#but if I watch I have to accept whatever trials and fates the writers give them

[bees-for-the-wildmother]

The 100 Ask Game

I was tagged by the wonderful @thehundredtimesobsessed​ forever ago (or what feels like it, but I’m finally getting around to it today.

1. What Station on the Ark would you be from?

Probably Agro. My mom’s side of the family definitely has a green thumb.

2. What would you get arrested for on the Ark?

Umm...theft?

3. Would you take off your wristband when you landed on the ground?

No. No, I would not.

4. What would the Necklace Finn would make for you look like? (Clarke: deer/Raven: a raven duh…)

DRAGON!  Dragons are my favorite.  Followed by red pandas, but I feel like a dragon would be better (I already own a few dragon necklaces).

5. If you could resurrect any MINOR character who would it be?

Roan kom Azgeda - I miss him. <<< Same.  Possibly Wells, but I became much more attached to Roan (probably because he had more episodes)

6. Create a squad by of 5 characters to go on missions with. Who are they?

Bellamy, Clarke, Raven, Monty, and Murphy.  (This was basically pick your five favorite characters for me...)

7. What Grounder Clan would you belong to?

Podakru - the Lake People...I’m just going on that based on where I live, i.e. a place where there are lakes

8.  What would your name be in Trigedasleng? (example: Octavia=Okteivia…just make it up!)

Shilbi, I think that’s what they’d do with it.  I literally looked up to see if they even had a “sh” sound in their language; right when I was about to lose hope and resigning myself to “Silbi” or the like, I found a phrase with “sh”.

9. Thoughts on Finn? Some people hate him, and others love him, so I’m curious

I didn’t like him from the beginning. I didn’t hate him initially, but he got two people killed yet survived his own idiocy or taking off his seat belt. I thought he was going to be a detriment to their survival because he would take stupid unnecessary risks to show off.

10. Be honest. How willing would you have been to take the chip without knowing all the horrible things it does?

Probably not.  My dad yells and me and my mom because we always need answers to motivations and the why of things.  I don’t think I would put something in my body without fully knowing what it is and the ramifications of taking it.

11. What character do you relate to most?

I want to say Harper, but also some Clarke.  In Harper, I see a lot of the traits I like about myself; in Clarke, I see a lot of the traits I don’t like about myself.

12. What character do you like the least?

This is difficult...I feel like it’s a cop out to say one of the villains of the show, but it’d probably be Cage Wallace.  I don’t know who it’d be out of the people who are still alive.

13. Describe your delinquent outfit. (Would you wear something like Murphy’s jacket with the spikey red shoulder patch or have a trademark like Jasper’s goggles? Be creative, yet practical)

Charcoal grey jeans with a forest green v-neck t-shirt that has those criss-crossed strips of fabric, a dark brown leather jacket, and brown combat boots.

14. Favorite type of mutant animal?

...I don’t know...a mutant fox?

15. What would your job be on the Ark?

Probably like historian, archives, or teacher or something (based on my real life career path).

16. Would you have willingly pumped Ontari’s heart if Abby asked?

Yeah, I’d do what I have to.  Probably would be admiring the ceiling as I did it, but I’d do it.

17. If Lexa wasn’t Heda, but she was still alive then who would have made the best commander?

I don’t know.  I feel like it there was a more ruthless, battle ready heda, the 100 (and the rest of the Ark) would have been in a worse position.

Wait! An answer came to me when I was looking at question twenty:  Lincoln!  My friend and I liked to joke that Lincoln was one of the few characters with a head on his shoulders and realistic ideas and expectations for relations.

18. How would you act if you ate the hallucinogenic nuts like Jasper and Monty?

I’d probably just be giggling, at EVERYTHING.

19. How would you have dealt with Charlotte’s crime? A more John Murphy approach or Bellamy Blake approach?

Definitely a more Bellamy Blake approach.

20. Who should have been the Chancellor, if anyone?

Monty.  Monty is another character who had a good head on his shoulders.

21. Would you have been on Pike’s side like Bellamy or on Kane’s side? Or Clarke in Polis?

Kane’s side. No question.

22. Mount Weather had a lot of modern commodities. (example: Maya’s Ipod) What is the one thing you would snatch while there?

Maybe a kindle if they had that.  They probably would have different books than the Ark had, or the grounders.  Give me all the books.

23. What would your Grounder tattoos look like? Hairstyle? War paint?

Probably a couple tribal tattoos on my arms, maybe connecting with something spanning my shoulders and upper back.  Definitely ALL the braids; I already wear braids in my hair a lot, but I think they would just get more intricate for the grounder style. Some nice, swirling black warpaint around my eyes when I have to go to battle.

24. Favorite quote?

For someone who regularly collects quotes (though usually from books), I don’t actually have one.  But a quick internet search and choosing quickly, I’ll say a favorite is, “I say, screw fear. I’m telling my own damn story.” (Bellamy Blake, 1.13). It reminds me a little of my one of my favorite song lyrics, “I’m the hero of the story; don’t need to be saved,” from “Hero” by Regina Spektor, which is actually a pretty decent song for the show.

25. If all of the characters were in the Hunger Games, who would have the best shot at winning?

I’m gonna go with Clarke.  She’s smart and tactical and she does what she has to do. But if it came down to a straight up fight, probably Luna; she’d have the knowledge to survive the land and the talent to survive the fight.

26. Least favorite ship? Favorite canon ship? Favorite non canon ship? NOT INCLUDING CL OR BC OR BE

Miller/Jackson - It just came out of nowhere, with no build up, and I like to see how things unfold, especially relationships, and so I’m being stubborn about them trying to tell me it’s a thing. Zaven - All I wanted was for Raven to finally find someone who could make her happy and show her what she could should have. So, yeah, I’m in denial and not the happiest person right now. (I haven’t even watched the new season yet--I know, I know, I’m a horrible fan, but I was sick and then busy catching up on life--and this is something that got spoiled for me even though I’ve been trying to avoid tumblr for a week; I blame Critical Role for encouraging me to go on Tumblr last Thursday) Minty - I found the ship in fanfiction and jumped on board quickly and happily.

27. A song that should be included in the next season? If there had to be another guest star like Shawn Mendes on the show, who would you want to make a cameo?

I’m going with the song that I actually used as a title to one of my fanfics, “Heathens” by Twenty One Pilots. (I also just am bad at knowing songs, so this I’ll stick with what I already know fits with the story)

Celebrities, another of my knowledge downfalls--seriously, if you ever want a guaranteed win in a trivia game against me, go with Pop Culture as the topic.

28. What would you do if you were stuck in the bunker with Murphy for all that time?

Play card games? Drink? There wasn’t a whole lot to do.

29. Your an extra that gets killed off. How do you die?  

You wouldn’t actually see me die, I’d just be one of the bodies bloody and lying on the ground.

30. A character you’d like to learn more about and get flashbacks of?

I think it’s actually Echo and/or Emori, both would be best; I’m curious about everyday life on the ground before the timeline of the show.

31. A character you’d bang?

Can I say all of them? If I have to select someone I‘d choose Bellamy, Clarke, Raven, or Roan. Basically the same answer as Toni.  Ooo, I’m adding Lincoln to the list, too.

32. Would you stay in the Bunker? Go up to Space? Or live on your own in Eden?

Assuming I could survive it (nightblood), Eden. I need my green and I don’t mind being alone, though I’d probably still talk to the radio or the animals or plants.

33. In the Bunker, would you follow Octavia? What would you do to pass the time underground?

Yup. I’m a follower.  Read, draw, think up stories.

34. What crime would you commit in the Bunker that lands you in the fighting pits?

These questions keep asking me questions with the assumption that I am not Lawful Good down to my core.  I have no idea what law/rule I would willfully break and what the circumstances would have to be for me to do it.

35. Up in Space, who would you bond with first? Who would be the most difficult for you to get along with?

Harper, no doubt about it. Probably more so Murphy wouldn’t get along with me.  He’d catch me making a face at something he said, and I didn’t honestly mean anything by it, my face just reacts, and he’d hold a grudge against me for a while.

36. How long do you think you would last on Earth by yourself?

If I had survival skills (know what to eat, how to find it, etc.) probably a long time. If I tried it at this exact moment, not very long at all.

37. When the Eligius ship lands what do you do?

Run, hide, observe, freak out. I don’t know.

38. Favorite Eligius character? Least favorite?

Shaw.  (Why must all the good ones go?) Vinson, he was creepy AF.

39. Would you Spacewalk?

Assuming I could do it when it wasn’t illegal, yeah!

40. Would you prefer to eat Windshield Bugs, Space Algae, or Bunker Meat?

Windshield bugs. I was about to say Space Algae, but then I thought about the texture it’d be, and I’m pretty sure it’d be the texture that makes me gag when I try to eat it.

41. Would you start a war for the last spot of green on earth? What would your solution be to avoid it?

Yeah no, I don’t want to go to war.  I would try to work out a way to share it.

42. Would you rather dig out flesh-eating worms or stick thumb drives into bullet holes?

I think I’d stick a thumb drive into a bullet hole.  The first is turning my stomach to think about, but somehow the second isn’t doing the same.

43. Are you willing to poison your sister for the Traitor Who You Love? What would you do to stop Octavia?

 Gut reaction against it, but that’s because I love my sister and she’s the sweetest.  But if she did what Octavia did and had that personality, probably, as long as I knew she wouldn’t be killed by it. What they did seemed to work...?

44. Would you go to sleep in cryo or stay awake like Marper?

Sleep in cryo.

45. Who are you waking up first to explore the new planet?

Clarke and Bellamy, Raven and Shaw, Murphy and Miller. <<Same, probably Emori too, she’s resourceful. 

I’m not gonna tag anyone because chances are they already did this while I’ve been avoiding Tumblr and so I missed their answers. But if anyone hasn’t done this and wants to, please tag me in your post!  I want to see what other people have to say!

[eyesaremosaics]

Lately I have had zero tolerance for bullshit. Perhaps I have been hardened in the last two years. My interest is in the truth, always has been. I am open to whatever that may be, provided that it is proven beyond a reasonable doubt.

When I was 17, my philosophy teacher showed us the 1957 film, “12 angry men”. If you haven’t seen it, the premise is essentially: Following the closing arguments in a murder trial, the 12 members of the jury must deliberate, with a guilty verdict meaning death for the accused, an inner-city teen. As the dozen men try to reach a unanimous decision while sequestered in a room, one juror (Henry Fonda) casts considerable doubt on elements of the case. Personal issues soon rise to the surface, and conflict threatens to derail the delicate process that will decide one boy's fate.

Initially you believe the boy is guilty as sin, and by the end of the film (after going through all the evidence) your perspective flips completely. I highly recommend you all watch it. This film always stuck with me. As a libra who prizes justice, I feel we have a responsibility as a just society to have all the information before coming to a decision about a persons innocence or guilt. There are many innocent people in prison, and a lot of sociopathic manipulators out there wreaking their havoc on others. I can’t in good conscience, condemn a person based on sensationalized claims—particularly when they are “trending”.

Condemnation needs to come from facts proven beyond a reasonable doubt. Frankly it alarms me how little I see most people investigating a given situation before taking a stance on it. Blindly following “trends” is herd mentality… and I would like to believe we are all more educated than that. Any free thinking, independent person would make sure they had all the information before making a snap judgment. Just saying.

If there is one thing my partner has taught me—it’s to always do your research. Check your sources. If you don’t have the answer, ask questions. If you have a strong opinion, that’s fine, but give a convincing argument. Have all the facts. I used to sort of do everything half assed, he has taught me to be very thorough.

With all the conflict going on in the world, and so many different points of view, it’s making me reconsider the relativity of truth. The old philosophical argument that there are no fundamental truths, and that the truth is relative to perspective.

Over intellectualizing everything has been my way of detaching lately. Reality has become semi unbearable. Our precarious living situation is only growing more dangerous. I don’t have the energy to detail anymore than that. Suffice to say we are being forced out of our home, and finding a new place is proving to be challenging. However, I am determined to remain in good spirits.

Missing being creative immensely. Making art, acting, writing… all these things bring me joy, and yet I prioritize them so little. It made me realize today that my workaholism has consumed my life, at this point I’m not living for myself but for others. I accept full responsibility for not dining much to change that. The pandemic made me complacent. Has anyone else been feeling that way?

This is my attempt to tackle said writers block. When you start making art, it’s not good, it’s just pretending to be good. However, your good taste is on point, and that is why the criticism of oneself is sort of important. How else will you be forced outside your comfort zone to grow as an artist? To be more. One is always layering meaning and technique into one’s art.

I just… I want “me” back again. I’m tired of shades and shadows. Tired of false news, trends, influencers, the vapidness of it all. It’s weird how internet dynamics influence public opinion so much, and I fear the power of propaganda.

Is it so wrong to want people to make educated guesses based on factual information? I feel like so many people just jump on different band wagons just for the sake of it. It takes on a creepy little life of its own. Everything is super “raw” and hostile. It’s like we are all burn victims touching one another, lighting up each other’s stuff. It’s hard to know what to believe anymore.

These mental gymnastics are too exhausting for me. Basically—I don’t think that shit is cute, and I miss being more creative. My goal is to work on that this year. Find a healthy balance.

[onlytime1]

A love letter to Octavia Blake

It’s kinda strange to write this one, but i guess the moment was meant to come. The night before the series finale, damn how strange that feels, series finale of this series. I write it here in the tag where a deep part of my love and rootin for Octavia were nurished and cultivated day by day as the yrs went by. 

I’m a hella of a happy person, i feel like the luckiest in the world with what i have; i faced only one moment of darkness in the past, trapped in uncertaity and anxiety and stress; i knew who i was and i knew what i wanted, what i was searching for, I also realized where i belonged along the way just as Octavia did; I just needed a push to go for what i deserved   and Octavia was the one who empowered me to do so. It’s like we walked a path of finding where you belong together.

About say 2 yrs ago I wrote a similar post out of sheer fear that was the last night I was seein Octavia alive...well two yrs have gone by and she s still here; about to face the feared series finale.

I can’t say I don’t fear to lose her; because the fear of losing her has basically accompanied me ever since that fateful snake encounter at the lake all the way back in 1x01; but i write this post with a different approach than that one; and I so wish to see her happy I hope she survives and gets the happy ending that she has always deserved; because she s the hero, THE REAL HERO, of this fuckin show; but here comes the but; Its because i know she s a hero, THE HERO, that I  know she goes in while others run out, I know she has her sword/gun out while others put it down, she looks for battle and doesn t cover from it; she shelters the others, never herself; knows when instead of showing up; its time to quietly hide and surprise the enemy; and viceversa when loud approach steps over quiet and stealth;because she s a hella of a strategist too....

I know all of these things, and I know in less than 24 hrs she might be gone; or maybe not; but if that s the case I just hope it will be as heroic as her life.

So this is my love letter to the character that sought me out of darkness to have a life.

To the girl under the floor: who, with her kindness and diplomacy became the bridge between earth and sky; for she was humble in lookin always at the ground while others looked always from above their noses.

To Indra’s second: who learned that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, that differences enrich us and embraced her warrior call with pride and earnest to learn; for  being warrior became the consacrated job to save others.

To the girl who for the first time knew betrayal and was once again swung into loss: who felt her heart heavy as she watched people who had accepted her as their own die undeservingly; who never hid her pain, especially when it hit the closest home; but used it to once more to spare everybody else bad fates. 

To skairipa: who already knew Lincoln s mission was her very own; who wanted to die but couldn’t because the fate of humanity rested once again in her hands; who wished for the unity the Girl under the floor already knew could be reached and to Osleya who made that dream come true; who gave people their right to choose their destiny for her heart looked in theirs and for the first time knew they were all ONE. Wonkru.

To Blodreina: who was the best leader this mf show could’ve ever asked for; who held the fort thro the good and the heartbreaking days, who crushed her heart, who hurt in silence and pushed down her fears her wish to reach beyond because she needed to bring her people home. For her strength held thro it her people, for her lonliness kept everybody else together and taught them to be one, for her bravery where everybody else who was supposed to help left; she stayed. For the hero that was denigrated, that has horrible lines written on her(sometimes given to Octavia herself)for the writers to justify the true villains of the show (blorke) instead of gettin the praise she deserves.

To the girl of the anomaly: who traveled thro time and space; who found unexpected company, that later became her life, and  a family that truly deserves(d) to call her their family too. For she got to taste happiness, real happiness, after a life of hardships.

To Mama bear O (and aunt my ass, we all know those two were married and Hope is as much her kid as Diyoza’s): who went from scared of dropping the baby to the kiddo droppin on her askin her to teach her how to be a warrior; who didn’t crumble to Bardo’s trials and didn’t give anyone up; her kid in primis; for she never ever crumbled to bullshit one single day in the whole series.

And in the end to Octavia Blake because she’s all of them in one person; carryin them all inside of herself, wearing them on her skin and their words still resounding in her head and if you look close you can see them all reflected in her eyes. Like thousands of lives and places and times in one person. They all tell the story of one person, that thro it all never forgot the basics of her heart; that allowed her to turn all these lives into character developement; into who s about to face the final battle. Octavia never EVER NEVER did anythin wrong, nor one single wrong choice; because her heart was always in the right place.

Both finales are very possible...both finales...would make sense, but as the hours go by and the finale approaches; i shall believe and hope life is the way for her.

See you all on the other side...

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

We’re on the other side, octaviakru. 

We ve made it, our beautiful girl gets her happy ending, after saving the world once again for the uptenth time.

And i can t say i m surprised,because i knew the moment a test was called, the only one who could take it and pass it...was Octavia.

A true warrior knows when it s time to raise your arms up....and when to put them down and heal your broken hands...and if possible, to lay them down one last time. 

This time the wars had to end...and she ended them all, because her heart was always in the right place.

I footnote here for posterity the immense pride and emotion i felt when Hope sat on Octavia s throne, pointin once again another signal that only Octavia could end this, and all the pain from war she spared her and Diyoza s kiddo.

When she faught in war, she faught because they couldn’t be stopped, because they needed to happen, because they were a necessity;or because she was flung into them havin no other choice but to fight; what wasn t a necessity were the immense massacres blorke would accomplish everytime, thinkin that was the solution,....and that s why they failed, and Octavia succeded. Because whatever was her evolution she looked always at them as her equals, because she walked among them all and loved them all as her own, because she hurt and was heartbroken but never asked for anythin back and above all because she did right, she always did everything the right way; and not wrong like the blorkes who ended up askin to be absolved and givin out the “i DiD iT fOr tHem aLl, oH mY soUl”speech. 

[22drunkb]

Some thoughts about Bran Stark

Okay, so--not to butt in and trample around, as someone who never read the books and stopped watching the show sometime around season 3--but the thing is, I feel like the ending has finally allowed me to understand exactly what it was that turned me off Game of Thrones, which I never quite did put my finger on till now, and I want to at least write it out once. (Ironically, this has made me like the story better, though not its execution.) To attempt a spoiler-free summary: I’m going to be thinking about the thematic structure of the story and why that should make certain things make sense, and how they came to not make sense anyway.

The thing is, thematically and structurally, Bran ending up king makes absolute and perfect sense. It’s just that they didn’t write the story in line with the structure they were given. The problem with the show is--and always has been--that the writers don’t actually understand what “subverting fantasy tropes” means or could look like, and they don’t care about it in any meaningful way. What they care about is doing big, bloodthirsty, quasi-historical fiction with a lot of nudity. (See: the Civil War show they wanted to do.) And Bran’s whole situation only makes sense (or would have made sense, if executed properly) in the context of high fantasy.

Keeping in mind that complicating high fantasy tropes was an important part of what Martin reportedly set out to do, each of the Stark kids (the story’s backbone) had a clear thematic purpose. Each of them a) was a take on a trope, b) had a clear character trajectory that would allow that take on the trope to be developed while functioning as a working character arc, and c) through that trope-inflected arc, could allow the audience a window into specific part of the society (i.e., they supported the worldbuilding), which in turn allowed the further development of these takes on the tropes by giving them specific, appropriate settings and side characters to bounce off of. This is to say that GRRM did a good job setting himself up to do “trope subversion” in a way that would comment on the things he wanted to comment on, function as part of a larger world and story, and help support a plot that would be in harmony with all of the above. This is one very solid approach to character design. To be clear, despite this paragraph being about characters, I’m talking about themes--it has nothing to do with their personalities or whatever. This is about what ideas come together in the concept of each character and therefore how each character’s story develops the ideas.

A good reason to approach character design in this way is if you have set out to subvert, complicate, comment on, or otherwise mess with genre tropes. To do so, the characters have to themselves be tropes, or at least be designed in close relation to tropes, in order to derange them. So like, just to take the simplest two examples:

Robb: The Prince. Firstborn, shining favorite, destined to inherit. Set up (normally) to avenge his father, restore order to his kingdom, and go home. Bungles it entirely by seeking true love; meanwhile, in the course of his story we learn about the regional politics of the North, the politics of alliances by marriage and kinship, etc. Narratively, his failure allows the entire political and military situation to get infinitely more clusterfucked. All of those pieces fit together well thematically.

What is being subverted here is the prince’s marital destiny. We have loads of fairy and fantasy stories about prince and prince-types for whom pursuing true love just happens to be convenient (they can marry whoever they want), or whose pursuits of love are rescued by fate (his true love turns out to be his promised princess all along! She’s secretly a magical being of some sort, and that trumps betrothal agreements! The one he was originally supposed to marry died or decided to marry someone else! etc). This is totally kosher in traditional high fantasy (or in the folklore that the genre draws on) because it’s an expression of the harmony of the story-world; the characters go through their trials and adventures and end with a resolution in the form of marriage that announces that all is as it should be. What it looks like GRRM set out to do is ask what happens when people still follow those rules and the rules aren’t in harmony with the world they live in.

In particular, the entire thing points square at the fact that princes are political animals. It seems to me that Robb’s story was meant to say, well, actually, sometimes people with power just have to marry people they don’t love as a condition of being powerful (which comes up constantly throughout the whole show). After Ned and Catlyn, basically every “true love” couple is dysfunctional, incestuous (Cersei and Jaime, Daenerys and John), and/or gets narratively stomped on, as far as I’m aware. (Did Sam and Gilly make it? If so, I think that’s allowed because they’re commoners.) Ironically, Ned and Catlyn set Robb up to fuck up by modeling one of these convenient political-and-true-love marriages. He thought he was supposed to be allowed to have it all. He was wrong. The end. Next. But the show seemed to expect me to feel that the outcome was unjust and tragique for Their Love, when all that was unjust and tragique about it was that Robb was idiot enough to bring the consequences of his actions on his entire group of followers. That is the point. That his status has to constrain his behavior, and when it doesn’t it has consequences for others. The status itself is what’s being problematized.

Jon: The Secret Heir. Second-oldest, bastard-born, treated with contempt. In relation to the family, literally a supplementary person. Set up (normally) to be rediscovered as the true heir to the throne and end up as king (moving from the margins to the center; getting the acceptance he couldn’t have as a bastard). The twist is the “true” dynasty he represents is composed of inbred lunatics, and his potential access to the throne goes not only via that bloodline but via repeating their tradition of incest. Dovetailing nicely with that, he was set up from the start as less wanting access to the kinship system than wanting to be free of it, so instead of becoming king by virtue of being a Targaryen, he stops the reinstatement of the Targaryen line altogether. Meanwhile, for most of his story, as a “supplementary person” he gives the audience a view into a lot of corners of Westeros that are concerned with what is excluded from Westeros: the Night’s Watch, the Wildlings, and indeed the White Walkers.

Again, all of that lines up together well. It’s part of the larger derailment of the blood-as-destiny notion of a “true” king, heir, ruling dynasty, etc. (I think the main reason GRRM goes so hard on the incest, not to mention having not one but THREE bastard characters, is in service of this; it also means Jon’s character arc of wanting out of the bloodline system fits into the thematic structure. See? Everything ties together neatly.) But I mean. We all know the character was not executed well.

And so on. I could do the same for Sansa and all the rest of them. (Sansa and Arya are probably the two most successful executions of what their character designs set them up to do; it’s not a coincidence those are the characters whose stories people seem to be happiest with.) But the thing is, a lot of these tropes, while certainly common in high fantasy, are also found in lots of other genres. Chosen Ones and Unexpectedly Eligible Chosen Ones and Princesses and Warrior Maidens (whether in literal forms or not) show up all over the place. The fact that these aren’t strictly fantasy archetypes perhaps means they were less prone to being mishandled. Bran, though. Bran belongs firmly and only in high fantasy. He is, literally, supposed to be a magic priest-king. A take on the Fisher King, even (I’ll explain about that later). And his story was weighted toward the end because of what it seems like Martin was trying to do more broadly, meaning it was much more on the showrunners to do it right.

High fantasy is always trying in some way to engage with ~the numinous~, which is to say the sort of never-explainable mystery and magic of the world. Magic in high fantasy is usually closely tied to deep time, the land, nature, or the metaphysical. Ancient beings, lost secrets, nature spirits, hidden realms, that sort of thing. It’s part of the genre’s inheritance from the mythology and folklore it’s all based on, which had a much more enchanted, vitalist view of the world than we generally do now. (In a way, that’s the purpose for high fantasy’s existence as a modern genre--keeping some access to that.) What Martin set the whole story up to do was question the tropes that often go along with the genre by making the setting one in which almost everybody has forgotten about all the magic and mystical knowledge that is in their history. Westeros is an extreme, historicized take on the Shire, basically. (”English pastoralism you say? I’ll see you and raise you the English Civil War” -- George R.R. Martin, presumably.) They have no notion of what’s really out there and what’s really possible in the world, and have quite comfortably isolated themselves in a situation where they need not remember. As a result, the social institutions that were developed long ago in relation to the ancient magics and knowledges become, instead, just social norms that can be manipulated, distorted, and played out in a much more historical-fiction kind of fashion, which gives Martin lots of room to point out that, say, ironclad patriarchal bloodlines cause problems. (That is, if you take away any magical justification, by virtue of connection to the land or the spirit realm or what have you, for the right to rule, then you stop having to have your One True Kings also be good people. It allows him to pull apart the different pieces of that trope and suggest that their being connected in the first place is questionable. Which it is! He’s right and he should say it!)

But the magic has to come back at some point, or else it’s really not high fantasy. And it seems like what he wanted to do was have all these elements from outside Westeros--the White Walkers, that god whose name I’ve forgotten, and Daenerys with her dragons--converge on it such that the characters would have to go back to their deep history and call those things back up in order to deal with the real world they live in (instead of the wealthy political bubble of all the scheming) and thus get to a point where they could actually change their system for the better. You can think of it as a very elaborate deus ex machina in a way, except the deus ex machina isn’t Daenerys showing up with dragons to fight the White Walkers or Arya having trained (again, outside Westeros, for the record) just the right way for killing the Night King. It’s all of these external forces forcing the characters in Westeros to get their fucking shit together. Otherwise there’s really no resolution to the war, in a high fantasy version of the story. It’s just historical fiction with some weird bells and whistles. Without a need to go back and figure out whatever the First Men were up to, there’s no incentive to go back to the numinous. That he intended for sure that some version of a return of the numinous end up being a big part of the climax is reinforced for me by the fact that the Starks--again, the backbone of the whole story--are set up as being unusually in touch with this mystic/magical heritage (the old gods, the crypt, the godswood) and unusually faithful to the traditional ways. They were introduced that way for a reason.

So where does Bran come in. The thing is that Bran is literally named after the mythic founding king of Westeros, Bran the Builder. The other thing is that both of those Brans are clearly named after Bran the Blessed, a literal mythic god-king from Welsh mythology whose name means crow (but who for various reasons also often gets associated with ravens, which in turn are commonly associated with transcendent knowledge, magic, etc; it’s a long story). So you have a younger member of the story’s key Stark family, already closer to the sources of magic and mystery than most. You name him after the founder of Westeros who lived in a time of magic, traffic with other beings, and great building works and other inherited accomplishments for which the associated knowledge has since been lost, etc. You have him gain mystical abilities to transfer his consciousness to other bodies, or through time (absolutely typical Mystic Powers). You have him even take on a special priestly status passed down from the era of magic by leaving Westeros to hang out with other kinds of magical beings, which means he is now explicitly named both Bran and Raven.

OBVIOUSLY this kid is supposed to be king. He’s going to restore the realm to a situation in which the ruler, the realm, its various life forces and nature spirits, and the metaphysical are all connected to one another and, in a sense, present in the same body (which is the kind of genuine mythological shit high fantasy is always drawing on). But the writers then just sat around and did nothing with him for years on end until whoops hey he’s king now. Of course no one thinks it makes any sense!! It’s fucking malpractice!!!!

If you go to the GOT Wiki and just read Bran’s page, everything makes sense and lines up well in terms of a list of events. (Although it’s really notable how short the entry from s8 is, and how everything it lists is things that happen to Bran, pretty much.) There is a progression that makes sense. But from what I understand--this was certainly the situation when I stopped watching--nothing was ever done to suggest that any of this mattered. The Three-Eyed Raven, the forest spirits, the magics and so on--it was treated at most as a backstory machine. It had no connection to or effect on the rest of the story, so far as I can tell. The fact that none of this played into the battle with the White Walkers at all is flatly insane. The thing I most remember people saying about Bran after that episode wasn’t even “Why didn’t he use X or Y that he learned in the forest?” but “Why was he there?” which just goes to show how completely and utterly bungled this entire piece of the narrative was. Like, if your high fantasy story is making its audience ask “Why would the story put the one character with the greatest knowledge of ancient magics and powers at the scene of a battle against an all-but-forgotten ancient threat,” then I’m sorry, it has gone fully off the rails, and not just in its most recent season. That’s not subversion, it’s just fully dropping the ball.

You know what would make sense as a lead-in to Bran becoming king? Oh, his performing some spectacular feat of insight, magic, strategy, or all three at the battle that no one else could have pulled off because no one else had his background or powers. Even after years of screwing this part of the story over, that could at least have bothered to make a case for why any of it mattered to the rest of the story. It would not have been very subversive, but when you’ve fucked up this royally you don’t get to be precious about your radikal innovative approach, Davids. I can’t believe Peter Dinklage had to sit there and make a bullshit speech about storytelling, when a decently-handled story would have made it seem natural and self-evident by then (you can still have surprises along the way!) that Bran should be king.

Anyway, in closing: part of the reason I checked out when I did was that I felt like they weren’t doing the things I thought they should do as the story developed. Genuinely, one key part of that was that they seemed to be doing absolutely nothing with Bran, which was baffling to me because it seemed obvious to me he was set up to be an incredibly important character. At the time, I thought they were going somewhere close to this with Bran but just taking way too long at it for some reason. What’s now clear is that the showrunners didn’t understand what they should have been doing with him. (Everybody who was taken aback by this outcome is not a fool for not seeing this. They were, quite reasonably, following the narrative cues they were given along the way, all of which said “Bran doesn’t matter.” It’s maybe clearer to me because I stopped watching.) And what that now makes clear, in my opinion, is that they never really understood what Martin was trying to do by “subverting fantasy tropes”; that in fact they didn’t really understand the genre, let alone what subverting it entailed. Which is exactly what bothered me about it even years after I stopped watching, but couldn’t put my finger on--until, ironically, they proved me right about Bran.

[an-obligatory-blog]

a nahyuta headcanon

slash character-study-slash-analysis

I’ve been playing SoJ for the first time (I’ve watched a playthrough beforehand) and I got this sad thought about Nahyuta in the middle of Case 3

The headcanon is this: Nahyuta’s quirk of researching anything vaguely related to a case ridiculously thoroughly (ex. memorizing rakugo scripts when knowing the definition would’ve been enough probably, watching all of Retinz’s shows, etc.) is a product of his resignation to the belief that Ga’ran and DC Act won’t go away.

Explanation under read more. SoJ spoilers ofc. Warning: I might’ve gotten a lil long winded with this post.

First, let’s establish the kind of person Nahyuta as a prosecutor is.

He is known as the Last Rites Prosecutor because of his religious beliefs.

He has a big reputation as an international prosecutor, cracking hard, difficult cases

The skill that he is known for is his “foresight” (”seeing the karmic threads of fate”)

Note: This “foresight” is referring to him “predicting the flow of the trial”-- this isn’t him being omniscient, it’s has everything to do with information (ex. predicting the defense’s arguments, using inductive reasoning to shoot down the defense’s argument (see concluding that the twins in 6-2 are silent because of a prank plan w/o having the prank script revealed to him due to his observations))

He is thorough with his investigations-- this includes researching relentlessly any kind of information that’s vaguely related to the case as mentioned earlier. He does this more in the States than Khura’in for obvious reasons.

He doesn’t tolerate perjury from witnesses or when information is hidden from him

He slings insults towards the defense with his sharp-tongue and throws beads. (As you will know after finishing SoJ, much of this is because of Ga’ran’s influence. Him hating defense attorneys so fervently is an act.)

I would like to note that a lot of these characteristics aren’t unique to Nahyuta, especially his “foresight”-- prosecutors have laid traps for the defense before. Prosecutors have predicted the defense’s arguments before. Prosecutors have been... prosecutors. They do their job. For me personally, I find this understandable because at the end of the day, I thought it was ridiculous to expect that the new prosecutor is going to pull a special move in court to the point where it feels significant to the player. This applies to Blackquill and his “psychological manipulation.” Yes, it’s there, but it’s no wonder that people have said “they haven’t done anything that prosecutors haven’t done before” or at least, “it doesn’t feel like they have.” That’s because you do the same things in court as you have done before-- you point out contradictions and voila. New gameplay mechanics makes the trial flow feel different-- not whatever the prosecutor’s specialty is (specifically DD and SoJ as they are the main culprits for that).

But what it does do for Blackquill and Nahyuta is characterization. It characterizes who they are as a prosecutor. With Blackquill, not only does it relate to being Metis’s student, but also his behavior in court-- playing mind tricks with the judge and the defense and laughing, quietly or otherwise, when they fall for it.

So here, I want to draw your attention to how it relates to Nahyuta specifically. Forget about how “other prosecutors have done this before” for a moment and take this “foresight” as a specific character trait to Nahyuta.

What does this mean? Notice how I bolded the word “information” earlier. Nahyuta’s reputation and behavior as a prosecutor is centered around the concept of “information.” The information he knows but the defense doesn’t. The information he doesn’t know but deduces from other pieces of information. The information that he gathers from the Internet from late night studying or the information he goes to a burger joint to get. Etcetera. Etcetera.

Keep this in mind and let’s step back into the main plot of Spirit of Justice. 

Khura’in’s legal system is in deep shit-- to put it simply. The Defense Culpability Act essentially eliminated defense attorneys from Khura’in from being active.

The burden of delivering justice, aka “giving what people deserve”, falls entirely on the prosecution’s side.

From the perspective of (AA) court, the only way for “justice” to be served is if the prosecution is absolutely correct. After all, if the prosecution’s charges are “just”, then the court’s decision will be “just.” If they aren’t, the verdict won’t be either. That’s how it works in Khura’in during this time.

So let’s say that you’re a prosecutor in this broken system, but you still want to serve justice-- what do you do? You have to be right.

This is where why Nahyuta being an international prosecutor is important-- he’s supposed to contrast Gaspen from 6-1, who despite being Chief Prosecutor, is still incompetent. Why? Because Gaspen doesn’t care about being right-- he cares about his win streak and he can get it easy if he stays in Khura’in because there are. No. Defense attorneys. Easy wins. 

You can’t do that if you’re an international prosecutor. You’re going to face a lawyer in court some way or another and you can’t just pass by without some actual skill. 

You cannot improve as a prosecutor if no one is there to point out the flaws of your arguments. You cannot improve as a prosecutor if you never face a lawyer in court. You cannot improve as a prosecutor if you remain as a domestic prosecutor in Khura’in.

That’s why Nahyuta is a “skilled” prosecutor and Gaspen is not.

But wait. Nahyuta is under Ga’ran’s thumb. If all Ga’ran wanted to do was to keep Nahyuta on a leash, why appoint Nahyuta to be an international prosecutor? Wouldn’t it be easier to watch him if he stayed domestic?

This is where the “headcanon” part of this post comes in (aka the part where I make up things): Nahyuta specifically requested to become an international prosecutor to make most of the broken system: a system that has no defense attorneys.

He could’ve done this from the get-go after gaining some trust, but I like the idea of him wanting to stay domestic at first to get close to Ga’ran and help the rebel cause, but after being blackmailed and now having his mother’s and sister’s lives on the line, he requested to be an international prosecutor. Why? Because that’s the only way he’ll ever get better at being a prosecutor-- the only way to minimize the chance of making a wrongful conviction in Khura’in because he can’t afford being wrong if he wants to serve justice. And it’s not like he can just back out as a prosecutor with Ga’ran breathing down his neck. Ga’ran allows this because there’s nothing to lose with having a better prosecutor and she can just keep watch on him from overseas easily (if Inga can have spies watching the civil trial, then Ga’ran can watch Nahyuta even if he’s flying everywhere). If he truly wants to make Khura’in broken ass system to “work” as much as possible, he’ll literally have to be the perfection a von Karma dreams to be-- not just in terms of win streak like Manfred, but an actual god of prosecutors. A prosecutor that is always right because he’s borderline all-knowing.

That is an absolutely ridiculous standard. 

But with a shitty legal system like Khura’in’s... perhaps that’s the only way. I’m sure by now you see the connection between “wanting to be a borderline all-knowing god of law for the sake of salvaging Khura’in’s justice” and “having your entire reputation as a prosecutor center around information”. (You can connect this to Nahyuta’s aesthetic-- a holy man who’s eyes seem to pierce through your soul.)

Of course, this is the “only way” if you just accept that DCA or Ga’ran won’t go away. The “only way”... if you resign to Ga’ran’s regime.

I like this headcanon because adds a personal layer to the qualities Nahyuta has, but shares with past prosecutors. Hidden information pissing him off/catching him off guard, him being extremely thorough with investigation to the point of studying the most seemingly pointless shit... perhaps the important thing isn’t so much he can “read the karmic threads of fate” but him “wanting to read the karmic threads of fate” hah.

But we know that even being perfect isn’t enough. 6-3 proves that and that’s why it’s special in the narrative of SoJ.

We know by 6-1 that the DCA is bullshit and by 6-5 we then knew for certain that it was just a tool by Ga’ran to remain in power by silencing her opponents. But 6-3 shows that it runs deeper than “oh we need DAs bc what if the defendant is innocent”. Nah, in 6-3, the entire incident happened BECAUSE of the DCA. You can’t brush it off as the prosecutor being shitty like in 6-1. It didn’t matter if a godlike prosecutor came in and indicts the right person every time. Nah, you NEED the presence of DAs to argue a defendant’s case-- for a person to trust/feel safe around a legal system to serve exactly what they deserve, accounting for mitigating circumstances like self-defense. When there is no faith in the potential defendant’s case, of course they are going to do illegal shit like lie in court or frame another person to take the blame-- even if you should’ve had something like self-defense on your side. Pointing at “the right guy” isn’t enough to “serve justice”.

If Nahyuta deluded himself into thinking that “maybe if I study or try hard enough, maybe that’s the best Khura’in could ever have,” he probably snapped out of it by the end of 6-3 because no, it doesn’t matter how good of a prosecutor he is as an individual, the problem is much bigger than him. Fuck, maybe he’s extra pissy in 6-4 because of that and lashes at the much more inexperienced Athena. I don’t know that’s just a wild shot in the dark.

And of course, he stays silent for Rayfa’s and Amara’s sake until the very end.

...

The inspiration of this headcanon is how the writers of SoJ made Nahyuta being “hard to read” a deliberate character trait (that he shares with his mom). We know his behaviors and his motives behind his actions, but I feel like by the end of the game, his personal feelings throughout the game is a mystery. His acting and his poker face didn’t help in that regard. I wished there was more foreshadowing in that regard-- I will never not be salty that Athena’s hearing wasn’t used as foreshadowing in 6-4 that Nahyuta doesn’t believe what he says. (or hell, maybe even in 6-2 if they really wanted to).

I don’t think I would be nearly as passionate about this character as I am now if his personal feelings was a simple, open book, of course. Despite the writing flaws that I will gripe about time to time, he’s my favorite prosecutor at the end of the day.

Side note: I like to believe that he got a good impression and liking towards Ema as a detective because 1) forensics is without a doubt, a great source of information that Khura’in didn’t have before (to a large extent) and 2) in 6-2, Ema legit fingerprinted and analyzed everything out of passion and perhaps Nahyuta felt some sort of kinship with wanting to know everything.

[cozycosmos]

✨Pick-a-Pile Reading: Feminine Energy Communication✨

Hello, friends!

As of very recently I have fallen in love with an oracle deck I purchased called “The Literary Witches Oracle”.

This oracle deck uses powerful females in literary culture (the witches) and their materials/objects to guide the interpreter (me!) to answers or information regarding people and/or situations.

Since it is very much so a “girl power” deck, I decided to do a Pick-a-Card reading based off of WHAT YOUR FEMININE ENERGY IS TRYING TO TELL YOU! This reading consists of ONE witch and TWO materials/objects for clarification.

This reading is meant for guys, gals and non-binary pals- we all have feminine energy that we can tune into in attempt to improve our body, mind and soul!

While I picked these cards through intuition and with love, they may not apply to all of you! Please take away whatever resonates with you. I would love to hear your feedback no matter what!

✨THE CARDS✨

There are six piles. Please pick one; whichever really speaks to you!

Pile 1 (JASPER), Pile 2 (CHRYSOPRASE), Pile 3 (ANGELITE), Pile 4 (SMOKY QUARTZ), Pile 5 (MALACHITE) and Pile 6 (LABRADORITE).

Alrighty, have you picked one? Great! Let’s get down to it.

✨PILE ONE (JASPER)✨

About your Witch:

Sylvia Plath (1932-1963) was a prolific writer of intense, dark-themed poetry. She held a deep anger toward men in her life and focused heavily on death within her writings. She suffered with intense depression and ultimately took her own life.

In Terms of the Cards:

Sylvia Plath is representative of THE DARK. Her sub-categories are LIVING IN THE DARK, INTENSITY and FURY.

The objects pulled for her were APPLE and WILDFLOWERS. An apple is symbolic of THE SENSES, HUNGER and SEX. Wildflowers are symbolic of RENEWAL, ROMANCE and AWAKENING.

✨What your feminine energy wants to tell you:✨

Your feminine energy desires a physical change. Some part of your routine has grown stagnant. Maybe you hadn’t realized, but a lack of passion within your every day has led to life feeling... well? A little dull. Your energy invites you to explore new interests; to seek out new sensations. What makes you anticipate the start of a new day? What sort of activities or objects do you take enjoyment in? It is craving for something new and exciting to open your eyes to what could be a more fulfilled, enriched life both physically and mentally. Essentially, find ways to fall in love with your life!

✨PILE TWO (CHRYSOPRASE)✨

About your Witch:

Forugh Farrokhzad (1935-1967) was a ground-breaking Iranian poet. Her writings centered around nature, sensuality and sexuality. Societal norms condemned her for both her lifestyle and poetry topics.

In Terms of the Cards: Forugh Farrokhzad is representative of REBELLION. Her sub-categories are INDEPENDENCE, BARRIERS and ISOLATION.

The objects pulled for her were CHICKEN and GHOST. Chicken is symbolic for THE CACKLE, ANCIENT PAST and LORE. Ghost is symbolic for MEMORIES, WHAT HAUNTS YOU and UNFINISHED BUSINESS.

✨What your feminine energy wants to tell you:✨

Your feminine energy wants you to realize that there is something from your past that is severely holding you back. This was an event or series of events that affected you deeply, scarring your thoughts and inherently your actions. With this ball-and-chain relationship, you have effectively trapped yourself in a negative feedback loop. Your energy encourages you to break away from these bonds that you have created; healthily work through and let go of the anxiety you hold onto. Accepting your past and moving forward is key; forgive yourself for feeling held back and the doors will open for you. Free yourself!

✨PILE THREE (ANGELITE)✨

About Your Witch:

Angela Carter (1940-1992) was a feminist writer who focused on violence, sex and femininity as a whole. She created mystical fairytales that sometimes contained a bit of a psychosexual twist.

In Terms of the Cards: Angela Carter is representative of IDENTITY. Her subcategories are INVESTIGATING IDENTITY, ROLES and WHO YOU ARE.

The objects pulled for her were KNIFE and PEACOCK. Knife is symbolic of INTENTION, CONFLICT and RESOLUTION. Peacock is symbolic of SPLENDOR, THE DIVINE and CRAVING.

✨What your feminine energy wants to tell you:✨

You seem to have been asking yourself a lot of important questions lately. Perhaps you have recently underwent a big change, such as a new job or school; the ending of a relationship or a shift in dynamic. Your feminine energy detects your stress as you attempt to navigate these new changes and question how you personally fit into them. This is a great time to analyze yourself: who were you then, and how does this change affect you now that you are no longer in that time of your life? Are there aspects of your personality that you love? If you don’t have an immediate answer, explore what makes you “you”. Maybe there are some negative qualities that you have been itching to rid of- now is the time. Give yourself the space to understand who you are- be proud and love yourself! All of these changes are pulling you onto the path you are meant to be on.

✨PILE FOUR (SMOKY QUARTZ)✨

About your Witch:

Mirabai (questionably 1450-1547) was a princess who wrote devout poetry to the god Krishna instead of being a traditional ruler/wife. Harsh feelings rose within the royal family which eventually led to her disappearance.

In terms of the Cards: Mirabai is representative of DEVOTION. Her sub-categories are WORSHIP, PASSION and THE SUBLIME.

The objects pulled for her were BRAID and SKULL. Braid is symbolic of IDENTITY, SURVIVAL and OPINIONS OF OTHERS. Skull is symbolic of TRANSITIONS, REALITY and GRIEF.

✨What your feminine energy wants to tell you:✨

Your feminine energy urges you to stop valuing the opinions of others over your own as frequently as you do. You may have a history of being called “sensitive”, whether personality-wise or over certain issues. You may also have been made to feel small at times due to your beliefs or passions. It is time to speak up for yourself; letting people walk all over you is not very empowering for your feminine energy now, is it? Finally you have the inner-strength to speak up and speak out for what you love and what you believe is right. You are allowed to transition from something small to something big. You are powerful!

✨PILE FIVE (MALACHITE)

About your Witch:

Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1860-1935) was a popular social critic and is most famously known for “The Yellow Wallpaper” which commented on the disgusting “cures” women were prescribed for their ailments. She challenged women’s roles in society her whole career.

In terms of the Cards: Charlotte Perkins Gilman is representative of FREEDOM. Her sub-categories are OPPRESSION, WHAT FREES YOU, and THE SYSTEMS AT WORK.

The objects pulled for her were CAT and LION. Cat is symbolic for THE UNTAMED, SELF-OWNERSHIP and WATCHING. Lion is symbolic for SHINING, MASTERY and STRENGTH.

✨What your feminine energy wants to tell you:✨

Have you been waiting for the perfect opportunity to achieve something great? Have you had an idea that you are passionate about, but you’re not sure how to go about it? Unsure of if it’s the right time to do something you’ve been wanting to do? Your feminine energy wants you to know that the time is now. Whatever it is you’ve been holding off doing (starting a new hobby, working on something that’s difficult either physically/emotionally, kickstarting a business/project) you now have the freedom and the skills to do it. You are the key player in the decision to make your visions a reality-or, to not act on them at all. Perhaps you have felt like you don’t have what it takes to succeed with this idea; your feminine energy says otherwise. Take charge of your dreams! You can attain them.

✨PILE SIX (LABRADORITE)✨

About your Witch:

Eileen Chang (1920-1995) led a troubled youth in China due to drug-addicted parents and a mistreated illness. During her adulthood, she wrote fiction that easily mirrored her life’s woes.

In terms of the Cards: Eileen Chang is representative of FATE. Her sub-categories are OUTSIDE FORCES, EVENTS FALLING INTO PLACE, and ACCEPTANCE.

The objects pulled for her were HOUSE and MILK. House is symbolic of STABILITY, STAGNATION and FAMILY. Milk is symbolic of NOURISHMENT, PARENTS and NOSTALGIA.

✨What your feminine energy wants to tell you:✨

Something in your life is about to click into place. Your feminine energy has been looking out for you, providing feelings of calm and comfort. This maternal energy has pushed you to nurture your thoughts and feelings; to truly listen to yourself when it comes to what you want and need. You’ve noticed a shift in how you feel; a little pep in your step. The universe has been making sure that whatever tools you need are right in front of you. Whatever trials and tribulations you’ve experienced that have halted your successes have been diminished by your determination to make things better for yourself. You feel strong, powerful, independent and confident. If not now, very soon!

✨Thank you guys so much and please let me know if you enjoyed this reading!✨

[edmunddantesisdead]

Boats Against the Current

AO3

Gatsby keeps dying, and Nick decides to save him. A natsby time loop au.

Trigger warnings: - canon character death (temporary) - canon suicide - period-typical internal homophobia and racism - vague descriptions of blood and a dead body

Two days.

The events of Nick Carraway’s life took an irrefutable and unavoidable turn within the mere course of forty-eight hours, drenched in the heat of August.

The swelter crashed over the city like a tsunami, soaking its inhabitants with sweat and foul temperatures.  The black pavement sizzled pitifully underneath the cruel, unrelenting sun. It was the very day in which Gatsby, temper running hotter than the boiling, broiling, burning world, demanded Daisy leave Tom and run into his arms.

She didn’t.

Of course she didn’t.

Daisy Buchanan had gold dust running through her veins, not blood.  There was a silken scarf where her backbone should’ve been.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Nick realized it was his birthday.

Then Tom’s mistress was hit in the Valley of Ashes, then Nick found Gatsby, bathed in moonlight outside of the house of the woman he so believed loved him.

“I just have to see, old sport,” he murmured, eyes dark and distant.  “I just have to make sure he hasn't hurt her.”

Inside, Daisy and Tom Buchanan whispered like grand co-conspirators over plates of cold chicken.

Gatsby, that stupid, stubborn, wonderful man, refused to leave.  Nick left him alone in the moonlight.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

There is a restlessness in his stomach, a churning, miserable sort of thing.  He dresses before he can think better of it, goes into Gatsby’s home before he can stop himself.  It seems to him that something is about to change. Electricity crackles in the air; Nick can feel it, zipping over his skin, raising goosebumps.

“Nothing happened,” Gatsby says wanly, wilted over a table in the entryway. “I waited, and about four o’clock she came to the window and stood there for a minute and then turned out the light.”

He traces the wood grain in the table over and over, an endless loop.

He tells Nick everything that night.  They poke through dusty, old rooms and dusty, old memories.  He tells Nick of Dan Cody and a girl more mystery than woman and the lies he told, just to be able to touch her hand.

“I can’t describe to you how surprised I was to find out I loved her, old sport,” he says, and Nick doesn't flinch.

He's used to it by now, used to the feelings he doesn't dare name.  He can't dare name.

Rosy fingered dawn creeps over the horizon, and a gardener says something about draining the pool.

Gatsby wants him to stay so badly it aches at something inside of Nick, but he can't.  He doesn't trust himself here any longer.

“Twelve minutes to my train,” he says instead of the ardent cries clawing at the inside of his throat.

He is crossing the lawn when a red-hot fury takes over him.  Perhaps at Daisy for throwing away hearts as easily as jewels.  Perhaps at Gatsby for not knowing what he's worth. Perhaps at fate for throwing him into this mess.  Perhaps at himself for these feelings, these wrong monstrosities brewing in his chest.

He turns around.

“They’re a rotten crowd,” Nick Carraway shouts across the lawn. “You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together.”

Gatsby nods at first, slowly, but then, like the sun rising over the Sound, his face breaks into that blinding grin.  He's gorgeous like that - his pink suit shining against the white marble steps and his eyes glowing with happiness.

But it’s his smile that seizes ahold of Nick.  It's always that smile.

It should be the last time he sees Gatsby alive.

It isn't.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

There’s a miserable lump in his throat, suffocating him.  Gatsby.

Gatsby is dead.

Shot by Wilson for a crime he didn't commit.

He was Nick’s friend, his best friend, his only real friend.  There was something about him, something in those eyes like molten gold and smile like a the most wondrous secret, one just between the two of you.

Nick cuts those thoughts with a painful jerk of his head.

Gatsby is dead now.  Nick won't dishonor the deceased with thoughts like those.

He closes his eyes and tries to sleep.

Someone's banging on his door.

Nick blinks blearily awake, and there’s a blissful moment before the events of yesterday come back to him, a singular moment where he wonders if Gatsby will want to take tea with him today.

His memories come crashing down the next second, crushing his fantasies beneath them.

The knocking persists, and it is more of a knocking, really - light, apologetic raps, as if to make up for his lost slumber.

“I’m coming.”  His voice is rough with sleep and emotion, and he doesn’t bother to do more than wrap a ratty old robe around himself before shuffling to the door.

Someone is speaking before it's even open fully.

“Decided to sleep the day away, have you, old sport?”

Nick’s heart stops in his chest.

“Gatsby,” he stutters after a moment.  “You’re… you’re here.” His voice comes out breathy, wondrous, and the man before him gives him a queer sort of look.

“We’ve got a date!”  Gatsby says gilbly. “My gardener was telling me the pool should be drained before the fall, but I haven't made use of it all summer.”

He is almost manic, a strained smile plastered on his face and hands flitting around.  His dark hair is wound into tight curls for once, as if he had forgotten to relax it.

He keeps talking, rocking back and forth on his heels, gesturing with his hands, but his voice fades into a low rumble beyond the roaring in Nick’s ears.

“I don’t…”  Nick stammers.  “I don’t understand.”

“The pool?”  Gatsby looks at him inquisitively.  “It’s alright if you’re worn out, old sport.  I just could… use a listening ear right about now.”

Nick says nothing, mind still trying to comprehend the sheer possibility of Gatsby standing before him, and Gatsby continues, rambling on in that way of his.  A hand rubs at the back of his neck.

“I was actually hoping you’d come over earlier - not that I’m upset you didn’t! - because I have some… things I’d like to say.  Some stories to get off my chest.” He looks studiously at something over Nick’s shoulder. “I’m afraid I’ve been a bit of a liar, old sport.  And I don’t know why, exactly, but I want you to… to know. Who I am.”

Nick takes one step forward, then a second.  He puts a hand on the center of Gatsby’s chest, where the bullet had gone through.  Gatsby stills entirely, looks at him with those golden hazel eyes.

“You were dead,” Nick says, helplessly.  “Wilson found out. He thought you were driving.  He shot you.”

It’s only when Gatsby’s eyes fill with alarm and his hands go around Nick’s arms that Nick realizes he is trembling.

“I’m right here, old sport,” he murmurs.  “I’m here, Nick.”

Nick collapses against his chest, and Gatsby only goes stiff for a moment before he is slowly, carefully putting his arms around the other man.

“It was just a dream,” he murmurs into Nick’s hair.  “A bad dream.”

Nick pulls back soon, embarrassed as he wipes his face.  “Don’t know what came over me,” he mutters, staring at the floor.

“Yesterday was a trial for all of us.” Gatsby squeezes his shoulders comfortingly.  “I’ll tell you what - I’ll go get the pool ready, and you can come join me just as soon as you change, alright?”

A brief glance at the clock tells Nick his train to work has long since left.

“Alright,” he says, almost smiling.

The last he sees of Gatsby is the flash of a pink suit as he strides across their conjoined lawn, back to his gilded manor.

Nick pads into his room and slowly, methodically, strips.  His hands are still shaking as he pulls on his swimming costume.  A dream, just as Gatsby said. A terrible dream.

He hears a gunshot.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

He crosses the lawn to Gatsby’s house, and finds him wilted over a table in the entryway.

He knows everything the bootlegger is going to say before he says it.

Part of him, some small part, still cries out that this is insane.  It ralls against the corruption of logic and physics and time, but a bigger part - the part that makes him a writer, the part that quietly watches the world without judgement, the part of him that’s a romantic, the part that drew him to the elusive Mr. Jay Gatsby and now draws him to Gatsby, his best friend - understands.  It understands that, for whatever reason, he is being given a second chance. Well, third. Maybe more.

When Gatsby beseeches him to stay and make use of the pool, he accepts.

The water runs down Gatsby’s sun-kissed skin, pooling in the curve of his collarbone, slicking his costume to his stomach, glistening against his arms.

A wave of something that should be nausea rises in Nick’s stomach.  He looks away. Digs his fingernails into his palms until they ache.

They are lounging at the side of the pool, drying off in the sunshine when Gatsby carefully wets his lips and looks away.  “There’s something else, old sport.”

Nick blinks.  This is new. “Something else?”

“There’s another reason I was so… desperate, I suppose, to shed James Gatz.  You see, I…” He breaks off, working his jaw. “Tom,” he says instead, and Nick starts.

“Pardon?”

“Tom is a moron.  We are in agreement on that, yes?”  He looks at Nick, so intently he shifts.

“Of course.”  Really, it goes without saying.  “Gatsby, what does this have to do with-”

“I’m getting to it.”  He jitters with restless energy, tugging on a curl of his hair.  “You see, James Gatz was… discriminated against. In the way Tom is so fond of.  My father was white, but his - my mother was…”

“Oh,” Nick says softly.  That desperation for the American dream, that optimism that, as long as the world believed he was white and rich, he could do anything - it’s as if something about the other man has shifted into focus, given context.

Nick responds the only way he feels he can at this point.  “Sé cómo se siente.”

Gatsby blinks.  “You speak Spanish?”

“My first language,” Nick says, and waits for it to sink in.

“Huh,” Gatsby says, then:  “And Daisy?”, which Nick really should have expected.

“Latino as well.”

He watches for a moment as something shifts behind Gatsby’s eyes.  In the end, everything he was chasing turned out to be a lie.

“But your-?”  Gatsby waves vaguely at his eyes.

Nick shrugs.  “Green eyes aren’t too uncommon in Mexico.”

“Oh.”  Gatsby is quiet for a long moment, then, unexpectedly, he laughs.  He laughs and laughs and laughs, clutching his stomach in mirth, and Nick can’t even find it in himself to be annoyed.

“What?”

“It’s just” - Gatsby slowly sobers, laughter fading to just a shine in his eyes  - “I thought I was alone all this time when, really, all I had to do was look.” He rests a hand over Nick’s.  “You were right there, in front of me.”

Innumerable emotions well up in Nick’s throat, silencing him.  He flounders, mouth working uselessly, but Gatsby just smiles.

“Thank you, old sport.”  He squeezes Nick’s hand. “For everything.”

Vaguely, Nick knows there is a soft thud behind him, but he doesn't register it.  Call he can focus on, all he can sense is the warmth of Gatsby's hand in his own. Golden hazel eyes shine at him, and Nick can't bring himself to look away.

Gatsby laughs, a little self-consciously, when Nick doesn't respond, and makes to stand, brushing imaginary lint off of himself.  “I'm a bit melodramatic, I know, I just-” He looks up and his eyes widen.

The loudest crack Nick has ever heard splits the air.

Gatsby falls, and his blood billows out in the pool water.

Nick is screaming.  He knows he's screaming.  Can feel it scrape at his throat.  He doesn't feel in control of his body, piloting it from afar as his eyes land on Wilson.  The man is pale, with strings of greasy hair plastered with sweat across his balding scalp.  There is something wild in his eyes.

“Myrtle,” he says, hoarsely.  “He… he killed my girl. My wife.”

“He didn't,” Nick wants to shout, but he is frozen, trembling.

“I'm sorry,” Wilson says, although it's not clear if he's addressing the dead or the living.

He puts the barrel of the gun in his mouth.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

This time, Gatsby sees Wilson.

Just in time to shove Nick out of the way.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

It’s Gatsby.  It has to be.

Gatsby is the only common thread connecting his days to each other.  Gatsby has died four times, and Nick has lived this day four times over.  Something, someone out there refuses to let the world go on without Jay Gatsby in it.

Nick doesn’t blame them.

If he can only stop Wilson, if he can only save Gatsby’s life, then this nightmare will be over.

He convinces Gatsby to take a walk with him this time, along the Sound.  He skips rocks and doesn’t look at Gatsby, shining in the golden light. Wilson finds them.

He plays it the same way the next loop, turning just as he remembers Wilson jumped out.  He tackles Gatsby to the ground as the bullet whizzes over their heads, and he shudders at their proximity.  Wilson just aims again and fires.

Nick wakes before dawn and goes down into the Valley of Ashes.  

He finds Wilson, talks to him gently and hides his gun.  He tries to explain that Gatsby isn’t to blame, but Wilson’s eyes widen.  

“Gatsby?”  He says. “Who said anything about Gatsby?”

Nick hastily excuses himself to make them some soothing tea.  When he comes back, Wilson is gone and so is the gun.

He jumps in front of Gatsby once, wondering desperately if blood must be shed for this curse to end.  The bullet is hot and thick inside him, trailing blood in its wake. His vision goes blurry as Gatsby screams, a raw, pained noise.  A hand presses against the wound, trying to staunch the crimson tide. He loses consciousness somewhere between the span of one labored breath and the next.  Gatsby, mouth agape in a scream Nick can no longer hear, eyes brimming with tears, and face scarlet with emotion.

He's beautiful.

The last thing Nick sees is Gatsby falling backwards as the second bullet hits him.

Nick awakes the next morning and runs his hands over his side again and again, just to make sure he's still whole.  He's never fully convinced.

He tries again, twenty-six more times.

Twenty-six more times, Gatsby dies.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn. He goes into town and buys a pistol.

He goes to Gatsby.

He refuses politely when Gatsby asks him to swim.

“I'll just sit on the side, if that's alright with you, Gatsby,” he says with a rueful smile.  “I'm afraid I'm not much of a swimmer.”

From where it's tucked into his waistband, the gun digs into his back.

He watches as Gatsby cuts sleekly through the cool blue waters, doesn’t watch as Gatsby flashes his cajoling golden eyes and pouts, asking once more for Nick to join him.  He wouldn’t be able to resist long.

He knows he’s wrong for these feelings he forces onto Gatsby.  He knows. He just can’t stop. If he were a stronger man, perhaps he could latch onto a less addictive vice - whisky, cigarettes, gambling.  But time and time again, Gatsby has waltzed straight through Nick’s defences, past barricaded walls and a careful disillusionment, with nothing more than that smile.

Maybe that’s why Nick doesn’t hesitate when he sees the door behind Gatsby - who is toweling off - swing open.  With steady hands, he grabs the gun from his waistband.

He aims it at Wilson and fires.

Wilson falls to the ground with a sick thud, and Gatsby turns around, eyes round.  He hadn’t even seen Wilson come in. The expression freezes on his face when he sees Nick, eyes dark and smoking gun in hand, and the body of Wilson, slowly, quietly losing heat into the cool marble of Gatsby’s pool room floor.

“Nick?”  He looks scared, aureate eyes wide and confused.  He's a golden child, alone and bewildered by the world, and Nick tucks the gun away.  Tries for a smile.

“You…”  Gatsby swallows hard, clamping a hand over his mouth as his golden skin turns as ashen as that damn valley.  “You killed him.”

“He was going to kill you,” Nick says, easily.  He kicks at the gun clutched in Wil- in the body’s hand.  He's in shock, Nick thinks vaguely. He had tried to ignore it, the reality of what he had set out to do, and he thinks he's done it far too well.  His voice comes to his ears through water, and the light is milky, far away. “I… I couldn't let that happen.”

Wilson’s body lies quietly between them, crimson puddling out sedately against the glistening white marble.   Nick’s legs tremble beneath him.

He doesn't realize he's swooned - swooned, like Daisy would when trying to avoid an argument - until Gatsby is beside him, cradling Nick to his chest.  He’s still damp from the pool, but Nick can’t bring himself to care about the chlorine seeping into his tartan jacket.

“Hey, hey,” Gatsby shushes him, although Nick hasn't said a word, and suddenly Nick is the child, shaking and afraid in Jay’s arms.  “It's alright, old sport. None of that now.”

“I didn't- I couldn't-”  Nick shakes his head desperately, head light and chest heaving.   There's a tempest rising in his stomach, waves of emotion and agony crashing over him, so deep he's sure he'll drown any moment.  “I couldn't lose you again.”

“Again?”  Gatsby is rocking him gently, murmuring onto his hair.  “I'm right here, Nick. I'm here. I haven’t left, not at all.”

“You have.”  Trembles against him, burying his face in Gatsby’s chest and breathing in his scent - sharp and clean, like the ocean.  Fear sweeps over him in waves, this day playing over and over and over. This moment, lasting for eternity. “You have, and you’re going to again.  Just as soon as I wake up tomorrow.”

“Nick, I’m not going to leave you.”  Gatsby clutches him tighter. “I swear I won’t.”

“You will,” Nick murmurs again.  “You always do.”

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

After killing Wilson, Nick fell asleep at Gatsby’s house while Gatsby got some of Wolfsheim’s men to deal with the mess.

“I suppose I should be grateful, old sport,” Gatsby murmured quietly, once Nick had calmed down enough to be embarrassed by the way the other man held him.

“No,” Nick said, nausea rising back up in his throat.  “I’d much prefer it if you weren’t.”

He fell asleep in Gatsby’s bedroom, tears drying on a silk pillowcase.  He wakes with cotton scratching at his cheek.

He’s home, but Nick Carraway has never felt more homesick.

Nick rolls onto his back, stares at the ceiling with wide, unseeing eyes.  Gatsby lived. Gatsby lived, and that wasn’t enough?  There had to be areason for all of this, this cursed heaped upon him.  If it wasn’t to save Gatsby, then why did Nick have to endure this torture same day after same day?  Sisyphus labores on, but with no knowledge of his crime.

Has he not lived his life as a kind man?  Has he not, as his father once said, reserved judgement on others?  Indeed, the only person he’s ever scrutinized so roughly so as to be critical is himself.

Whatever.

It doesn’t matter.

There’s got to be a way out of this.  There has to be.

Otherwise, Nick doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

He tries again.  Gatsby lives.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

He tries again.  Gatsby dies.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

He tries again.  Gatsby lives.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

Nick fails.  He fails. He fails.  He fails.

And he tries again.

Nick Carraway beats on, a boat against the current, borne ceaselessly back into the past.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

He goes to see Daisy.

“Nicky?”  She's wrapped in pink silk, rubbing at sleep-mused eyes.   “Is something the matter? It's awful early, and I was up late last night.”

“I need to talk to you.”

She shoots a scandalized look at him.  “Dressed like this? Oh, dear, you are carrying a torch for me.”

He casts a side-long look down the hall, at the maid’s retreating figure, and leans closer.  “Necesito hablarte en privado.”

She is immediately all smiles and fake laughter.  “Oh, Nicky, you silly!” Her nails dig into his arm, and she drags him into the library neither she nor Tom has ever used.

“What was that, cousin?”  She perches on a white armchair, fluffing her stylishly short blonde hair.  Her words are innocuous enough; her eyes anything but.

“A wake up call.”  Nick remains standing, resting an arm on the mantelpiece.  “I know you're the one that hit Myrtle.”

She gasps, immediately going pale.  “Nicky, how could you accuse me of something like that?  Gatsby was driving, and, really, it was that woman's own fault for running into the road like that.”

“And what about Tom?” Nick asks.

Daisy crosses her arms, petulant.  “What about him?”

He looks at her long enough for her to start shifting uncomfortably under the scrutiny, then smirks, watching her temper flare up.  “Él no sabe qué tú eres.”

“Nunca la hará.”  Daisy snaps before her hand flies to her mouth.  Her eyes, darker than a white woman’s should be, fill with tears.  Shoulders shaking, she turns away, looking through billowing white curtains, out over Tom’s perfectly groomed lawn.

“I need you to leave, Nicky.”  Her voice is soft, no hint of an accent.

“Tell everyone Gatsby didn't do it.”

“Salir!”  She snarls, turning on him with flashing eyes before she realizes what she said.  She wilts back into her armchair, looking up at him with tear-rimmed eyes. “Get out, please.”

“Careful, Daisy,” Nick says, clipped and terse.  “Your roots are showing.”

Daisy makes a small, pained voice, hand flying to her bleached hair.

Nick walks out, and the door trembles on its hinges long after he’s gone.

“I… I understand,” Gatsby stammers on the phone, “but please understand that none of this is Mrs. Buchanan's fault.  I-”

Nick carelessly presses down on the receiver, ending the call as he saunters past.

“Old sport!”  Gatsby cries, rounding on him.   “What was that about?”

“You know, you're the second person who's said that to me today.”  Nick sighs and drops onto Gatsby’s couch, flinging his feet over the side.  It's nice, like everything else in Gatsby's manor is.

“I was trying” - Gatsby stresses, lifting the receiver to his ear and redialing - “to fix this muck up.  Apparently, Daisy has been saying that she was the one who hit that poor woman.”

Nick lifts his head lazily.  “Wasn't she?”

Gatsby waves him off.  “Doesn't matter.”

Nick groans and lets his head flop back down.

“Don’t you get tired of it, Gatsby?”  Maybe it’s his somewhat elusive statement, maybe it’s the way he says them - resigned and almost bitter -, or maybe it’s the look he gives Gatsby - full of longing and empty of hope.

Whatever it is, Gatsby puts the phone down.  “Tired of what, old sport?”

Nick waves a hand vaguely.  “Trying so hard to be the person everyone else thinks you are.”

Gatsby is quiet for a long moment.  “Now that you mention it, Nick,” he says, softly.  “There are a few things I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

They find themselves walking along the Sound as the sun sets, rich amber light spilling across the waves.  There should be a green light, somewhere in the distance, but Nick can’t see it for the sky’s brilliance. The story of Jay Gatsby, once James Gatz, is laid out before them on the rocky shore, with Nick’s own heritage bared in turn.

“I just always thought Daisy and I were… destined for each other.”  Gatsby laughs bitterly. “I suppose I sound like a fool, going on about destiny, don’t I, old sport?”

Nick takes his time to answer, bending down to snatch up a smooth, round stone.  He and Gatsby have been here… oh, he can’t even begin to remember anymore. This route is new, but the shining sunset, the swooping birds and their echoing cries, and even the placement of the best skipping stones are the same.

Somewhere around a thousand, Nick decides.  He’s lived this day about a thousand times.

“No, you don’t,” Nick says pensively, flicking his wrist and sending a stone skipping along the still waters of the Sound.  “There is such a thing as destiny.  It may not be Daisy, but there’s one person out there, and…”  His voice falters, and the stone sinks beneath the waters, only the slightest rippling to ever indicate it was there.  He swallows hard. “You’re meant to be with them. Forever.”

And forever is such a long time.

Gatsby laughs, as soft as the summer rains.  “And here I thought I was the hopeless romantic, old sport.”

“You are romantic,” Nick says wryly.  “I'm just hopeless.”

He scoops another stone, warm and smooth in his palm and sends it off again, dancing lightly over the waters.  It bounces until it is out of view.

A long, low whistle escapes Gatsby’s lips as he peers over the edge of those ridiculous sunglasses.  “Pretty good at that, aren’t you, old sport?”

A wry, ironic grin flickers at the edges of Nick’s lips.  “I’ve had plenty of practice.”

A thousand days. Maybe more.

Gatsby plucks up a stone and hefts it in his hand.  It is a nugget of gold in his hand and in the late afternoon night; it splays over him as if its been filtered through a stained-glass window, and Nick thinks, in that idle author’s way of his, that he’s never seen a chapel as beautiful as the one before him.

Gatsby’s hand flies back, and the rock lands in the water with an unimpressed plop.  He looks at his hand as if it has personally betrayed him, and Nick bites back a snort of laughter.

“Need some help there?”  Nick asks, teasing.

“No,” Gatsby responds stalwartly, because of course; he never needs help.  “I’ve got it.”

“All yours then.”  Nick makes a grand, sweeping gesture towards the sound, the city, the gold-streaked sky, and the glowing-amber waters.  It would be, if Nick had his way. Everything, everything in the world would be Gatsby’s, if that could somehow make it okay - this feeling in his chest every time he sees Jay smile.

“How kind of you, my liege,” Jay drawls sarcastically, tamping down a grin as Nick snorts with laughter.  “I assure you, however, I will prove to be a master in no time.”

The stone soars, a graceful arc over the waters.  

It sinks with no preamble.

Nick can not help it.  He breaks into raucous laughter, almost bending over under the weight of his mirth.

It takes him a moment to notice Jay’s face is shuttered closed, his arms crossed over each other.  The sight sobers him immediately.

“Come now, Gatsby,” Nick says softly, straightening.  “Don’t be cross. I’ve had much more practice, you see?  Plus, you’re, ah” - he nods at Jay’s stance - “you’re doing it wrong.”

The edge of Gatsby’s sourness ebbs away with the lapping of the water against their bare feet.  “What do you mean?”

“You’ve got to-” Nick waves a hand helplessly, unsure how to describe it.  “It’s more horizontal than that.”

Gatsby looks at him, blankly.  “Just show me, old sport.”

“Oh, um.”  Nick swallows and convinces himself the spots of color in his cheeks are invisible in the golden-amber light.  “Let me just…”

He touches Gatsby’s back, gently, almost breathless as Jay moves easily beneath him, a stone already in hand.  Nick’s fingers draw down the line of Jay’s arm, nudging him into place. “You’re not throwing it at the water,” he says, voice barely trembling, “but across.”

Gatsby huffs out a frustrated breath.  “I don’t quite understand.”

Nick’s breath catches in his throat.  “Can I-” He gestures vaguely, but Gatsby nods, like he knows everything Nick is asking.

Gatsby’s shoulders are smooth under Nick’s hands.  Nick moves, slightly, and Gatsby shifts with him, gentle and oh-so yielding it makes Nick ache.  “Bend down,” Nick breaths, and Gatsby leans in, golden eyes bright. Nick nudges his chin up, the rasp of stubble against his fingers sending lightning crackling down his spine.

It’d be so easy, in times like this, to draw the other man closer, yet closer, until Nick can taste the honey in his smile.  But he won’t. He can’t. These feelings he has… he can’t hoist them so carelessly off on Gatsby, even if he won’t remember it.

Nick steps back.  If he didn't know better, he'd say he sees his own dissatisfaction mirrored in Gatsby's eyes.

“And… throw,” he says.

Gatsby tenses, drawing himself up, and he snaps, sudden as the firing of an arrow.   The stone bounces once, twice, three times, dancing out of sight until it's melded into that horizon and neither of them can see it sink.

Gatsby looks at him and smiles that wonderful smile.  “Perfect.”

“Yes,” Nick murmurs, an unidentifiable emotion swelling in his throat as he watches his golden man, alive and alight, “I suppose you’re right.”

Gatsby lives that time, and he is smiling as he bids Nick goodnight.

Nick tries to stay awake that night, but his eyes droop, and his limbs fill with sand, and he only blinks-

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.

Nick wakes before dawn.

He doesn’t roll out of bed immediately this time, doesn’t race to the Valley of Ashes to stop Wilson or storm the Buchanan household to demand things of Daisy.  He doesn’t even cross their shared lawn to see Gatsby, to hear his life story for the thousandth time over.

He lays in bed and puts a hand on his chest.  It feels like something’s trying to tear itself out.

He knows what it is.  Of course he knows what it is.

He’s always known, on some level, why he can’t help but stare at Gatsby’s smile.  Why he spends nearly every moment thinking of him. Why he finds him gorgeous beyond measure.  Why not even the sordid details of Gatsby’s past and present could prevent his heart from swelling every time he heart Gatsby laugh.

He’s in love.

Nick Carraway is in love with Jay Gatsby.

Nick pulls a pillow over his face and laughs until he cries.

He visits Daisy, threatens her, and then he goes to Gatsby’s.

“I… I understand,” Gatsby is stammering on the phone, “but please understand that none of this is Mrs. Buchanan's fault.  I-”

Nick presses a hand down on the Ameche.  The line clicks dead.

“Old sport!”  Gatsby exclaims, affronted.  “What on Earth do you mean by-”  He cuts himself up as he sees Nick, still leaning against the front table, looking at Gatsby with dark, serious eyes.

“Nick?”

“I just wanted to make sure,” Nick says, “that you’re doing alright.”

Gatsby stares at him for a long moment before the manic energy drains away.  He wilts against the wall, a bitter sort of irony playing on his lips. “I’m just swell,” he says hollowly.

“You’re exhausted,” Nick notes, brushing a limp curl out of Gatsby’s face.  “How long have you been dealing with this?”

“I haven’t slept, if that’s what you mean.”  Gatsby finally puts down the phone, static crackling away to nothing.  “Do you think it was for me?” He looks up, something like hope fogging his eyes.  

He's the single most hopeful person Nick has ever met, but this is beyond simply peering at the world through rose-tinted lenses; it's the most toxic sort of delusion.

Nick turns his head away, fixes his eyes on the waters of the Sound, gently lapping outside of Gatsby’s back windows.  “I told her to.”

He can’t bring himself to see the moment Gatsby’s eyes sharpen yet lose their shine.  To know he was the one who dulled Gatsby’s radiance.

“I see.”  He collapses onto the couch like his strings have been cut, cradling his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Nick says, sitting next to him.  He’s done any of this before - never told Gatsby the truth about his dearest love, never apologized for doing so, never offered a simple consolation for the twists of fate and societal pressure that fractured and pressed James Gatz into the harder, shinier, fiercer Jay Gatsby.

“It’s not your fault, Nick,” Gatsby idly plucks at a loose thread on the couch, watching it come unraveled.  “I suppose we weren’t meant to last.” He laughs, a low, bitter thing. “I can’t describe to you how surprised I was to find out I loved her, old sport.”

Nick hears Gatsby’s life story again.  He can practically deliver the entire speech verbatim by now, but he doesn’t mind hearing it again.  Not enough people have truly listened to Gatsby in his lifetime. Nick would very much like to be more than a mere statistic in this man’s life.

“...my mother was,” Gatsby stammers, “and I, as well, am, you see, Black,” he manages.

Nick just reaches over and covers Gatsby’s hand with his own.  “Gracias por decírmelo.”

It takes Gatsby a long moment, but his eyes widen.  “Latino?”

Nick nods.  That one word isn’t as important to him as the ones Gatsby didn’t say.   What about Daisy?  Nick hardly dares to think about what that might mean.

Gatsby smiles - a small, teasing thing.  “Keeping secrets from me, old sport?”

“Takes one to know one,” Nick fires back.

He laughs then, pure, unabashed peals of joy and relief.  “I suppose you and I are simply a matching pair.” He flips his hand over, laces his fingers through Nick’s.

Their palms press together.  It’s simple, chaste. Yet, somehow, it overwhelms Nick, filling him with sunshine.  “Always,” he murmurs. He, of all people, means it. “Even through all this mess, I’m here for you, Gatsby.”

Gatsby huffs out an exasperated breath, letting his head loll against the couch back.  “Things haven’t quite been normal since yesterday, have they?”

Nick groans, shaking his head.  “You’re telling me.”

“I mean think,” Gatsby continues, “just yesterday, it was- Oh!”  He startles, turns to Nick. “I forgot, didn’t I?”

Nick blinks slowly.  “Forgot what?”

“Yesterday!”  Gatsby says impatiently, rising to his feet and digging through a drawer in the nearby armoire.

Nick flexes his empty hand.

“It was a rather momentous day, wasn’t it, old sport?”

Nick can barely remember yesterday.  He knows the broad strokes of it, of course - the city sizzling like an oven, Daisy mowing down Myrtle, Gatsby waiting outside the Buchanan house in the moonlight.

“I’m afraid I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Gatsby,” he confesses.

“Oh, come now, Nick, It’s bad enough one of us forgot it.”  Gatsby makes a triumphant noise and holds up a small black box, lacquered and shiny.  He turns to Nick and smiles that smile. “Happy thirtieth birthday, Mr. Nick Carraway.  I meant to give it to you after we got back from the city, but, well…”

Nick is stunned speechless for several moments.  When he finally regains his tongue, all he can manage is: “I never told you when my birthday is.”

“Yes, I- I know.”  Abashment colors Gatsby’s face and forces him to look down at his shoes.  “I asked Daisy. Sorry if you didn’t want me to know, old sport, but I just figured it’s the sort of thing a man should…”  He trails off, swallows hard. “Nick, you” - his golden eyes dart up to meet Nick’s, but just as quickly shoot away - “you always do so much for me.  I guess I just wanted to let you know that… I’m grateful. That I care.”

Nick could fall in love with him right now, if he hasn’t already been falling for so long, so easily and so imperceptibly he can’t pinpoint a day or a place.

“Thank you,” Nick says, as he rises to join his golden man.  “Thank you, Gatsby.”

Gatsby’s smile doesn’t fade, but it grows softer, fonder somehow.  “Come on, then.” He pushes the box into Nick’s hands, foot tapping.  “Don’t you want to see what it is?”

“I’m going to love it, regardless,” Nick laughs, turning the box over in his hands, admiring.  “You’re the only one who remembered.”

He flips open the lid.

Nick’s eyes widen.

It’s a watch.  It’s an achingly beautiful watch - all shining golden band and sleek, dark face and faintly ticking gears.  The light glimmers off of it when he holds it up. Wondrously, he turns it over to reveal an engraving.

To the dearest friend I ever had.  Yours always, J.

“‘J’?”  He questions, looking up at Gatsby.

“I always knew I was going to tell you,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck.  “About my past, that is. About me. I’ve lied to just about everyone in my life, old sport, but, you… I just want you to know who I am.”

“J,” Nick repeats, smiling.  “Jay Gatsby and James Gatz all in one.”

Gatsby smiles back, anxiety melting away.  “Exactly.”

“I love you,” Nick says.  He didn’t mean to, but he doesn’t take it back.  Instead, he lets the words - three syllables, eight letters, infinite meaning - hang, shimmering in the air between them.  He doesn’t realize his hands are shaking until the band of the watch starts rattling. He tries to unclasp it and slide it on his wrist, but his fingers are fumbling and his eyes are fogging over and he can’t work the damn clasp-

Gatsby touches his wrist, gently.  “Let me.”

He’s quiet, eerily quiet as he easily unlatches the watch.  He takes Nick’s hand and slides the gift onto his wrist, golden fingers brushing against soft, sensitive skin.  He turns Nick’s arm over and reclaps it. His fingers rest over Nick’s pulse long after the task is over.

Nick can’t bring himself to speak.

“Did you mean it?”  Gatsby asks, hesitantly.  Staring down at his fingers on Nick’s wrist, he looks like he’s more afraid of the answer than he has any right to be.

“Of course I did.”  Nick covers Gatsby’s hand with his free one.  “Gatsby, how could I not?” He waits until those golden eyes are trained on him to continue.  “I love you.”

Gatsby shudders, turns away again.  “You can't say such things like that.”

Nick, a horrid sinking feeling growing in his gut, makes to apologize, but Gatsby cuts him off.

“I’ll believe them, Nick.”  His voice is rough, thick.  “No one has ever… You can’t just…”  His voice cracks, breaks, and Nick realizes he is crying.

“Gatsby!”  He fights against his instinct to wrap the other man up in his arms and hold him until the tears abide.  “I’m so, so sorry, I know I shouldn’t have! I… just can’t help it.”

The sound of his voice seems to be helping, somehow, so Nick keeps blabbering on, as if he can solve this whole mess with pretty words alone.

“You’re… you’re the single most hopeful man I’ve ever met.  Do you know how incredible that is? You believe the best in everyone, even when you shouldn’t.  Of everyone I’ve ever met, you’re the only one who’s ever escaped even the slightest modicum of my scorn.”

Gatsby’s tears are slowly drying, and his head rises gradually, ponderously towards Nick.

Others may have taken it as an invitation to stop, but Nick finds that, now that his speech has begun, he simply cannot conclude until Gatsby knows exactly the depth and breadth of what Nick feels.

“And your smile!  Do you even know what you do to me with that smile?  You smile understandingly — much more than understandingly.  It’s a smile with a quality of eternal reassurance in it. I could live four or five lifetimes and never find another like it.  It faces the whole external world for an instant, and then concentrates on me with an irresistible prejudice in my favor, as I see it.  

“It’s like you understand me, just as far as I want to be understood, and believe in me as I could only pray to believe in myself.  Except for this moment, I’ve never questioned what you think of me. You’re my dearest friend in the world, Gatsby, and I can see nothing but kindness in your smile.”

“You really do love me, don’t you?”  Gatsby says, quietly. If not for the redness tinting his nose, Nick would never be able to tell he’d been crying.  Throughout Nick’s impromptu tyrade, he had wiped clean his face, and now he looked at Nick, eyes shining, although Nick can’t tell if the effect is from residual tears or emotions.

“Yes,” Nick admits, “and I know you’re in love with Daisy-”

“-not sure on that front,” Gatsby interrupts, quietly.  “The more I think about it, the more seeing her run down an innocent woman seemed to… mitigate some of my softer emotions.”

Nick huffed out an ironic laugh.  “That’ll do it.”

Gatsby quirked his lips in return.  “Quite.”

“But, I…”  Nick tugs at his sleeve.  “I know I’m not what you want.  I've made my peace with that. I know there are things about me that aren’t-”

“What about you?”  

Nick blinks.  “What?”

“What about you isn’t what I want?”

“I’m a male, for starters!”  Nick cries. “I’m not a doll like Daisy, I don’t fit in with your high-society associates, and you can never been seen in public with me!  Isn’t that enough?”

“I trust you, Nick,” he says, simply.   “That’s enough.  I’ve never done that with anyone before.  You’re… you’re the only one I know will always be there for me.”  His words come slowly, as if each one is a fresh revelation he savors the truth of.  “You’re the only one who’s ever cared for me, not just my money. I can rely on you and confide in you without any fear.  I care about you. I trust you. I…” He cuts off, worrying at his bottom lip.

There is a long, long pause.

“Do you love me?”  Nick can hardly bring himself to break the silence, can hardly dare to hope.

Gatsby’s golden eyes trace the lines of his face.  “Yes,” he says, voice far away. “God help me, I think I do.”

He cracks a smile, and Nick can’t help but lift one in return, and then Gatsby is chuckling, softly, and then they’re both practically howling with laughter, although nothing is particularly hilarity-inducing.  Instead, it’s relief that propels their outburst. Pure, simple relief. Relief that the other party returns their affections; relief that, for now, at least, the nightmare is over.

Relief that neither of them has to be alone any more.

Nick takes Gatsby’s hand and doesn’t let go.  “You’re fantastic, Gatsby. Truly.”

“You know,” Gatsby says, over-casually, “you could call me Jay if you wished, old sport.”

Nick tilts his head, considering his golden man for a moment.  “Would you like that, Jay?”

“I think,” he says with a wry quirk to his lips, “I’d be quite alright with anything you called me, as long as you said it like that.”

Nick can’t help but smile in return.  “Like what?”

Jay shrugs, almost bashfully  “Like I’m something precious.”

“You are,” Nick says with far more honestly than he intends.  “You’re gold and diamonds and jewels and everything else in the damn world to me, Gatsby.”

“There you go again,” Gatsby teases, squeezing his hand.  “Too shy to call me by my name, Nick?”

“Gatsby is what I know you as,” Nick says, eventually.  “It isn’t any more or less intimate than Jay or James or Gatz.  I fell in love with Gatsby, but I would and do love Jay and James and Gatz just as tenderly.”  He takes Gatsby’s hand and squeezes.

“What’s in a name?”  Gatsby murmurs to himself.  “That which we call a rose…”

“I love you, Gatsby.”  Nick presses a kiss to his forehead.  “And I love you, Jay.” His cheek. “And I love you, James.”  His nose. “And I love you, Gatz.”

“And I love you, Nick Carraway.”  It’s Gatsby who finally draws them together, their mouths slotting in place like pieces of a puzzle, but Nick can’t begrudge him that.  

It should feel dangerous.  Instead, it feels like coming home.

Nick knows it won’t last.  He knows, even as Gatsby draws him closer, closer, and slams the bedroom door behind them, that he’ll wake up to the sound of cicadas.  Alone.

But for now, with Gatsby’s mouth burning against his and golden eyes smiling down at him, Nick can ignore all that.

After all, he has some much more pressing issues to deal with.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

Nick’s heart sinks.  He knew it would happen.  Knew that it never lasts, that he’ll always be trapped in this damn loop, but…

He had hoped.

In his eternal foolishness, he had hoped.

He sighs, just a little, and makes to pull himself out of bed and do it all over again.  Maybe he won’t make Gatsby cry this time. The sight was devastating.

His movement is stopped by an arm tightening around his chest.

“Hm?”  A groggy, sleepy noise comes from behind him.  “Nick, what’re you doing?”

Nick’s heart stops in his chest.

“Gatsby,” he says, and waits for the small huff of confirmation, “what day is today?”

“Wednesday,” Gatsby responds after a moment, “the sixteenth.  Two days after your birthday. Why’s that?”

“No reason,” Nick says, heart glowing so fervently in his chest he’s surprised light doesn’t fill the bedroom.  “Just wondering.”

It could be confessing his feelings to Gatsby that broke the loop.  It could be kissing someone that did it. It could even be falling asleep with someone else.

Yet, somehow, Nick thinks he knows how he did it.  The way he was living, the way he carried around disgust and hate for himself, for who he loved - he couldn’t go on like that.  So he didn't go on until he knew it was okay to love a great man like Gatsby.

“It’s not even dawn, Nick.”  Gatsby yawns, rubs at his sleep-crusted eyes.  “Go back to sleep.”

“Alright,” Nick says, voice miraculously not breaking.  He nestles back down on a silken pillowcase, and Gatsby’s forehead comes to rest on the nape of Nick’s neck.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Gatsby murmurs, already drifting back off.

“Okay,” Nick whispers, lacing his fingers through Gatsby’s.  “In the morning.”

Their life would be lived behind closed doors.  It would be a life of hastily stolen kisses and hands pressed almost close enough to hold and standing just far enough apart not to draw eyes.

But it would be theirs.

On the nightstand, his watch ticks on.

[heyyyharry]

In Another Life Series: Chapter 10 - The Sidekicks

…in which the protagonists aren’t always the only heroes.

Series description: Y/N and Harry are soulmates and destined to meet in every lifetime, but no matter how many times they reincarnate and find each other again, they never seem to get it right.

AU: reincarnation, soulmate!harry, prince!harry, assistant!y/n, witch!y/n.

Chapter 9 - The Witch: Y/N and Harry both have to choose.

Warning: This is the first time I’ve killed off a character guys. HOW DO WRITERS DO THIS?!!! Also this is about 6.5k word long so probably a ton of unedited mistakes in here.

wattpad link

.

“Hi, I’m here for the job interview?”

“Name?”

“Forman. Jason Forman.”

The hotel receptionist gave the young man a smile then told him to wait until the manager was done interviewing the other candidate as it would take around ten to fifteen minutes more. Being anxious as he was in job interviews, Jason would always arrive this early to mentally prepare himself. So he asked her where the toilet was and took the free time he had to go fix up and release his burden.

Jason followed the lady’s instruction, heading down the long hall and making a left turn; and as he was checking his phone while walking, he bumped into a girl. She immediately screamed at him to watch where he was going and as a habit he repeatedly apologizing for it. 

It took him a while to calm down but eventually he recognized that face. He wouldn’t have known who she was had it not been for his best friend spooky relationship with her boss. He’d done a lot of research on Harry Styles to know the girl he had just bumped into was no other than Harry’s ex-girlfriend, singer/songwriter/demon in the form of a pretty girl, Lillie Xander.

“You’re lucky my Gucci shirt is not crinkled! You obviously couldn’t pay for it!” She snarled at him and dusted off her shirt to storm off without one second look back. 

Jason had heard a lot about this woman from his best friend, but she was even worse than he’d imagined. He wondered how Harry Styles had gone through two years in a relationship with such an awful person, she was either a very good actress, or Harry was just really dumb, or maybe it was the curse that linked him to someone like her so as to match his previous lives’ storyline, whatever it was, Jason truly felt sorry for him.

When Lillie was finally out of sight, Jason proceeded to the toilet. Unexpectedly, another girl bumped into him for the second time!

“I’m sorry!” This one blurted out before he could, which surprised him for he expected the same attitude as Lillie. 

Not everyone is the devil, Jason! Said the voice inside his head.

“It’s okay, it was my fault…I’m really sorry…” he apologized, yet the girl seemed too distracted to pay attention to his words. “Are you alright, miss?”

“Have you seen Lillie Xander?” She blurted out, catching him off-guard. 

“I have, yeah…She just left. Why?” Jason’s eyes grew wide. “You know her?”

“Yeah, I was her assistant.”

Well, what are the odds…

“Was?”

“Yup, the bitch fired me for leaking her ‘private information’.” The girl did an air quote as she sticked out her tongue mockingly. “As if the whole world hadn’t already know about her constantly cheating on Harry Styles.”

“Cheating?! Is that true?!”

Judging by Jason’s weird reaction, the girl paused a bit to study his facial expression. She squinted her eyes, scanning him from head to toes, before taking a wild guess, “are you working for those tabloids who write shit about celebrities to ruin their lives?”

It took Jason a while to think of an answer. He rarely lied, especially about his identity, moreover he’d got a job interview in ten minutes or less, he didn’t have time for gossip, but he knew this girl hated her old boss and she would be willing to spill everything about Lillie, which might be able to help his best friend or at least his best friend’s soulmate (it was still weird for him to use that word). He just knew he couldn’t walk away from this opportunity, so he nodded his head quick.

“Y-Yeah? I am…” He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Was it very obvious?”

“You just asked a lot of questions,” she told him then locked her fingers around his wrist. “Come with me, I have a lot to tell you about Lillie Xander.”

.

.

.

“Your Highness, you’re not allowed!” 

“Let me in! I need to see her! Mother!”

The armored guards turned a deaf ear to the prince despite how loud he was shouting and how hard he fought to break free from their grips. They only took commands of the Queen and the Queen only, they weren’t afraid of Edward’s empty threats. 

“I need to speak to my mother!”

“Your Highness, you need to calm down. Her Majesty doesn’t want to see anyone at the moment.”

Just as the servant finished his sentence, the door to the Queen’s chamber was unlocked and the Queen herself appeared, looking serene, she always was no matter the situation. She waved her hand telling her guards to let go of the young prince and giving him the permission to enter before retreating inside. Her son quickly followed. He was enraged and she knew exactly why he was here, in fact, she’d been expecting him to show up and make a scene.

“What have you done?!” He shouted at her when the doors were finally closed. “You’re gonna have her executed?!”

“Yes, that evil young girl is going to be burnt at the stake at sunrise.”

“No! Ann deserves a fair trial like all prisoners!”

“She’s not just any prisoner!” Argued the Queen. “She’s a witch. Your father would—“

“Father is still unconscious! This is your decision!”

The Queen took a deep breath then turned around to glared at her child, eyebrows knitted together as she asserted, “he would’ve done the same thing to the person who set him on fire!”

“I’m going to speak to her myself,” Edward declared then turned to leave. But before he made it out of the door, his mother raised her voice and stopped him in his tracks. 

“You’re forbidden!”

“Forbidden?” He turned around, eyes broadened in shock. “You can’t forbid me!”

“Your father is not dead yet so don’t speak like a King when you aren’t one. I am still your mother and your Queen.” 

He didn’t say anything else but he didn’t move either. So the mother marched towards her beloved son and laid a hand on his cheek, causing Edward to step away from her reach immediately. This wasn’t the loving mother he’d always adored. Every single one of her words was full of hatred, he didn’t recognize this woman. 

“Trust me, my dear…That girl is dangerous!”

Unfortunately, that one reason wasn’t enough to convince the young prince.

“That’s not why you don’t want me to see her…” he said, it was more of a realization than an assumption. “Does she…know father is still alive?”

For this question, Edward didn’t receive an answer or a reaction. However, he didn’t need one to know what he feared was true.

“She doesn’t, does she?” He nearly choked on his own words. “You had her think she’d killed the King!”

The Queen kept silent. The less she spoke, the more he was afraid of her. She had gradually turned into this monster in those bedtime stories she used to tell him when he was a kid, a cold-hearted monster, and he didn’t want to believe it, he needed to hear it from her.

“Or…you wanted her to think it was me who was responsible for her execution.”

“She’s a distraction, Edward! She clearly put a spell on you, don’t you see?!” 

That was a ‘yes’, and Edward quickly extended his arms to keep her from taking a step closer. His hands were trembling and his breathing became ragged. He just couldn’t believe that his own mother was capable of doing something so cruel.

“Did you…plan everything? Ann being in that room when father was set on fire!”

“You’re accusing me of plotting against my husband?” 

“You’ve always hated him and Ann! You have every reason to do that!” 

Edward’s screaming caused the Queen to instantly backed away. The look of fright on her face, however, did soften the devastated son as she was still his mother, and despite all the things she’d done, he still loved her. Nevertheless, he was broken to pieces for he didn’t know who else to trust, not even himself. That was why he needed to speak to Ann, and the thought of her being put away for something she didn’t do deeply wounded him as he stormed out of her room, dashing past the guards, neglecting his mother’s pleading for him not to go. 

Up in the highest tower, Ann was waiting for her death. She hadn’t eaten for days, she wished she could die of hunger, or be eaten by the rats. Any death would be better than being burnt by those spiteful people who was ruling this rotten country. 

The moonlight snuck through the small gap high on the wall and formed a bright line on the floor in front of her. She had been staring at it for a very long time, and judging by this light she assumed it was a full moon, just like the night she met Edward. Maybe it was all the work of fate. She was meant to meet him that night, fall in love with him, and receive her devastating ending. They said when you were approaching your death, you began to reflect your entire life, and she did. Ann had faced death once, she was very young and the King’s army burnt down her entire village, she had to watch her mother and sisters burnt alive in front of her eyes. If it hadn’t been for Madam Maggie, she probably couldn’t escape and lived until today. She had escaped death once, now it was coming back for her, and she knew she couldn’t run anymore, she had to accept it. The truth was, she didn’t regret anything, not even her decision to stay, not even loving Edward, not even believing his love for her was true. Nothing. 

Now as she was waiting for the sun to rise so as to end her misery at once, she thought about him. Maybe in another, when he wasn’t who he was now, they could be together at last.

“Ann, my love!”

When she heard that voice, she thought it was just her mind playing tricks on her. She thought she missed him too much so she started imagining things. But when the door was opened and he rushed into the room, her heart nearly flew out of her chest. It took her less than a second to burst into tears.

He shushed her and dropped down on his knees to pull her into his arms. They were both sobbing. 

“H-How did you—“

“I paid the guards…I…I had to see you…” he said, holding her face, tracing his fingertips across her features as if to take every single detail into his memory. “Did they hurt you, my love?”

She shook her head no, smiling sadly to him. It was obviously a lie, but he didn’t have to know. She didn’t want to worry him some more.

“I’m so happy to see you again…” She rested her forehead against his, closing her eyes and breathing heavily. “I thought you didn’t want to see me anymore…”

“No, no, no…” He had never shaken his head so fast. “I’m sorry love…I’m so sorry…” The words spilled out endlessly even though he knew they were all useless now, they wouldn’t be able to save her. 

“I don’t blame you…I…killed your father…”

“You didn’t, love, you didn’t. He’s alive.”

She squinted her tear-filled eyes in confusion and shock.

“My mother…She wanted you to believe he was dead, and that I was the one who…” He couldn’t say it, he couldn’t even say it. “I would never want you to get hurt…Never…”

“Thank you for letting me know.”

She was smiling. He had no idea why she was smiling, still he did too. Knowing these were probably the last few minutes they had together, at least he got to see that smile again.

“What are you thinking of, love?” He asked hoarsely for he’d been crying too much. She touched his face gently, the magic on her fingertips warmed up his skin in this dark cold room as her presence had done to his heart. Without her, he would probably break like ice, he wasn’t ready to let her go.

“Your eyes glow in the dark,” she said after a while, holding his gaze still as if to record the image into her memory and taking it with her to a place far away from here. “The first time we met they also glowed in the dark…I’ve never told you this, have I?”

“No, love.” He laughed in tears. “You hated me then.”

“Yes, and I didn’t even know you.” She giggled but that was the saddest sound he’d ever heard. “I’m glad you fell into that hole.”

“I’m glad I did…” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly.

“I’ll never forget you, Edward.”

“Don’t say that…Don’t—” The Prince pulled her back to his chest and laid gentle kisses all over her face. Ann could feel his heart beating, and this was all she needed right now, to feel his heart before hers burnt to ashes. She knew their time together was running out, so she asked him for a little favor.

“Edward, darling…Can you give me one last kiss?”

He nodded, watery eyes shut tight as he pressed his lips to hers, feeling everything at once, it was bitter sweet to know it was their last. Ann was the first to break away, holding tightly onto his shoulders as she looked straight into his green eyes.

“When…When I’m gone…” She struggled to release those words, yet there was no other way. “You have to move on with your life…”

“Don’t say that!”

“Listen to me! You have to promise me to move on with your life! You’re gonna be a great King, and you’re gonna love again, you’re gonna have a family, you’re not gonna be like your father and mother, you’re gonna have a happy marriage and many children.”

“No…”

“Edward!” She was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe, still she held onto him because he was all she had left. “You have to! But please be careful. The people around you aren’t who you think they are…”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t have time to explain, just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I will love. I will…” He nodded fast. “But I won’t love anyone else…Just you.”

“I know…” She snorted in tears while caressing his face. “It may be over for us in this life but we’ll meet again.” She took a deep breath to steady her breathing and looked at him in the eye to make sure he paid attention to her each and every word.

“Find me in another life. Only when you’ve found me, then we can be together…”

“I will.”

“Promise me?”

The prince nodded rapidly. He wasn’t sure what she actually meant, still he gave her his words, swearing on his own life that no matter how many lifetimes it would take, he wouldn’t give up until he’d found her.

Just as they managed to hold onto each other for the very last time, a big tall man in armor kicked the door open. Without waiting for a reaction from Edward and Ann, the King’s guards grabbed each of them then forced them apart by violence. They did as they’d been told, they didn’t care who might get hurt, they showed up by their Queen’s command. 

“Don’t you dare hurt her!” Edward roared as he kicked and punched and tried everything he could to escape from the men twice his size who were holding him up like a rag doll. He threatened to take their lives if they refused to let go of Ann, but none of those men seemed bothered.

“I’m so sorry Your Highness,” said one of the guards as two others held each of his arms. “We only take command of His and Her Majesty.”

“It’s okay, Edward…I’ll be okay,” Ann assured him as she got up on her knees after one of the men had tossed her into the corner of the room. She was frightened on the inside but calm on the outside because she needed to be strong in order for him to be strong. If she broke now, he would give up on everything else that mattered to him, and she didn’t want that.

So they took him away, the heartless men wearing steel didn’t feel sympathy for the couple who had barely spoken their goodbyes. Before the door was closed between them, Ann saw Edward mouthing “I love you” to her and his beautiful green eyes like two little flames shining in the dark, just like the first time they met. To hear that he loved her, to know that he did, Ann couldn’t have asked for anything more.

.

.

.

Lisa knocked a couple times on her flatmate’s bedroom door and gave Jason a look as she raised her voice, “Y/N, Jason is here!”

“Tell him to go away!” was the answer they received.

Lisa released a heavy sigh as she kept trying to convince the heartbroken girl. “Honey, you’ve been in there for an entire day.”

“Just let me be, Lisa!”

Jason huffed in frustration then pushed Lisa aside so he could step nearer to the door and speak for himself, “Y/N, I have something I think you’d like to hear!”

There was no answer.

“Y/N?”

“Why is she so quiet?” Lisa looked nervous. “Should we break the door down?”

“Jesus, no!” Jason rolled his eyes in response to the girl’s crazy idea. “She always stays silent when she wants to end the conversation with someone, it’s fine, I think we should respect her wish to be alone.”

Lisa nodded understandingly as she followed Jason away from Y/N’s room. “So what are we gonna do with that recording? You’re gonna publish it online and end the little bitch’s life? I have multi fan accounts, I can—“

“No! God, would you calm down?!” Jason blew up his cheeks and gave out his hand. “Give me your phone. You have Harry’s contact right? In case something bad happened to Y/N on tour?”

“No, she gave me Jeff Azoff’s number though.”

Jason raised an eyebrow at her. “Who’s that?!”

“He’s Harry Styles’ manager, you old-fashioned baby!” Lisa scoffed as she handed the phone to Jason and let him go through the contact list to look for Jeff’s. 

“I can’t believe I trusted Harry Styles and he ended up breaking her heart,” Lisa spoke while looking at her phone in the younger man’s hand. 

Even though he didn’t look up at her, he still replied by saying, “he didn’t.”

“Are you actually defending him right now? Your best friend is crying her eyes out in her room, Jason!”

“Look, I can’t tell you what happened, not yet at least, but trust me, Harry loves Y/N as much as she loves him.”

Lisa shook her head. “I wouldn’t call it love, they barely know each other.”

Jason didn’t give any further comment, he knew Harry and Y/N knew each other very well, and had been for centuries. It was tragical how they would repeat the same ending until…eternity, if only he could find the cure and give her the happy ever after she deserved. Unfortunately, he didn’t have that power.

Jason dialed the number and put the phone to his ear, inhaling deeply while waiting for the voice on the other end of the line. 

“Hello, Mr. Azoff…No! Y/N is fine, I’m her best friend, my name’s Jason. I need to speak to you about something.”

.

.

.

Edward didn’t come to witness Ann’s execution. 

Ever since he was brought back to his room, he sat by his window until sunrise, like a dead corpse, ironically he really did wish he could be one. His life had had no meaning before she arrived, and now that she was gone, he’d lost his will to continue living.

Hours had passed, there was a knock on the door. Edward didn’t speak up, didn’t tell the person to come in or to leave, but said person entered the room anyway. It couldn’t be his father who was still unconscious, couldn’t be his mother either, she never left the King’s side, Edward knew no matter how much she’d said she hated him, she loved him much more than that; the only person left who could get pass his guards was his betrothed, Princess Emilie.

“The execution was just over…” she spoke up, and he didn’t even bother to bat an eye to her. He kept staring out at the window, at the lower roofs, at the skyline, at the clouds, anything that would take him away from this reality, even for just a moment.

Emilie shouldn’t have come here. She knew it herself, but she felt bad, yes, she felt bad for what she’d done. Ann was dead, and she should be glad, but all there was left in her heart was guilt. 

“Her Majesty asked me to come check on you, my dear…” Emilie carried on as she gulped down her fear. She’d never seen him like this before, he was so quiet, so intimidating. Who knew what he could and would do? She stood there for a while, waiting for a reply from the Prince, and when she was sure he would continue with his silence, she turned to leave. But it was not until then did he speak to her.

“Did you do it?”

“What?” She released a soft chuckle, yet anyone could tell she was scared because she was caught. She couldn’t play dumb for too long, she’d just witnessed a woman burnt alive, it wasn’t just something a normal person could get over easily.

“Did you—“ Edward finally stood up from the seat by his window and the look on his face as he turned to her could slit her throat open. “—or did you not give that note to Ann?”

“N-Note? What…What note?” She started stuttering now. A person who was telling the truth would never stutter.

“They found a note at the crime scene,” said Edward as he took a step towards the trembling girl and backed her up against the wooden door, eyes burning with anger, one of his hand tightened into a fist as he raised the other and showed her one finger. “I’m going to ask you one last chance to be honest to me. Did you, or did you not, give that note to Ann?”

“I—“

“Answer me!” 

He slammed his fist against the door beside her head and the words jumped right out of Emilie’s mouth before she could stop herself. 

“It was the Queen!”

“What?”

“The Queen…Her Majesty…told me to…I…I didn’t…I gave the note to one of your guards, I…”

“Did you know what was written inside that note?” She opened her mouth to answer, not knowing it wasn’t really a question until he cut her off by shouting at her. “Did you know what could’ve happened to Ann if she hadn’t defended herself against my father?! Did you know that note took away a person’s life?! Did you…” He had to pause to control himself, his voice was shaking, nearly breaking, and she didn’t know whether he was going to cry or hit her or scream or go insane. She just knew he was completely destroyed. Edward continued after closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. There was a lump in his throat and the next questions got out in pain.

“Have you ever thought about how it’d make me feel?” He questioned, eyes glued to hers, the agony was etched on his face. “To know that every single person around me, my mother, my father, my betrothed, had destroyed my only chance of ever being happy. To let people take away the only person I’ve ever loved. Are you happy to see me like this?”

“N-No…Your Highness…I—“

“If you’re going to apologize, don’t…Meaningless apologies won’t bring her back…” 

He backed away, and she could finally breathe again. He stood with his head hung low and hands on his hips, looking defeated. Then he called in his guards, leaving Ann bewildered when they barged into the room, ready to take his command.

“Make sure Princess Emilie is kept away from me from now on. I don’t care what my mother says, she is not allowed to speak to me, never again.”

“You can’t do that! I am going to be your wife!”

“I let you live because you are going to be my wife.” He pointed to her face and shut her right up, then turned to his men, nodding his head towards the door. “Now get her out of my sight.”

“You can’t do this!” Emilie cried out, choking on her own words as she fought to get away from the guards, but they had already grabbed her by the arms. “Please, Edward, please! I love you! Give me another chance please!”

Edward shook his head as he said to her, “I’m sorry, I can’t love you, and I never will.”

Then he signaled his men to drag her out of the room. Her screaming and crying didn’t bother him, he was tired; no, he was exhausted. Once he was left alone again, he went back to the window where he found peace and kept sitting there until sunset.

When Edward woke up, it was already night. He found himself lying in his bed, there was an old woman, a stranger sitting in a chair by his side, giving him a sweet smile. She had a gold front tooth, he knew every single one of the servants in this palace and he’d never seen this woman before, he would’ve remembered someone with such a unique appearance.

“What happened to me?” He asked her, and she answered by saying he had fainted.

“It’s okay, Your Highness. You’ll be alright.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name…”

“Because I don’t work in this castle.”

The Prince sat up right away, widening his eyes at the woman and was about to call for his guards when she shushed him and clicked her fingers to slam the windows by his bed shut, causing him to jump.

“Wait, you—“

“Yes.” She nodded. “I’m a witch, darling. I’m a friend of Ann’s.” The name of his lover got his stomach to twist. Her composure was in contrast with the shock in his eyes as he stared at her. And so she introduced herself, telling him to call her Madam Maggie.

.

.

.

Jeff turned off the voice recording on his phone and the hospital room sank back to silence. Harry, who was sitting on the edge of his bed, still in his hospital gown, didn’t say a single word. He stared at his feet, eyebrows pulled together leaving an uneasy grimace on his face. Jeff tried to guess what was on his mind but eventually gave up for he couldn’t decode that facial expression.

“I’m sorry,” was all he managed to say. He couldn’t come up with something better, what to tell your friend when he received the news his ex-girlfriend was pregnant only to find out it wasn’t his just two days later? Harry’s health was getting better (for some reason the doctors couldn’t explain) still it wasn’t good, Jeff could only hope this news wouldn’t be detrimental to his heart condition, which was the reason why he ended up in the hospital in the first place.

“Who sent this to you again?” Harry finally lifted his eyes to look at his manager, who was leaning his back against the edge of the table facing his bed, arms crossed as he gave Harry a shrug.

“Y/N’s friend, Jackson or something.”

“Jason,” Harry corrected him then asked fast, “did you…did you speak to Y/N?”

Jeff shook his head, leaving Harry disappointed.

“Sorry mate, she’s changed her number, I’ve tried contacted her a couple of times. She really doesn’t want to have anything to do with us anymore.”

Harry said nothing, but the frown he was wearing said it all. Jeff asked him what he would like to do with this news of Lillie’s baby being someone else’s because releasing this recording of her assistant confessing to all the bad things she’d ever done would save Harry’s reputation, even though it would do the opposite to Lillie’s and might even sabotage her career. Harry, of course, took the high road and asked Jeff to speak to Lillie’s team first, tell them to release their own apology statement and clarify Harry’s name, then get rid of the recording to save the little amount of dignity she had left. 

“Okay, if that’s what you want.” Jeff nodded, pursing his lips, it’d be a lie to say he wasn’t disappointed because he’d been wanting Lillie to pay for everything she’d done, however he respected his friend’s decision. “You should get some rest. I’ll be right back in a bit, yeah?”

Harry replied by thanking Jeff then lied back down with his back facing the entrance. He was clearly acting out of character, he hadn’t spoken much since the day Y/N left, Jeff knew there was something going on between them, everyone in his team knew. They just decided to not bring her up, it was the only way for Harry to move on. He wasn’t so unfamiliar with heartbreaks since most of his songs were about them. However, nobody, not even himself knew, this could be a heartbreak that he would never recover from, not in this life, not even in the next. 

Jeff exited the room and walked out into the hallway, ready to make a phone call to Lillie’s management team to end this all at once. But things just wasn’t that easy, by the lift, he found the main star herself. Lillie was trying to get to Harry’s room but was stopped by Sarah.

“Get out of my way I need to speak to H!”

“He doesn’t want to speak to you! Leave!” Sarah held her by the arm when she intended to pass. Lillie immediately shrugged her hand away.

“Touch me again and I’ll sue every single one of you!” She growled at her, eyes squinted. “I am the mother of his baby, I need to speak to him!”

“No you’re not!” Jeff’s voice caught the two women’s attention. Sarah sighed as she stepped aside, leaving Jeff to handle Lillie.

“What do you mean I’m not?” She scoffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest, then received an eye-roll from Jeff who was so done with her tricks and lies already.

He didn’t say another word, instead pulled out his phone and played the voice recording, all the three people in that hallway could hear loud and clear the voice of her assistant, and every single word she was saying. Jeff stopped the recording halfway through, after the girl had done talking about Lillie’s affair with a guy named Jake.

“I think that answered your question, Lillie.”

Lillie reached out to grab the phone but Jeff was quick to put it back into his jacket’s inner pocket.

“Has Harry heard this?” She frantically asked. Jeff just said a word “yes” and she immediately pushed him aside and ran straight to Harry’s room. Jeff and Sarah chased after to stop her but she already managed to burst right through the door, causing Harry to rise from his bed and slowly opening his sleepy eyes.

The second he saw her face, his expression altered and Lillie spoke quickly before he could yell at her to go, “please let me explain! Please, H!”

“Why is she here?!”

“I’m going to call security,” said Jeff as he turned away but Harry told him to hold on before switching his eyes back to Lillie, who seemed hopeful, probably thinking she might have another chance to fix this. Little did she knew, she’d already run out of trials.

“You have five seconds to say whatever the fuck you want to say to me before getting out of my sight,” he said to the girl, then gave Jeff and Sarah a look. His friends took the cue to leave, closing the door on their way out.

“Whatever you heard on that recording, she was definitely lying!”

Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He gave her another chance to come clean, and that was what he got, more lies. He was tired, exhausted, so he turned his face away from her and waved his hand to the door.

“Just fucking leave.”

“Baby, please I—“

“If you don’t go now, I’m gonna have to call my bodyguard,” Harry said as he reached for his phone but Lillie took hold of his wrist to stop him just in time. She dropped down on her knees by his bed, crying while pleading for forgiveness, she went on and on about how sorry she was and that she shouldn’t have done what she’d done to him, the same old shit he’d heard a thousand times before. She had put up an act for so long now it was impossible for him to feel any sympathy seeing her like this. He knew she never meant it, because if you were really sorry, you wouldn’t keep repeating the same mistakes over and over again.

“Leave.” He shrugged her hands away, pointing to the door, lips quivering as he said what he should have many times before, “I don’t want to see you…or hear from you…ever again. You stay away from me and my friends, okay? That’s all I ask of you.”

The girl started shaking her head, so fast it could fall off and it’d still be the last thing she cared about. She knew this was hopeless and desperate but what else could she do? She had a baby, a damaged reputation, and Harry was the only good thing left, now he was leaving her too.

“I’m sorry…” She repeated those two words for the millionth time despite knowing it was pointless. “Please…I’m very sorry…”

“For cheating on me?” Harry scoffed, furrowing his eyebrows. “Or for lying that the baby’s mine? Or for using me as promotion for your songs and albums?”

“For everything…”

“Then an apology won’t be enough,” he mumbled, eyes turned away from her since he was unable to look at her for too long without thinking about all the shit she’d put him through.

“But maybe it’s also my fault…” he trailed off, leaving her surprised. “I actually believed people couldn’t change that much. But you…I don’t recognize you anymore.”

The look on his face said it all, now Lillie feared it was really over this time.

“I’m still me…I’m still the same Lillie you met two years ago. Please don’t give up on me…you’re the only thing I’ve ever loved, please don’t do this…”

Hearing that from her made him laugh, in a bitter tone. He looked down, slowly shaking his head. “No. The only thing you’ve ever loved is yourself…”

Lillie parted her lips, yet Harry didn’t want to give her another chance to feed him with more of her lies. He took her hands and forced it off his knees, slightly pushing her away as he finally looked at her in the eyes.

“I hope that baby is going to change that…but I can’t forgive you, not anymore,” he straightforward told her and watched streams of tears running down her face. The sad thing about this was that he honestly couldn’t tell whether she was faking it or she was genuinely heartbroken, and he honestly didn’t even want to know.

Harry picked up the phone and called his bodyguard, leaving Lillie no choice but to send herself out of the room. Once she was finally out of sight, he secretly hoped this would be the last time he spoke to her, he hoped it was really over. He was more disappointed in himself than hurt over the fact that she’d done those things behind his back. It was him who had decided to give her plenty of chances she didn’t deserve, and as a result he received his own punishment. He guessed everything in this world happened for a reason then. 

A nurse arrived not so long after Lillie had left to do her daily checkup on Harry’s health improvement. The old woman probably had just run into that girl on her way to Harry’s room, so the first thing she did when she entered was to ask him, “why was that young lady crying?”

“She was probably faking it, I don’t really know anymore.” Harry scoffed as he found humor in his own bitter words. “She won’t be back though.”

“Was she your girlfriend?”

“Ex.” He didn’t know why he was telling this to a stranger, maybe it made his chest feel lighter as he could finally release these thoughts and feelings. “She cheated on me, and had a baby with someone else then she lied and said it was mine…”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay…I guess I deserve that.” 

“Why?” She asked, furrowing her brows at him questioningly. “Nobody deserves that, sweetie.”

“I don’t know but bad things happen to me very often.” He lifted his shoulders, sticking out his bottom lip. “I’m starting to think I might have been a very bad person in my previous life and now I’m paying for it.”

His comment made the woman smile. She proceeded to sort out his medications for the day as he kept the conversation going. 

“I’m sorry to bother you with my life problems when you don’t even know me,” he said, smiling a bit. “But I can’t really talk about these matters with people who already know me. I’ve troubled them enough…Not that I wanna trouble you too though!”

“It’s okay, sweetie, I’m all ears.” The old woman chuckled. That was when he noticed her gold front tooth, which at first he thought was pretty cool, then he started having a feeling that he’d seen her somewhere before, he wasn’t sure exactly where. Maybe it was just a hunch. 

“So all the bad things that you said were all related to love I suppose.”

“Not really…but yeah.” He groaned, watching her placing the pills on a tray and once she was done she pulled a chair to sit down by his bed, and so he began, “there was this girl…”

“There was always one, wasn’t there?” She smiled and told him to continue.

“I’ve never met someone like her before,” he said with a smile. He always smiled when he talked about her and he never realized it. “She’s like everything I’ve ever wanted, it’s like I’ve known her all my life. We have a lot in common, she cares about the things I care about, she cares about my thoughts and expectations and dreams, sometimes I actually believed she could be my soulmate.”

“But?”

“But she doesn’t want to be with me.”

“She doesn’t want to?” The old nurse raised an eyebrow with a mystery beam on her face. “Or she cannot even if she wants to.”

“Maybe a bit of both.” He shrugged. “Maybe she’s scared of being involved with someone with a complicated career like mine.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I…mostly…sing…I’m a singer.”

“That’s understandable, but I’m sure that’s not the real reason.” She reached out to touch Harry’s shoulder, and he literally flinched for he felt a sense of familiarity, like they’d had this same conversation before. 

“Look sweetie, I have to go now. I’ll be back in a bit and we’ll continue this talk about this special girl of yours, alright?” She told him before rising from her seat. 

As she made her way to the door, he suddenly remembered something so he called to stop her before she was gone. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

“It’s Margaret,” she replied with a friendly grin, her special front tooth sparkled under the light of the room. “You can call me Maggie.”

“I’m Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry.” 

And just like that she walked away.

[genocider-syo-is-still-my-queen]

Danganronpa 1: Pregame au

Basically: What if the DR1 cast were fans of the Danganronpa series, and auditioned themselves? What would their old lives have been like? 

Warnings: Child abuse, sexual harassment, suicide and other sensitive topics.

Makoto - just an average boy... there's nothing special about him, not at all... in fact, no one would even notice he was gone if he ended up being dying in Danganronpa. So why not go for it? There's no hope for him doing anything impressive in the real world, so maybe he can make an impact in Danganronpa. Even if it's only small. (basically still average but less optimism)

Sayaka - She'd always watched Danganronpa (her parents were busy working and just left the TV on to keep her busy) , and wished she could be like them, like the wonderful detectives that solve everything! She was a quiet girl, and kept to herself, but reckoned she could make it if they just gave her a shot. Being the protagonist and being able to get through any trial (figuratively and literally) would be a dream come true! But waiting outside the audition room, she got a little nervous and fidgety. But she had always found that singing to herself could calm her down. So she did that a little, and managed to forget all her fears. A couple of staff were staring though... was it really that bad?

Leon - never knew what he wanted to do with life. His grades were alright, but he didn't really have any jobs that related to that (especially not a lawyer). He could run relatively fast, but didn't want to spend masses of time training. He could play some guitar, but didn't want to start a band or do anything with that. All around, people were pressuring him to make decisions "You need to do this, you're so good at it!" but he didn't have any real passions... So he choose the easy way out. Danganronpa would make the decision for him.

Chihiro - never really cared what others thought of him. Sometimes he liked wearing cute dresses, sometimes he wanted to wear more masculine clothing. But he'd never doubted that he was happy with himself. Even if other people looked in mixed disgust, he brushed it all aside cause he knew he was awesome. And hey, he did have some friends! But one of these friends wasn't doing too well, and was going to join Danganronpa as an escape. Chihiro tried to convice them it was a bad idea, but they wouldn't back down. So Chihiro decided that they would audition too, so they could try to protect them a little. (it's up to interpretation who the friend is)

Mondo - always overshadowed by his older brother. He was generally a quiet kid, but had some problems with his temper when he got mad. He didn’t like it, but he often got into trouble, and no one really liked him... And he was going to be expelled if he kept this up. And his parents always seemed so disappointed, even if they never said anything...  So he decided to audition for Danganronpa. 

Ishimaru - was always a bit of a loner. He found social interaction hard, as he didn't always grasp when people were joking or not. And apparently, he often sounded like he was being sarcastic, even though that was never his intention. His father died when he was young, and his mother moved with his grandfather. The grandfather would often jokingly talk about how Ishimaru needed to do better in class (even though he was averaging 96%). Grandpa Ishi didn't do this with any malicious intentions, but the boy took it to heart, and tried studying harder and harder. 

Eventually, the stress got too much, and he needed to take a real break. Around this time, there were commercials saying "apply now for Danganronpa: THH!" (they always gave initials but never what they stood for, build the suspense you know?). And Mamma Ishi said "Look at that, you're just the right age!" She was joking of course, she would never want her son to go through something like that.  But Ishimaru was never the best as recognising what people really meant...

Hifumi - was  a special case. He had been part of the online Danganronpa community for years (he was possibly too young when he got into it, but hey, the internet you know?). He was also a pretty popular fanfic writer, and had written several successful fangans. Team Danganronpa noticed this, and knew he was just about the right age now. So they contacted him directly, and made him an offer: he should join Danganronpa... as himself! Without any brainwashing to give a new personality or talent. Of course, if he ever told anyone the truth about the killing game, he'd be killed instantly. And in exchange, all of his works would legally belong to Team Danganronpa (who could capitalise off of them however they saw fit. This lead to the first magical girl spinoff, based on one of his earlier works. Also they made a couple of animated mini-series based on his fangans. They made tons) 

Hifumi accepted.

Celestia - never had anything. She never had a family, she never had a home, she barely had an education. All she wanted was to have a better life. And after all she’d been through, she deserved to have it all! But there was no way to get it realistically. So she auditioned for Danganronpa. If only for a short while, she’d have the happiness she’d been craving, and the lifestyle to go with it. 

Sakura Oogami had always been tall for her age. And she was often insecure about it. She also enjoyed sports, which lead to her becoming a little muscly as well - which she had always thought was unsightly for a girl. At 12 years old she was 5'10, and she soon found out why. She had a rare genetic mutation, that prevented her body from stopping her growth. But of course, this had some side effects - she wasn't going to live until 18. Sakura was understandably unhappy, but decided to do something with her life until she inevitably died. She decided to keep up the training, and started to love her muscles. She tried her best to be a good example, and do good deeds... 

But then she had an idea. In her youth, she had never really had tall muscly female role models. Or if they existed - they were one dimensional 'girls who learnt to fight because they have 4 brothers' (what strong female characters). There were also the tall girls in romcoms who guys were intimidated by. Girls needed more than that... so she would be the role model! At 16, and 6'3, Sakura auditioned for Danganronpa, not caring if she survived the game or not. All she wanted... was for people to look at her and say "Wow, I wish I could be like her"

Kyoko - tried her best. After a divorce in her youth, she didn't see her father much (as her mother's family was much better off, and fought hard for custody). But she loved both her parents a lot, and always wanted to impress them. Her father seemed pleased whatever she did, and her mother always told her she was proud. Her mother's family were very involved in her life, and seemed to question everything her mother did. It was only because they wanted the best for her of course! Remember what we said about Jin? And you went and married him anyway! Look how that turned out! 

 As she grew older - maybe 10 years old? - Kyoko saw her extended family in a harsher light. If they never had anything nice to say, why say it? She tried to stand up for her mother, but was laughed away, and her mother was criticised for not teaching her respect for her elders. But she was spending more weekends with her father now, and her parents seemed to be getting on better than before. Not good enough that they'd try again (yet), but it was better than nothing. And for the first time in years, Kyoko was able to spend time with both parents.

Unfortunately when she was 15, Kyoko's dad was given a new job... in a different country. And he promised he would visit, those times seemed few and far between. And during one of these times... her mother killed herself. And it seemed that she had been the one shielding Kyoko all these years. Without her, all the family's expectations were placed on Kyoko, pressuring her to do things she didn't enjoy. And it had been months since she'd last heard from her father... maybe he'd forgotten about her (her family wouldn't let his letters go through) 

 So she signed up for Danganronpa to get away. But as fate would have it, her father visited the day she was taken away for the game. He desperately pleaded to be let in. Heck, he'd even go through the game to save his daughter! And in a way, his wish was granted. Kyoko was intended to die in chapter 5, but with a connection to an extra like this? She could survive... plus, they had been looking for a headmaster.

Byakuya - was unsatisfied with his life. His father gave him gifts, but no love. All the toys he could want! But he was too busy to celebrate Christmas together. A great TV! But never a nice meal out. Whatever he wanted, except time together. His mother had died young, and Byakuya grew up lonely. But he understood, his father was a busy man after all. His father had plenty of expectations, and Byakuya tried to live up to them. His father never smiled at him, but he was always told "You're doing well boy." and that was enough. It was his father's way of showing affection... wasn't it? 

 He got though life, and he did a good job of it too. He was all set up to go to the most prestigious college, and go on to take over the company... but when he though about that future... he didn't enjoy the thought of it. He only saw himself growing up exactly like his father... and he hated the thought. Now Byakuya was going through that rebellious phase. And he wanted to do something new. Something his father would never approve of... Danganronpa. He was going to reinvent his image. When people thought Togami, they wouldn't think about the finance company, they'd remember the double murderer. And maybe his father could find someone else to take over.

Aoi - wasn't happy with her body. As long as she could remember, people had made comments about how attractive she was, and how they couldn't believe how young she was, she was so mature for her age (in personality, of course)! She loved donuts, but always got comments about she shouldn't eat so much, she'd get fat. She always felt judged for her interests. "You like Danganronpa? Name the favourite colour of the first person killed in the third chapter of Danganronpa 12: Failure and Puhuhu." (which is pretty hard, cause the murder was incredibly complicated and 5 people ended up dying, but not in the order they were found (one of who killed another after their own death)). But at least on the internet, there were people who didn't treat her like that. Until she worked up the courage to post a selfie of her cosplay. 

 She ended up auditioning for Danganronpa, if only to say "Do I know Danganronpa? I was in it fucker." one day. But she had one request if she got in - she didn't want to wear a mini-skirt.

Hagakure - was a bum. A complete and utter waste to society. He had been held back too many times. He didn't want it to be like this, but he could just never retain information the way other people could. He tried every studying technique, every book that said "NEVER STRUGGLE IN SCHOOL AGAIN IN 5 EASY STEPS!" but it didn't work. He tried his best, but he could never do it. And he hated it. He wanted to get a good job, to make his mama proud, but he could never do it, because he was just too stupid! He was a little too old to enrol in his school (and he made the staff look bad at official inspections), so he was officially hired as a janitor and was allowed to attend classes. (But hey, seeing as he was a student, they could technically pay him less than minimum wage. They wouldn't pay the student council now, would they?) 

 Hagakure wanted more. He couldn't do another year of trying and failing. He couldn't take the looks his younger, better classmates gave him. He couldn't. And there was no age limit for Danganronpa... you only needed to be in high school - which he was. It was worth a shot, if only to rid the world of his utter uselessness.

Toko - couldn't go on. Her mother and father hated her. Everyone hated her. She couldn't do anything right. She took the first chance to audition, and in the process she ended up spilling her entire life story. "Ah, I'm so sorry, I bet you're not at all interested in someone like me, I'll just leave now and save you the pain." But Team Danganronpa were interested (and hey, this saved them writing their own backstory! Just change that father to another mother (they're not lesbians, it's just very convoluted) and you're ready to go!). 

 Toko often found herself with blank spaces in her memory. The first was when she was locked in a cupboard for an entire day, but it didn't feel that long. She assumed she just passed out from not eating enough. But that wasn't quite true. Due to her trauma, she'd developed a severe case of DID (which went undiagnosed for years). This second personality was not a serial killer, was not a psychopath, was not objectively evil, and was not [insert negative DID stereotype here] 

 Team Danganronpa took one look at the potential of a 'split personality' character and simultaneously thought "It's free real estate"

Mukuro and Junko - They were twins of course, and had been kicked out onto the streets. It was them against the world. But they always stayed together. They were all the other had. While Mukuro became saddened by the world, Junko became angry. But they couldn't give up. Mukuro tried to make friends, to find a small jobs she could do - even if i meant she could only buy McDonalds for the two of them every day or so. Junko didn't try as much. Sure, she did some things when she could, but she wasn't going to give more back to the world than she had to. She was mostly dependant on Mukuro still. 

Mukuro wanted to create a new life. She found a job where the store manager was willing to turn a blind eye and let them stay in a small backroom. But Junko wasn't so happy. Whilst the manager was willing to let them stay for seemingly nothing, he was awfully pushy towards her. She smiled back, doing as little as she could without making him angry. She didn't want to be kicked out again. 

But she ran out of patience when the manager made a request that was too much. "That room's awfully cramped for the two of you. Why don't you spend the night at my place tonight? You can even sleep on a proper bed for once." Junko knew what he wanted. And like hell she was going to let him have it. She told Mukuro they needed to go, now. She didn't say the reason, but Mukuro knew she must have a reason. 

 Long story short - Junko stole a car. And they drove to the audition building. "We're going to join Danganronpa."  "What?" "It's better than what we have there. And we'll get nice food restocked everyday. And a school roof over our heads (unless we're in a resort DR, which would be even nicer)." 

 Junko and Mukuro auditioned separately, and Team Danganronpa let slip they were very interested in having a game with twins. Junko made a few comments too. "Wow, it'd be pretty tragic if one of the twins died, and the other had to live with the other's death until the final chapter." Team DR chuckled a little. "But if you try something like that... 

 "Please kill the one named Junko."

[nakhavanfys]

The Unburnt

Game of Thrones is a show that will be remembered forever, arguably, as one of the greatest shows part of cinematic history. Game of Thrones, also known as GOT, is based in a medieval-time style realm that exposes extreme sexism, homophobia, enforcement of gender roles, exposure to rape and assault, as well as many other extremely difficult topics to handle. Often, the audience may feel extremely uncomfortable watching the treatment and the way women are viewed on the show. But the directors of GOT built the show in such a way that the audience can see that what they are showing is problematic all the while resolving our uneasy feelings by inviting us to see how these characters navigate through their difficult world. This is through the show’s vivid and bold characters. Each one was crafted to not only carry the story of the show effectively but also for the audience to create relationships with each character because we see them go through trials and tribulations. It is no wonder that one of its main characters, Daenerys Targaryen is not only so focused on throughout the show but also is one of the reasons why people stuck with this story and made Game of Thrones a part of their lives for eight years.

Daenerys Targaryen goes through a transformation from a character that was once timid and forced into submission by many forces, to later becoming Khaleesi (queen) the Unburnt is critical to redefining gender roles and the meaning behind taking the power that was once held by those deemed stronger than you. Even though some of her actions throughout the show might not always be seen as monumental if they were to be done in our society, it is all about context. Everyone has their own journeys and people try to give power to themselves through certain actions. By viewing Dany’s actions within the context of the show, not only can she be viewed as an unforgettable character on GOT but also she can be seen as a role model to those who watch the show. 

Daenerys’s rise to power and peak feminist role model status did not seem like it was going to happen at the beginning of the show, for she was timid and made to be small through what was being done to her. GOT introduces Daenerys to us by insensitively having her sold by her brother into a loveless marriage all in the name of alliances with clans, to only then have her raped by her ‘husband.’ And for a while throughout the show, she accepted this as her fate and that this was considered her duty to her family. This is extremely problematic in the sense that she is expected through the notion of history’s gender roles to do this for the sake of her family and that she is expected to endure this. To many audience members, this was a line that was to be drawn and many did not want to continue further with, because they thought these reinforcements of gender roles were to continue throughout the show. It seemed that GOT was only perpetuating ideas that society is working so hard to destroy and almost made them sensationalized through her beauty, which is entirely problematic. But as time passes on throughout the show, there can be reasoning to why it is worth sticking through the painful and triggering scenes. GOT brings to light the reality of what many women go through. Connections can be made through what Daenerys goes through not only mentally, emotionally, but also physically. Although everything is heightened and emphasized painfully so to make a point for entertainment values, cords of solidarity with Dany’s character can be felt with audience member who have gone through what she has. Often, many people endure the atrocities that happen to them, because in the moment, that is the best that they can do. We are only human. Of course we want to see our sisters rise up and fight against what is happening to them, but no one is perfect. Sometimes out of survival and preservation, people feel the need to either accept what is happening to them even though we always wish for them to muster whatever strength they have to fight their way out of unfortunate circumstances. And the reason why Daenerys becomes Khaleesi is that in fact she becomes fed up with her situation and burns down her walls of oppression.

It does not take long for Daenerys to become maddened by her life, leading her to flip the power dynamics in her then current situation all the while maintaining the ‘proper etiquette’ of her society in order to carry out her plans unnoticed by opposing forces. Her first idea in changing her positioning in power dynamics with the people in her life was first by approaching her relationship with her husband. At first, in bed there was no confusing what was happening, which was rape: it was clearly not consensual for her husband took what he wanted with no question of how he went about it. But as time went on, she began to develop a strategy. She decided to gain some power when forced into to being intimate with her husband by initiating positioning to her liking as well as demanding what she wanted while in bed all the while ‘allowing’ him to think that he is in control of the dominance during sex. These changes allowed not only for her to not be forced into non-consensual sex but also she then created a relationship with her husband beyond an arranged marriage. Dany became respected by her husband, Khal Drogo when she began exhibiting her power during sex. Due to strength and power being prominent traits within her husband’s culture, Khal Drogo not only received her self-respect but also embraced Dany as his Khaleesi, queen, and was enthralled by her power. Of course, this is dramatically romanticized and these steps are not encouraged to be taken by women within our society for that means that they would have to accept the situation they are in. Instead, this should be thought of as empowering and inspiring within the context of the show and that it is up to you in how you define your own power in any given situation. Whether it is through huge monumental moves that disintegrate entire systems built against one, or by taking a strategic path to win the long game through small power moves, either way, it’s your call.

Now that Dany had taken on the identity of a powerful Khaleesi, her character continues to crumble gender roles that defined women in GOT, specifically when she earns part of her title, The Unburnt. Dany fully embraces the title and attitude of Khaleesi when her husband dies and she is left to lead an entire people. Desperate and determined to have her husband’s legacy thrive, let alone survive, she proves to the Dothraki people, her husband’s culture, that she is to be trusted for she is the ‘unburnt.’ In a scene in which she is unscathed despite being in the middle of a roaring fire, she walks out and makes a vow to her people. And as a response, they all give loyalty to her. This scene is imperative to the notion of breaking gender roles because usually a male character is most often depicted as someone who is strong and never gets hurt. In an article on gendered media, writer Julia T. Wood expresses that in fact, “media continue[s] to present both women and men in stereotyped ways that limit our perceptions of human possibilities.”1 By Dany coming out from the fire without a single burn, she is metaphorically expressing the idea that she extends beyond the possibilities of what society has deemed women capable of. Khaleesi the Unburnt makes waves not only in her world but in the world of film by proving that she has unyielding power and strength in comparison to her counterparts. These pivotal scenes open up conversation for people to have fictional characters to look up to and thus spark inspiration in the minds of many.

(1 Wood, Julia T. “Gendered Media: The Influence of Media on Views of Gender .” NYU , www.nyu.edu/classes/jackson/causes.of.gender.inequality/Readings/Wood%20- %20Gendered%20Media%20-%2094.pdf.)

Daenerys’s resiliency and transformation on Game of Thrones is not only electrifying to viewers but essential to the bigger idea of female characters breaking gender roles on the big screen. Media, specifically tv shows and film are often people’s escape from the real world all the while still creating stories we can relate to. We as people usually can create connections and notice similarities between us and our beloved characters. Time and time again, tv shows perpetuate gender roles and sexist notions of how people are to be and to act, but GOT switched paths from the tiring ritual. The shifting of power dynamics as well as changing the of once solidified ideas of gender performance found within Dany’s journey creates a hero for many, for through her hardships, viewers can make connections to their own narratives and strive to be resilient and come out unscathed like Khaleesi the Unburnt. Not only seeing women on tv is enough but it is crucial that they are seen as powerful and in control of their lives is valuable. Writer Rebecca Collins notes that, “[i]t is concluded that, while increasing the representation of women in media may be valuable, it is also critical that the manner in which they are portrayed be simultaneously considered to avoid increasing negative or stereotypical depictions that may be particularly harmful to viewers.”2 Collins emphasizes that what people see through the media is more important than just an interesting story. Luckily GOT covers important ground, for Dany’s exploration of self-discovery from marriage to sexual assault to death of those closest to her do not define her, they simply were tests in where she decided to make choices that lead her to being a stronger version of her self with every new challenge throne her way. Hopefully, through GOT’s success and people’s love of the characters, other shows and movies will strive to also create characters that defy gender roles.

(2Collins, Rebecca. “Content Analysis of Gender Roles in Media: Where Are We Now and Where Should We Go?” Gender roles; Media.)

[fearofyoongi-blog]

Oblivious To My Dreams

[ Illusion Of A Gift ]

tags: college au, youtuber taehyung, dancer jimin, dancer jungkook, new york city, yoonmin, eventual taekook vmin (platonic), taegi (platonic)

main character: kim taehyung

word count: 5243

Heavy eyelids kept his sight blurry at first. The groggy student wasn't sure where he was, but then little things began to filter through. Foremost it was the light, pastel, red on every wall. Then the paintings and printed art pieces became recognizable. With ease, Taehyung figured out that he was in his own room, safe and sound. Even so, he allowed his eyes to wonder. The camera set up for his YouTube channel occupied a small section in his room by a window. Only a yard away from it rested his computer desk. Near his door laid a bag of dirty laundry, which made him curse because he realized he hadn’t gone to the dry cleaner yet. His closet space was somewhere between his bed and desk, but Tae didn’t bother much about it. Instead he recalled the night before.

He couldn’t be sure how everyone else felt when they woke up this morning, but Taehyung was not feeling well. Sitting up in his bed seemed like a chore; slacking his jaw for a yawn felt like an exercise. There was no symptom of a headache though. Which was fortunate for him, because one glance at his phone made Tae realize that his school day started in two hours. Why did I agree to go out last night? Taehyung cursed to himself as he slid out of his bed. From afar he could overhear his roommate scuffling about in the living room. Tae assumed that Jimin let Yoongi stay the night. There were two voices, and the extra one was heading out the door. Giving his body a much needed stretch, Taehyung tucked his feet into his favorite slippers before making his way to the bathroom.

His suspicions were correct. Yoongi departed seconds ago, leaving Jimin and Taehyung alone. As soon as the blonde spotted him, Tae offered the other a cheeky grin. “You’re getting up now? Don’t you have class soon?” Jimin asked him, to which Taehyung responded with a tired nod. “You didn’t eat anything yesterday, I bet.”

Now that it's mentioned Taehyung recalled his meals from yesterday. Avocado toast at 10AM. A small fruit salad at 2PM. He managed to munch on a egg salad sandwich when he returned home from school at around 3PM. So Jimin was correct. No wonder he wasn’t feeling so well. He felt so lousy. To his dismay, Taehyung began to accept his fate. He wouldn’t have time to grab anything to eat before his first class either.

As he continued his journey to the bathroom, Jimin followed. For some reason, he started talking despite Tae’s lack of conversation. “Yoongi kept talking about you last night,” He said in a hum, a hint of jealousy falling from his tone. Tae peeked at his friend taking a seat on the toilet while he rambled. “After we got out of the car, when we were in bed, he wouldn’t stop.” Taehyung gulped as he began applying toothpaste to his toothbrush. He remained silent because it seemed like this was going somewhere. “He liked your singing.”

One glance at Jimin, and Taehyung could sense the disappointment. Not only in his facial expression but in his pout as well. Pulling the toothbrush from his mouth, Tae replied. “I already told him I’m not interested in singing.” The guy answered before going back to what he was doing.

“You should do it anyway,” Jimin retorted in a matter-of-fact tone. From the corner of his eye, Taehyung could see his friend staring at his own hands. Brows began to knit together at the sight. What was on his mind? “He thinks you have talent. There’s this track he has been working on for weeks now and-- and he wants you on it. He’s been looking for someone to do it with. The original writer backed out.”

“Why can’t you do it?” Tae grumbled through minty paste before he spat. There seemed to be a lot more to this than his blonde friend would admit aloud. Which was fine, they didn’t get into deep conversations very often. “You’re more than capable. Why does he want me?”

The other only shook his head. “I’m too busy. You said it yesterday. School, work, that internship, my practices. It’ll be too much,” Jimin reasoned, his kind eyes peering up at Taehyung with sullen. “It would be fun to work with him but… it doesn’t matter. He wants you, and I told him that I would help convince you.”

A scoff of amusement escaped Tae’s throat unwillingly. The guy busied himself with washing his face as his roommate spoke. Disinterested as he seemed to Jimin, Taehyung thought in favor of this collaboration. Especially if the other wanted them to do this. “Help convince me? What makes you think I would want to?”

“You love to sing, Tae. You do it all the time. In the shower, in the car, in your room. You think because you’ve never had vocal training that you’re no good, but it’s untrue!” Jimin laid out his argument without pause, using his hands to make his point. “I’ll always support you, in everything you do, but I won’t let you continue to put your ambitions aside for-- for nothing.”

Tae had finishing rinsing his face and began to pat it dry when he stopped. Jimin’s words caught up to him. Licking over his lips, he shot the other a warning glare. As usual, they began a conversation with only their gaze. Don’t you dare, he said, in a glare, to his friend.

I’ll go there if I have to, Jimin’s eyes said back.

It was quiet in the bathroom for a minute or so. Taehyung was the first to pull away from the staring contest. He did not have time for this, his class started soon and the last thing he wanted to do was be late. Not over this. “If you want this done so bad, you should do it yourself. You should tell him you want to, and that he should pick someone excited to work with him.”

“--He didn’t want me!” Jimin blurted without a second thought, which caused Taehyung to look at him in shock. After that, the blonde guy needed a moment to settle down. Biting on his bottom lip to restrain himself from saying more. “He didn’t want me on the track,” Jimin corrected himself before continuing. “He knows what he wants.” Shifting his eyes from Taehyung, Jimin reached into his back pocket and huffed.

Taehyung allowed him to do whatever he was doing. He looked away and finished putting himself together. Which didn’t involve much. Tae raked his fingers through his brown hair and pushed it forward. Afterwards, he applied a lip balm and watched Jimin again. For some reason, this was going on longer than needed. Feeling impatient, Taehyung peered at his friend’s phone. Without pause, he noticed Jimin sending him a message. “I’m just sharing Yoongi's contact information, don’t be annoying.” Jimin scoffed before glaring at him. Overhearing his own phone’s notification tone, he pursed his lips. “That’s his cellphone number and the number to his studio. He’s going to be expecting your call, so, do it soon.”

With that, Jimin stood up straight and cleared his throat. Offering a bashful expression, Taehyung hid his lips in his mouth. The college student shifted his sight to the ground as a means to not hold his friend’s gaze. Before Jimin exited the small bathroom, Tae spoke again. “It’s not that I don’t want to sing,” He admitted. “I never wanted to be a singer. I never wanted to do that before.”

“...And his offer makes you think you can do it, hmm?” Jimin added without missing a beat. Tae nodded at that. Shy, unsure, but his friend understood. “Stop hiding from your desires, for once, Taehyung. Stop hiding behind glasses and books and… fear. For once, do something because you want to. Not because you want other people to know that you know what’s best.”

Refocusing his attention, Taehyung watched the Adam’s Apple in Jimin’s throat bob. Tae didn’t comment on his friend's advice. They left the conversation without regard. His best friend disappeared to his room while Taehyung returned to his own. The first thing he did was lift his phone to check for the text message that Jimin sent. As promised, Yoongi’s contact information was readily available. Whenever he was.

That alone took several days to address. Not by choice either. This Spring semester offered plenty of trial and tribulation. It would be his final term before graduation, and that was stressful enough in and of itself. On top of that, Tae held the task of recording his YouTube video for the following week. Which, in all honesty, seemed like a chore this time than any other.

Taehyung changed the concept of his original idea. Rather than discussing the basics of Hanja and the debate of whether it is necessary to learn, Tae opted for a vlog. There was much to talk about. Whenever he couldn’t talk to Jimin, or his parents, Tae would use his platform to speak without judgement. Vlogging felt like a diary. Those who subscribed to his channel stayed for reasons even Taehyung stopped understanding.

But he spoke anyway. The pensive guy talked plans after college, his plans for the channel, and, of course, he talked about Jimin. Even inserting funny pictures that were too good for Instagram. Then he mentioned his three year anniversary of living in the United States. Throughout the entire recording, Tae had spoken with ease and cheerful. Yet for that specific part, he caught himself perking up. It felt wrong to talk about this night and not bring up the boy who captured his curiosity.

“I’m sorry I am smiling all the sudden,” Taheyung said to the camera as he used his finger to draw out the curve of his mouth. “A lot happened that I would hate to get into, but I met a boy and it--- it made my night. I’m not going to lie. I love Jimin and I thought his boyfriend was great, but there was another guy there that I wish I had said more to. I hope all you out there take every chance you can to make yourself happy. Even if it’s talking to someone who makes you smile. Do it. Don’t let it pass you by.” Then he recalled the Uber driver, and his own story. Which made him smile even wider. “Never.”

This conversation with his camera lasted another thirty minutes before Taehyung ended it. He had every intention of editing the video tonight and having it ready for his post date. In spite of these plans, his mind wondered without aim. It bounced between the boy at the bar. Then to his conversation with Jimin this morning. Then to the question he had been ask almost a week ago. 'Then what’s your thing?' Rang in his ear. It chimed and beeped and drove him mad. If he didn’t do this song with Yoongi, he would regret it. Jimin knew, and now so did he.

All it took was one thought of the boy from the bar. The more Tae thought about him, the more he wished to have made a reality. Tae sat back in the chair at his desk, fingers clasped together as he imagined the stranger holding his hand. What a luxury it would be, to see this boy ever again. To know him, to be around him again. Tae couldn’t help but laugh to himself as he wondered what advice this boy would offer him right now. Was it too cheesy to indulge in an imaginary conversation?

Another few minutes passed before Taehyung was able to snap out of his thoughts. Gone was the fanatical world he immersed himself in. The stranger from the bar was nothing, if only a dream. He wouldn’t see him again, so there was no need for the extra consideration. Taehyung had to embrace the opportunity in front of him. Swallowing his nerves, Tae reached for his phone on the desk and huffed. He scrolled through a week’s worth of a text conversation with Jimin before finding Yoongi’s information.

First, he called the cellphone. No luck. Which made him nervous, but didn’t give up because he had one more option. Taehyung punched in the direct line to Yoongi’s studio and waited. The phone rang for what felt like forever until a familiar voice answered. “Kim Taehyung,” The condescending voice said without a proper greeting.

“Jimin?” Tae said with a wry laugh. “Aren’t you supposed to be in dance practice?” How late was it? He rushed to check the time before he heard Jimin chuckle.

“I’m leaving now. I was here helping Yoongi with something.”

A snort escaped him before he grinned to himself. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

Jimin cackled even harder. “Maybe,” He answered without missing a beat. “And if you’re calling for what I know you’re calling for, come by now. Yoongi has the studio for another few hours. He just got here, actually. We both did.”

“He isn’t busy? I didn’t plan on seeing him today… I was only calling to see if--”

“To see if he still wants you? Yeah, he does,” Jimin interjected. “I’ll text you the address of his building. I won’t be here when you come by, but please come anyway.”

“I bet that’s what he said,” Tae snorted, which caused his friend to erupt with even louder laughing.

“I’ll tell him you called. He’ll wait for you,” It was amusing to see how much Jimin wanted this collaboration to happen. If anything, it excited Taehyung even more. It felt encouraging, which was a feeling quite foreign to the boy without his family. Other than Jimin, Taehyung didn’t have many friends. Not near him. Until Yoongi, he hadn’t met anyone new that he forced him to know better. How odd was it to befriend a boyfriend of a best friend?

Jimin had all sorts of friends, and they loved him without hesitation. Friends from work, from school, from dance, from everywhere. He made friends with their local coffee shop owner as well, it was strange. Taehyung was an outgoing guy, don’t be mistaken, still he never kept up with his acquaintances. Rather he nurtured his friendship and closeness with Jimin. In other words, he clung to his bond and hoped it would remain that way. If it meant doing this one thing for Yoongi, and it brought him closer to Jimin, then he would do it.

Taehyung was the one to end the call with Jimin. From there, he shot up from his chair and began to ready himself to leave. Collecting his water bottle, keys and bus card before finally receiving a text from Jimin. There it was, the location of Yoongi’s studio. It was now or never, either go or let this opportunity slip by. Without missing a beat, the stranger’s face appeared in his thoughts. No, Taehyung snorted. No more missed opportunities.

The distance between Yoongi’s studio and his apartment was not much. It was no wonder Jimin would leave and return within the hour sometimes. Once he recalled during a movie night that his friend left a charger at Yoongi’s studio. With how inconvenient Jimin made it seem, Taehyung assumed that this studio was far. It was the opposite of that, and his roommate returned before the movie even ended.

Outside, the building stood tall and greyish. There was an obvious scheme of this neighborhood, an image Taehyung couldn’t help admire. Each shop that he passed before arriving to his location left him in awe. A quaint antique shop with one large bay window. A bicycle repair store lined with bicycles outside. Even a corner store with music playing outside. Everyone went about their days when Tae walked by. It was a gorgeous street and a good place that fit Yoongi’s aesthetic. When he walked into the office space, he was sure he had the right place.

It was small but tidy. The front end, that looked like a retail shop, was only furnished with chairs and a desk. The back part divided by a large door covered with a curtain. Taehyung cleared his throat as he stepped further inside. Even though Jimin said he wouldn’t be here, the guy wished he would be anyway. “Hello?” Tae worked up the courage to speak out, heading for the curtain. “Yoongi? Min Yoongi? Are you here?”

In under a second, a voice called back for him. “Yeah, come back--” The other said with a sense of brashness. It intimidated Taehyung, but he did as asked. Taking large strides with hurry. The back of the building seemed as empty as the front. Again, chairs littered the hallway. There was also a mini fridge. On top of it, a little yellow flower sat in a vase. He smiled at it before a voice interjected. “Jimin brings it back to life for me,” Taehyung turned quickly to find who was speaking. Yoongi was behind him, smiling. “He comes by and gives it water and some flower food. Says keeping it around’ll bring good oxygen flow or something…”

He hated to be the bearer of bad news, but did it anyway. “You’ll need more than one flower to do that.” Tae responded with a shy voice, gulping as he gazed back at the single, lonely, flower.

“Yeah… but don’t tell him that. I don’t need a bouquet sitting back here.” Yoongi said with a groan as he turned back to his studio. “C’mon, I’ve been waiting for you.”

Not wanting to make him wait any longer, Taehyung hurried behind the guy. Yoongi was as tall as Jimin, and they were both shorter than Tae, yet he cowered behind them for some reason. Neither were intimidating by any means but Tae felt overpowered by their personalities. He couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry you had to wait this long,” He felt the need to say.

“It’s fine,” Yoongi responded as the wisp of his hand. “Close the door behind you.”

Taehyung opened his mouth to say something, but closed it immediately after. Instead he did as Yoongi requested, and closed the door. “So… How does this work exactly?” He asked with a sense of doubt. For some reason, unbeknownst to Taehyung, the question made Yoongi chuckle.

“You record videos, don’t you? For Youtube?”

Taehyung bounced his head around, almost in agreement. “Well, yeah, but that’s not the same.”

“It is so the same,” Yoongi countered. “What do you do to prepare?”

The dreaded question made him groan. Licking his lips, Taehyung sat down in a rolling chair with a huff. “I plan out my video? I sometimes make a script, for what I want to talk about. That’s not the same as--”

Before he could add anything else to his explanation, Yoongi plopped three pages of music in front of him. The letters typed, and also handwritten. Red pen ink scribbled along the side were notes of a very obvious, complicated past. Taehyung looked up at Yoongi and followed him as he sat down in a chair. “What’s this?” He asked, seeming a oblivious.

“Your script.” Yoongi contented.

“Script,” Taehyung repeated absentmindedly, starting to shuffling through the pages. He seemed surprised to find out that his part wouldn’t be big. According to the red ink splattered on the page, two verses were for Yoongi and one verse was for some other artist. Then the chorus and the bridge belonged to Taehyung. If he wanted it. After licking his lips, his brow knitted together. He read through some of lyrics and found himself intrigued by the story. Yoongi was a great writer, Tae deduced immediately, but something else stuck out to him. One word, one small word.

Daegu.

Taehyung’s head shot up so fast, he could’ve given himself whiplash. Yoongi flinched at the response. The other became confused by the reaction. Yet it didn’t take him long to catch on. “Jimin told me where you were from,” He spoke up before Tae could. “I wasn’t a farmer’s son myself but… I knew what it meant to be where we’re from.” Tae’s throat became dry in an instant. “I grew up with nothing too. My mom worked a lot and my dad killed himself to make our lives comfortable. I know what you endured.”

“You say that like I hated my life,” Tae interjected, shaking his head. “I didn’t hate my life. I didn’t dislike it. I--”

“Wanted something more? Watched your family struggle to make ends meet while you felt like you couldn’t do anything?” Yoongi tilted his head. “You don’t have to hate your life to want better, you know.”

“I know.”

“That’s all this song is saying,” The platinum blonde guy pointed at the paper in Taehyung’s hand. “No one else in this city could portray that better than you. I know that for a fact.”

“A fact?” Taehyung scoffed.

Yoongi only shrugged. “Look at where you are. You’re in New York. You came from the middle of nowhere, from a small city in South Korea. You’re in college. As far as I know, you’ve already made it.” Shifting in his chair, Taehyung felt uncomfortable with these assumptions. Yoongi seemed to notice as well, and attempted to correct himself. “Or maybe you haven’t yet, but you’re getting there. You will get there.”

“And you? You said you’re from Daegu too, but how do you feel?” Taehyung challenged him with a ticked brow. “Do you feel like you made it?”

Yoongi paused at the question. Planting his back on the chair, he offered a half smirk at Taehyung before offering an eventual nod. “I made my parents proud of me, for pursuing my dreams. If that’s what you’re asking me.”

Whatever point he was trying to make did not turn out in his favor. Tae sunk into himself and pursed his lips. Eyeing the paper one last time before glancing at Yoongi. “My parents are proud of me too. They are. They’re proud that their son is in America, living the American dream. Attending college, getting a degree. They’re proud of that.”

“So make them prouder.” Yoongi interrupted, wheeling his chair and pushing the paper closer to Taehyung. “Do this song, and make my own dreams come true. Give me the chance to make something from my heart come to life. Most importantly, make this song, and give the others in Daegu a chance of optimism. There’s other kids out there who have dreams, but feel like they can’t accomplish them, I’m sure of it. They’re… standing in their parents’ farms and thinking, this is it for me.” Yoongi snorted. “This song could give them hope, if it’s done correctly, by two boys who made it out.”

Yes, his words were inspiring. More inspiring than the lecture Jimin offered a week ago. Taehyung had his fears, his doubts, but Yoongi had a point. So did Jimin. This was not a simple song. This song would go on and into whatever project Yoongi had planned. It would help Taehyung step out of the shadows of his doubt. As motivating as Yoongi’s speech had been, Taehyung seemed convinced from the start. The moment he saw his birthplace in the lyrics. Like Jimin said, he hides behind himself. It was time to step out. “I’ll do it.” He finally answered.

Yet Yoongi shrugged a shoulder. “I know,” He hummed. “I know because I know you want to sing. You won’t admit it to yourself, but you’re going to enjoy it.”

Taehyung giggled off the accusation, shaking his head. “Just… let me listen to the song already. Tell me how I’m supposed to do all this.” He said, hoping to change the subject.

“Sure thing,” Yoongi replied with a wider grin than before. Tae hadn’t noticed before, but the man wasn’t of many words. He didn’t say much unless necessary, and Taehyung enjoyed that about him thus far. Where Jimin managed to fill in every moment of silence, Tae appreciated. Yet it was nice to sit beside someone who didn’t need to do the same. It was a pleasant surprise to know he underestimated himself. To realize that he underestimated Yoongi. Jimin was right. Taehyung was starting to like this guy.

When two hours passed, and Taehyung started to match the lyrics to the melody, they decided on taking a break. Yoongi ordered a pizza for the both of them and they sat idly with it. As he took a bite from the pepperoni pizza slice in hand, Yoongi scrolled through his phone. Taehyung watched from the side of his eye, noticing the other had opened his Instagram app. Licking his lips, he parted them to speak, but hesitated. He did that about three times before he overheard Yoongi laugh.

“Speak up,” The guy peered at him. “Go ahead and ask.”

Taehyung returned the glance with a shy smile. “I’m sorry,” Was all he could muster before shoving more of his own pizza slice into his mouth. “It’s just-- the dance group. From last week? That you met in the bar? Are they still following you?” Yoongi fell silent for a while. Tae wasn’t sure why. It made him insecure, for some reason, to sit like this. Even removing his eyes from the screen to give the other his privacy. He wondered how Yoongi could even remember when he asked about the group the first time around. As he was about to call off the question, the music producer spoke up.

“Yeah, they’re still following me.” Yoongi’s thumb worked overtime as it tapped on the screen until he found the Instagram account. A second later, he passed the phone over to Taheyung.

Frantically, Tae settled his slice of pizza back in the box and scrolled through the pictures. When his eyes landed on a familiar face, his breath hitched. Which caused Yoongi to blurt a stifled laugh. Taehyung looked up at him with a bashful smirk. “Sorry, sorry, go ahead.” Yoongi assured before remaining quiet again.

“That’s him,” Tae breathed, finding a selfie on the account. It was only a picture, but the guy looked as attractive as Tae remembered.

“The guy you wanted to know about that night?” Yoongi asked curiously as he peeked at his own phone. “Yeah… I remember him now. He sat beside me, in the booth. He couldn’t drink though, he was under 21. He was actually quieter than the other guys, now that I think about it.”

“His name’s Jungkook,” Tae added, glancing to Yoongi. It felt like he could finally breathe. A name to the face he remembered so well. “What else do you remember about him?” If anything at all, Taehyung wanted more to think about.

“Honestly, not much. I told you, I was only talking to my roommate, Jin. The others would speak to Jin but kept it short with me. I didn’t mind,” Yoongi shrugged. “They didn’t speak much English. Only the manager, umm…” He started to snap his fingers before he took his phone back from Taehyung. Tae figured the other needed to see the face to remember the name. “That one, yeah. Namjoon. Namjoon spoke English but the others… I don’t know if they did, and didn’t want to, or just didn’t.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Taehyung hesitantly took Yoongi’s phone back and stared at the picture of Jungkook on the screen. He wasn’t up front like the other dance members. Still Tae had a good view of his face. A sense of relief washed over him as he took one last stare at the stranger. Yoongi seemed nice enough to give him this reunion, which he was thankful for. Deep down, Taehyung settled on the idea that they would never meet. Still, it was nice to be finally introduced. No matter how minuscule.

“Do you… wanna follow them real quick before we get back to work?” Yoongi asked with an unsure tone. Taehyung seemed trapped in his thoughts, but returned when spoken to. The music producer tried again. “Who knows, maybe he’ll remember you.”

At that comment, Taehyung scoffed. “No, no way,” He felt confident in that decision. “We… stared at each other. We locked eyes. That was all. It wasn’t anything more than that. If it was, it would’ve-- he would’ve-- I--” He didn’t have the proper explanation for why they didn’t speak. Still he looked over at Yoongi as if he provided enough of an answer. “It’s pointless anyway, you said they don’t even live around here, so.. It’s pointless,” Tae repeated himself as he kept on talking himself out of this. “I only wanted to know his name.” Reluctance took over as he returned the phone to its owner.

Just like that, Yoongi took his phone and offered nothing else on the subject. Again, it was refreshing to have a prespective that simple. Taehyung thought about Jimin, and how he would have reacted. It made him snort to himself. He thought about Jimin and how he would have followed and sent the account a message. Jimin was shameless like that. Taehyung, not so much. It was nice to know that Yoongi did not bare the same quality as his boyfriend. Rather than continue to the talk of Jungkook, Yoongi clapped his hands and closed the pizza box. “Well, if you’re done here, let’s get back to work.”

For the rest of the night, the boys worked diligently. Taehyung, at some point, zoned out. The music affected him more than he ever thought it could. The lyrics, his script, became an extension of his arm until it wasn’t needed anymore. In no time, he memorized the bridge and chorus and was singing it like a third language. What made Yoongi even happier was that Taehyung created ad-libs to his part.

Later in the evening, Yoongi offered Taehyung a chance to record what he had remembered. Each line left his lips and traveled through the microphone. A love of success, self-love and motivation rang true in the studio. Regardless of his inner thoughts and desires for Jungkook, Taehyung never felt this at peace. That passion burned in his stomach. If it weren’t for the melody and the meaning of this song, who knew what would’ve become of him. Thankful that Yoongi kept him busy. Recording and re-recording until Jimin began calling the both of them home.

[spotlightsaga]

Kevin Cage of @spotlightsaga reviews... Orange is the New Black (S05E4) Litchfield's Got Talent Airdate: June 9, 2017 @oitnb Ratings: @netflix original Score: 8/10 **********SPOILERS BELOW********** Litchfield's definitely got something... Im sure talent is in there somewhere, but as far direction is concerned, Nick Sandow who plays Joe Caputo is clearly new to the trade. Yes, this is his first stab at directing and he definitely has an eye for a 'Director's Perspective', but the episode does suffer in the 'cohesive flow' department. Josh Koenigsberg, Tara Hermann, and creator Jenji Kohan must have had a lot of fun in the writers room with this one, but I imagine this was a riot to just be on set for when it came to the actual talent show and insanity that followed. Sandow captures and settles on several vital emotional tones, and does find a good balance of heavy and light that OITNB has always honed in on so well... But it's the 'heavy' that I really want to tackle in this article. The heavy... Grief and Loss has been an ongoing subject I've tackled under the Spotlight Saga banner again and again. Grief straight up wrecked me... When I lost my Aunt (who was more like my sister due to environmental & situational factors), who I've mentioned many times through many different series, I lost my grip on reality. Seeing Taystee (Danielle Brooks) having such major difficulties processing her grief brings back a lot of emotional tidal waves for me. Even if this world is chaotic and completely meaningless, we have to find our home somewhere. It's so much more difficult to do that when someone who is so important in your life is literally ripped away from you... It's like ripping a massive bandage lined with duct tape off in a flash on a wound you never knew existed, that you never knew was bandaged. It leaves an inescapable void and we try to fill it with anything we can. In 'Litchfield's Got Talent', Suzanne (Uzo Aduba), Maureen (Emily Althaus), and Soso (Kimiko Glenn) have created a sacred alter of sorts using trays to block off the area where Poussey Washington (Samira Wiley) was killed by the undertrained, young, and very remorseful Baxter Bayley (Alan Aisenberg)... A very inexperienced and naive young man who was under the hostile orders of the tyrannical Piscatella (Brad William Henke). That whole situation with Baylee/Piscatella/Poussey will be covered later but for now, we simply use it help shape the rocky confines of where this grief stems from. Suzanne & Maureen convince Taystee and her friends to get in on a seance... One where Poussey will speak through Suzanne. Soso is eager to do anything to fill that void she can't escape, while Taystee is much more apprehensive. Taystee is a realist, but she has a great support system in friends like Janae (Vicky Jeudy), Cindy (Adrienne C. Moore), and Abdullah (Amanda Stephen) and they urge her to at least give this a shot. At this point Taystee is so 'capped & bottled' that anything is worth a whirl to hopefully crack her open and let everything she's holding on so tightly inside to breathe and fizz over. The whole experience backfires. Suzanne is earnest in her intentions, but Soso is almost too eager to believe that it sends Taystee over the edge. Here's where things get interesting. I had a couple of friends pass right around the time my Aunt departed this realm (death seems to come in 3's). All of them were completely unexpected but one in particular was extremely puzzling. It was one of 2/3 that were caused directly by suicide. It was a young man who was worldly, he talked about spiritual trips in India, his beliefs in reincarnation, he struggled with addiction and dependence... But he had, for the most part, overcome all the immediately difficult effects. His life was back in order and he was heading in the right direction. Sometimes people who were dependent on opiates are greatly affected by PAWS, Post Acute Withdrawal Symptoms... A Great Depression that lingers for as long as it wants to, depending on the person... Understand that person has no control on PAWS, and it's certainly not only in your mind. All of this isn't really the point, I just feel a great need to set the stage and pay homage to a great life lost. Weeks before his suicide by self strangulation, he had visited us and was in great spirits, hopeful, loving... It felt like he was really enjoying this newfound freedom from the heavy shackles of opiate dependence, eager to reconnect on a very intense platonic level. He was a good friend, he was such a special light... But one day that light turned out and he was unable to switch it back on. We were all in mourning. My partner had a particularly difficult time with his death, at the time I had been slammed with dealing with death after death and was almost numb to it. I bring this is up to show the juxtaposition of Soso and Taystee's grief and what it meant to them. Soso had not known Poussey for very long, but they spent every waking moment together once they connected, bonding on all sorts of levels. Taystee had known Poussey for ages. She was her best friend, and she had her own special bond with Poussey. No one bond is greater than the other but when dealing with grief, sometimes we a hit a moment where we are very angry. We may feel like certain people don't have the right to feel such a deep sorrow or intense heartbreak... Taystee doesn't know how to let other people have their grief, because in her mind, there was no one more special... And there was a romantic side to their relationship, but it largely remained platonic. Taystee loved Poussey, maybe even romantically, but she was unable to sort out societal norms and the wall we surround ourselves with labels, to feel the safety of belonging to a specific brand in life. There is safety in being 'straight' or 'gay' or 'whatever', but the truth is we are all sexual beings and whatever you identify as doesn't mean that someone can't come along and represent a love that you didn't know could exist inside of your world. My partner felt a bond with our fallen friend like Taystee had with Poussey and I think that's why this time, this death, was particularly difficult. We are in an open relationship, but on terms that are only ours and were a pain in the ass to define... Feeling out those parameters comes with a lot of hard work and trial & error. At the time we were living with a friend, one who had initially introduced us to our now departed friend, years before his tragic end. In a similar vein to Taystee, she had felt a need to repeatedly remind us that if it wasn't for her that we wouldn't even know him... Which, by the way, isn't even necessarily true considering life will happen as it does and eventually we bump into each other along the boardwalk of an all-interconnected path. I can't tell you what she was looking for exactly with those statements, only she can say. All I can say is that it's not a great look. The whole thing flashed before me watching Taystee react, it almost helped me understand why our roommate had said those comments that seemed so very egotistical and insensitive at the time. Like I said before, we all grieve in different ways... There's no right way to do it, and sometimes when the pain is so great, the rulebook of grieving and dealing with death goes out the window. Taystee must reconcile with the fact that Poussey is gone... The horrible truth as to why it happened... And she must accept that Poussey meant a lot of things to very many people, not just her. Hell, I don't even live in Litchfield Prison or that world and I literally cried out all the water in my body into several towels when that fateful, unjustly tragedy occurred... And I cried again here too. I believe this will still greatly affect me until Taystee is able to let Poussey go... And Soso too... Everyone really, as despite what everyone's 'demands' are, or how crazy it gets inside that prison with an Inmate forced 'Prison Guard Talent Show', who has the gun, or what the media thinks about two Skinheads in Hijab's crucifying their rich, white, cooking celebrity, Judy King (Blair Brown), on top of the prison roof... This was all made possible by the outrage of an oppressive series of living conditions, an almost totalitarian CO rule by the Dolphin Loving, Arabian Night Theming, Piscatella and his autocratic snowball effect that led to the senseless and brutal death of a woman who didn't deserve to die. Unfortunately, that's what happened, and there's no changing the past... Only how we handle the future.