forcing my brain to try to adjust to the prescription. and just led to misery.

However, years later, my left eye definitely has deteriorated a tiny bit.

Having insurance again meant a visit to a new eye doctor and glasses with a prescription only in the left lens to eliminate any headache issues.

Here are my new glasses yesterday (this image was taken for Instagram stories which flips images, this is clearly flipped). 

It's nice to have glasses with no prescription in my right eye.

My right eye is just fine as is.

[almondharry]

you look so good : three

you look so good [10.8k]

“Don’t do it, M.”

“Do what?” Her voice was all too innocent. 

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Part three: Neumann’s Game Theory 

Neumann’s Game Theory

July 5, 2003

Genevieve’s forearms were gripped in an iron tight hold. Her mother’s long and bony fingers wrapped around like medieval vine; they curled and held Genevieve in place. With lips set in a thin line, her mother’s perfectly plucked brows were drawn in a scolding glare. The strength behind it could cut diamond.

“How did this happen?”

“I… I don’t know,” Genevieve mumbled. “I was playing and running really fast and I didn’t see the rock.” Her chin met the center of her collarbone. Loose pieces of gravel rolled under her shoe, the crunch calmed her. It was her favoured alternative over maintaining the heavy eye contact that glared from above. A drop of red splattered onto the pavement.    

“Oh, Genevieve.” The defeated sigh that slipped from her mother’s lips had less to do with mourning the dress, but more to do with the innocence that framed her rose tinted glasses. “Darling, there is only one thing I ask of you.”

Genevieve was no foreigner to her tone. It was laced with a classic sweetness, one that teachers liked to lay on thick when explaining instructions to kindergarteners.

Genevieve waited. She poked a finger in the horizontal slit of fabric that hovered above her knee. The broken threads were an easy fix; she had seen her mother tackle far worse from her work. She hypothesized it would take her six minutes at her sewing machine to restore the misalignment. It wasn’t those fancy new electric ones that had ten different settings. It was fashioned mechanically and had a joint foot pedal that Genevieve pretended was its best friend. It was humble and did all the required stitching.

“Yes, Mama?” Thin red streaks slid down the sides of her leg, tiny rivers went their separate ways. They darkened the navy blue of her dress.

Her mother’s eyes skimmed over Genevieve’s features in desperation. They took in her sweaty hairline, scratched cheek, and pouty lips.

Her tone dropped to a hush. It was a secret meant to be sealed between only them. “Never chase a boy, Genevieve. Don’t do it.”

***

October 31, 2019

Genevieve wasn’t used to the stop and go. It was something she never thought twice about when she was younger and needed to get across town, but now it was painfully obvious. A middle aged man in a green tie and second hand suit sat across the aisle from her. His ankle crossed over his knee and a newspaper open in his lap. At the front, three seats folded up and made room for a teenage girl in a wheelchair. She untangled the cord of her white headphones. A mother attempted to calm down her shrieking toddler. The boy, red faced and wet with tears, stomped his feet and waved his arms impatiently.

Genevieve didn’t mind the ruckus. Between being trapped in a self-imposed exile at a still library or the solitude of her apartment, the hustle of the city gave her much needed normalcy. Her head pressed against the window, she regretted her decision when the driver hit the brakes suddenly. The potholes on the concrete made her bang her forehead several times, but she kept it there because she liked to see her breath fog up the glass with each little puff. The cloudiness stained the window for a second before it disappeared. She enjoyed counting her exhales to pass time.

She was at a prime number, sixty-one, when the buzzing of her phone interrupted her recording.

Incoming Call. Meena.

Her thumb slid across the screen and she brought the receiver closer to her head. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“Where are you?”

“Right now? Just by King Street. Shouldn’t be any much longer. Maybe twenty minutes tops.”

“Well, hit the gas, you’ve been requested.”

Genevieve mentally went over the list of people who beckoned her. She had already texted Liam and informed him that she was running slightly behind schedule. That only left Niall.

“Niall?” She laughed. ”Tell him I can’t give him a ride tonight, my car is at the shop.”

“No, not Niall— wait, how are you getting here?”

“The bus.”

“Ooh,” she hummed in realization. The toddler was now invested in a juicebox, his nose sniffled and palm wiped at his eyes for dried tears. There was still honking on the street and Genevieve nodded along to the soft music from the car radio beside them. “Those things are never on time, no wonder you’re so far away.”

“Sixteen minutes now.”

“I could’ve given you a ride if I had known.”

“It’s alright, I’ll be there soon anyway.” Green Tie flipped the page, Genevieve briefly glanced at the stock market numbers. “What’s going on there? Have they got on yet?”

“Nope it’s some poetry thing right now, they won’t be up until later. Liza said something about two more people on the set list.”

The invitation for Liam and Genevieve had stretched out to a few more familiar faces. It was Halloween night, that meant The Cabinet had colourful drinks, orange and yellow streamers on the walls, and faux cobwebs lining the bar tops. Usually Ted wouldn’t have put much thought to it, but when he noticed the direct correlation in risen sales, he made it a full blown out theme. There was a popular promotion; if you came in with a costume you get a small percentage off your drinks.

“Liam just popped into the loo to fix his face paint. There’s a guy here with a very detailed Ironman getup. Niall has taken a liking to a brunette in a lingerie set. I think she’s supposed to be a bunny, or a hamster. My drink is making my lips blue.”

“Riveting.”

“I think so too. It makes me a more believable zombie while getting me buzzed. Talk about a two for one special—” There was shuffling, ice cubes clinking against glass—“oh shit, I think… I think I see Professor Biggins.”

Genevieve groaned. He had become a common topic of conversation with Meena. She would mostly drag his name through dirt for giving her a mark that she strongly argued she didn’t deserve. He was the type of professor that had a God complex. To do above and beyond in his class—the only thing that Meena allowed herself to do—you had to fight through the trenches with your own bare hands. “Don’t do it, M.”

“Do what?” Her voice was all too innocent.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“It’s a perfectly casual setting. I’ll just buy him a drink and ask him to give me his thoughts on my rough draft,” she said. “I have a copy on my phone.”

“Really? Are you serious?”

“Okay, well it isn’t a rough draft.” She let out a disgruntled huff. “It’s actually my final that I worked my arse off for the past week. But I’m not gonna let him know that, of course. Knowing him, he will rip it to shreds and make it seem like a mess of jot notes instead of well developed arguments.” Genevieve heard a gulp over the line when Meena threw back her drink. “You know I saw Lucy Wallace leaving his office hours in tears. Lucy Wallace! Can you believe it? I’ve never seen that girl with less than a four point oh, and he broke her, Gen.”

“Oh my God, leave him alone, he’s probably there to relax and not be bothered by students.”

She scoffed. “Relax? If I can’t sleep because of this bloody essay then neither should he. It’s only fair.” Genevieve could picture Meena squirming off her bar stool. “And if he really didn’t want to run into his students, he should’ve thought of that before choosing a pub on campus.”

“You’re walking towards him, aren’t you?”

“Yup, ten steps away,” she said, without an ounce of shame. “I hope he recognizes me behind this makeup. For being such a young prof, you’d expect him to be somewhat lenient and not have a stick up his arse. I swear to you Gen, this man hasn’t a clue what mercy means.”

“I’m sure you’ll give him a proper schooling on it then. With the whole definition and everything.”

“And nothing less,” Meena agreed. “Text me when you get in, yeah?”

“Take it easy on him.”

“Not a chance, see you soon.”

***

Genevieve spotted Liam instantly. His Captain America shield, leaned against the wooden peg of the table, really gave him away. A simple light fixture dangled above them and spilled a dull orange hue. Across from him, Angie sipped a pink drink and Liza was in the middle of telling a story with expressive hand gestures. A witch hat contained her curls and matched the long black maxi dress that she had on. Genevieve grimaced at the dried beer on the floor; the soles of her shoes grew tacky with every step towards the table.

“—She was a complete psycho! Had too many screws loose!” Liza exclaimed with brows at her hairline. “I had a feeling from the start, Liam! But it seems like anything I say falls on deaf ears!”

Angie rolled her eyes with a bored expression. The jewelled bracelets that covered her wrist hit against the neck of her glass as she brought the rim to her lips. “She wasn’t that bad.”

“She wouldn’t let you come out with us.”

“That was a... misunderstanding.”

“She refused to get along with any of us for more than twenty minutes.”

“Some people like to keep to themselves. Introversion and all.”

“She threw your clothes off the balcony and almost started a fire.”

Angie hissed at the painful memory, her face crumpled as she swallowed her drink. It was easy to mistake her reaction as a liquor burn. “Okay, yeah, maybe that bit was a little too much.”

“Wait a second, she threw your clothes? From the balcony? Don’t you live on the twenty second floor?” Liam’s eyes could drop out of their sockets and roll on the table like a pair of dice.

“Lived. And it was the whole suitcase, unzipped, the whole shabang. Quite the show.” Genevieve’s eyes wrinkled with amusement when Angie waved her hands in a jazz like theatre fashion, a sarcastic smile pulled at her painted black lips. “I was just happy that my clothes broke the fall for my laptop. But she did manage to crack my camera lens.”

“She sounds delightful,” Genevieve said at last when she approached close enough to the group. Her teeth caged her bottom lip to bite a smile. Liam’s head whipped around and he stood up to grab an empty stool to join the table.

“Gen, don’t get her started, please,” Liza scoffed. She leaned forward and wrapped an arm around Genevieve’s neck to pull her in for a quick hug. Despite being taken aback by the immediate friendliness, Genevieve relaxed into her embrace. “We prefer not to have a reenactment of her many grieving nights. Thank you for making it.”

“Of course! Liam wouldn’t let me miss it. When do you guys go on?” Genevieve balanced herself on the stool after her jacket was shrugged off on a nearby hook. She shot Liam a nod in thanks.

He raised his glass of beer. The foam rested well below the halfway level. He pointed his index finger at it and his brows curled in question. Genevieve’s lips mouthed ‘sure’. He threw back what was remaining of his drink down his throat before he headed towards the bar. He slid at the empty spot beside Niall, who didn’t pay any attention, too engrossed in the brunette in front of him. He was given a twisted pinch on his side, he jumped and yelped in his seat and Liam snickered as the brunette walked away.

Liza’s eyes snapped to the inside of her wrist, they doubled in size when she analyzed the hour and minute hand. “Shit, in about fifteen. I should get going.”

The Cabinet was far from a fancy establishment. Genevieve recognized a few people from her course littered around the space, everyone had a drink in hand. There was a modest platform that served as a makeshift stage. Amps, mics, and a keyboard was plugged in and the thick black wires resembled withering snakes.

Liza’s block heels sounded against the floor as she hurried towards the side of the stage where a crouched down Zayn fiddled with a specific setting on the amp, dressed in all black. His neck arched towards her when she was close enough. He had a guitar pick between his teeth like a toothpick, it made his smile crooked. He plucked it out and  gave it to her in exchange for the microphone in her hand.  Beside him, another girl turned the knobs on a bass, probably giving it some last minute tuning.

“If I remember correctly, you must be Gen. Liam and Liza mentioned you a bit.”

“I am. All good things, I hope?” She laughed.

Genevieve was impressed by Angie’s outfit. Her shirt’s bell sleeves were wide and the length of her skirt stopped at two inches below the knee. Layered necklaces and rings glinted under the light. A scarf tied across her forehead held back her hair, but it peeked out slightly. It was the crystals on the table and a deck of cards that founded her hypothesis. “Let me take a guess… you’re a fortune teller?”

“Close, try again.”

“A gypsy?” Her voice squeaked in a higher pitch.

“I’m Angie, the tarot reader.”

“I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know the difference at all.” All the trinkets that laid on the table overwhelmed her. There were crystals in all shapes and sizes and charms that sat in a green bowl.

“Don’t worry, most people don’t. Here, do you want to give it a try? My great aunt swears by this deck.” Angie raised a brow. “She said something about how she had it spelled by a Sufi in India. Just between us, I think she’s ripping off the storyline of The Monkey’s Paw. But with her, who knows? Or maybe it’s the retirement home rotting her brain.”

“What is this exactly? How does is work?” It piqued an interest. Genevieve watched closely as Angie scooped the deck of cards to shuffle with expertise.

People tended to be a bit wary about myths, legends, and the ‘other world’. Genevieve understood the fascination that came along with it, but her belief regarding the supernatural was as weak as a packed public library’s wifi signal. Her belief stayed with something she could see and understand. For her, this was the existence of concrete numbers. If anything, a deck of cards was just another application of game theory. It was all permutations and combinations that were behind seeing the past or forecasting the future, not magic.

“There are two types of reading. You can do a question based or more of an open reading,” Angie said. “We’re gonna do an open one because that was the only one my aunt was willing to teach an eight-year-old on a snow day.”

“Sounds good, how do I start?”

“After the deck is shuffled, I’m going to lay out four piles of three cards each. All you have to do is tell me which pile you gravitate towards and we can go ahead with your reading.”

Genevieve nodded.

Angie’s fingers tapped the edges to align the corners; soon, the pile was neatly ordered. She gripped the two ends of the deck and bent them in a concave curve. One of her thumbs let go and the tension released, the cards slapped against one another in a harmonic way. After the shuffling, she distributed the cards on the table, her fingers looked like they were snapping at a poetry show except no sound came out, the card between her thumb and index prevented it. The cards were faced upside down, the intricate swirly blue pattern was identical on each card.

“You know what to do,” Angie hummed after she finished with the deck. She took a generous sip of her drink while waiting for Genevieve’s response.

She rapped her fingers on the table. There wasn’t a specific reason as to why her fingers drifted to tap the second pile to her right. Maybe because Genevieve’s hand was already propped on the table and it was the nearest deck her fingers could reach. Or maybe it was the Indian Sufi controlling her actions. Whatever it was, Genevieve hoped for the best.

Angie flipped the three cards over to reveal their faces. The blue pattern was replaced with three distinct images.

“Wow,” Angie said sharply under her breath. A whistle blew from her lips as she scanned the cards to interpret their meaning. On the first card, three women stood over flowers and fruit, all holding identical cups in the air. The second card had a skeleton in black armor riding atop the back of a horse. In his hand was a black flag. The last card had a royal figure behind a veil, a well-built pillar at each of her sides. “Three of cups, death, and the high priestess. Now that’s a complicated combination.”

“How so?”

“Well the three of cups means friendship which goes against the death card. And not to mention the high priestess means new knowledge. Which is a bit off. I think this has more to do with—”

Genevieve smelled his cologne before she saw him.

She felt heat lift off his skin from his close proximity. The space was packed, leaving him no option but to step into her bubble. His presence made Genevieve’s spine solid as a metal rod. The little hairs on the back of her neck bristled. Threatening scavengers wheeled hungrily above their table.

A glass full to the top was slid in front of her, the frothy foam almost dribbled over the rim.

“Don’t listen to her, this is all rubbish,” a voice to her left sounded, his breath hitting the shell of her ear. Genevieve wiggled on her stool at the jet of warmth that shot down her arm.

“Harry, you twat! Not on the cards! You know I have to give them back!” Angie lurched forward to swipe the cards nearest the drink. She began to collect all the spread out cards into her deck with a scowl. Genevieve could’ve sworn she felt a shy lingering palm hover over the small of her back, but Harry wasn’t brave enough to actually do it.

“It’s best you put them away before you give away another false reading. Wouldn’t be the first time, right Ang?” His voice was light and airy. It gave Genvieve the impression that Angie was the easiest to pick on in their group. From jokes about scorned exes to innocent jabs here and there, she took the brunt of it all.

As if it was even possible, Harry leaned further towards Genevieve, she was half a centimeter away from falling off her stool. He tapped the wood beside the glass with his pointer finger. “Liam sent this over by the way.” Genevieve nodded, without turning in her seat. Her throat was too dry to give a response, she gulped down her drink like it was water.

“Oh piss off,” Angie brushed off. Her eyes scanned Harry’s outfit and her mouth dropped open in offence. “What happened to the pirate get up? Wait, hold on a minute, do you guys know each other?” Her curious eyes bounced back between the two. Was the Indian Sufi working overtime?

Genevieve downed a large gulp to refrain from spitting her drink out. “What? No! Why do you ask that?” Genevieve coughed before Harry could answer.

Angie shrugged. “Looks like you coordinated outfits.”

Genevieve’s eyes snapped to green ones before they flickered down to his chest. The print was a carbon copy of the fabric that hung off her shoulders except for the number in the dead centre of the shirt. Thing 1. Thing 2.

Genevieve rolled her lips as she tried to think fast on her feet. Harry saw it in her eyes, the acute sense of panic. The answer being a simple yes prompted too many questions. Genevieve didn’t want to get into the how’s and the why's. It would be like untangling knotted necklaces that had very thin chains.

Sure, they did know each other at a different time. Now, years apart, the answer failed to uphold any truth. It was the same as admitting they didn’t know the other at all. Something passed between the two of them—a mutual understanding, a silent conversation.

Harry cleared his throat, his attention gravitated back to an expectant Angie. “By coordination, you mean picking the most common shirt as an excuse for an outfit, then yes, of course, we coordinated. Along with whoever is wearing a size small in this halfway across the world.”

“Forget it, I need another drink.” Angie’s curiosity went as quickly as it came. She slid off her stool and marched towards the bar. Her necklaces and rings jingled together like windchimes with every step.

And then there were two.

Harry pretended not to notice Genevieve wrap a broken fray of her jeans around her pointer finger. It was one of her many ticks. She picked at her clothing before an important presentation, a tricky exam, confrontation. She gave the thread a hard tug and it ripped off. She had one leg crossed over the other tightly on her stool. Her thumb caged the first knuckle of her ring finger.

Harry attempted to make eye contact, and she met his gaze for the length of a heartbeat.  

Harry watched as Genevieve released a relieved breath. Her tongue ran over her lips. “Thank you,” she sighed.

Neither of them knew if it was for bringing her drink over or keeping the veil on their past.

Before Harry could respond, there were two taps into a microphone. The electric shrill came to a stop; heads turned towards the stage.

“Having a good night everyone?” The small crowd gathered near the stage grew slowly as Liza adjusted her mic stand. It was like the beginnings of the holy mecca. An incoherent response was given in a cheer. “We’re The Red Day, thank you for having us! Our first song is one I’m sure will sound somewhat familiar. Here is Nine Hearts!”

Niall and Liam whooped and hollered from their new position closer to the stage. Encouraging claps and cheers were shouted. Angie raised her drink in support. Meena abandoned her professor for their set.

At the first few chords of Liza’s guitar and Zayn’s keys, Harry’s head turned to catch a glimpse of Genevieve’s reaction. He didn’t know if her music taste differed from what it was. Was she still into the same bands? Did she still hate karaoke? Somehow he thought his questions will be answered with a hopeful glance. Then his chin met his shoulder, a frown pulled at his lips. The stool beside him was vacant. She left a wet ring of water on the table, the only proof of her presence.

Genevieve was no longer there.

***

Sweat coated the back of Genevieve’s neck and the high points of her face. Drinks sloshed over rims and a couple drops misted her skin. The small space began to feel like a furnace, the dial set at the highest setting. Energy vibrated with ease through the huddle of strangers she found herself among. Her lack of height and the dim lighting did little to aide her view of the stage. Genevieve elbowed towards the flash of blond that caught her eye.

The song switched when Genevieve stumbled beside her friends.

“There you are!” Niall screamed, but his voice was muffled. He trapped her neck in the crook of his elbow, pressing a messy kiss to her matted hairline. “Haven’t seen you all night!”

“You have me now!” Genevieve knocked elbows with a boy who rushed to the bar. Her index finger and thumb squished Niall’s cheek. Even with the facepaint, his skin was flushed a certain shade of red he only got when was buzzed or severely sunburnt. “What’s this?”

“I’m a mime!” His costume only registered to Genevieve when her eyes landed on the black and white striped shirt. Her mouth parted in a drawn out Oh.

He pushed his drink into her hands before his raised to spread in front of him, an invisible glass barrier became apparent.

“You’re the loudest person I know, whose brilliant idea was this?” She snorted when his face contorted into extreme expressions. “Could’ve mistaken you for a clown. It’s more fitting.”

That prompted a deep chuckle from Liam. He was an arms length away. A blue drink in hand. With closed eyes, he nodded his head to the mellow beat of the music. A few lighters were in the air.

“Two costumes in one, I am going above and beyond! For the people, you know?”

“So generous.” Genevieve helped herself to his drink. It would be something that Niall would snatch from her if he was sober. Instead he swayed with the rhythm and mouthed the lyrics obnoxiously all while he clutching his heart.

Genevieve could only imagine the heat of the potted stage lights aimed at Zayn, Liza, and the unnamed girl. Sweat beaded their temples. She hadn’t been lucky enough to familiarize herself with their sound. As Genevieve concentrated on the music, a stubborn knot in her shoulder dissolved.

Liza was the frontwomen, a guitar strap slung around her neck and red lips kissed the mic. Zayn was a natural behind black and white keys, practiced fingers knew their placements as if he was recalling the alphabet. No-name controlled the bass with expertise, the sound traveled through floorboards and made toes curl. They were skilled at holding down a beat. The tempo and chord arrangements went together effortlessly. It testified to the hours spent at their craft.

Liza’s voice was deep and rough and settled in your bones. Zayn occasionally leaned forward into his mic to add light harmonies that complimented her voice. The contrast between them made for a balanced sound. The amps thundered as they progressed into the pre-chorus. The crowd became rowdy with anticipation. It was an electric, needy, callous disorder.

“I need to pee,” Liam winced, his eyes pinched in pain. He was in the middle of a funny dance. He adjusted his bulge and shoved his unfinished drink into Genevieve’s hand.

Genevieve’s protest didn’t make it out in time because Liam was gone in a flash. Her mouth hung open. His figure drowned in a sea of people.

The song neared an end. A roar flooded the bar, the praise and claps were deafening. It was obvious as daylight, they were pocketing hearts away with every strum of a guitar. Liza’s chest heaved to catch her breath. Her hair bounced as she crouched down, the mouth of a plastic bottle met her lips. While she hydrated, to keep the momentum up Zayn pressed closer to his mic.

“Evening everyone—”

Niall cupped his palms around his mouth in a makeshift megaphone. “Yeah, Baby!”

Zayn closed his eyes and exhaled a shaky breath before he gave an acknowledging nod. “And Niall.”

“Woo!” Niall—an embarrassing soccer mom on the sidelines—didn’t quite know when to stop with the positive reinforcement. A couple heads turned towards Niall and by association, Genevieve. Zayn began to thank the crowd and plugged the student radio that he had started with Liza as another place to find their music.

Genevieve’s elbow dug in the soft pillow of Niall’s side. “You know him?” She raised a brow and pointed her chin towards the stage.

“Who? Zayn?” Genevieve nodded in confirmation. “Top lad. I smoke with him at the back after every gig. You should come. He has the best stuff.”

Genevieve’s jaw hung open in mock offence. “He’s your pot buddy now?”

“That’s what you get for abandoning me.” Niall shrugged. “I move on fast, you know?”

Genevieve recalled the last time Niall had reached out to give his invite. It was one of those weeks where too many things piled right after the other. Where days blurred into one because professors couldn’t grasp the concept of strategically placing due dates, despite having fancy doctorate degrees. “It was finals week!”

“More the reason to do it, if you ask me.” He wiggled his brows. He sighed when she pouted. “Don’t be jealous, there’s still enough of me to go around.”

Genevieve rolled her eyes freely and took a swig of the amber liquid, it slid down her throat with ease. The chords of the last song floated into the air and Genevieve didn’t bother to fix the strands of hair that stuck to her face. Her feet swayed with Niall’s, featherlight and carefree. Their arms pretzeled each other’s shoulders as they lost themselves in the music. It was a mix of knocking knees and withholding the other’s weight. Their drunken stumbles didn’t hinder their experience, if anything, it amplified it.

Liam and Meena nursed their drinks on the other side of the bar. Attempts at reclaiming their spots proved futile as the crowd grew more relentless and chaotic. All hopes of a good view died at once, like an annoying house fly under a swatter.

Meena caught Genevieve’s glazed eyes. They held eye contact, it was something they did at parties or pubs. Touching base to make sure all things are in order. Are you okay? Do you want to leave?

Genevieve shot her a thumbs up with a bubbling smile to dismiss Meena’s worries.

Meena narrowed her eyes on Genevieve’s shoulder. Her own fingers came to pinch at her top. Don’t you sleep in that?

And?

It’s wrinkled.

Genevieve spotted Meena’s professor over her shoulder. He laid some bills down on the table and folded his wallet. He then made his way slowly approaching Meena. Of course, he wasn’t in her peripheral so she had no idea. Genevieve raised her pointer finger and pointed behind her. After half a second of confusion, she turned around and plastered on the fakest smile for Professor Biggins; a perfect enactment of a comedy and tragedy masks. And so the conversation of her shirt was dropped.

Liza and Zayn wrapped up the last song, coming to a graceful end. They said their goodbyes and were off the stage in no time. Zayn proficiently folded the stand of his keyboard. Liza made sure her guitar was snug as a bug in its case.

It was a blur. Niall shoved around the group of people which were taking too long to dissipate. Genevieve squeaked when a harsh tug trapped her wrist. Niall lead her towards the door of the back exit where Zayn and Liza helped themselves to a few water bottles. Their equipment leaned against the wall.

Niall threw his arms around Zayn instantly, the sudden force caused him to stumble back. Zayn recovered easily from his falter, then beamed at Niall with a wide smile.  

“You lot killed it! Insane! Absolutely smashed it!”

Genevieve nodded at Niall’s words. “It was amazing to watch, I’ll be sure to catch the next set.”

“We will definitely let you know when we get it lined up.” Liza glowed with post stage euphoria. You could reach out and practically touch the energy still buzzing around her. “Oh, Zayn! This is Gen!”

The quick introduction was met with a kind smile and nod.

“Ah, yes! Liam mentioned you.” Zayn’s thumb struck towards the iron gate. A red exit sign was fixated on hinges above. “We’re going out for a quick smoke. You’re welcome to join.”

It was a common theme, Genevieved noted. There was no awkwardness or tough exterior that needed to be cracked to befriend Zayn, Liza, and Angie. No deadbolts or fastened chains, instead a welcome mat situated boldly outside their door. Genevieve found herself taking a step in.

“Liz, you coming?” Zayn inquired when he spotted Liza shuffling towards the opposite direction.

“Gonna grab some drinks first. Rum and Coke good for you?”

“Yeah, hurry back.” Zayn pushed open the door and they stumbled outside one by one.

The cool breeze made it seem like they just exited a sauna, the heavenly contrast stretched a wide dopey smile on Genevieve’s lips. It was a narrow alley of two red brick walls. Flies circled the lined dumpsters, but they were far enough that the smell wasn’t unbearable. She had been here on many occasions. She once held back Meena’s hair as she vomited in the corner, then again when Niall needed a place to quietly cry after his first breakup, and once more when Liam became insanely paranoid after a happy pill.

Zayn and Genevieve bounced back the typical introduction. He studied life sciences, had three younger brothers, and was doing research with a professor Genevieve once had. Alongside his work at the radio, he proctored exams and did part-time hours at a record store down the block. He smiled with his tongue flattened behind the row of his top teeth. He had buzzed his hair to purposefully display the tattoo behind his ear.

Niall and Zayn got talking about the upcoming game. They made light conversation until the door flung open, abruptly. It slammed against the wall with great force.

“Fuck.”

The ugly screech of metal against brick didn’t falter Genevieve. The sight the door revealed did. Zayn grabbed the swinging door just before it had the opportunity to collide again.

“Jesus, H, you’re gonna have to pay a fortune if that falls off its hinges,” Zayn warned.

“All I have is ten quid.” The self deprecation was laid on thick, a nonchalant shrug tacked on the end of his sentence. In his hands were tall glasses, the pad of his fingers turned slightly white from their hold. “—And your drink.”

“Where’s Liz?” Zayn asked holding his drink to his lip as he looked over the rim.

“She popped into the loo for a bit,” said Harry. She is thankful for the few drinks circling her veins because it helped lessen the intensity of his gaze when he noticed her standing there. “She’ll be out with Angie in a minute.”

It feels like she’s in elementary school and in trouble. Her previous departure was still fresh in his head, it flared an insecurity in him that he thought was long put to bed.

Lately, Genevieve made him feel one prominent emotion. Her quick dismissals made him invisible, like a little boy in red shorts at a gym class line up that everyone knew would be picked last. He was a blackened steel pot pushed to the backburner. However, the difference between that boy and Harry was the years that separated them. He has learned the art of confrontation. He won’t hide in bathroom stalls during lunch, he will not cower from her rejection. He is here, whether she likes it or not.

Genevieve avoided him by taking an interest in the sky above with her fingers braided behind her back. She expected him to hand the drink and turn around, but like always—she is proven wrong about him.

Genevieve doesn’t realize how tight the ally was until Harry’s shoulders brushed the crest of her collarbone to take the vacant spot beside Zayn. She had instinctively pressed her back to the rough brick wall to create as much distance as possible. The back of her sneakers squished old cigarette butts lodged in the cracks of the pavement. She held her breath for a moment and deflated when the only thing left of him was a gust of wind.

“Perfect.” Zayn dipped his fingers to the back pocket of his jeans.

They were pre-rolled. The white of the paper is less transparent at one end and more opaque on the opposite. The two joints are rolled into a twist in a way that doesn’t make the length lopsided and uneven.

Genevieve wasn’t an habitual or chain smoker. In fact, she hated the smell of reminiscent smoke. She indulged herself every once in a while. Especially when the pace of everything increased to uncontrollable speed, when deadlines weighed down on certain pressure points and occasionally, when Niall begged her to. It was effective to take the heaviness off her, the feeling of carrying extra body weight would evaporate.

Zayn and Niall picked up their conversation, Harry adding his two cents here and there.

You can hear stumbling drunks coming out from the front doors of The Cabinet. A pair of heels dangled from a girl’s grip as she made a run to cross the street with a friend. It was nearing the time where tabs were closed out and cab rides would be split.

“Fuck,” Zayn groaned with one spliff trapped between his lips and the other one behind his ear. He patted his front and back pockets like he was looking for his car keys or wallet. His brows frowned as he repeats it again. “I think I dropped my lighter.”

“Oh, that’s no problem.” Niall waved. “Gen, you always keep one on you, yeah?”

It’s humiliating.

The simple question among different company wouldn’t be much of a concern. It was innocent and didn’t hold much significance in a stranger’s eye. But Harry’s ears perked up and brows jumped at the little piece of information. The way his eyes fixated on her added a double meaning, it was enough to make something crawl under her skin.

Tiny centipede legs stomped all over her. The scales of a snake slithered itself around her neck, gradually suffocating her airways. Her mouth filled with live cockroaches.

Genevieve’s stomach churned.

“Gen?” Niall elbowed her side, breaking her out of her trance.

“Yeah?”

“Lighter?”

“‘Course.”

It was a weak fumble, her fingers trembled as she plucked it out from her back pocket. It was the most mundane looking thing on the planet. The white colour was chipped at the sides. The sparkwheel was dulled, but worked just fine. The flint spring was probably a bit beaten down.

With the back of her nail, Genevieve flicked the guard off. Her thumb pushed down and her free hand cupped around the igniting spark. It took two tries before the fork gave away and released the gas from the valve. A candle light heat absorbed into her skin. She brought the flame towards Zayn. His face was a soft yellow, and the tip of the spliff glowed a burnt orange. The flame died when it was no longer needed. His hollow cheeks inhaled a drag. Lips curled and he hummed in content. When he exhaled, a pungent smell of cannabis floated through the air.

Zayn handed it to Niall before swapping it out with the unlit blunt. Genevieve repeated her motions once more.

“Shit,” Niall sighed in bliss. “This one’s a good one.”

He handed the joint to Genevieve. Her thumb and index finger pressed the rolled paper to her lips. The smoke was smooth and Genevieve held it in her lungs for a moment. White smoke puffed out and Genevieve wishes it was thick enough to block Harry’s intentive peering. Zayn offers him a hit, but he declined by raising his drink to his mouth.

Genevieve takes another drag and taps off the ashes before passing it back to Niall.

It goes on like that for a bit. A calming silence fluttered between them. It took about twenty minutes for the high to settle in. There is an upward buoyancy in oil which is greater than the downward force of its gravity. That is why oil floats when mixed with water. Genevieve’s insides feel like someone stirred a spoon in the mixture; uneven bubbles of separated oil danced towards the surface freely.

She noticed her reactions weren’t as sharp when she laughed a beat after Zayn’s joke. It was easier to smile; two invisible strings pulled at the corners of her lips like she was a puppet in a grand show.

One side of her face was warmer than the other. The alcohol and weed blurred the edges of her view, but she felt his eyes on her. She stamped her eyes shut and threw her head back, soft giggles broke through. Everything was funnier when you were stoned. Her knuckle collected an escaped tear from her glassy eyes.

If Genevieve was sober, Harry would’ve looked away when she caught him. There was something charged in the air. He hadn’t seen her like this much before. She anticipated him to blink away when Genevieve locked her eyes on his. But he was shameless, and as usual, she held his stare for a moment too long.

Her fingers swiped the blunt from Niall. She took another hit in hopes of deluding herself into thinking that the tension between them was imaginary.

She inhaled too quickly. The smoke trapped in her windpipe and she spluttered a few coughs. Her eyes stung and fresh tears surfaced. Genevieve passed the spliff back to Niall and tipped her head back. The wall behind her propped her weight as she took a minute to calm her breathing.

In her compromised state, she could only think one thing clearly. She had to get out of here.

“I’m gonna grab some water.”

She didn’t wait to hear their response. She pushed herself off the wall. The door pulled open under her grip and Zayn and Niall said something she couldn’t make out. Her eyes squinted to focus under the soft yellow lighting. She made a beeline towards her jacket. It was easier to navigate the premises since a large amount of people had filtered out. Genevieve took out her phone and typed away.

Going hooome. -Gen

A bing sounded from her phone. The name of the group chat lit up as she wrestled an arm into her jacket.

If you wait half an hour, I’ll take you. Need to sober up first. -Meena

Gen whyyyy, stay for a bit longer! -Liam

I’m so stoned. I’m gonna go home and stuff my face with food. Or sleep. -Gen

Don’t worry, M! I’m already out! Where are you btw, didn’t see you? -Gen

Washrooms! There is a huge line :( -Meena

A girl is wearing a nice skirt, should I ask her where she got it from? -Meena

Munchies? -Niall

You know it -Gen

Eat a bag of chips for me -Niall

Maybe two -Niall

Ask her about the skirt. I have my money on H&M -Niall

Text when you get home safe -Liam

Genevieve walked for five minutes. The door of The Cabinet was far enough to be a miniature entrance of a dollhouse. She had missed the last departure time of the bus and decided the crisp night air would make for a sobering walk. Her reflexes were still a bit delayed. The traffic lights glowed on the sidewalk pavement until she harshly blinked to steady the blurred image. Everything was sluggish, her vision muddled and a few green and red circles floated about.

She recalled the corner shop from her childhood house, it sold cheap DVDs. The sleazy man at the counter never denied burning them illegally. The image quality was broken and poor. Her hands were a clump of squared pixels that took a minute to buffer.

The last button of her jacket was secured when loud footsteps mirrored hers from behind. She gripped the metal chain link of the bag sat on her shoulder tightly.

It was dark. Especially now that she passed the strip of convenience shops, no open signs lit up the streets.

She inhaled a shaky breath through her nose and a jagged puff came from her parted lips. The sweat from her palms caused her grip on the bag to slide down.

It could be nothing. Maybe she was hearing things. She didn’t want to assume the risk of turning around. Instead, she counted her steps from each lamp post to the next. They weren’t consistent. The range was from ten to sixteen. The mean would lie around twelve. The mode was eleven.

Before she began to compute the median, she choked on a sharp intake of air as the footsteps neared closer than ever.

Her neck stretched and examined her surroundings. You were intentionally supposed to put yourself in a very visible place or somewhere where a witness could be found, something she once read in an article online. Genevieve made note of the houses that still had their lights on.

“Are you avoiding me?” An exhausted voice huffed out. Impatient with a hint of naked hurt. “You are, aren’t you?”

Fear clenched her jaw. Her brain waved tiny red flags, the ones that topped cupcakes. The familiarity of the voice shot a clear fishing line and sank its hook in the flesh of her shoulder. The reel was being taken in and slowly she turned around. The crunch of gravel distracted her from the erratic thump thump thump of her pulse.  

“Harry?” She wheezed. She expected his name to roll off easily, but she stuttered and added another syllable. His name sat on her tongue with the weight of a rounded pellet.

“‘Course, who else would it be?”

“Holy fuck.” Stress alleviated only when he stood under the light of a lamp post. Her shoulders eased as the impending horror diluted. “Don’t you know not to creep up on someone who is walking the street alone? I thought you were a murderer!”

“Oh–shit, I didn’t think of that,” he confessed with a sheepish smile. A wave of humility flooded his features and he glanced towards the sky. With his fists deep in his jean pockets and head thrown back, he never looked more youthful. “Well if it’s any reassurance, I’m not.”

“Lovely.”

He spluttered a laugh at her impassive tone. “Is that a new thing of yours? Not answering questions?”

“What gives you the impression I’m avoiding you?”

“You ran out of there like a bat straight out of hell.”

“I have an 8 a.m tomorrow.” She didn’t. “Nothing personal, don’t be so sensitive.”

Harry uttered a string of words under his breath so incoherent they never made it to Genevieve’s ears. His boot kicked a pebble off the sidewalk to the empty street. Genevieve and Harry watched it skip twice before it laid in an anticipated still.

His boots resumed their trek towards the direction she had previously set her path to. It was a line of residential houses. Each one had identical roofs, a sharp triangular hat. He passed four houses before it dawned on him. He didn’t feel another presence trail after his shadow. Long legs halted in an abrupt stop. He peered to his left before he turned around fully, arms raised in question. “Well, come on then! What are you waiting for?”

“What are you doing?”

“Walking you home.”

Genevieve snorted. “That is the last thing I need”

“Oh, come off it. You’re out of your mind, literally. And you yourself said that there are actual murderers on the street.”

The prolonged silence didn’t falter for a moment. Crickets chirped and a frog groaned from the nearby pond. Genevieve held his stare without remorse. He needed to offer a compelling reason as to why walking her home was his concern. It hadn’t been for the past three years. She was far from a little girl who needed her hand held to cross the street.

It took a moment, but he finally caved.

“I’m headed in that direction anyway.”

Genevieve didn’t throw him a bone right away. His proposition molded into a clay-like fixture and took shape in Genevieve’s mind. The newfound tangibility allowed her to rotate it on an xyz plane to analyze from every which way.

Her weak inhibitions, admittedly the reason behind her decision, coupled with a lack of energy to put up a fight contributed to possible human error. She dragged her feet towards him, a ball and chain clasped snug around her ankle. Her mother’s words vanished into thin air.

The moon, a clipped toenail, played a game of hide and seek with surrounding clouds. It would peek out every other second—a shy toddler that clung to their mother’s calf. Thin overgrown grass blades swayed with the wind and became italicized, upright, then italicized again. A steady and delicate whoosh sounded between them rhythmically, their own personal metronome.

It was alien to walk side by side him. Short legs worked twice as hard for every step he took. To her memory, it was never this demanding. Her breaths, once even, began to puff out in quick jabs after a few steps. It blemished the silence and perked Harry’s ears. In an instant, his pace was adjusted and Genevieve was no longer the victim to his strides.

Harry’s index fingernail scratched above his top lip. It was his attempt to hide a budding smile. “You smell like maple.”

Harry had a tendency to short circuit, there were times he blurted out a phrase or thought meant to be kept in the space between his ears. He had explained it to her as an involuntary muscle spasm, he could control the twitch at times but he would slip up once in a while. His statement was full of surety, an irrefutable fact. For a second, she ignored it.

He turned to her with a boyish grin, it coined a painfully deep dimple to his left cheek. It conveyed that this was no slip up, it was deliberate.

“What?” Her laugh was dry and perplexed under his observation.

“And weed, but mostly maple—like the syrup. Is it a new perfume?”

Genevieve pressed the neck of her shirt to her nose and sniffed the cotton. She only smelled the weed. “I think you’ve finally lost it. Haven’t you?” Harry grinned to the floor, bashful and content. His hair flopped on his face. “Along with a couple of inches. Finally figured out where the barber is located?”

“You don’t like it?” He feigned offence.  

“Doesn’t matter what I like, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your ears. It’s different, that’s for sure.”

“Good different? Bad different?” He prodded. “You gotta give me something to work with here.”

“Neither… I guess? It’s just changed, is all.” The pathway curved into a right turn. They passed by a low shrill of a heater attached below a window. “People change, it’s expected.”

“Not as much as we like to think, no,” he countered, his fingers threaded his hair back. “You are a prime example, haven’t changed a bit.”

Genevieve was unaware if he had taken to being the devil’s advocate as a part time hobby, but regardless she took his bait. They still had quite the trek to cover. “What makes you think that?”

“Well for starters, you still run a bit late.” A snicker fell from his lips, adolescent yet collected. A thumb jutted out from his closed fist.

“Well, it is better than not coming at all.”

“You only drink Stellas.” His index finger appeared. She felt like he put her smack dab in the middle of a boxing ring. He was red gloved offence which left her to fulfill the defence vacancy.

“—A classic. Can never go wrong with it.”

“Can’t smoke without coughing.”

“Hey. Happens to everyone. Mild error.”

“And carry that lighter.” The slow ringing in her ear ascended in volume like a train arriving at a platform. Tight sheets of saran wrap roped around her face. “One that’s not yours.”

Ah, there it was.

Her lungs were empty, winded as though he had delivered a suckerpunch to her gut rather of a small observation. Out of the four fingers, his middle one had a metal band. An ornate rose— bloomed, its petals laid vulnerably wide open. Would it leave a scar? Her bottom lip cushioned the front row of her teeth as she sorted her brain for something, anything.

“It’s a very useful tool. Comes in handy multiple times, more than you can imagine.”

He had a good eye, perfect vision, and an even better insight to see right through her.

Harry pursed his lips. “I’m sure it has.”

The shift in the atmosphere right before it begins to pour mesmerized Genevieve. The air would be stale and thick. It held a suffocating weight and the unbearable humidity made it harder to draw a breath; each inhale came through the narrow valley of a plastic straw. That’s how it felt standing beside Harry. She had forgotten about it for years, but now it mocked her head on.

“But these—” the pad of his index finger tapped his temple twice—“These are new, right?” He expertly switched topics when her head bowed down and an ashamed stare fixed on the pavement for a moment too long.

The reply wasn’t immediate and Harry kicked himself for bringing it up in the first place. He disrupted the natural current of the conversation and it was achingly obvious. He should’ve kept his mouth shut, probably even locked it and tossed the key down the gutter. They don’t talk about it, it’s something they don’t do.

A punishing silence dragged on for an eternity. She forgot how to string together a sentence. Time was needed to collect the pieces of her scattered brain.

Eventually, she gave out a long defeated hum. “They are, how do they look?”

The glasses sat on the bridge of her nose were wide framed. If you looked closely they had a tortoise pattern, the colour of toffee. When she smiled, the apples of her cheeks pressed to the underside of the plastic.

“So good.” He didn’t miss a beat.

She smiled, halfheartedly.

Good. Nothing had felt good for a long time. Genevieve didn’t realize it for a while. Denial was a wicked witch that masked what lay in front with a dozen spells. The days continued to come one after the other. Consecutive and strict. Then Mondays got confused with Thursdays. Months came and went. And suddenly it was years later. Everything was gone. He was gone, until he wasn’t.

“Enough about me.” She cleared her throat before it knotted in on itself. “How’s Esther?”

“Annoying as ever.” He rolled his eyes, words dipped in fond admiration. It was love, gentle and timid. “She doing great. We’re talking more now.”

“That’s good,” she sighed. That was the bitterest pill of them all. Harry was good. So good.

“She wanted to meet you.”

Her head shot up, she brought her hand to her chest. “Me?”

“Yeah, she asks about you a lot.” Genevieve gulped at the piece of information. She assumed Harry would have avoided bringing her up to others. The only way Genevieve could see herself in his current life is as an abandoned cardboard box, shoved in the back of his closet. Only opened to reminisce about what was. “Didn’t know how to tell her you won’t pick up my calls.”

“I got a new number. Dropped my phone in the toilet.”

“‘Course you did.” Her building came into view and Harry feels like someone flipped an hourglass. Each grain fell too quickly. Harry’s vision darts around his surroundings as if he is in search for a lost valuable. He doesn’t look for an item in particular, but he hopes to find another topic of conversation to prolong the definite departure. His hands tremble. No matter how tight his fist clenched, the grains slipped.

He began his sentence without knowing how it will end. “You should… you should come over for dinner.”

The helplessness in his plea made Genevieve question his invite. “Dinner?”

Shaky fingers combed his hair back. He gripped the crown of his head in tepid frustration. “Yeah, or I don’t know, lunch? Breakfast? Brunch?—”

Genevieve saw the anxiousness grow in his eyes, a beast slowly rising from its slumber. If he had all the time in the world, he would spend it on completing his list. They would be there all night.

She knew better than to make promises she couldn’t keep. Committing to dinner with a non-existing appetite wasn’t at the top of her list, priority wise.

“—This is me,” Genevieve stated to put him out of his misery. A yawn escaped her. She wanted nothing more for her pillow to bear the weight of her head, which felt like a million pounds and more.

“I know.”

She coughed in her fist, a flush crept up her neck. Of course he knew. She busied herself with plucking the bundle of keys from her bag. “How far off are you?”

“Oh not by much.” His unclear answer made Gen tilt her head. A question mark hung in the air. “Just that way,” he added. A thumb pushed towards the street on the left. It didn’t even have a name plate on it.

It was one of the things about him that made Genevieve red in the face on multiple occasions. It was never a linear answer with him. He danced around to an nth degree. What do you want to eat? Anything. What time can you come around by? I don’t know, maybe seven. Where will you be at Tuesday? Can’t tell. Can you do this for me? I’ll try. At times, Genevieve wanted to dump a can of grey paint on him because that is the only colour he knew.

“Where do you live, Harry?”

“Are you inviting yourself over?” He was all cheek and wit. A tactic Genevieve saw him pick up from the master himself.

“Just answer the question.”

Genevieve doesn’t know why his living accommodation takes an interest. She conditioned herself to stop caring for his well-being and whereabouts ages ago. That’s something they don’t tell you about broken friendships. You can never resort to a hundred percent erasure of someone. There is no backspace or delete button.

Maybe a part of her wanted to know if he was actually safe, secure and stable, or if it was a front. She wanted a person to compare herself with. Sometimes Genevieve pictured them as two athletes on a track field sprinting towards the finish line. The white line signified growth, healing, and closure. Genevieve was always behind him.

“Edison and Fourth, apartment nine,” he clarified. His weight shifted from his heels to his toes. “It’s decent, but has a slight mice problem. Zayn has set up traps.”

Genevieve blinked robotically when she mapped the intersection in her brain. She frowned when the red pin dropped on the map. “That’s like a thirty minute walk in the opposite direction.”

“I’ll manage, I think I saw a bus stop not far away.”

It would’ve been a much shorter and efficient route straight from The Cabinet. Instead, his insisted pit stop tacked many more steps than needed.

“You really didn’t have to go out of your way to walk me.”

“Yes I did,” his firm tone didn’t waver. The next words flowed like ripples do in a river. “I always will.”

Genevieve slipped her fingers into her back pocket and retrieved her phone. It was warm from her body heat. Her thumb hovered over the screen until it lit her home screen, the bottom half of her face illuminated with a fluorescent light. Her thumb tapped over an application before she typed in the address previously given as the desired destination. A bubble popped up with a potential driver and route. “I’m calling you an uber.”

“No you aren’t. It’s a waste of money.”

She looked up with a bewildered expression. “Don’t be crazy.”

“Cancel it.”

She hadn’t confirmed it, her credit card information covered the screen, but she wasn’t going to let him be privy to that. “No.”

It was unexpected, to say the least.

He jolted towards her in a way that blinded her eyesight to only the colour of his shirt. Red. Red. Red. Her nose brushed against cotton over his shoulder, lint rubbed against her nostrils. His smell reminded her of the grocery store aisle with all the detergents and softeners.

The lack of distance distracted her for a moment. “What are you—hey give that back.”

His fingers brushed against hers were like hot coal. The device was swiped away as if he had the hands of a practiced kleptomaniac.

“I said I am fine as is.”

Maybe it was the effects of alcohol and weed that set something off in Genevieve. It flicked a switch that she had no idea existed, his fingers crawled deep in her chest and pushed the lever up. Anger bubbled and frustration swelled in her. The simmering volcano rose.

“Can you just stop! All of it!” The pads of her fingers dug into his shoulder as she gave a hard push. He staggered back two steps from her force. When space was created between them, Genevieve exited a narrow tunnel, seeing the whole picture and not just some biased misrepresentation. “Showing up everywhere, giving me drinks, walking me home.”

Harry’s face crumpled like a ball of paper being thrown in the nearest trash can. His posture slumped, shoulders caved in on themselves.

“That’s a bit harsh, no?” When Genevieve didn’t reply to him he bit his lower lip. His unsure steps neared her, his voice dropped to a different modulation. Tender and watchful. “Genny...”

“—No, no.” Her words broke by a parched laughter that bordered hysteria. She backed away cautiously when his eyes glimmered with something. He was doing it again. The signature pleading glaze enticed its prey. It got him many things in life: assignment extensions, a bed, with a blonde if he was lucky. “I’m not doing this with you, not again.”

“Can you just hear me out?”

Genevieve’s expression was frozen in a revengeful scowl. She compressed her lips together, an attempt to not spew out nasty words. The skin around her lips turned a shade of white from the lack of blood flow to the vessels. There was only so much self control one could contain. She reserved her ration for a particularly complex problem or when Jonah was getting on her last nerve. Genevieve hadn’t penciled in a portion to give to Harry in such a long time.

“What’s there left to hear, Harry?” She exploded and his shoulders dropped immediately. A yellow light turned on behind a window pane in the building above her from the sudden raise in volume. She inhaled a slow breath in order to contain herself. Her fingers knotted in her hair and she inadvertently felt her throbbing pulse. Her hands motioned in the space that divided them. “This, us? Whatever you’re trying to find again, is not there. You’ve got an amazing life, even better friends. Hell, they’re probably a thousand times better than I ever was.”

“Not true, don’t do that—”

“You don't get it, do you?” Her voice croaked. Genevieve trained herself to not break composure near Harry. She memorized the floorboard to such a detail that she could navigate the house blindly, but now her weight gave away on a loose piece of hardwood and it creaked. “You’re making me think about it all again and it won’t be long until I go weeks without sleeping. I need you to...” Her nostrils flared to inhale a breath, she held it in her lungs as if it delayed the inevitable. But the silence spoke.

I need you to leave me alone. I need you to go away.

He shook his head rapidly. Stern determination fixed in his every word, “I’m not doing that. Not again.”

“Why the hell not?” She spat. Her nails pressed stinging half moons into her palm. Her words, rather vindictive and eroded, were rightfully just. “You were so quick to do it before.”

She looked into his eyes, they were level headed and cool; a complete juxtaposition when compared to hers. Harry wondered when her face became gaunt and the darkness of eyebags took up a permanent living.

“Genny.”

She wasn’t five years old anymore, but a horizontal sting settled above her knee. Her skin ripped open, red splattered all over the floor. He wore red. She saw red. She spilled red.

“I’m tired, Harry.” Admitting this made Genevieve feel small. She closed her eyes and waved her white flag.

Being around Harry was gruesome. Genevieve could only compare it to a drained battery. She didn’t have enough fuel to do this with him. The cogs were rusted from not being used in ages. He brought the rim of a metal container to her lips. His fingers clamped on the back of her neck to keep her in place as he tilted the container up. He poured battery acid down her throat. Concentrated sulfuric acid blackened her insides and poisoned her with every sip.

“I’m so tired.”

***

“On Hallowe'en the old ghosts come about us, and they speak to some; to others they are dumb.” - Hallowe'en by Eleanor Farjeon

---

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[phoenix-downer]

Paopu Sharing Scene - Japanese and English Comparison

This will be the first in a series of posts analyzing Sora and Kairi’s moments together during KH3. The Japanese version has so many lovely callbacks to previous Sora/Kairi moments and nicely evolves the themes present in them, so I wanted to take a closer look.

Here’s a general key for the kind of analysis I like to do:

JP: Official Japanese Dialogue

EN: Official English Dialogue

TR: My Translation

Notes: things I found interesting, grammatical points, extra thoughts, etc.

One last note before we begin: no media exists in a vacuum. Every work of art must be viewed through the cultural lens of the people who made it. Kingdom Hearts, for all its ties to Disney, is still very much a Japanese game, so it should be analyzed in light of that.

With that in mind, let’s begin.

The interactions between Sora and Kairi start with Sora wondering why R*ku is chilling on the beach (seemingly) all by himself instead of with his friends (starring R*ku’s name from here on out to keep this post out of his tag).

JP リ*ク一人で何してるのかな？

EN  Hey, why’s R*ku all alone?

TR What’s R*ku doing all by himself?

Notes: Sora uses the speculative form kana to wonder what R*ku’s doing alone. In previous moments throughout the series, the Dest*ny Tr*o all sat together on the paopu tree, but things are changing. This time, it’s just Sora and Kairi, representing the shift that is about to happen in their relationship. R*ku is still there, he’s still their friend, they still care about him; but there is something Sora and Kairi share that’s unique and special.

Nomura emphasized in a recent interview that KH3 would reflect how relationships change as we get older, and I think it’s safe to say this is what he was referring to.

The full quote, for reference, from this IGN article: 

“For example, I'm sure you had friends when you were young, a good group of friends, but as you grow older things change and it doesn't always stay the same.”

JP でも一人にさせてほしいって言ってからー

EN He said he needed time to himself.  

TR But he said he wanted to be left aloneー

Notes: Kairi makes it clear that R*ku asked her earlier if he could be left alone. They’ve discussed this; she isn’t leaving R*ku out; she and Sora aren’t ignoring him; and this is what he wants, and, in fact, requested.

JP そっとしてあげよう

EN Let’s let him be.

TR So let’s give him some space

Notes: Kairi says something along the lines of, “let’s leave [R*ku] alone as a favor to him (since he requested it and this is what he wants).” Hard to capture the exact nuance in the English version, but R*ku requested the time to himself, and Kairi uses the -teageru construction to show that she wants to fulfill his request and give him what he wants - space. Kairi’s voice is also gentle and rises in pitch here in the Japanese version - almost like she’s seeking Sora’s confirmation - whereas in the English version her tone is falling.

JP うんー

EN Missing in the English version

TR Yeahー

Notes: Sora gives his agreement but seems a little unsure. In the English version he doesn’t say anything, but in the Japanese version he tentatively agrees.

JP はい！

EN Here.

TR Here!

Notes: Kairi offers the paopu fruit, casual as can be. Moments earlier you can hear her plucking it off the tree. The Japanese version really indicates her enthusiasm with an exclamation mark, and Sora is shocked by this turn of events, as indicated by his body language. I love how forward she is; we all speculated who would make the first move, and to whoever guessed Kairi, well, congratulations, because canon just proved you right :)

JP えっ？

EN Huh?

TR Huh?

Notes: Sora is still trying to get over his shock, as indicated by how he says, “Huh?”

Treasured Memories also begins to play here, a song previously associated with Sora and Kairi throughout the series. It plays during Sora’s flashbacks of Kairi in KH2, for example, and during the Kingdom Hearts World Tour, the accompanying video featured quite a few moments with them together. It was also when Kairi’s Japanese voice actress, Risa Uchida, read Kairi’s letter out loud.

No dialogue for the following moments, but the body language is still very telling, so let’s go through it piece by piece:

Sora’s eyes flicker from Kairi to the paopu fruit, like he can’t believe this is really happening.

The camera shifts to being from his POV so we can see where he’s looking - at the paopu fruit in Kairi’s hand. Note how Kairi has plucked two pieces of it, emulating the cave drawing exactly.

The camera pans to Kairi’s face...

...and she gives him a teasing, playful smile, then tilts her head to the right to indicate that yes, she’s perfectly serious about this. A confirmation nod, if you will. She makes a cute little noise, too, kind of like an “mm-hmm.” She’s seen the paopu drawing, she knows Sora feels the same, and she’s ready to address it.

Earlier, Sora was in a state of shock, but look at the change come over his face as he realizes the full implications of what’s going on. His lips part and he lets out a soft gasp. 

His eyes flicker downwards and to the right. Interesting to note is that people look down and to the right like this when they’re thinking about their feelings.

Clearly, Kairi’s words have had an emotional impact on him, and he’s taking a moment to process everything.

He looks up at her, and his eyebrows are knotted together and the look in his eyes just says it all. He knows, and what he knows is moving him deeply. So much so that he’s at a loss for words.

JP これからの戦いは今までと違う

EN Tomorrow’s fight will be our toughest yet.

TR The battle ahead (of us) is different from (all the ones we’ve fought) until now 

Notes: This begins Kairi’s lines that were featured in... I think it was the Memoria video, perhaps, or the pamphlet? In any event, these lines were in the promotional material for KH3, so whoever predicted Kairi would be the one to say them - you would be correct!

Anyway, the phrasing is slightly different in the English and Japanese versions, but it gets the same idea across. The Japanese version does not have “tomorrow” though, instead leaving the time between when this happens and the final battle more open.

Interesting to note that Kairi is aware that something is different about the final clash with Xehanort than the battles that have come before. It’s what has driven her to address the cave drawing. Her lucky charm isn’t enough anymore; she wants to draw on more powerful magic to protect Sora and keep the two of them from being separated. Her eyes are soft and serious as she says this, and Sora is completely silent as he listens to every word. 

She lifts the paopu a little higher to reiterate her point, then says the following line:

JP もう離ればなれにならないように　おまじない

EN I want to be a part of your life no matter what. That’s all.

TR This charm will make sure we won’t be separated (again) 

Notes: This is where we start getting bigger differences between the Japanese and English versions, likely due to cultural concepts being difficult to translate. 

The word for charm Kairi uses, omajinai, is different from the one used for the good luck charm she gave Sora in KH1 - omamori. An omajinai can, among other things, be used as a prayer to ward off disaster or misfortune and to bring about good luck.

In other words, Kairi is serious about this. She knows what’s at stake and she knows how important it is that she takes whatever steps necessary to keep Sora safe.

It’s also a nice evolution of a similar scene back in KH1:

JP カイリ　離れても僕らはもうひとりじゃない

EN Kairi, even if we’re apart, we’re not alone anymore.

TR Kairi, even if we’re separated, we’re not alone

Kairi uses the same verb, hanareru, to indicate separation that Sora does here in this scene. Before, it was good enough for the two of them to be together in spirit. But here, Kairi is saying that’s not enough anymore. She wants to make sure they won’t be separated again.

And again, Kairi’s words move Sora deeply. Perhaps he’s thinking back to what he told her in KH1. Perhaps he’s wishing he hadn’t had to leave her behind all those times. In any event, you can see how seriously he’s taking this. He is normally one who is not at a loss for words, but he continues to be speechless. 

He makes another soft noise here as he gazes at her...

...then looks back at the paopu fruit.

The camera shifts to be from his POV again, and he takes the paopu fruit from Kairi’s hand, his mind made up...

...and Kairi withdraws her hand.

JP うん　でもカイリは俺が守る

EN  Kairi, I’ll keep you safe

TR Okay. But Kairi, I’m going to keep you safe (lit. Kairi, I’ll protect)

Notes: There it is, the famous Declaration of Protection ever-present in Japanese media! Used most often by male protagonists to indicate their determination to keep their love interest safe, and often as a sign of how much they care and as an expression of their true feelings. Sora and Kairi have always had a knight and princess sort of vibe with their relationship, and this ties in nicely with all those associated tropes. 

And in this moment, while Sora is accepting Kairi’s protection offered by the magic of the paopu fruit, he’s also vowing to protect her in return. To my knowledge this is the first time he’s done so. Of course he always wanted to keep her safe before, but this is the first time he’s expressed himself so openly. It indicates a clear change in their relationship as well.

This is the vow that the lyrics of Chikai refers to. It’s not a promise anymore; it’s an oath. Kairi’s lucky charm, literally promise charm or 約束の守り yakusokunomamori in Japanese, is nowhere to be found in this scene because they’re drawing upon stronger magic to seal their vow now, the magic of the paopu fruit.

Notice how Sora looks up at Kairi and smiles, too, for the first time in this scene:

The camera angle is intentional here; a moment later we see a shot of the cave drawing with Sora’s face in the same position and facing the same direction:

But Kairi is as much a part of this vow as Sora is. Refusing to just stand by while he protects her, she closes her eyes and shakes her head. Her next lines turn the whole Declaration of Protection on its head. She’s no longer content to let Sora protect her; no, this time, she’s going to be the one protecting him.

JP ううん　私がソラを守るよ

EN Let me keep you safe.

TR No. I’ll keep you safe (lit. I’ll protect Sora)

Notes: Kairi uses the emphatic particle yo here to indicate her determination to keep Sora safe. It indicates certainty on the speaker’s part, a confidence and knowledge that she’s imparting to Sora. Long gone are the days where she would let him tell her to stay behind. She’s not asking permission here; she’s telling him what’s going to happen. She’ll protect him this time.

The camera switches to the cave drawing. She is in the same position and at the same angle as the drawing, much like how Sora is at the same angle as the drawing of him. Note how her short hair in KH3 is reminiscent of how she looks in the cave drawing as well.

Sora’s part of the drawing appears, indicating he is fulfilling his part of the vow by offering her his paopu fruit:

And then Kairi’s part of the drawing appears, indicating she is fulfilling her part of the vow:

The camera does not show the actual eating of the paopu fruit, giving the two of them some much-needed space and privacy, as this moment is intimate and meant to be shared between just the two of them.

But there is a slight crunching noise indicating they have both taken a bite as the camera returns to them...

...and the corners of their paopu fruits are bitten off, indicating they did indeed both take a bite. Their hands are in the same position as the cave drawing; they have fulfilled their vow. Their destinies are intertwined, their body language like that of a married couple sharing a toast, their arms crossed to show that their fates are bound together now, too.

There are no more words in this scene because there is no need for them. They simply gaze into each other’s eyes as they let their hands lower to their sides. Nothing else around them matters anymore; they’re completely focused on each other.

Notice Sora’s slight smile here, his confidence when before he was hesitant, the way he can’t take his eyes off her:

He blinks and lets out a little contented noise as he continues to gaze at her. This, my friends, is the face of a man in love:

And this is how you know she loves him, too. Seriously, look at the way she looks at him:

She likewise makes a little contented noise and tilts her head, leaning closer:

And the scene ends with a shot of their silhouettes against the sunset, paralleling one of their first scenes together in KH1: 

Only this time, they’re sitting side by side together, truly united and looking at each other, when before Kairi was standing and Sora was sitting and they were both looking out to sea. Speaking of which, note how the sky (sora) meets the sea (umi/kai) in the background as well. 

The two of them have finally made their destinies as one, and they’re ready to face whatever lies ahead so long as it’s together. 

Edit to add: the next analysis about the light in the darkness scene can be found here.

[smileyjaeminies]

The dancer, with passion you had never seen before

Synopsis: You and Yangyang find yourselves dancing to slow songs… the tension is high, what will come of it?

Word Count: 3,4 k

Genre: slow burn, angst, fluff

Warnings: strong language, cursing, attempted assault

Member: 00z, ft. Yangyang

A/N: Huge delay for this one but… Hopefully it was worth the wait.

~Series Masterlist~

  Mid-terms were upon you and they came and went like a hurricane. Your grades weren’t half bad, but still nothing like Renjun’s. You turned in your last paper the previous Friday which meant you finally had a whole weekend to blow off steam and relax.

  And that’s exactly what you did. You spent the rest of Friday lying in bed and moving only when absolutely necessary. Saturday was Elena’s day, which was spent in the local mall, not only shopping but also playing games, bowling and eating anything and everything you could get your hands on.

  Sunday was, of course, dedicated to the boys. Jaemin had proposed the idea of a skate park and all the boys were quite keen on it. You had a very brief experience ice skating so you and Yangyang opted for roller-skating… Big mistake. Despite your “experience” and Yangyang’s grace, roller-skating wasn’t a good match for you. Before long, you gave up, standing in the sidelines and watching the other boys skate.

  As you watched them, each and every one seemed to burn with his own unique flame. Renjun was clumsy but determined, trying again and again until he succeeded. Jeno was almost dancing on the skateboard, his movements sure and precise. Yangyang was still unsure, but he tried his very best. Jaemin’s movements were effortless and he looked as if he was surfing instead of skating.

  And then there was Donghyuck. You stole glances at him and noted how he talked and laughed while on the skateboard. He was calm and careless, just having fun with his friends. One time, he caught you staring, but you couldn’t look away. He returned the look, asking you with his eyes what the hell you wanted. You only shrugged lightly as a reply, finally breaking eye contact.

  Your mind was racing, remembering the way the light hit Donghyuck’s eyes and made Jaemin’s hair glow. However, you were abruptly snapped out of your reverie as you heard your name being called. You, Renjun and Elena were eating lunch in the cafeteria, enjoying some moments of peace before being slapped back into classes.

  “What?” you asked, looking at the both of them.

  “Bet you five bucks, she didn’t hear the last five minutes” Renjun said to Elena.

  “You better keep your money boy, I’m certain she was miles and miles away” Elena teased you.

  “Yeah yeah I’m miles away boo boo poor Y/N gets stuck in her head all the time. What were you talking about anyway?” you mocked them, slightly irritated.

  Renjun and Elena shared a look and burst out laughing. You joined them without thinking, laughing along with your big demise. You had gotten heated very quickly and for no apparent reason, you really needed to relax..

  “As I was saying” Renjun repeated, giving you a pointed look to make sure you were listening, “Yangyang is all worked up again about this new choreography”

  “He is? He hasn’t mentioned a thing” you said.

  “He has been meaning to, I think he’s just too shy to ask Cat for help” Renjun said.

  Oh. Cat. All of you barely knew the girl that had Yangyang’s thoughts tied up in knots. You’d seen her around school and you knew that she was in the same group as Yangyang but that was about all the information you had about the girl.

  Minus Yangyang’s reveries. He came to you often, asking to ramble because every time he mentioned it to the boys, they wouldn’t stop teasing, not even to listen. But despite Yangyang’s rambles, you didn’t feel like you knew her. After all, you found seeing people through someone else’s eyes was highly disingenuous, for the lens of love or hate would blur your vision.

  “Maybe I could help?” you said at last. “What’s the dance?”

  “Oh don’t look at me. You know I can’t tell to save my life. It’s this slow thing, couldn’t remember what it’s called even if I wanted to” Renjun replied.

  “Well then, I’ll just have to find out on my own” you said, taking out your phone and texting Yangyang to meet up for coffee later. He was still in class so you didn’t expect him to reply soon. But he’d be there, you were almost certain he would.

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

  You were going to meet Yangyang after class in a café near your school. The warmth of the café was welcome, as the air was still crisp outside. You looked around for your friend, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  Going up to the register, you ordered both your usuals and waited on the side for the barista to make them. Mindlessly scrolling on your phone, your head shot up at the sound of your name.

  Yangyang walked up to you, giving you a quick hug. For a boy so loving, it was a shame he didn’t feel comfortable with skinship. He had only started to hug you months after you met, but you let him take his time.

  Your mind drifted back to the other day at the skate park, when he had walked up to you asking cutely “is that seat taken?” while showing your side. You had laughed and replied with a simple “no”. Your heart warmed up when you saw him lie down, placing his head on your lap and asking you to play with his hair.

  “I took the liberty to order your iced Americano, sir” you joked, getting back to reality.

  “My lady is too kind, how will I ever repay your generosity?” he shot back, both of you giggling like idiots.

  After getting your drinks, you shuffled in a booth opposite of Yangyang. The conversation was easy- going as you talked a bit about school and how both your days went. You felt the conversation drift away from the matter that interested you, so you decided to step in.

  “Wait, wait. Before all that, I want to ask you something” you said.

  “Oh. Is something wrong?” Yangyang asked perplexed.

  “No, not at all. It’s just, Renjun talked to me about and I quote ‘this slow dance’ you needed help with. I thought I could step in and help, if you’d like” you explained.

  “It’s not an intervention?” he asked.

  “An intervention? What on earth for?” you answered with a question.

  “The boys had been talking about staging an intervention and setting me up with someone new if I didn’t talk to Cat” he confessed and you laughed.

  “Well, if this is their idea of pushing us towards each other… It ain’t very good is it?” you asked and Yangyang shook his head.

  “I have been meaning to ask you, you know.” He said after a moment of silence. “It’s just you were so stressed with mid-terms I didn’t want to add another thing to your plate. It felt like a really bad time to call in a favor”

  “Thank you for looking out for me. And I’m sorry if it felt like I didn’t have time for you, but mid-terms are now over and I have all the time in the world. I promise” you said.

  “Thank you. Really Y/N, thank you.” He said, and you could tell he meant it.

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

  The ‘slow dance’ Jun talked about, ended up being Rumba, one of your favorite Latin dances. You and Yangyang managed to work out a schedule that suited the both of you, so you could give him a feel at least of what Rumba was.

  Dancing to Rumba with Yangyang was entirely different to the sharp hip-hop you had associated him with. Yangyang was full of grace and had learnt how to control his body perfectly. But Latin dances were not about that. Latin is about letting go, losing your own self in the music, feeling it and allowing it guide you. He would always get too caught up in perfecting the moves and lose the point.

  You had only a couple of days left until Yangyang’s group started preparing the new choreography and he had made great progress. His moves were well calculated and precise and you had been able to make a small routine.

  You were practicing now, counting for him as he moved through the small dance studio you had rented out.

  “One AND two and three AND one AND two and three” you said loudly. “Now one on your own!”

   You watched him move without your count, watched his lips move without him knowing as he counted to himself. You saw him staring at his feet in the mirror and nagged him for it. Stopping the music, you went up to him with his water bottle.

  “Stop stressing about your feet. They’re perfect. You’ve gotten the moves down, you just need confidence.” You repeated the words you had told him numerous times.

  “I know Y/N, I know… I just want to be sure.” He said.

  You looked at him as you both took a break. He was sure, you realized. He knew he could do it, he knew he was good but something was holding him back. So the idea came to you without you even realizing. You went up to your things and retrieved your scarf.

  “Break’s over, let’s wrap this up” you said, walking back to him.

  “What’s that for?” he asked, pointing at your scarf.

  “Confidence” you said, smiling up at him. “Now don’t move”

  He was about to protest, when your stormy eyes made the words die at his lips. He sat still as you wrapped the scarf over his eyes and made him wait for you as you picked a new song.

  You remembered about an edit of Ed Sheeran’s ‘The A Team’ so after looking around for it, you pressed play. You went up to Yangyang and you got into position.

  “When I walk all over your legs, don’t scream in my ear” Yangyang said quietly and you knew it was because he was looking for the tempo in the new song.

  “Five, six, seven, eight” was your short answer.

  You danced. Obviously, Yangyang knew the routine perfectly and so did you. He breathed rapidly, all of his senses heightened to make sure he was giving his best result. You kept a straight face, looking over his shoulder and following as he led you.

  When the routine was over you reached for his neck and hugged him.

  “See? You didn’t step over my feet. Confidence” you whispered.

  You were about to break the hug, when Yangyang felt you break away. He pushed your back, bringing you close again.

  “No. Stay.” He said, reaching up and untying the scarf from his eyes.

  A new, unfamiliar song was playing as he threw the scarf somewhere and led you back into his arms. You were quiet, dancing a short of blues, lightly moving your legs and bodies.

  “Thank you, for this. I know I can do it. It’s just… I was supposed to ask Cat for this. To have her here in a moment like this, to celebrate. To have her in my arms and to confess. But I’m scared. I’m so scared she’ll have some kind of high expectations for me, ones I cannot meet. Do you know that I haven’t ever kissed anyone? Never liked someone? Not like this at least…” he let the words trail off into the distance.

  “I know it’s hard. Relationships are… tricky. You put your heart out into the world for a person to do with it what they will. But look where it got me. An asshole managed to gift me five good friends. You lose some, you gain some. You can’t expect yourself to never get hurt, that’s just impossible, that’s just life.” You finished.

  You stayed quiet for a while, enjoying the song and dancing to it. You could feel his pulse racing under your fingertips and if you listened close enough, you would almost hear the gears moving inside his head.

  When the song was over, you moved back. A new song started playing, one of the rappers Yangyang really liked. Without thinking, you reached up and brushed your lips to his. A mere peck, a ghost of lips touching. But it was enough.

  “And now you’ve been kissed” you told him.

  You untangled yourself from him, grabbing your things and making for the door. He watched your movements from where he was, frozen. You stood in front of the door when you turned around to face him.

  “She’s good for you Yangyang. I really think she is. And you’re good for her. So take the next step, okay?” you said, letting the answer be heard in the deep breath Yangyang took and the way his eyes changed when you talked about her.

  You took your leave, slowly making your way home. Earplugs were in your ears, music flowing through them, but your mind could not process them. No, it was too occupied for that.

  Yangyang was having no cares for the world. Yangyang was sharing looks and smiles from afar. Yangyang was working hard and dancing, sweat dripping from your bodies. Yangyang was sitting close together but never touching, walking side by side, your hands brushing momentarily.

  Yangyang was knowing your coffee order and your favourite foods. Yangyang was talking about music and dancing, sharing videos and experiences. Yangyang was realizing just how similar you truly were, and yet... He was an enigma of his own, and you loved him for it.

  As your train of thought raced past you, you let yourself be lost in it. Unwanted, a distraction brought you back into reality. A forceful hand spun you around. You looked up and were met by two doe like eyes, ones you couldn’t mistake for anyone else. Kyle. His eyes were burning though, in a state you had never seen them before.

  “What do you want?” You asked, trying to break free from his hold.

  “Stop twitching, I just want to talk! I heard you were giving it to everyone now, so I was wondering if I could get some myself.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? Are you crazy?” you asked, still trying to push him off of you.

  He grunted, a sound coming deep from his throat as he hauled you up and pushed you into an alley.

  “Oh, that’s the thing. I saw you kissing dancer boy back in the studio. Did you fuck him too? I’m pretty sure you fucked little eye-smiled Jeno, no wonder he was so good at the game. Saw you walking away from the locker rooms that day, smiling like the little bitch you are. Did you fuck everyone of that little club? Did you miss me?" he asked, forcing himself on you, your lips meeting in a kiss that radiated anger.

  You bit him, bit down his lips as hard as you could. He shouted in pain and anger, walking back from you. He moved back towards you, his moves animalistic and boiling with anger. You gathered all your strength to push him off and miraculously succeeded. Without a second thought, you turned around and ran out of the alley.

  Your body collided with someone and hands were around you, helping you get back on your feet. You were surprised, eyes looking around, waiting for Kyle to emerge from the alley for his revenge.

  You felt yourself being shaken, heard your name being called which led you to finally look at the person you bumped on. To your surprise, you found Donghyuck opposite from you.

  “Donghyuck? What are you doing here?” you asked.

  “What am I doing here? What are you doing here running like someone is chasing you!” he said.

  “Donghyuck please, please, not now. I need you to take me home. Can you walk me home?” you asked urgently, grabbing the front of his jacket in your fists.

  Donghyuck only took one good look in your eyes and nodded. You knew Kyle probably cowered somewhere when he saw Hyuck. He was much bigger than him and could totally take him in a fight. But you couldn’t be sure. You needed to get home safely and you needed time to think.

  But you couldn’t. You were shaking, knees buckling and Donghyuck nearly had to carry you home. He didn’t speak, didn’t utter one word until you got to your house.

  “I…” you started but he cut you off.

  “Do you want me to come inside?” he asked.

  You were shocked by his question. You looked in his eyes, looked for the smiling, teasing boy you knew, but you found nothing of the sort. His eyes screamed out his worry and his hand never left your side.

  You broke down. You let all the tears and spill out as Donghyuck wrapped you up in his arms and whispered in your ear. You had never seen this side of him, never even imagined the way he would softly run his hands over your back.

  “What happened? Come on, Y/N you can tell me” Donghyuck whispered.

  “I… He, he” you stuttered.

  “Did he touch you? I swear to God, I’ll kill him, whoever he was” Donghyuck said after your crying died down.

  You shook your head. “No. No, he was just… I…” you croaked out.

  “Don’t. You don’t need to say anything right now. I shouldn’t have asked. Just go inside and rest.” he whispered back.

  You felt relief rush over you. You didn’t feel ready to talk about it. Not yet. You nodded at his words.

  “Sorry for… this” you said.

  Donghyuck looked at you. He looked at you and his eyes flashed with emotion after emotion. You longed to read his mind, to know exactly what he was thinking about.

  But alas, nothing about Donghyuck could ever be that easy. He composed himself, taking a step back from you and giving you a sharp nod. Without another word, he turned around in his heels and walked away.

  “Donghyuck!” you called after him.

  He turned around, his expression still closed off to the world, or maybe just to you. You tried not to feel hurt and said:

  “Don’t… Let’s not talk about this, okay?”

  He gave you a small smile as he answered.

  “Oh sweetheart, you know I don’t kiss and tell” And he was off.

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

  The next few days were… Difficult. You didn’t know how to talk about what had happened or who to talk to. So you didn’t. You did your best to forget and leave it as a thing of the past. Nothing had really happened after all… right?

  Kyle seemed to be thinking the same thing. He avoided you as if his life depended on it and you were glad that you were finally left alone. You questioned your choice in men as Kyle’s doe like eyes had transformed for you once and for all.

  One Thursday afternoon, you were working on some homework when the sound of your ringtone interrupted you. Looking at your phone, Yangyang’s contact name shined on the screen. You smiled as you accepted the call.

  “Hello~” you said in a sing-song voice.

  “Y/N!” Yangyang screamed on the other side of the phone.

  “Calm down idiot, I can hear you!” you said.

  “NO, Y/N YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND, I DID IT! I DID IT FINALLY! I’M NOT A COWARD!” he announced.

  “Yangyang, what are you talking about?? What did you do?” you asked.

  “I kissed her!!! And she kissed me back! Y/N do you understand what this means??? I’m taking Cat out for dinner tomorrow night! I did it!” Yangyang repeated happily.

  “Yangyang oh my God! Oh my God you really did it! I need to know EVERYTHING spill, spill, spill” you enthusiastically answered.

  Yangyang did as instructed, walking you through every step that lead to him asking Cat out. By then, the sky had already assumed its dark colours, clouds blocking the stars and moon. You looked out of your window, longing to see the stars, even for a little while. Spring had many faces, and this was a cloudy one.

  You wrapped yourself in your blankets and thought about the easy happiness Yangyang brought in your life. You were happy to see him happy and you hoped Cat knew of the treasure she had wrapped around her fingers.

[eye-raq]

Ember 11.

Erik’s conflict.

In short, this is a co writing fic with my baby @panthergoddessbast she has helped me out ALOT with where this is going and how it’s ending. Thanks to all of those who have been with me every step of the way, loving my writing, commenting, reblogging. This one is gonna pull at some emotions from you guys, I just hope you enjoy.

[I suppose that a lifetime spent hiding one's erotic truth could have a cumulative renunciatory effect. Sexual shame is in itself a kind of death. ]

“Ladies and Gentlemen! Excuse me!!!”

The voices slowed down to a low whisper.

“I know the wine and appetizers are delicious, but it’s time to begin the private event!”

The entire room began to laugh, the plastered smiles of all the rich black folk giving Cyprine a wide smile. Dressed in a sexy backless slit dress colored wine red, chocolate skin acting as the perfect contrast, Cyprine waited with her fancy cue cards and microphone. She had the important job of hosting Fashion Through The Ages, one of the Getty Centers most popular private events.

“Let me introduce to you all the new Lead Curator, Cyprine Lewis!”

Cyprine put on her professional smile, walking out to main stage in a catlike fashion. She waves at the crowd of people clapping, bringing the microphone to her mouth. That action alone silenced everyone, more than the guy who talked before her.

“Hello hello! welcome to Fashion Through The Ages. Today we will join fashion historian and art muse, Sara Holmes, as she explores the museum’s collection through the lens of costume to consider issues of gender, society, and history through the ages. This promises to be a fun way to consider the Getty collection while thinking about fashions past and present.”

Cyprine motions to side stage, “please give a round of applause to Miss Sara Holmes!”

The entire room raised their glasses and clapped, Sara Holmes approaching dressed in Fendi from head to toe. The women always had the best designer, but she was tacky with colors. Following behind her, was a man in all forms.Tall, chocolate, thick and toned, a head full of waves that shined with a beard to match, wearing a tailored tuxedo with a simple black bow tie was Lorenz Allen. Entrepreneur, philanthropist, and Director. Cyprine caught his eye, watching him wink with those long lashes and that million dollar smile. He sponsored a lot of events through the Getty Center, so Cyprine expected that he would show up.

“Thank y’all for coming out. It really moves me when everyone can come together to support a cause, but at the same time enjoy yourselves and the beautiful art that the Getty Center has to offer.” He points a single finger at C.C, that finger wrapped in a gold ring set with diamonds. None of which meant anything of matrimonial significance

I bet those rings would feel good around my throat. She thought.

“I don’t think you all gave this beautiful, successful women here enough praise! She planned this event out, worked her ass off!”

The audience gave her the credit she deserved. Cyprine blushed, speaking her thanks into the microphone.

“No, thank you.” He stresses, his eyes only on her. Cyprine could see what he was trying to do, that’s all that mattered anyway.

“Thank you Mr. Allen, and thank you to everyone who came today to support this private charity event! Now, let us get started with the exhibits!” After a final round of applause, the lights dimmed and multiple spot lights along with music began to start up. A small fashion show on behalf of the guest of honor started, women and men wearing fashion from the renaissance era to start. All models were of different ethnicities, and some also apart of the LGBTQ community.

Cyprine watched the entire thing unfold, pride coming over her. With pride, came attention, and Lorenz gave Cyprine all of his attention with those dangerous eyes of his.

“C’mere” He whispers.

Cyprine didn’t argue with that, strutting over towards him. The smell of mild Creed Aventus filling her nostrils; bold and memorable.

“Yes?” She folds her arms.

“Keep me company.”

She fights a smile, staring at him with her wide brown eyes.

“Why should I? What makes you think your company is more entertaining than this show?”

“Because you’ve been eye-fucking me for some time now, so I know I got your attention.”

Humming in approval at his impressive response, Cyprine smiles faintly, “what can I say, I like what I see.”

“Same here, babygirl.” He licks his lips quick, Cyprine stared at his tantalizingly pink tongue wishing it was between her legs right now.

“Which is why I would like to take you out on a date tomorrow night, if that’s okay?”

Cyprine and dates didn’t go so well.

There were a few she could vouch for that ended up pretty nicely, but all in all she was single and every last guy she’d dealt with disappointed her to some degree.

“A date.” She repeats his words, eyes in wonder.

“Yeah, a dinner date, with me.”

Lorenz seemed to be a cool guy so Cyprine decided to give it a go, just to see where this takes her.

“Okay, i'll let you take me to dinner. We riding in that blacked out McLaren P1 you got, right?” Cyprine had a keen eye, not just for Lorenz but for cars as well. Her interest in cars that included make and model was all thanks to Erik and his obsession with it.

“Babygirl, it’s whatever you want.” He smiles that gorgeous smile.

“Good, cuz I like to have it my way.”

—————————-

“You’re getting better my man! Keep this up and you could become a professional boxer!”

Erik bends his body over the ropes of the boxing ring at the gym, sweating and dripping from his forehead and the tip of his nose.

“Nah, I’ll keep it strictly for workout purposes.” Erik lifts finally, clutching his ribs from the soreness he felt from constantly receiving blow after blow.

“Pick your punk ass up, homie!” Tre, Erik’s best friend, laughs at him while punching at a speed bag.

“Shut up nigga! I’m not the one who needs picking up! You don’t even know what you doing!” Tre puts his middle finger up at Erik before returning back to his workout.

“Unc, How’s that your nephew and you ain't teach him no tricks?”

TJ, the owner of Champs Boxing and Tre’s uncle puts his hands up in surrender.

“His knucklehead ass didn’t wanna learn, too busy playing them damn video games.”

Erik laughs, clutching his sore chest, “I was right along wit em though, so I can’t talk shit.”

Picking up his Gatorade, Erik takes a long sip, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Tre enters the ring, towel around his neck and durag on his head.

“Bro, who that?”

Erik turns to notice a short caramel skinned women with a nia long cut. She was heavy at the bottom, the yoga pants she wore making her thick ass stand out more. Her sweaty skin glistened and the blaze in her eyes made her look even more tantalizing.

“Damn,” Tre tucked his pouty bottom lip into his mouth.

“She a bad one, might have to check that out before I go.”

Erik recognizes her, even without her glasses.

“Her name is Kaylin, I work with her.” Erik gives her a head nod of acknowledgement, watching as she gives him the same motion, but sexier.

“Why is it that all the FINE ASS WOMAN, gravitate to you?”

Laughing, Erik shoves Tre, “Tre, stop acting like you don’t get pussy.”

“Nah, man you gotta hook me up! She fine as hell with her thick ass.”

Erik pats Tre on the shoulder before turning to exit the ring.

“Don’t always get hypnotized by the ass.” Erik knew first hand about that.

“I can’t help it, a fat ass is my weakness.”

“Erik!”

The two men turn to face a sweaty Kaylin.

“I didn’t know you boxed at Champs! How long?”

“Used to come a while ago, just started back.”

She laughs, the light sound contagious.

“Cool! Maybe you can teach me some things. I’m trying to get the hang of it, the shit isn’t easy.”

“I can help you out sweetheart.” Tre steps up before his best friend could even speak.

“You just as good as E? I saw his moves in the ring and yours wasn’t looking so great on that speed bag.”

Erik couldn’t hold back his chuckle, slightly snorting and all at the way Kaylin played his friend.

“Chill, girl. That’s my nigga, he getting there.” Erik defends Tre.

“No shade, just saying.” Clearly Kaylin wasn’t interested in Tre, all she wanted was that Erik Stevens.

“You coming into the office tomorrow?” She got a little closer, Erik noticing the flushed look of her skin and the sweat glossing her cleavage.

Hell...Kaylin was a cutie.

Erik has eyes.

He could tell a bad bitch from a mile away, nothing wrong with looking. However, Erik wasn’t touching.

“I might, still got some paperwork to finalize.” Erik kept it short and simple.

“Okay, just saying, I’ll be there. We could get lunch or something. Thai food?”

Erik shrugs, “We can make it takeout for the office.”

A look of disappointment clouded her pretty brown eyes, but that only lasted a second.

“Okay! I’ll see you then. Oh! And your treat.”

Erik waves her away, “I got the money, I don’t mind.”

Erik said his final goodbyes before turning towards the locker rooms, leaving a flustered Kaylin behind.

“Like I said, you got these chicks thirsty” Tre had to add his two cents.

————————-

Finally home, kicking off her Saint Laurent heels in a pretty black and silver, Cyprine lets her hair down, smoothing out the pinned up curls with her fingertips, eyes closed, and a deep sigh escaping her mouth.

Not only did the event go as planned, she also snagged a date with Lorenz Allen, the successful black man and eye candy.

She had tomorrow night to look forward to, but right now preparing herself for Erik’s little get together at his place was her main priority. There was a Golden State game happening and finally, Cyprine would meet his other friends besides Tre who she already knew since him and Erik were the closest. Cyprine pulled a bottle of Hennessy XO from her kitchen liquor cabinet that she wanted to gift to Erik since he hadn’t tried it yet. It had a lovely long after taste of cinnamon and vanilla, fragrant with crystallized fruits, spices, and emanations of old leather. Cyprine knew Erik, he valued his drinks and he enjoyed the craft of mixology since he was a licensed one now.

The high pressure shower cleansed her body and the water droplets pricked her skin in the best way. All that ran through her mind was the date she had to look forward to and its possible outcome.

Men.

They could be an absolute disappointment.

Cyprine was single for a reason, she was tired of giving her all to a man and he gave her the minimal. Cyprine ran her fingers over her curly hair, conditioner working it’s magic to clear away her tangles stroke by stroke. With closed eyes, C.C’s mind wandered to her conversation with Erik about the last time they both had sex. She was reminded once again of the heat she felt, how much she missed calling a nigga ‘Daddy’ and getting her pussy fucked from behind.

That pussy is pure velvet heaven, juicy and succulent.

Man...she missed being praised in bed. She was a brat after all; a brat and a princess. Cyprine misbehaved; frequently too and the overpowering urge to be put in her place with some good dick and a sharp nasty tongue ate her from the inside out. She could feel water filling her mouth, snapping her out of the erotic daze she was in. Cyprine forgot where she was, and she forgot that her mouth was under the shower and not on her knees waiting for a dick to choke her out.

———————————

“Yo! You making the chicken nachos, right?”

Erik smiles faintly, slightly shaking his head as he cut the fresh mozzarella cheese in thin slices, plating it along with the mixed Mexican cheeses.

“Chicken nachos, shrimp nachos, veggie nachos…”

He wiped his fingers on a damp towel, reaching for some cheese to snack on while the sliced chicken breast simmered in the pot.

“Why don’t you make yourself useful nigga and call Jae, Malachi, and Torrey to see if they’re on the way.”

Tre hopped off the counter, walking away with a smart remark that Erik didn’t care to respond to. The game had just started, and the Jaguar Den already had snacks and all the drink essentials. The alone time gave Erik the chance to respond to Kimora’s naughty texts. They’ve been going back and forth never ending with this or that questions, and coming up with sexy scenarios they would like to be apart of. She was silly, fun, alluring, daring, confident, smart, and addicting.

-Tell me you aren’t wearing any underwear.

Sorry lover boy, it’s a thong.

He chuckles, biting his lip while adding a little garlic butter to the chicken.

-what the panties smell like? I bet your pussy smell like lavender oil and rose water right now.

This time around it smells like my homemade blueberry bliss body cream.

-that shit sound like a fruit roll up flavor lol.

LOL—Would you lick a fruit roll up off my pussy?!

-Without a second thought. Prolly taste better than that nasty ass flavored lube.

I’m sure it would, my pussy already sweet and sticky, Erik.

-So since it’s like that I’m making it a fucking command for that pussy to be eaten by me whenever I want it.

That’s cool with me, I like my pussy ate. Make sure you suck on it everywhere…that shit drives me wild.

His teeth dragged over his lip, a low groan vibrating his throat. He could feel the arousal in his fingertips, but it was stronger in his dick. It ran hot over his long stick like electricity to a wire. He felt his phone buzz, forgetting to send a reply back, he was that stuck.

I had my entire pussy covered in peach preserves before. I have these crazy cravings for peaches, so he spread it all over my pussy and sucked it off.

GOTDAMN.

Erik. Calm. Down.

“You good, E?”

Erik whipped his head around a little to harshly, startled by Tre’s unexpected arrival.

“I was until you creeped up on me like that! You know niggas couldn’t do that back at home, right?”

“Nigga I still live in Oakland! You the one that moved out.”

Shaking his head, Erik prayed to himself that the erection he had would go the fuck away.

Think about blood and guts, or fungus.

That always seemed to work, he was good as new.

-Kimora. I’d suck anything from honey, syrup, jelly, sugar, and whipped cream off that motherfucking pussy.

“Guess who showed up?!!”

Cyprine enters the kitchen, curly hair up in a bun, silver hoops in her ears, jeans so tight they looked painted on, and the littlest sweater that would give you a view of her under cleavage if she reached too high.

“Wassup, sexy?” Tre grabs her hand, attempting to kiss it sloppy, C.C pulling away with a repulsed expression before laughing.

“Ew nigga! Keep your mouth to yo self! I don’t know where that shit been!” She rolls her eyes, finally looking at Erik.

“Hey, peanut head, guess what I got?”

Cyprine held up the esteemed cognac bottle, flashing Erik her biggest smile yet.

“I remember you said you wanted to try it so...”

Erik was about to speak, before his phone buzzes.

Text me later, I’m on my way out. This convo is too juicy to neglect.

-Bet, say no more, beautiful.

Putting his phone away, Erik steps towards C.C, kissing her forehead before snatching up the bottle to examine it.  

“I heard good shit about it, Henny shots for every basket golden state make?”

Cyprine scuffs, “nigga you know I need my pineapple juice with this.”

—————————-

Okay.

So Erik hadn’t expected the attention Cyprine was receiving.

Actually...

“Yo, how the fuck you keep all that control?” Jae stood astounded behind the bar with Erik, light brown eyes shocked.

“Control of what?” Erik responded with a confused tone of annoyance.

“Keep from fucking the shit out Cyprine that’s what. Fuck you mean CoNtRoL WhAT?”

“Got more control than you do. You ain't gotta think about fucking every fine ass woman you come in contact with bruh.”

Erik was even shocked with his words. His eyes followed its path towards C.C. She was seated next to Tre, laughing and sipping her third drink so far. Erik could feel the lustful energy radiating from his friends as they looked at Cyprine from head to toe, wanting nothing more than to take turns fucking her.

That thought brought back memories of their early escapades.

Nah, not Cyprine.

Erik would normally be okay with hooking a girl friend of his up with one of his boys, but for some reason he didn’t want to with Cyprine. Erik watches as she takes her tongue to scoop up an ice cube, the pink slippery appendage dripping and mouth making slurping noises.

This wasn’t the first time he’d looked at his friend that way. She wore outfits that showed her beautiful sepia skin, smelled delicious, innocent eyes…

“You sure you got control? I see you focused on that chocolate baddie.”

Erik shakes the thought, going back to mixing Jae’s drink.

Cyprine couldn’t lie to herself and say she didn’t like the eyes on her. Erik had some very handsome friends, she could only imagine the things they used to get into.

“Where you and Erik meet?”

Cyprine turned to Torrey; tall, thick and with a beard against his light brown skin.

“Golden Speed, a friend recommended I go to him for some work.”

“Oh really?” The bravado of his voice made her smile, he really laid it on thick.

“Yeah, he told me to give it a try.”

The look in Torrey’s eyes let her know he was hoping it were a women so he could try his luck.

“I bet y’all were wild back then.” Cyprine states between eating her ice.

All of them minus Erik laughed, sharing knowing glances.

“Shit, we all claimin’ it.” Tre spoke for them.

“Ain’t no way you sticking around for some ‘just friends’ type of shit.”

C.C folds her arms over her chest with sass, “So, what? Erik can’t keep a girl as his friend?”

“You wanna know what happened to the last chick he had as a friend?” Malachi spoke while trying to hide his smile full of a diamond grill.

“Game is on why don’t y’all shut the fuck up and watch.” Erik approaches with his own drink, seating himself on his black recliner chair. He caught the cocoa’s cuties eye, watching her stick her tongue out at him.

“Oh! So you do know then?” all three men laugh, Erik ready to punch ever last of one of them in the face.

“Y’all ready now or later for the rearrangement of y’all wack ass faces,”  His jaw gets tight.

“Last chick, woke him up talking bout I accidentally licked your dick.” Cyprine could laugh. Who would accidentally lick dick anyway? That shit was meant to be loved in a special way.

“How that shit accidental, I don’t know.” Erik finally joins in, laughing.

Cyprine held up a finger, trying to catch her breath.

“OKAY! But what you say though?!”

He simply shrugs with those dimples and dominant brown eyes, “I guess I accidentally fucked her mouth.”

Cyprine couldn’t shake the heat she felt from that.

“And accidentally tore that pussy up.” He drinks from his glass of straight Hennessy XO, licking his lips that Cyprine had to peel her eyes away from.

———————-

“You sleepy yet?”

“Yeah, I am alittle. You should know by now with those drinks.”

Cyprine attempted to clean up, sweeping crumbs from the table. Erik smacked her hand away, earning a yelp from her and a death glare.

“Did you just hit me like I’m some child?!”

“Yeah, and?” He spoke in that calm unbothered tone that drove her crazy.

“You’re infuriating,” Cyprine said that, but she liked when Erik picked on her.

“ What’s up with you and Tre? Y’all was looking real cozy and cuddly”

Cyprine looked at Erik like he sported two heads, mouth opening and closing in shock then lets out a small snort like laugh.

“What?! Boy you crazy. There is nothing going on between me and Tre.”

“You know my nigga want you, right?”

“Not surprised, most men want me.”

She took in that smile he fought to show, the way his eyes would light up and those teeth as white as the porcelain piano keys, blinding her.

“So not only are you-“ Erik puts up air quotes, “that bitch, you can have any nigga you want, huh?”

Cyprine picked up as many dirty glasses as she could, bringing them to Erik’s blacked out bar  with gold trimming to clean.

“Did I stutter?” She bit back at him with those razor sharp teeth like a wild cat. Erik’s dominance screamed to claw back and show her who really had the upper hand, but his body was too tired to entertain it and he had to be up in the morning.

“Watch your mouth,C.C. AYE!” Well, clearly not tired enough.

She paused in between cleaning his glasses.

“Put that shit down, and go to bed. I got this tomorrow.”

Putting her hands up in surrender, she didn’t realize she had a glass still in her hand, dropping it and causing it to break in the sink.

“SHIT!!” She went to reach to clean it, her finger getting cut a little from her rushing.

“Shit, fuck, damnit!” Erik rolled his eyes, letting out the loudest most aggressive groan she had ever heard, she knew then she’d done it.

“What I tell you to do?! Didn’t I say leave the shit alone?!”

Erik stormed over to her, instantly picking up her finger, examining it.

“You like a little girl. Defiant.” Erik picks up a napkin, applying pressure. His jaw went tight with tension, the muscles of his face peeking through and his eyebrows creased so hard he looked damn near evil. Cyprine was speechless, she couldn’t form words or sounds.

“I-I’m sorry, Erik.” She finally spoke out with a quiet tone, the tightness of his grip on her hand almost cutting off her circulation.

“Nigga are you trying to take my damn hand off?!” Erik blinked like he was brought back to reality, letting go of her quickly, the color flooding his face from embarrassment.

“My bad.” He laughs nervously.

“What the fuck was that about? Something you need to tell me Stevens?” She looked at him with curious eyes.

“I-I can be a little forceful, that’s all. Just...I don’t do well with chicks not listening to what I say, then you went and hurt yourself so it kinda made me mad.”

“KINDA?” Cyprine felt like she’d stepped into new territory with Erik. So, not that she didn’t want to make everything about sex, but that entire confession reeked of sex and control.

“You get like this with Kimora?” Erik’s eyes landed on hers, briefly.

“How can I ? I haven’t seen her yet.” Silence settles between them both as Erik walked past her to clean up her mess.

“You wanna know what I think?” Cyprine pushes.

“What?”

“I think you’re afraid of how you feel about her and that you’re avoiding it as much as you can.”

He didn’t respond, just simply cleaned the sink of shards of glass careful not to cut himself in the process.

“As much as y’all talk, I know your dick is probably begging for a release.”

Kissing his teeth, Erik shakes the glass into the trash. She could tell she was getting to him, she could read his posture and the way he fought to ignore her.

“A guy can only jack his dick for so long, Erik.”

“I know that, C.C.” He responds with a curt tone.

“So, maybe have some sex?” She tosses a black rag at him that he catches swiftly with one hand.

“Why is my sex life so interesting to you? I don’t go around asking you to get the pussy beat up.”

“You don’t have to, I know it’s been a while for me. It might happen sooner than later.” She could only imagine what Lorenz was packing.

“Hmph, I wonder who.” Erik cuts his eyes at her, winking suggestively.

“Shut up! Me and Tre are strictly friends, asshole.”

“Sure, whatever you say.”

———————————

Eyes opening against fresh white linen that smelled of tropical Tide detergent, Erik lifts his head, rubbing at the dried spit on the side of his face, pads of his fingertips feeling sleep lines along his skin. He checked the time on his phone, noting that it was 9:45 am and he had to be into the office to finalize some paperwork for his engine. As soon as his body fully stretched and lifted from the bed, he could smell sautéed veggies and sausage. That smell made his stomach growl, and the throbbing in his head more painful.

He had a hangover and his mouth felt like cotton from all the drinking him and his friends did the other night. Erik’s body was too tired to clean anything so after the guys left he made his way toward his room. All Erik wanted to do before he filled his stomach with that good smelling food was brush his teeth and whizz. That’s what he gets for staying up in bed until 2 am talking on the phone with his beautiful distraction. Kimora made him go against his word of jerking off, something he’d grown so accustomed to since he first laid eyes on her. Speaking of jerking dicks and erections, his was at full attention and when that weapon was ready for work it was hard to calm himself down. The moment he laid eyes on the dent in his pants, was the moment he thought about their previous conversation over the phone.

I bet you like the tip of your dick sucked on the most. I could do that for you E.

What emotion do you feel most often?

What do you think the perfect kiss feels like? Do you like a lot of tongue or do you like slow soft kisses?

Her voice was so carefree and wild it drove him crazy.

On top of thinking about naughty girl Kimora, there was another brown beauty, t-shirt clad and barefoot cooking in his kitchen

After rinsing his mouth out with mouthwash and scrubbing his face with the African black soap he had gotten from a local all natural apothecary shop, Erik pulled a crisp white tee over his body and a pair of black sweats, because grey sweats wouldn’t do with the way his dick was swinging.

—————————

“Aye.”

Cyprine looked up from her plate with a big sausage omelet, pausing between chewing.

“Morning! Oh, and I cleaned up too by the way, just so you know.” She was rather chipper.

“Pssh, I ain’t even mad at that no more you gon’ do what you wanna do anyway.” Erik noticed the repeated smile on her face.

“Something wrong, lil nigga?” Erik scanned the kitchen, whispering a ‘yes’ at the sight of extras. He had to have a cooked meal for breakfast every single morning and he was thankful of Cyprine crashing in his guest bedroom, too drunk to drive home, and Erik hated when she used to do that shit.

“No, why would it be something wrong and I’m all smiles, Erik?” With a perfectly arched brow, she took a sip of her apple juice, eyes never leaving his.

“Nah, it’s just...you look like you're blushing.”

“And if I am?” She sassed him, giving her usual bratty stare down that had Erik itching to reprimand.

“So it’s a secret then? Cool, you ain’t gotta tell me. Just remember that you’re the only one of my homies that know about Kimora.”

Cyprine couldn’t argue with that, it was definitely true but at the same time she just got a date with Lorenz, she didn’t want to jinx it.

“And I’m glad you told me about her.” Cyprine flashed her pageant worthy smile, focusing back on her food.

“Going into the shop?”

“No, that’s what I got new hires for when I’m busy with other shit.” Erik busied himself with fixing a plate, aware of Cyprine giving him a dirty look because of his smart response.

“So...what the fuck you doing then?”

“Going into the office for some final shit about my engine.”

“You putting one of those in my car, right?” Cyprine looked at Erik sternly, eyes tracking him up and down with a hand on her curvy hip.

“You got a whole new engine so no. Come back in about ten years.”

Flabbergasted, Cyprine’s bright wide eyes almost popped out of her sockets, “Ten years?!”

“Use to be around 8 but with the new and improved tech and service standards the average life expectancy is 200,000 miles or about 10 years.”

Erik always hit her ass with car facts, something she didn’t ask for in the slightest.

“Think of it as me looking out for you and saving your pockets.” Erik winked at her, laughing afterwards in that low pitch tone, almost boy next door-ish.

“Whatever, let me go, I got shit to do.” Cyprine forked the last bit of her omelet, hopping off the stool towards the dishwasher. Erik thought about one of his responsibilities that he agreed on when he saw Kaylin at Champs the other day.

“You know any good Thai food around here? I gotta buy some for the office today.”

Cyprine wipes her hands on a paper towel, “Yeah, try Pailin Thai Cuisine.” Cyprine tried for a winning shot of her balled up paper towel, missing the trash can completely and earning a thumbs down from Erik.

“You know better than to do that in front of me, no game having ass, now pick it up.”

Cyprine gives him the finger before walking to pick up her trash, bending over slightly. Erik had to blink twice, no...three times.

“Uhm…” he says without even realizing, his eyes trained to her hips and his dick knocking at the crotch of his sweats. Cyprine’s shapely round ass was visible to him, not the whole thing but enough to let Erik know that she had nothing on under that T-shirt.

She stared in confusion before something clicked in her brain, her hands reaching for the hem of the shirt with caution, turning away from Erik completely and stepping around the kitchen island.

They just shared an awkward glance, Cyprine searching Erik’s eyes, hoping he would crack a laugh or tease her, saying something along the lines of, you got an ashy ass butt. Nope, nothing at all like that, just unblinking eyes that she couldn’t quite discern.

“So this what we doing now?! Staring until we see who blinks first?!” Cyprine decided to make her exit quickly, unsure of how to react to this version of Erik Stevens.

————————

“Erik! Welcome back!”

Erik walks in, adjusting his black tie with a simple gold tie cufflink, black slacks, and polished Calvin Klein dress shoes on his feet. The gold Rolex on his right wrist reflected the sun coming from his office window, catching the eyes of Kaylin and making a rainbow on her glasses.

“Didn’t think you were really coming in!” Her light voice could have almost caught him in its web if it weren’t for the image of Cyprines ass in his head, and not to mention the text he got of Kimora’s tits as a good morning present.

“Morning, Kaylin.” He gives her a simple smile, unable to fight the fact that it came with dimples.

“Oh, there’s that money making smile I love,” she winks, giggling afterward with a bounce of her breasts. Erik knew exactly what she was doing. He just KNEW.

“Ever heard of Pailin Thai Cuisine?” Erik removed his gold rimmed reading glasses to wipe them with a simple Kleenex.

“Uh, yes. I eat there often on my lunch break.” Without even asking, Kaylin makes herself comfortable at Erik’s desk. He wanted to question her actions but decided against it since his mind was elsewhere. He could feel this nervous feeling in the pit of his gut, almost like butterflies except it drew heat. He wasn’t sure just yet if it was because of his undeniable attraction to Cyprine, and the thoughts of being with Kimora, but man was he conflicted. And here comes Kaylin, dressed in a nude pencil skirt that showed off the alluring curve of her ass and a pastel blue silk top that stretched over her chest almost ripping at the seams. These women were driving him crazy.

“Let the office know I’m ordering in, it’s a celebration.” Erik opened his desk drawer, pulling out a bottle of champagne.

“Golden Speed is taking off, Kaylin.” He smiles prideful and confident, his eyes on a fidgety Kaylin who couldn’t keep her legs still.

“You good?”

“Yes…” she forcefully smiles, bothered about getting up to walk away after making herself comfortable on the warm suede chair of his office. Turning to leave, Kaylin stopped directly in his doorway.

“Erik.”

The tone of her voice spoke as if she wanted to share something deep.

“Yes?” Erik looked at her over his gold rimmed glasses as he put them back on to study some files.

“Uhm...I just, you know…” she lets out a shaky breath that seemed to lack oxygen, did he really have that much of an affect?

“Kay, if this is about the conference in two days I got it, girl. Don’t worry your pretty self, go manage things.”

“E, I really gotta get this shit off my chest, otherwise it will bother me all day.”

“Close the door, Kaylin, if you need to talk.”

She does, slowly.

“I...you know there is a quiet room where employees can go to take naps and relax in this building, right?” Where was she going with this? Of course Erik knew about it, he’d been in there a few times in the early stages of starting his business when there were at least three meetings a day, each lasting about two hours.

Erik intertwined his fingers against the surface of the desk and scrunched his forehead, “Yeah, what about it?”

“Well, you see…” Kaylin looks down at her nude So Kate pumps in a patent leather, “I was wondering if we could take advantage of that.”

Erik swallows spit, almost coughing on it as some reached his windpipe instead. He puts a fist to his mouth to be more discreet.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, I wanna fuck you.”

Oh boy. He reached to pull at his collar, because the buttons there felt like he was choking.

Erik kept his cool, and kept his gaze on her. He could see her caramel skin heat up, nipples hardened, her voluptuous lips lined brown shining with gloss.

“It’s been that way for me. I just want you inside me.”

She lifts the small key to the quiet room, “C’mon. I know you want to. A single man such as yourself…”

Erik didn’t know he read single man. Sure, it was true, but he wouldn’t have guessed he gave off that vibe.

Kaylin toyed with the first button of her top, looking towards him with a pleading look and a swing of the small gold key.

“There’s no denying that you are very beautiful. And yeah, it’s tempting  but I don’t think we should. I’m sure it would be real good, but Kaylin…” Erik trails off.

“I get it! professionalism is most important….” she was saddened, and Erik didn’t want to make her sad, but NO, he didn’t want to fuck Kaylin and complicate things.

“But...can you reconsider?” She was talking to him like she was trying to make him a business offer.

“Sorry, love.” He smiles, trying to lighten the mood which ended up with her smiling faintly. She looked defeated, but her eyes still told him she wasn’t gonna give up so easily.

“Whatever woman has your interest is a lucky one. What I would give to be at your command.”

His hands slightly shook; Erik had to busy himself with moving. Erik adjusted the cup of pens he had, the wireless mouse for his MacBook, his tie, and even the blazer he wore. He prayed that she would leave so he could breath and fight through the temptation. It was difficult to fight off his erection when he normally would have fucked her crazy. Damn, this was the third erection of the day and it hadn’t even started. Finally, the caramel beauty made her exit, closing the door with a soft click.

Throughout the rest of the day, Erik watched from his desk as the office played music and drank champagne. Half empty containers of thai food littered every desk surface. He enjoyed the sights from the open blinds of his office, his own food half eaten and instead of champagne, he had the bottle of Hennessy Cyprine gave him in his briefcase.

A pair of light brown eyes kept a close watch on him from her own cubicle that resides directly in front of his, sipping her champagne, folding and unfolding her legs seductively. Erik noticed she had nothing on under her skirt, just bare shaved pussy lips.

She was still targeting him, even after he turned down her advances, clearly Kaylin didn’t like to be told no.

It was creamy too, all rosy pink on the inside and fat as a bitch. How was it that no one noticed her little show but him?

She turned her chair completely towards his glass window, hiking up one smooth leg and spreading her pussy lips to show him the real mess she had.

“Please? Come taste me.” She mouthed to him.

Erik peeled his eyes away from her exposed slit, tapping his foot. He tried settling for reading emails.

“To Erik Stevens in regards to your interview prep questions…” his eyes looked back at her, failing him, watching her rub her clit and place that same finger into her mouth.

Fuck. He was extremely turned on.

Erik tried another tactic to get rid of the distraction, closing his blinds and blocking the view for good. He lifted from his seat walking to the window, giving her one final look, watching her tease him with a smile and a scorching look in her eyes before closing the blinds, letting out a shaky breath. His phone buzzed in his pocket, Thank GOD.

It was a call from his Oakland Auto Shop.

————————-

“You, Cyprine, are one beautiful goddess.”

The extremely low cleavage, high slit evening dress in an eye piercing white hugged her luscious curves tightly, wasting no time with letting everyone around her know she was the shit, and her body was the shit.

She wore her long curly 4A hair in an effortless bush that framed her beautiful face. Gold Cartier bracelets decorated her wrist, with simple round cut diamond stud earrings with 14k yellow gold.

Lorenz wore a pair of Ralph Lauren navy blue slacks with a black belt, a cream colored dress shirt that hugged his able-bodied frame and a new model yellow gold and diamonds Rolex on his right wrist, and polished Saint Laurent dress shoes on his feet.

Cyprine couldn’t help but to blush at those words, he could keep saying things like that all night and he just might get lucky.

“I’m impressed as well, Lorenz. You look amazing.”

Lorenz gave her a soft smile with his high cheekbones.

“I figured you would like the look, I wore it especially for you.”

Cyprine bit her lip slightly, playing with a strand of curly hair with her eyes focused on the five star restaurant he was taking her to. Supposedly, a friend recommended it to him, so it would be his first time trying as well. There was valet, so Lorenz handed one of them the keys to his McLadden and proceeded to escort Cyprine into the romantic eating establishment settled on Melrose Ave.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you the reservation list is so full, the only dates available are around thanksgiving.” He chuckles in a snarky manner.

“So, how did you snag a reservation then?”

“Chef Michael Cimarusti is a friend of the friend who recommended me, he catered her wedding.”

Approaching the hostess station, Lorenz and Cyprine were greeted with a Paris Hilton look alike that moved and spoke like she was the talk of Hollywood.

“Hi, I’m Blair, welcome to Providence, the innovative seafood destination in a tranquil setting, can I have a name for a reservation, please?”

“Lorenz Allen, friend of Michael.”

The look in Blair’s eyes showed scrutiny, but nonetheless, she looked anyway. Cyprine rolled her eyes at the stereotypical reaction white people give about black people being able to afford to eat at places like this.

“Aha! I see, the Chef personally made a notation about you, why don’t you follow me this way. Would you like to eat out in the garden or inside with candle light?”

Cyprine loved the idea of sitting in a garden to eat dinner, it was romantic.

“ The garden would-“

“We’ll take the inside table with the candle light.”

Cyprines lips snapped shut in an instant, her head turning towards Lorenz, visibly confused at his sudden outburst and clear disapproval of wanting to eat in the garden.

“You don’t like gardens?”

“You see these shoes, right? Not cheap, ran me 730 dollars. Ain’t no fertilizer messing these shoes up.”

Cyprine blinked at him like he was speaking insanely, deciding not to speak on that.

“Okay, right this way.” Following Blair, Lorenz brings a single arm around Cyprines waist to lead her along the way, giving her a heart fluttering smile, causing her to return the same.

Finally seated, Cyprine takes in the atmosphere of the upscale eatery, impressed so far by the interior design and the smells that made her mouth water. The toasted vanilla votive candles give light to the seductively dim restaurant, tables draped in ivory colored tablecloths, some decorated with candles and others with an assortment of roses. Lorenz ordered a bottle of aged red wine, the oldest bottle they had. Cyprine wanted to object, but Blair had already gone away.

“I’m not really a fan of red wine, they don’t have any Moscato wine, sangrias?”

“Cyprine, gorgeous, why not be open minded? You’ll be surprised, you may enjoy it.”

She laughs lightly, “I doubt that. Do you think they may have Hennessy?”

Lorenz doesn’t respond with words, only a single brow lift and a look of disapproval.

“You didn’t peg me as a Henny drinker. Let me guess, you twerk any and everywhere too?”

What a change of energy.

“What’s wrong with that?! It’s all in good fun, Lorenz. You can’t sit here and tell me you don’t have fun.”

“I’m more of a yacht club kind of guy, sitting with old valedictorian friends, reminiscing on college days, smoking cigars.” Cyprine knew Lorenz had expensive friends, but she didn’t think he was one of those uptight types. That threw her for a complete loop, she didn’t get that vibe  from him at all. Now she was unsure of how this night would play out. A young Asian guy who looked to be in his early twenties approaches their table with a perfect posture and a faint smile.

“I am Ethan, I will be your waiter this evening. Here is the red wine you requested Sir, the oldest we had dates back to 1977.” Cyprine felt herself cringe.

“I’m sorry, Ethan, is there a way I could get a glass of white wine instead?”

Ethan smiles, “yes, of course, I will bring a bottle to the table for you.” As Ethan makes his exit, Lorenz chimes in.

“Why’d you do that?” He seemed annoyed.

“Look, you’re taking me on a date, right? So, I would think that means being a gentleman and wanting to understand my likes and dislikes.” The bitter tone in her words didn’t go unnoticed, and neither did a new wave of irritation coming off Lorenz. Had Cyprine been wrong about accepting this date? Clearly it seemed looks weren’t enough.

“Let me look over this menu.” Lorenz decided not to give his opinion on her words, and Cyprine thought it best he didn’t. As Lorenz looked over the prices, Cyprine sipped her white wine, studying his face. The handsome features contorted with distaste.

“These prices are ridiculously high.” Lorenz closes the menu, Cyprines eyes growing a fraction.

“I’ll order us the broiled Caviar with shrimp cocktail.”

Cyprine didn’t speak, she just drank her wine and filled the glass whenever it was half full. Whatever white wine it was, she could feel an instant buzz already and it put her in a better disposition.

“What was it like growing up in LA, Lorenz?” She figured small talk would lighten the mood.

“I grew up in Arizona, I’m an Army brat.”

“Wow, how was that? Moving from place to place and what not.”

“Okay I guess. Had to deal with it, no other choice when you had to do what your parents wanted you to do.” Cyprine could agree with that.

“For me, I grew up here in Cali. My childhood was fairly great, both of my parents raised me, participated in a lot of extra curricular activities like dance, Taekwondo. I enjoyed my school days too, hanging with my girls, getting into shit.”

Lorenz gave a hum of approval, but no feedback so the topic went dry. They both sat in silence until Ethan came, Lorenz ordering the appetizers. Pouring another glass of wine, she was already tipsy, but the wine was so good.

“How many glasses have you had?” Lorenz asks with a raised brow.

“Honestly, I couldn’t tell you.” Cyprine giggles.

Lorenz scanned the restaurant, noticing eyes on them.

“Hey, maybe you should lay off a little. I don’t need for these people to worry about what’s going on over here.”

Cyprine wasn’t drunk, she could hear the disapproval in his tone.

“Oh, and I ordered you the Santa Barbara Spot Prawn, it’s in my price range and I think you may like it.”

“Excuse me? I wanted to try the wild thai shrimp with salmon.”

“Cyprine, bare with me.” Lorenz puts up a hand to her, and Cyprine didn’t take too well to that shit at all.

“Lorenz, I don’t do all the disrespect. Don’t raise your hand to silence me like a child I’m a grown ass women.”

He chuckles, clearly unfazed.

“If you so grown, then why do I have to tell you to put the glass down? You're drinking like a fish and it’s not appealing.”

She felt like she’d been slapped in the face.

“You are really showing your true colors tonight,” Cyprine adds more wine to her glass, laughing to calm her nerves.

“What true colors, Cyprine? Enlighten me.” He spoke low and discreet as to not draw attention.

“You’re cheap, but yet you bring me to a five star restaurant and talk about yacht clubs and fancy college friends clearly to impress me. You don’t let me speak or think for myself, you just assume shit about me when you don’t even know me. Speaking of knowing me, you don’t care to do that either. And let’s not forget the drinking, if I wanna take this bottle to the head I will, I don’t give a fuck what these white people think, I know who I am.” She downs the drink, licking at her lips.

“I mean, is this even a date or do you just expect me to go back to your expensive place and have sex with you?”

Lorenz folds his arms over his broad chest, giving her a look that could only be shared if two individuals were on the same page.

“Isn’t that what this is? You hardly ever spoke to me, just looked at me like fresh meat. And you knew the way I looked at you, Cyprine. Did I expect sex after this, yes. Am I proven wrong, obviously.” Lorenz leans in closer, those eyes she once saw as dreamy were now nothing but pits of tarnished mud.

“Sorry, babygirl, But I think I should make my exit. I can’t stand a black woman with an attitude and no table manners.”  A beat and a breath passed between them and then the entire glass of his chosen aged red wine was spilled, covering his entire chest and staining that fresh cream colored shirt he wore. He was shell shocked, eyes wide and unbelieving that she actually poured a drink on him. The gasps and comments could be heard faintly, but Cyprine didn’t care. Lifting her own glass to her full perfectly glossed lips with a look of aloof mischief in her sparkling eyes.

“I’m sorry babe. My hand just slipped. I hope that outfit wasn't expensive.”

“You know, I feel sorry for the next man. You are truly a piece of work Cyprine, now you’re about to eat alone.”

“Oh good I can order the shrimp and salmon.”

He lifts up angrily from his chair, wiping his face with his white napkin, storming past her with the faint sound of ‘bitch’ escaping his mouth.

Cyprine could feel the embarrassment creeping up on her, but no, she wasn’t gonna give these people the satisfaction of seeing her down.

“Well, there goes another failed attempt down the drain.” Cyprine laughs to herself, motioning for an apprehensive Ethan to come over to her table and get her another round of drinks and new order of food, she had the money to spend on it.

———————————-

KNOCK KNOCK

So much for his personal smoking session. He had just gotten finished eating some homemade pho, and currently he was seated in his living room, on the couch facing the LA cityscape. His laptop was untouched for the past hour, even though he told himself he would send out emails to the board of his company about the conference they had to do. It was A LOT OF PRESSURE for him, spotlights, press, presentations. Erik strained his ears, hearing small whimpers from outside of his door. He recognized those whimpers, but why the fuck is she here around almost 12am?

Cyprine.

“What the fuck?” Erik mouths to himself, he had on no shirt and just a pair of royal blue basketball shorts, black nike socks, and his signature gold chain with his father's ring around his neck. The closer he approached the foyer, the louder her complaints became.

“ERIK!!!! Pleassssseeee open the fucking door! I’m PISSED OFF!”Her words slurred a little, and from that point Erik knew she drove all the way to his place drunk out of her mind. He fumbled with the locks, finally getting it open and with quick reflexes, catching Cyprines falling body into his arms.

“What the hell?! What the fuck are you doing drunk driving Cyprine?!” Her body was almost like dead weight on him, her white dress sliding from her shoulders, feet unsteady, and eyes hazy.

“CYPRINE!” Erik shakes her a little, causing her to open her eyes wider at his elevated tone.

“Hello?!! Can’t fucking hear?!” He was pissed.

“I’m sorry I went alittle heavy on the liquor.”

“ALITTLE?!”

“Aye nigga stop yelling. Gon bust my eardrums. So this nigga did me foul! He fucking left me at the dinner table ALONE E! Fucking alone!” She punched at the wall, leaning against it as she walked further into his apartment. Erik follows, eyes piercing.

“I thought it would be a good idea to go out with a nice man, get wined and dined. Maybe get some dick you know?!” She bends down languidly to peel off her strappy red bottomed heels, fingers fumbling with the simple buckles and kicking them off. Rising from her bent position, she put her hands up with an exasperated puff of air.

“I need another fucking drink.”

“No the fuck you don’t!  You need water. And what you mean left you at the table? You went on a date or some shit?”

She simply nods her head, eyelids fluttering slowly.

“...wasn’t gonna tell me you and Tre-“

She groans, hands over her face.

“Not with Tre! With this cheap ass nigga name Lorenz!”

Erik strokes his chin hair, slowly settling down on the couch across from her.

“Lorenz? Lorenz what?”

“Lorenz Allen. A bitch ass nigga.”

Erik pinches the bridge of his nose, taking meditating breaths.

“I could have warned you about him girl if you would have told me what the fuck was going on!”

Cyprine looked over at Erik from her drunk stupor,

“What you mean?!”

“I MEAN, that nigga is lame. He ain’t the one to fuck wit, C, I know him through some people, nigga is straight trash.”

Cyprine pouts, hugging a pillow, “doesn’t do me good now, Erik!”

“I told you about Kimora! How I felt and shit and you couldn’t tell me this?! Why the fuck not?”

Her voice cracked with anger, “I wanted to see if this would work out before I did that! And now I’m glad I didn’t do that, I would be even MORE messed up.”

Erik shakes his head, eyes dangerously low and angry.

“Still don’t give you the right to keep that shit from me.”

“Damn nigga chill out! I don’t owe you shit.” She whines.

“Shut the fuck up. You out here drinking and fucking driving-“

“I didn’t drive, I got an Uber over.”

Erik could have yanked her up. He practically hollered at this chick for her to tell him that?

“So, you mean to tell me...you got a ride, and made me think you were out here cruising drunk?”

Cyprine rolls her eyes, “You the silly ass nigga that assumed. But you not my daddy! I can do what the hell I want so why does it matter?”

Erik wasn’t having that, the glare he sent her was shuttering.

“You better watch that little mouth. Why don’t you take your ass somewhere and get some sleep,” as soon as he stood up, she followed.

“No,” folding her arms, Cyprine battles with Erik, keeping eye contact.

“No? See...” Erik steps closer, looking down at her.

“Cyprine, I ain’t got time for your bratty ass. I don’t wanna have to put you in your place, you already fucked up my quiet.”

“You and your quiet will be alright nigga.”

It has to be the alcohol talking, the way she challenged him with those eyes and that stance. She looked flustered and sexy and Erik felt like he was fighting to keep it together.

“I’ll make my way to that fucking basement. I need another drink to ease my mind and cleanse my soul of bumb nigga energy.” Before she could walk away, Erik had her arm in his firm grip, pulling back against him with so much force it damn near knocked the glass coffee table down.

The rush he felt from that had his mind swirling. All the hugs he received from Cyprine was nothing compared to the way her body was pressed against his, dress half way off her chocolate frame, eyes glossy. He was turned on so heavy, there wasn’t a damn thing that could ruin this mood, not even that fucking weed he was just smoking.

“E...let go.” She spoke through clenched teeth.

Cyprines eyes fluttered, conflict within her orbs.

“I came here for support and all you tryna do is act like my damn daddy!”

What the hell was going on? That primal look in his eyes was all too familiar in men. Was it…

“When I tell you to do something, what you do?” He spoke softer. She didn’t respond, and she didn’t want to.

“Cyprine...I said,” his hand came to her hip, she couldn’t breathe anymore, fuck being drunk she needed oxygen to fill her lungs.

“What you do?”

She swallows spit, “do it.”

Those two words, the energy it took to SPEAK them. The blaze behind them, the force that it placed on her aching body. Her pussy throbbed, her legs quaked, her breathing was uneven, she felt like she was undergoing vertigo.

“Good girl, now, is that hard, babygirl?”

“What happened to calling me lil nigga?”

He laughs, “you don’t get to be called lil nigga right now with the way you acting.”

Erik was definitely inviting her into this confusing game. She wasn’t sure where to go, her head pounded and her limbs felt like cement blocks were holding them in place.

“Now, I’m putting you in the bath and then you laying that ass down.”

“A bath?!” She gave him a wide eyed look of shock, Erik’s expression so passive and unfazed. Erik pulls Cyprine by her arm and up the steps; silent and nerve wracking. She wanted him to say ‘gotcha’ anything, it gave her butterflies.

“Listen, nigga, I can take it from here-Ahhh!” She felt his hand come down on her ass and it went straight to her pussy. Wasn’t no way she would speak after that, what in the hell came over this man, the very man who just 24 hours ago treated her like one of the homies. Erik gave her a look that dared her to talk, and she didn’t. The trip to the bathroom was quick, Erik sitting her on the toilet while he set up the bath. She wanted to say something ANYTHING to him, but he was in the zone.

“What you doin? You can’t take a bath with clothes on can you?”

“E…”

“What? Am I right or wrong, girl?”

Cyprine looked from her dress to him. Her stomach felt queasy, her heart damn near left her chest. His scent made her nose burn every time she inhaled and his unrelenting eyes had a powerful hold on her. She noticed the bulge in his shorts, and clearly as visible as it was he knew she would notice. Cyprine was a little hesitant in front of him because she didn’t know what to expect from Erik.

“The longer you sit there, the colder this water is gonna be.”

She began undressing, her eyes focused on him, waiting for the April fools, but nothing came...well, except for the deep grunt he made from watching her strip naked. She was mind blown, felt like a rocket had been set off in her head. She wanted an explanation, and she wanted it FAST.

“Now, come on and get in this tub before I beat yo ass.”

Without any resistance, the naked woman gently eased herself into the deliciously hot water. It felt so good when she sat down that she almost groaned. Erik proceeded to get down on his knees and reached under the sink, pulling out a pack of the makeup remover wipes she usually buys that she didn't remember ever leaving there. It was clearly a brand new pack that had never been open cause he used some force to get it open before pulling a fresh piece to gently wipe off the makeup on her face. It took two wipes to get her down to a bare face and then he took her hair in hand, separated it into two sections, combing through with his fingers as much as he could without hurting her and braided them into pigtails. She didn't even know he could do that. He grabbed a clean white hand towel and wiped Cyprine’s face again to get it completely  clean and followed with a baby blue loofah and some lavender castile soap to wash her body. Once he was satisfied, he let out the water and wrapped her petite frame in a fluffy towel. He took her hand in his, helping her out of the tub and patted down the water on her skin. He massaged some african shea butter into her skin while she stood in front of him. After she was moisturized, he carried her bridal style, cradled against his pebbled chest and gently sat her down at the foot of the plush bed.

“Stay here lil one. Ima go get you something to sleep in and warm ya feet.”

With that, he popped out the room leaving Cyprine to fidget about on the black velvet king sized bed. She felt hot all over and the more she sat, the more the anticipation escalated. Cyprine was practically exposed sitting on the bed within his guest bedroom. Hell, she could sleep naked from how horny she felt, fuck clothes.  After all of this that transpired so damn quickly, would Erik want to do more? Would he slip in between the black bamboo Lyocell bedding that has a silky smooth and feathery soft texture? Would he wake her up from her slumber with his hand between her legs, fingering her to climax while she bucked her hips? Does he prefer to keep the lights off? Only hearing his breathing and her pussy sucking his fingers in and out of her like a vacuum.

Cyprine should have known.

A man who’d been without sex for five months straight, constantly horny, blue balls often, a build up of nasty thoughts that he wanted to reenact in his own bed. As if feeling his eyes on her, Cyprine lifts her head towards the doorway, watching as his henched frame glowed from the small lamp light on the nightstand. Cyprine’s eyes watched in a different way this time and she remained quiet too, waiting to see what would happen next, this game was exciting.

“I hope you don’t mind this old Navy training T-shirt, it’s a little faded. And here’s some socks too to keep your pretty feet warm.”

She responded in a softly spoken tone, “it’s fine, E, I’m just sleeping.”

He chuckles before that smoky voice lulled her, “Aight, little one.”

Erik walks toward her, finally reaching her personal space and kneeling down in front of her, meeting her eye level. With steady and skillful hands, eyes on her like what resided from her shoulders down wasn’t completely exposed. She could smell the shea on her skin, and she could feel her nipples grown and stiffen. Erik gathered the shirt, placing it over her head.

“Put your arms through.”

She lifts her arms through the sleeves, the smell of his fresh shirt soothing her. It had a smell of old cologne and fabric softener. As if teasing her, Erik lowers the shirt down, his eyes never leaving hers until the shirt settled at the top of her thighs like a dress.

“Lay back.” She did, until her weight rested on her elbows.

“Give me your feet.”

Her smooth pretty feet stretched out in front of him and one by one Erik placed the socks on her feet while staring at her toes longingly. Oh she liked that, she liked that he was mesmerized by her pretty toes. Erik lifts from the floor, crawling onto the bed, before settling next to her. Cyprine felt herself exhale as she watched him watch her.

“Since your settled in bed, Cyprine, let me tell yo ass once. You too good to set yourself up like that. Fuck niggas don’t deserve your time, believe me, I know a lot of fuck niggas and Lorenz is one of them.”

She could have melted in his arms, she didn’t know how she could do it for so long, be around him and not be swept off her feet. He was definitely a charmer.

“Aye, look at me while I’m talking to you, not my lips.”

With a honeyed voice, she says, “but your lips are moving, which means your talking, right?” Cyprine was being sassy.

Erik shifted on the bed, pausing for effect.

“I need eye contact.” He spoke in a gruff tone.

He looked her up and down, smiling at her, “You cute, but save that little voice you talking wit,”

“Why?” Cyprine wanted to push him, see how far he would go. They came all this way might as well see.

“Don’t worry about all that,” Erik hooks his hands under her arms, pulling her up and onto one of the silk pillows, pulling the bedding out for her to slip in. With a smooth, slow kiss to the forehead, Erik lifts from the bed, walking away like he always did on those regular nights when Cyprine was drunk or all too tired to walk on her own two feet.

Walking out that room was a challenge, his stiff dick resting against his thigh from the thin material of his shorts and he could also feel the precum stain his thigh. Erik needed to meditate, take another shower maybe and sit on his shower chair; just think. That interaction was all it took, he needed his dick sucked and fucked on right now, it’s been too damn long. Erik turned, hand on her door knob, ready to risk it all and get what he so desperately needed, maybe even doing her a favor; non accidentally.

@unholyxcumbucket @wakanda-shit-is-that @yomiloo @forbeautyandlife @turn-thy-paige @vikkidc @panthergoddessbast @whorderofthepheonix @whoramilaje @trevantesbrat @hearteyes-for-killmonger @thehomierobbstark @drsunshine97 @disneysdarlingdiva @janelledarling @tiava143 @abeautifulmindexposed @supersizemeplz @forgottenthoughtsandmemories @brattywriters-anonymous @blackpinup22 @killmonger-dolan @eriksjournal @thadelightfulone @chaneajoyyy @madamslayyy @loosewindmill @softnani @ljstraightnochaser @faatassbitch @blackpantherismyish @erikslulbaby @youreadthatright @youcan-die @blowmymbackout @muse-of-mbaku @heyauntieeee @iamrheaspeaks @destinio1 @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bakarijordan @shookmcgookqueen @purple-apricots @unfriendly-blk-hottie @uhlxisback @wawakanda-btch @bartierbakarimobisson

[a-jynx]

Lost in the Heart & at Sea;  Chapter One: Love Letters & Shipwrecks

Summary: Sam and Nathan Drake finds themselves running in circles when they catch wind of a new treasure that was supposedly lost to the sea; the Diamond of the Pacific, a ring that was meant for Captain Jules wife. With enemies at every corner, they’ll need all the help they can get… Including, inside jobs. How will Sam and Nathan react when they figure out who Y/N really is? How will Sam react when she shows him sides of her no one else has seen?

Pairing: Sam Drake x reader; mentions Nathan Drake, Elena Fisher, Victor Sullivan, Nadine Ross, Rafe Adler,

Warnings: Cursing, blood/violence, gun violence, implied smut, angst, testing fate/loyalty, major injury,

Notes: This is the first Uncharted Series I have ever attempted, so, I apologize now if it turns out horrible :) I’ve taken a strong liking to the Drake boys once again, and I don’t plan on seizing up hopefully! However, I will still take request for SPN, and other shows/video games! Send an Ask and you’ll be added to my drafts to be written! :) 💖

Enjoy! Feedback is appreciated!

I woke with a growl, rubbing at the knot that had formed on the back of my head. “Dammit.” Glancing around, I noted that I was in a hotel room that I didn’t recognize as the one from Italy. Pushing myself up onto my elbows, I sat up fully with a huff as I cracked my neck, frowning at the stiffness that warped through my aching bones. 

“Good to see Drake didn’t kill you, I would’ve had to shoot him,” Nadine spoke as I glance over, furrowing my brows as she stuck out a glass of water, sighing I thanked her and took a sip. “How’s your head feeling?” She asked, sitting in the desk chair as I frowned, rubbing a hand down my face with a scoff. “My head’s fine, I’m not dead. But... The cross,” 

“Y/N, you tried... I know I usually want 110% from you since you’re my right-hand gal, but... You had it until Nathan Drake came barreling in like some bull in a china shop.” Nadine frowned as I shrugged gently, glancing down at my outfit to see my suit had been replaced by my pale tanktop and my army green cargo shorts. “Besides, Rafe found something better...” Nadine smirked as I looked up, frowning as I shook my head. “There can be nothing better than Henry Avery’s treasure, Nadine.” 

“But, there can be.” She jutted out her index as I deepened my frown before pushing up from the comfortable bed, moving towards her as she turned in her seat and shoved a few books off to the side before showing a few pieces of old, torn papers that held something that resembled... Coordinates? 

“Alright, I’ll bite, what the hell?” 

“Since Rafe expressed his anger with the cross being stolen, he demanded that he got something to replace the thing... So, in return, the woman running the auction gave him this,” she paused, handing me one of the papers that resembled a diary entry. 

My love, 

I am afraid that your gift will never arrive and neither will I. I chose the wrong life, my sweet, for I should’ve chosen you. If this letter is to ever reach you then you shall know that I tried... I tried to give you the sea, but it only took me away from you. I do hope you know how much I love you, Merina... My God, I love you. 

Your Jules.  

“Okay, so, some pirate-” 

“Captain Charles Jules,” Nadine added as I nodded, continuing. 

“Right. Captain Charles Jules was coming home to give his wife something that related to the sea... But, it was lost just like his body was to the cruel waves.” I murmured the last part, thinking about the poor bastard’s wife and how she must’ve never truly known about her husband's death, or just how deeply he wanted to please her. So sad... 

“Poor man, but the last thing he writes are the coordinates of where his ships sank, and that could lead us to the Diamond of the Pacific.” Nadine grinned like the Devil as I cocked a brow, dropping the piece of paper back in front of her as I frowned. “Diamond of the Pacific? Do we even know what that could be?” Nadine merely frowned. 

“Not yet, but there are a few more mentions of this Diamond throughout his entries, and Rafe is stating that it’s most likely not a real diamond.” She sighed, flipping through a few more pages as I laughed, grabbing one of the stone-like paperweights and tossing it up and down. “Well, I guess Captain Jules never learned that diamonds are a girl’s best friend.” 

“Ha! I’ve never seen you wear diamonds, not even when needing to play fancy.” Nadine scoffed with a snort as I grinned, twirling the paperweight in hand with a smirk. “I didn’t say they were mine, I’m more of... Sapphire or emerald type of gal.” Nadine nodded, smirking. She went to say something, only to be cut short as her cell rang, making me set the paperweight down and move away, thinking it was an important call. 

My mind slowly floated back to the other night, it whirling as I thought of... Sam Drake. He had to have known something was off about me, especially when Nadine came running down the hall screaming my name like a madman. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory. Why was he so... Keen on knowing who I was? What was his motive of knowing my true name? Damn him, anyway, even if he was one of the more attractive men I’ve met in my field. 

“Y/N! Pack your bags,” Nadine moved towards me as I turned, furrowing my brows as she smirked. “We’re heading on a little vacation.” She slipped her phone into her pocket, making me cross my arms over my chest as I sent her another look of ‘to where exactly?’ 

“I hope you brought your swimsuit, I hear Bora Bora is extremely lovely this time of year.” 

I pressed myself against the door, tying my hair back as Nadine and Rafe discussed the diamond’s hiding place further, but I couldn’t help but push them out of my thoughts. The sun was shining bright above head while the heavy winds bellowed through the open windows, my bangs tangling and flying around my aviators as I couldn’t help but smile. 

“Y/N!” Rafe shouted over the wind as I scooted forward, pushing the sunglasses down some on my nose with a grin. “Yes, Mr. Adler!” 

“I hope you realize just how important this treasure is now, right?” He shouted as I swallowed, thinking back to Henry’s cross. He must blame me... “Yes, sir, I do realize this.” 

“Then, you know that you must be ready to shoot, be shot at, and work until you’re sweatin’ like a pig!” Rafe laughed as I furrowed my brows, frowning some before stealing a glance at Nadine, who held an intense glare while keeping her head forward. “Yes, sir, I’m well-prepared for anything ahead of us.” I nod, puffing out my chest slightly as he glanced back at me in the rearview mirror. “Atta’ girl!” Rafe howled into the wind before pressing down on the gas, causing Nadine to hiss through clenched teeth and gather a death grip on her leather seat, I quickly do the same. This man is going to end up killing us...

“So,” I echoed as Nadine and I walked through the hotel hallways, attempting to find our shared room. “What exactly is our plan? I know you ended up bringing the Shoreline to help with this, but... I don’t think I’m ready to murder people in cold blood.” I huffed as she paused, humming before entering our keycard and pushing into the cool room. It held a more tropical sense, the walls were sky blue and fake palm trees tried to hide the few markings that weren’t supposed to be there. All of the furniture was a black stained bamboo wood that was accompanied by a deep red comforter -- it looked comfortable enough. 

“I know you’re concerned with this job, Y/N, but... Rafe is promising enough money to give us both a nice life, along with landslides into retirement.” She grinned as I scoffed at the thought, but snorted at the thought of Nadine Ross entering retirement. “Please, I’m only 35, jerk.” I moved around her, throwing my bag onto the bed as she did the same. “Also, I don’t know about you but I’m going to go explore the market, care to join?” 

“I would love too, but I need to get these coordinates figured out and which island I need to send the Shoreline and where that diamond could possibly be hidden.” Nadine murmured, reaching into her pack and yanking out books and maps that would’ve drove me mad ages ago. “Suit yourself! If you need me, you’ve got my number.” I called over my shoulder before exiting the room, pulling at my ponytail, and shaking it out before entering the small elevator; the silver doors slowly closing. “Hey, hold that ride down!” A gravelly voice shouted, causing me to thrust my hand out and stop the doors from closing. 

A tall man came running, an old white tank top that was peeking out from the open Hawaiian shirt which was accompanied by light wash jeans. The light scruff and curly, yet unruly brown hair showed how late he was, along with the sunglasses hiding his dark circles -- which I may happen to be doing the same. 

“Thank you, my dear lady,” he grinned, climbing in before pressing the lobby button before jutting his thumb at the buttons. “Different floor?” I shook my head. “Nope, the same place you’re going, flower boy,” I smirked as he furrowed his brows, only to what I assumed was glanced down and let out a chuckle. “Ha, flower boy, that’s a new one.” I grinned as the soft elevator music played, seeming to give us a soft atmosphere around us. I swept my hand through my wave of hair, allowing the thick mess to breathe as I gently sighed. 

“So,” Flower boy tsked suddenly, making me glance at him over my aviator's lens. “What brings a girl like you to a place like this? Honeymoon? One-year anniversary?” He couldn’t help but smirk as I scoffed, puffing up the back of my hair once again. “Oh, please, like any man could handle this.” I rolled my bottom lip between my teeth as I crossed my arms, puffing out my chest as his dark eyes trailed up and down my body making heat crawl up my throat and into my face. “Ah, so... You’re a free bird? No cage to hold you down.” 

“Not an iron bar in sight,” I smirked, reaching up and pushing my glasses to rest on the bridge of my nose. “What about you flower boy?” I glanced at his fingers that hung from his belt loops, a gold band sat neatly on his finger. “I see a cuff.” 

“Ah, it’s not my cuff, some poor bastard lost it so I took the poor thing and gave it a home.” He flexed his hand, causing me to glance down at it again. How would it have fallen off someone if it fits so tight on his hand? “So, you’re technically married to some woman that doesn’t know you exist?” I giggled with a small snort, causing him to chuckle with a shrug. “I suppose so, though, I don’t think I’d make a good husband.” He murmured, making me frown as I slowly took off my glasses, brushing my hair to the side. 

“Hey, flower boy, you can’t beat yourself up, alright? Besides, you seem like the type of guy that would have men jealous and the woman fawning over you.” I grinned as he chuckled, shrugging again. “I’m serious! Cut yourself some slack,” I paused as the elevator dinged, signaling that was flower boy and I’s stop. “Besides, maybe you just haven’t met the right girl yet!” I called over my shoulder as I exited the elevator, slipping my glasses back on as I moved towards the lobby doors, exiting into the warm heat of Bora Bora’s sunshine with a wide grin. The Diamond of the Pacific could wait a few more hours... I needed to get my exploring on. 

After exploring the through the market a bit more, and a few canvas bags later, I couldn’t help but notice the sweet view of the ocean from one of the tents. Chewing on my lip, I couldn’t help but wander closer to the shore. Stepping carefully through the large rocks, I dropped my bags off by the side and slipped my sandals from my aching feet, also removing my glasses. I bit my lip as the warm saltwater crashed over my toes, making me sigh as I gently kicked up some of the soft sprays with a chuckle. 

“What I would kill to live here,” I mumbled, taking in the heavenly view as the clash and clatter came from the market, keeping me well aware that I still needed to get back to the hotel. Inhaling the tropical air, I sighed, closing my eyes as I carefully listened to the waves rolling and crashing against one another, the slight slap as it crashed against the freshly muddied sand. I couldn’t help but wish I had chosen a different job... 

“Hey there stranger,” I gasped, thrusting my elbow back into the person’s stomach, before swiping my leg beneath their own, before turning and growling, only to gasp again as I saw flower boy lying beneath my shadow. “Holy shit! I’m so sorry, I -- military training.” I leaned down, grabbing one of his large hands with both of mine and tugged him up, keeping a hand on his chest as I made sure nothing was actually damaged, before quickly stepping back as his gaze traveled down before meeting my eyes once again. 

“Damn, Aviators nearly knocked me out.” He chuckled with a wheeze as I winced, squinting one of my eyes as I stepped forward with a frown. “I’m so sorry, it’s like I said, military training.” 

“No, no, it’s my fault,” he wheezed again before straightening his back, he stood taller than me once again, making me feel small. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.” He coughed, reaching back and scratching his neck. 

“I was just... Lost in thought.” I murmured, turning sideways and narrowing my eyes at the sea. Flower boy moved closer, standing next to me while stuffing his hands into his pockets with a low whistle, causing me to glance at him. “I can see why. It’s gorgeous once the sunsets just perfectly across the horizon,” he smirked, nodding to himself as I arched a brow, before turning back towards the ocean. 

“It’s a mystery out there. It’s one that I want to solve one day.” I sighed, just a little bit above a whisper. 

“So, you’re a marine biologist? That’s pretty cool.” 

“Oh, uh... Not exactly. That was my dream job while I was growing up, but... My dad had different ideas for me.” 

“So, he’s the one that sent you to military training, I take it?” He asked, pulling out a package of cigarettes, slipping one of the slender sticks out and snapping open his lighter and taking a hefty puff from it. “What made you guess?” I snarked, biting at my lip as I shook my head, causing my loose hair to fall into my face. “It was stupid of me to let him do it, but then again, when you don’t have anyone else to run too, you stick around with who you know.” I shrugged, kicking at the grains of sand as he turned towards me, offering me the cigarette, which I slowly went to accept, only to take a step back. “Can’t. Learning to quit.”

“Ha, you’ve got more willpower than I do, aviators.” He grinned, taking another huff of it as I frowned, turning back to the sunset only to narrow my eyes before going wide-eyed. Even with the heavy waves, the water was crystal clear, making it almost like a mirror. Narrowing my eyes again, my mouth formed a little ‘o’. Spinning on my heels, I quickly ran towards my things, slipping on my sandals, and grabbing my small bags before quickly trying to climb up the rocks. 

“What’s with the sudden rush?!” Flower boy shouted after me, making me pause as I turned towards him, already standing on the pavement with small bursts of breath. “I... There’s just something I really, really need to take care of but... I want to see you again. So, meet me here tomorrow, same time.” I grinned before taking off down the sidewalk, my mind not registering that I had just told a stranger to meet me again, as I ran back to the hotel. My legs slightly burned as I raced up the hillside up to the hotel’s driveway, running through the lobby, causing my sandals to slap across the floor before I reached the elevator, frantically clicking the third floors’ button. Once I reached the floor, I quickly jogged towards the room and banged on the door, only to have Nadine appear with a shocked look. 

“Y/N? What’s gotten into you? You look like a madman,” she slightly hissed, grabbing my wrists and pulling me into the room, peeking out before turning towards me and closing the door. I panted before dropping my bags and falling back into the desk chair with a grin. “I... I found it.” 

“Found ‘it’? You’ll have to more specific-” 

“The shipwreck... The shipwreck is just a few miles off the shore here. I... I was just standing there, and the water was so clear that I could just... See it.” 

“Y/N, there have been million’s of shipwrecks near Bora Bora, we need to mark these coordinates down, then head wherever they are trying to lead us.” Nadine sighed, yet I could see the hope in her eyes as I slowly nodded before sliding down onto the floor. “I’m going to take a nap because it’s been years since I ran that quickly with that much weight.” 

To be continued... 

Well, here’s chapter one! It’s shorter than I anticipated, but I feel like as long as you guys enjoy it, I’ll still work on it. And like I said if this series flops than I’ll make reader insert scenes from this :) 

So, hope you enjoy and know that I still will take requests and tags are still open 😁💖

[skellybonesandtrees]

I think there is plenty of room for people’s to question Bran Stark’s motivations. Beyond being mad that him being made king came out of nowhere, I find it much more interesting to question who is Bran and what he wants.

First things first: Bran isn’t Bran Stark anymore. Yes, that is his name, it is what he is called, and he is obviously comfortable being home in Winterfell with his doting sisters... while it suits him. But no, Bran isn’t a Stark anymore, meaning his priorities aren’t the same they were when he was simply Bran Stark.

In conversation with Jaime, Bran says as much. 

Jaime: I’m not that person anymore. [refering the time he pushed Bran out of the window to protect his and Cersei’s secrets]

Bran: You still would be, if you hadn’t pushed me out of that window. And I would still be Brandon Stark.

Jaime: You’re not?

Bran: No, I’m something else now.

New Bran does say he still remembers being Brandon Stark. He still carries his memories obviously. But then, we have to remember New Bran can remember anyone’s life. Probably not with the personal flair he can remember Bran’s but still.

So what does New Bran want? There are two conversations with Tyrion that are of interest. In episode 4:

Tyrion: You know our history better than anyone. That will be useful as the Lord of Winterfell.

Bran: I’m not Lord of Winterfell.

Tyrion: You’re the only surviving true born son of Ned Stark. [ there’s a pause here in which Bran just stares at him and Tyrion continues, obviously confused] You don’t want it.

Bran: I don’t really want...anymore.

Tyrion: I envy you;

Bran: You shouldn’t envy me. Mostly I live in the past.

And, of course, the infamous dragonpit scene in episode 6:

Tyrion: I know you don’t want it. I know you don’t care about power. But I ask you now: if we choose you, will you wear the crown? Will you lead the seven kingdons to the best of your abilities? From this day until your last day?

Bran: Why do you think I came all this way?

And there is the moment where my ears perked. Not because I was outraged because it came out of nowhere but because I wanted to understand why he said that when he also said I don’t want anymore?

There are other bits of dialogue I find important. When Theon once again apologizes to Bran before the Battle of Winterfell:

Bran: Everything you did brought you where you are now. Where you belong. Home. 

And also that little bit of dilogue with Jon on episode 6:

Jon: Your grace, I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.

Bran: You were exactly where you were supposed to be.

[Jon looks confused, as he always does when interacting with Bran and leaves]

There’s this really cool video about Bran by YouTube’s Joe Magician:

In it he mentions bits of interview with Isaac (who plays Bran) that I found very relevant as well:

Bran can, of course choose whatever moments in the past he wants and see them. But the future? It’s never a clear picture. It is also implied you can’t change time. When Bran tries calling his father during one of his visits, Ned hears him but can’t see him. When he visits that same scene again, he doesn’t call to him but Ned still turns to the same spot where Bran had been standing before as though he could still hear him.Meaning, that was always going to happen.

I’m assuming here Bran can be slightly manipulative but he does so only with the bits of future information he has. He gives Arya the dagger because he knows she’ll need it even if he doesn’t necessarily know why. When he tells Theon he is home that was also manipulative, he needed to give Theon, someone known for running, motivation to stay and protect him. When he tells Jon he was always where he needed to be, it’s not manipulative, but it is fatalistic! Jon played the part he needed to play for the outcome. Remember it was Bran who incited Sam into telling Jon about his true parentage! Why? If in the end it mattered little that Jon was the heir, then why tell him at all? Well because of all the things that needed to happen for us to get to this outcome.

So yes, Bran is playing a game too, and with an unfair advantage!

But is Bran evil? I don’t know. I do think he means it when he tells Tyrion he “doesn’t want anymore.” But right at that moment, he still doesn’t know the outcome, he knows some of the steps, some of the chess pieces and where they need to be, but he doesn’t know the ending. 

Is Bran being as knowledgeable a being as he is good for everyone? Or bad for everyone? Again that depends on his motivation. Someone who doesn’t want things could be a good ruler, because his focus isn’t himself. And I have to question, being that he isn’t truly a Stark anymore, he could have, if he was greedy like other kings, refused Sansa when she declared Northern independence. He could have said “no” to her in that moment. He didn’t. And I don’t necessarily think it’s because she’s his sister - I don’t think Bran truly feels any sort of emotional attachment for his family anyway, not to a great degree anyway. But he listens to her, and after a moment of consideration, he nods. Maybe because in his glimpses of a future, an indepedent North exists.

There’s a paradox in Bran, in which he can see the past, he can glimpse the future but he doesn’t necessarily wants to lord over what happens. He watches and he thinks, and he moves his pieces, but he’s guessing as much as he can. Looking at it through that lens, maybe Bran will be a good king for a time.

Now could Bran’s motivations be wholly dark? I guess they could. I’d have to find different moments in the show to see it though.

Anyway, that’s my analysis. I see people screaming bad writing at every moment, and look, I agree it’s rushed, but to claim nothing makes sense is deliberately not wanting/knowing where to look. Bran is a very intriguing character, and I find his ending fascinating and curious and a little scary!