#humans are inclined to follow orders. it is how our brain works

[mars-ipan]

you guys ever think about the milgram shock experiments? i think about the milgram shock experiments a lot. they feel kinda relevant right now for some reason. hm

[fortunatelyfresco]

A Holistic Integration of Type 1 Narcolepsy into the Reading of Moist von Lipwig

Literary Interpretation, Disability, and Finding Yourself Between the Lines

As it goes, "I wrote this for me, but you can read it if you want." It might be a fun ride for anyone who is very interested in Moist von Lipwig, or narcolepsy, or both, and/or anyone who enjoys collecting small details from within a body of work and arranging them into threads that are supportable by the text, without being actually suggested by it.

Personally, I find it very interesting to read the meta behind different headcanons, and see how creators can unintentionally write a character who fits certain criteria. There are only so many traits, after all, and some of them tend to travel in groups! Humans are pattern seekers, etc etc.

The first step of reading Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic is wanting to read Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic. Being narcoleptic myself and relating heavily to Moist, this step was very easy. I invite you to take my hand and come along, at least briefly, if you were interested enough to click the readmore.

Once you have taken that step, things start falling into place. At least they do if you're intimately familiar with narcolepsy, or if you first learn about it in detail through, for instance, a Tumblr post with an agenda :)

I'll break this down symptom by symptom, citing only the ones I both have personal experience with and see textual support for.

I'll be using OverDrive's search function to catalogue "evidence" in (the American editions of) Going Postal, Making Money, and Raising Steam, so I might miss passages that don't use certain keywords.

Please take any statements along the lines of "being narcoleptic means X" with a huge grain of salt. Sometimes it's just more succinct. Narcolepsy can manifest in many different ways, and is still being actively studied. Don't base your entire understanding of it on a fandom essay I wrote to cope with the crushing pressures of capitalism. I have not even fully read the scientific studies linked here as sources.

Here we go! Spoilers abound.

I. Excessive Daytime Sleepiness (EDS) and sleep attacks.

Being narcoleptic means (salt now, please) that your brain does not get adequate rest while you sleep, no matter how much you sleep. This is because of a disturbance in the order and length of REM and NREM sleep phases. This leads to constant exhaustion. Some sources describe narcoleptic EDS as "comparable to [the sleepiness] experienced by a healthy individual who has been sleep-deprived continuously for 48–72 hours."

(Source.)

Sleep attacks can come on gradually or suddenly. In my case, I become irritable and easily overwhelmed, and nothing matters except finding a place to lie down. A more severe attack, under the right circumstances, can put me to sleep while I'm actively trying to stay awake and engaged.

Moist refers to 6:45 am as "still nighttime." He is "allergic to the concept of two seven o'clocks in one day" and is "not good at early mornings," and the narration even cites this as "one of the advantages of a life of crime; you didn't have to get up until other people had got the streets aired."

In Going Postal, he repeatedly falls asleep at his desk. I can only find two instances, but the first one describes it as having happened "again," so it happens at least three times over the course of one week. Both of the times I found were after Mr. Pump cleared his apartment, giving him access to a bed, and I can't find any reference to the fire destroying it—just that his office is "missing the whole of one wall." His presumably wooden desk is still intact, even, just "charred."

There's also no build-up either time. No direct narration of the time right before he falls asleep, just retroactive accounting for it.

Which is primarily a function of stories not showing us every boring second, and secondarily one of the smaller ways we're shown Moist being overwhelmed and racing to keep up with himself, but tertiarily it's a great set dressing if you've already decided he's narcoleptic. Sometimes sleep is just a thing that happens, without any deliberate transition. Sometimes you sit down to catch your breath or get some paperwork done, and wake up several hours later.

I've found only one example in GP of Moist waking up in his actual bed at the post office: the morning after being possessed by all the undelivered letters. Presumably either they put him there, or Mr. Pump did.

There are two points in Making Money where Moist, in an effort to be a comforting and/or guiding hand, advises people to get some sleep. First Owlswick Jenkins, and then one of the clerks (Robert) who is worried about Mr. Bent.

I take the optimistic view that this is Moist genuinely caring about these people, not just trying to get them to do what he wants. He has always done some combination of those things (GP opens with him having befriended his jailers, after all), but there's definitely a thread of him learning to treat both himself and those around him more like real people. (See also.)

Looking at this thread through narcolepsy-colored lenses, you get Moist perhaps drawing from his own experiences in an effort to be helpful. In Owlswick or Robert's position, what is something he would want to hear from the man currently in charge of his fate, or at least his job? "Get some sleep."

If we accept this as a pattern, it culminates in Raising Steam, when Moist starts to worry about "Dick Simnel and his band of overworked engineers," fixating particularly on their lack of sleep.

What sleep they got was in sleeping bags, curled up on carriage seats, eating but not eating well, just driven by their watches and their desire to keep the train going.

[...]

"People are going to die if we push them any further," he said to Dick. "You lot would rather work than sleep!"

[...]

The young man swayed in front of him and Moist's tone became gentle. "And I see now that part of my job is to tell you that you need some rest. You've run out of steam, Dick. Look, we're well on the way to Uberwald now, and while it's daylight and we're out of the mountains it's going to be the least risky time to run with minimum crew. We're all going to need our wits about us when we get near the pass. Surely you can take some rest?"

Simnel blinked as if he'd not seen Moist the first time, and said, "Yes, you're right."

And Moist could hear the slurring in the young man's speech, caught him before he fell and dragged him into a sleeping compartment, put him to bed, and noted that the engineer didn't so much fall asleep as somehow flow into it.

Moist then recruits Vimes to help him talk the rest of the engineers into getting some rest. The two of them briefly commiserate about people not realizing how important it is.

"I have to teach that to young coppers. Treasure a night's rest, I always say. Take a nap whenever you can."

"Very good."

II. Insomnia.

This is a lesser-known but very common symptom of narcolepsy. Or a comorbidity, depending on how you look at it. It seems counterintuitive if narcolepsy has been presented to you as "sleeping all the time," but it makes sense once you know it's really a matter of disruption in the brain's ability to regulate sleep cycles.

The case for this symptom is flimsier, and I fully admit I'm just reading my own experience into it. But here are two excerpts from Going Postal that I find quite suitable for my sleepy agenda:

1. "A man of affairs such as he had to learn to sleep in all kinds of situations, often while mobs were looking for him a wall's thickness away."

I latched hard onto this detail the first time I read GP.

At my worst, I could not get more than a couple hours of sleep in my bed. I kept taking naps in the bath because it was one of the few places I could sleep. It seemed to fulfill some of the criteria (isolation, temperature control, etc) that my brain demanded in exchange for playing nice.

We're told over and over again, throughout Moist's books, that he functions best under pressure.

(Brief aside: This is often cited as a reason to interpret Moist as having ADHD, which I'm also fully on board with. Not coincidentally, narcolepsy and ADHD share a few symptoms, have a notable comorbidity rate, and are treated with some of the same medications. Source.)

So again, if you're already inclined to read Moist as narcoleptic, the following is an easy jump:

"Moist thinks he's good at sleeping in strange places under strange circumstances. This is because A) his basis for comparison is a disordered attempt to sleep in normal places under normal circumstances, B) something about danger satisfies his brain into running more smoothly, and C) he's a resourceful person who is 'not given to introspection,' and so is less likely to wonder why his body demands sleep at strange times and more likely to focus on finding a place for that sleep to happen, and chalk this up later as a skill."

And returning briefly to EDS: Why would someone like Moist waste time finding a safe place to sleep while people are actively trying to kill him? At the beginning of GP, he leaves Vetinari's office and immediately goes on the run. In multiple books, when he feels threatened, his brain instinctively launches into complex escape plans. We see him successfully blend into an Ankh-Morpork crowd at least once after becoming a public figure.

So why bother? After all, a safe place to sleep is also a safe place to change clothes, or at least remove whatever distinguishing features he's given himself. Why wouldn't he just become someone else and leave town immediately?

The obvious answer is that sometimes things just happen, and an author doesn't need to know or explain every single detail of a character's past.

I would suggest, though, that one of those things might be Moist reaching a point where sleep is just not optional. A point where he not only doesn't, but can't, care about anything else. Where he is too tired to think straight, too tired to talk his way out of trouble, too tired to even contemplate the long journey from one town to the next.

2. "Moist knew he ought to get some sleep, but he had to be there, too, alive and sparkling."

Sometimes (especially in combination with underlying mental health issues) narcoleptic sleep deprivation can bypass everything I've described so far, and lead straight into a manic state. You won't necessarily find that on Google, but it's been my experience.

That's obviously not what the text is implying. "Alive and sparkling" is just a very relatable description. And we do often see Moist getting away from himself, speaking without thinking, making absurd promises that he justifies immediately afterwards as Just Part Of Being Him, always raising the stakes.

And here are a couple of excerpts from Raising Steam that could be interpreted as Moist being a light sleeper, AKA struggling to get deep sleep:

1. "And slowly Moist shut down, although a part of him was always listening to the rhythm of the rails, listening in his sleep, like a sailor listening to the sounds of the sea."

2. "All Moist's life he'd managed to find a way of sleeping in just about every circumstance and, besides, the guard's van was somehow the hub of the train; and although he didn't know how he did it, he always managed to sleep with half of one ear open."

Moist is exactly the kind of opportunist to see that as a useful tool, isn't he?

III. Hypnagogic and Hypnopompic Hallucinations.

These are hallucinations that come on as you're falling asleep or waking up. They can also happen during REM intrusions while you're awake. My most memorable ones include piano notes, someone calling my name, being trapped in the waves of a large body of water, and a huge truck going over a guard rail and tumbling down a hill. These are often, but not always, accompanied by sleep paralysis (and sleep paralysis is often, but not always, accompanied by hallucinations).

In GP, Moist casually cites his own hallucinations as proof that what is happening at the post office is not one.

"They're all alive! And angry! They talk! It was not a hallucination! I've had hallucinations and they don't hurt!"

Obviously that's not true for everyone, but it's true for Moist, and he has enough experience that he immediately recognizes the difference.

At one point while awake, Moist "[snaps] out of a dream of chandeliers" to realize someone has approached him to talk, while he was busy having visions of what the post office used to look like/could look like again.

Now, that's cheating, because we're probably supposed to assume it's a side effect of being possessed, but... I'm putting it here anyway.

There is also perhaps a case to be made for the tendency of Moist's internal monologue to lapse into extremely specific and prolonged hypotheticals. The lines between hallucinations, waking dreams, and "regular" daydreams have always been very blurry to me. I'm especially curious about the example at the end of Going Postal, which goes like this:

"Look, I know what I'm like," he said. "I'm not the person everyone thinks I am. I just wanted to prove to myself I'm not like Gilt. More than a hammer, you understand? But I'm still a fraud by trade. I thought you knew that. I can fake sincerity so well that even I can't tell. I mess with people's heads—"

"You're fooling no one but yourself," said Miss Dearheart, and reached for his hand.

Moist shook her off, and ran out of the building, out of the city, and back to his old life, or lives, always moving on, selling glass as diamond, but somehow it just didn't seem to work anymore, the flair wasn't there, the fun had dropped out of it, even the cards didn't seem to work for him, the money ran out, and one winter in some inn that was no more than a slum he turned his face to the wall—

And an angel appeared.

"What just happened?" said Miss Dearheart.

Perhaps you do get two...

"Only a passing thought," said Moist.

In-universe... what is Adora reacting to? What did just happen? The fact that these incidents are not isolated to Going Postal is a point against it being some sort of literal timeline divergence caused by The Spirit Of The Post.

So maybe Moist visibly zoned out. Maybe he had some kind of minor but noticeable cataplexy attack (more on those later) as part of a REM intrusion, brought on by the intense emotions he's currently struggling with.

IV. Vivid Dreams.

Again, at least some of this is probably supposed to be part of the possession, but I've been professionally projecting myself onto the surreal dreams of magically afflicted characters for years. Do try this at home.

1. "Moist dreamed of bottled wizards, all shouting his name. In the best tradition of awaking from a nightmare, the voices gradually became one voice, which turned out to be the voice of Mr. Pump, who was shaking him."

2. Moist is uneasy about the Smoking Gnu's plan, and then he has an extremely detailed dream about the Grand Trunk burning down.

This culminates in "Moist awoke, the Grand Trunk burning in his head," followed by a paragraph of him thinking things through and starting to form his own alternative plan, followed immediately by "Moist awoke. He was at his desk, and someone had put a pillow under his head."

So he fell asleep at his desk, woke up from a vivid nightmare, was awake just long enough for a coherent train of thought, and then passed back out. Which once again is not "proof" of anything, but fits the predetermined interpretation like a glove.

V. Cataplexy.

Cataplexy is a sudden loss of muscle control, usually triggered by strong emotions. This is thought to be a facet of REM intrusion—waking instances of the atonia that is meant to stop us from acting out our dreams.

The most well-known manifestation is laughter making your knees buckle, but it's not always that severe. My own attacks range from facial twitching, usually when I'm angry or otherwise extremely upset, to all-over weakness/immobilization and near-collapse when I laugh. My knees have fully buckled once or twice.

This is the biggest stretch. This is the one that is absolutely only there if you've already decided to read entire novels between the lines. It's also not even necessary for the broader headcanon; plenty of people have narcolepsy without cataplexy (or such mild cataplexy that it's never noticeable, or very delayed onset, etc).

However. I am doing this for fun. So I want him to have it. It's also become a major part of how I imagine Moist engaging with emotion, and I'd like to make a case for that.

There are a few scattered references to Moist's legs shaking, or being unsteady, or outright giving way, but there's usually an external physical reason, and/or enough psychological shock to justify it without a medical condition.

The most compelling example I've found so far comes from Moist and Adora's conversation about people expecting Moist to deliver letters to the gods.

"I never promised to—"

"You promised to when you sold them the stamps!"

Moist almost fell off his chair. She'd wielded the sentence like a fist.

"And it'll give them hope," she added, rather more quietly.

"False hope," said Moist, struggling upright.

"Almost fell off his chair" at first sounds like casual hyperbole, but then "struggling upright" implies it was a bit more literal. It's also an accurate description of me recovering from my more severe attacks, supporting myself on a wall or my spouse, or pushing myself up if I've fallen over in bed.

That happens to me multiple times per day, by the way. It doesn't bother me, and I didn't realize there was anything unusual about it for a long time. I barely think about it, except to fondly note that my spouse is good at making me laugh.

Which is to say, even severe cataplexy is not always noticeable or debilitating. Sometimes it absolutely is! It can be downright dangerous, depending on where you are, what you're doing, and whether you have any other conditions it might exacerbate. I don't want to undermine that.

I am just hell-bent on justifying the idea that this fictional character could have repeated attacks throughout the canonical narrative that are so routine they don't merit an explanation, or even a description. Especially for someone who is used to hiding his few distinguishing features behind false ones that are much more memorable. (See also.)

(That link goes to my own fanfic. Sorry.)

On the milder side, between Going Postal and Making Money, there are three instances of Moist's mouth "dropping open" when he's shocked, upset, confused, or some combination of the three. This is the kind of thing that shows up a lot in fiction, but rarely happens so literally in real life.

(There's technically a fourth instance, but I'm not counting it because it seems to be a deliberate choice on his part to convey surprise.)

And then there's laughter. Or rather, there isn't. I could be missing something, but I've searched all three books for instances of laughter and various synonyms (not counting spoken "Ha!"s), and what I've come up with is:

Moist laughs once in Going Postal, when he receives the assignment for the race to Genua.

Two packages were handed over. Moist undid his, and burst out laughing.

There's also an instance earlier in the book where Moist nearly "burst[s] out laughing."

I find the specifics here interesting, and, for our purposes, fortuitous. Cataplexy is complicated and presents differently for everyone. In my case, when laughter triggers an attack, one of the effects (which is sometimes also a cause) is that I laugh very hard, with little or no control. "Burst out laughing" is quite apt.

Let's move on to Making Money, and start with a quick tangent:

Mr. Bent explains that he has no sense of humor due to a medical condition, and that he isn't upset about this and doesn't understand why people feel sorry for him.

Moist immediately starts in with "Have you tried—" before getting cut off by the frustrated Bent.

Out-of-universe, "Have you tried" is such a well-known refrain to anyone with an incurable condition, I'm not at all surprised to find it in a book written by someone who had at least begun the process that would lead to a diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer's. And Pratchett has certainly never shied away from portraying ignorance in his protagonists.

In-universe, it feels a little odd. Moist's tongue runs away from him all the time, but usually in the form of making ridiculous claims or impossible promises. Moist's entire stock-in-trade is People Skills, and it feels strange for him to make this kind of mistake immediately after being told Mr. Bent is not looking for solutions.

But if one were reading with, for instance, the idea in mind that Moist himself has an incurable condition related to laughter and is enthusiastic about, but still relatively new to, the practice of drawing on his own experiences to help people... it is easy to imagine the gears in his head turning the wrong way, superimposing those experiences over the tail end of Mr. Bent's explanation. Disabled people are not immune to these well-meaning pitfalls.

There is another Mr. Bent moment that I want to discuss, but we'll circle back around to it later.

I found two instances of Moist himself laughing in MM.

1. "He said it with a laugh, to lighten the mood a little."

This is deliberate laughter, employed as a social tactic. A polite chuckle, probably. Not the sort of thing that generally triggers cataplexy.

2. "Moist started to laugh, and stopped at the sight of her grave expression."

The first and only involuntary laugh in MM. It doesn't always trigger attacks...

Which brings us to Raising Steam. Compared to the first two books, Moist laughs a lot here. I count nine instances. Two of them are "burst out laughing"s, a couple include him as part of a group, some of it comes off as deliberate, and some of it doesn't.

I've always seen a lot of... rage in Raising Steam. Combing through it for laughter, I realized Moist's emotions in general are much closer to the surface here, and he's much less concerned about letting people see them. He laughs with friends and acquaintances, he cries in front of strangers, he shouts at Harry King, he has that entire conversation with Dick that boils down to "I'm very worried about you," etc.

Opinions vary wildly and sharply on Raising Steam. I have my own hangups with it, as I do with most books in the series. (Every time I make a new Discworld post, Tumblr passive-aggressively suggests the tag "my kingdom for a discworld character who is normal about women and other species.")

But I like this particular change in Moist, and I choose to see it as character development. He's trading in the professional detachment of a conman for the ability to grow into himself as a person and make meaningful connections.

So, what does that have to do with cataplexy? A lot.

I don't want to get too maudlin, so I'll just say I have plenty of personal experience with emotional repression masking cataplexy symptoms. And so, I believe, does the version of Moist we've put together over the course of this post.

Which brings us back to Making Money, and Mr. Bent. He says something about Moist that I find very interesting: "I do not trust those who laugh too easily."

Unless I've missed something, at that point in the book, Moist has never actually laughed in front of him. And Mr. Bent is a man who pays very close attention to details.

So, what is the in-universe explanation for this? I'd like to propose that Moist is very skilled at seeming to laugh, without actually laughing. He smiles, he's friendly, and he makes other people laugh, which is another thing Bent dislikes about him. He gives the impression of being someone who laughs a lot. (He certainly left that impression on me; I was very surprised by the lack of examples in the first two books.)

Even staying strictly within the bounds of canon, it's easy to imagine why this might have become part of Moist's camouflage in his previous life. He wasn't looking to get attached to anyone, and he didn't want anyone getting inside his head. Engaging with people genuinely enough to laugh at their jokes would run counter to both of those things, but some of his personas still needed to come off as friendly and sociable.

Still working within the canon, it makes sense to assume he's similarly distanced himself from emotion in general. He sits in a cell for several weeks without truly believing he's going to die. He's bewildered when Mr. Pump points out that his schemes have hurt innocent people. He has no idea what to do with his feelings for Adora. Etc.

Interpreting Moist as having cataplexy adds an extra element of danger. Moist thrives on danger, but there's a difference between the thrill of a con and the threat of sudden, uncontrollable displays of vulnerability. And so it becomes even easier to see him stifling his own emotional capacity.*

We meet Moist at a moment of great upheaval. He is forcibly removed from his cocoon of false identities, and pushed out into the world as himself. And we are shown and told throughout Going Postal that he does not know how to be himself. (See also.)

He is repeatedly stymied by his own emotions. He gets tongue-tied and confused around Adora, he snaps at Mr. Pump, he lashes out at Mr. Groat, he gets lost in school flashbacks when he meets Miss Maccalariat. This thread continues in Making Money, where the sudden reappearance of Cribbins immediately rattles him into making an uncharacteristic mistake.

I called him Cribbins! Just then! I called him Cribbins! Did he tell me his name? Did he notice? He must have noticed!

Later in the same book, Moist misses a crucial opportunity to run damage control on the bank's public image... because he's excited to see Adora.

The Moist of GP and MM is not used to feeling things so deeply. It throws him off his game. I'm not at all suggesting cataplexy is the only (or even primary) reason for that, but I do think there's room for it on both sides of the cause and effect equation.

With or without the cataplexy, I find Moist's relative emotional openness in Raising Steam... really nice. (It's a work in progress. He's still getting a handle on anger.)

Cataplexy just adds another dimension. A physical manifestation of emotional vulnerability, which would have been especially untenable for a teenager on the run. Just one more facet of the real, human, fallible Moist von Lipwig who spent years buried beneath Albert Spangler and all the rest.

Another piece of himself that Moist is growing to understand and accept, as he learns to more comfortably be himself.

The Moist of Going Postal runs into a burning building to save lives without fully understanding why he wants to, and justifies it on the fly as an essential part of the role he's trying to play.

The Moist of Raising Steam mindlessly throws himself under a train to save two children, and then blows up at Harry King about the lack of safety regulations. Freshly traumatized by the murder of several railway workers and his own violent, vengeful response to it, he still offers, in the face of Harry's own grief, to be the one to inform their families. On a long and dangerous journey with plenty of moving parts to think about, he worries about Dick Simnel and the other engineers, and pushes them to take better care of themselves.

He also meets a bunch of kids who nearly derailed a train as part of a childish scheme. His admonishment is startlingly vivid.

"Can you imagine a railway accident? The screaming of the rails and the people inside and the explosion that scythes the countryside around when the boiler bursts? And you, little girl, and your little friends, would have done all that. Killed a trainload of people."

[...]

"I'll square this with the engine driver, but if I was you I'd get my pencil and turn any clever ideas you have like this into a book or two. Those penny dreadfuls are all the rage in the railway bookshops."

Maybe what he is also saying, between the lines, is:

I left home at 14 and began a life of smoke and mirrors. I was empty inside, and I thought everyone else was, too. It was all fun and games, and then a man made of clay told me I was killing people. Nip it in the bud, child. Write books.

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

*There are studies suggesting that in addition to deliberately employed "tricks," people with cataplexy may experience physiological reactions in the brain meant to inhibit laughter. (Source 1, Source 2.)

Most of the information here is way over my head, but that second link also says "one region of the brain called the zona incerta (meaning 'zone of uncertainty') was only activated during laughter in people with narcolepsy, not in controls. Research on the zona incerta in animals suggests that it also helps to control fear-associated behavior."

The linked article about that (https://www.nature.com/articles/s41467-018-03581-6) is also over my head, but I would certainly describe Moist von Lipwig as having unusual fear responses.**

**Narcolepsy is a fun roller-coaster ride of constant scientific discoveries about exactly which parts of your brain are paying too much attention, not paying enough attention, or trying to eat each other.

[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #6

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Moonstone’s Charity

“The moon is beautiful, huh!”

By the time that we exited the Shiseido Parlor, it was already completely dark outside. The moon loomed a faint blue, as if overlooking the night view of Ginza. Putting his coat back on, Richard silently averted his eyes when I looked back at him with an “isn’t it”. At any rate, I had gotten wholly used to eating out with this guy on Saturdays after work. It was worth making him puddings as payback, I thought.

“Speaking of which, the stone you sold to today’s customers was a ‘stone of the moon’, wasn’t it?”

“Please call it ‘moonstone’. There are other rock specimens that are referred to as ‘stones of the moon’. Confusing the meaning of the words is deplorable.”

“Is that so?! Aight, I’ll take it to heart.”

Today’s customers were the parents of a naïve young lady, and the goods they bought were a moonstone jewelry set for her. It seemed that the young lady, who still had childish facial traits, was going to get married, so her parents ordered a necklace from Etranger for her to take along when the time came. Bearing a rainbow light over a milky blue color, the cabochon-cut moonstone was combined with white diamonds for the necklace and bracelet. It overflowed with a soulful beauty, almost as if it had borrowed the glow of an aurora from a Scandinavian sky.

Apparently, the moonstone, which was also one of the June birthstones, had been familiarized as a power stone since the distant past, and was renowned especially as a stone that celebrated the well-being and fortune of women. Having the commemorative jewelry delivered to her as a surprise, the young lady had cried until her eyes were bright red, but she recovered by way of a sweet royal milk tea, expressing gratitude to her parents with a sniffling nose. I believed that there were several forms of joy depending on each person, and what I had witnessed today was unmistakably one of them.

Even as we headed to the parking lot where Richard’s jaguar was, the moon followed us from the gaps between the buildings. As I walked while looking up and repeating, “It’s really pretty, so pretty”, Richard seemed exasperated.

“‘The moon is beautiful’, huh. Are college students not familiar with anecdotes of their own country’s literary figures nowadays?”

“Don’t they read that stuff? I’m in the faculty of economics, so there’s lots of people with names written in horizontal characters on our textbooks. Like Marx Weber or Mankiw.”

“What about Futabatei Shimei or Natsume Souseki?”

“I’ll ask you back: have you read them?”

“Yes.”

Uwah. As I cried out, the gorgeous jeweler sighed. “Honestly, today’s youths,” he said.

I ended up laughing at him without thinking.

“What is it?”

“You say ‘youths’ but you’re pretty young yourself.”

“I merely disagree with the worldwide trend of thinking that classical literature is an enjoyment for old age. The world, matured by the various interpretations of our ancestors, is deep and wide-ranging, as well as something that envelopes our hearts, just like stones.”

“Feels like the part where stones come up is ‘just as expected of Richard-san’.”

“I will take that as a compliment.”

“I am complimenting you. I have the feeling that I get smarter when we talk.”

“For you to be the kind who is satisfied with just ‘having a feeling’, my existence must be a harmful one.”

“I shall take this to heart... Aah, by the way, in sociology or some other class, I heard that the phrase ‘had a feeling’ has increased too much in pop music. Why is that? I guess it’s because, when they assert, ‘I can be strong!’ instead of, ‘I have the feeling I can be strong, I find myself inwardly wanting to retort with a, ‘Nope, nope, it’s not like that’ and the mood cools off.”

“Unfortunately, I have not studied the trends of modern Japan’s younglings. But if we are to speak of such things, even the power invoked by stones is a matter of ‘having a feeling’.”

“Is it okay for a jeweler to be saying that?”

“We are already out of business hours. Besides, this is not a negative subject in particular.”

Having arrived at the parking lot, Richard glanced at me and folded his arms lightly. He was a beautiful man from the top of his head to the tips of his toenails, like a doll made of moonlight. I was used to looking at his figure, but beautiful things will be beautiful. I could look at him without ever getting tired and it would put me in a good mood, just like the moon.

“W-What? What’s up?”

“I mean that people can become strong just from ‘having a feeling’. The power of belief is namely the force of human beings who seek hope even in a small gleam. Is that not a wonderful thing? On nights like these, when we ‘have the feeling’ that we are being protected by the light of the moon, people are sure to be in some sort of calm mood.” Saying this, as if to copy me or something, Richard looked up at the night sky above the buildings of Ginza and murmured, “The moon is truly beautiful.” He then smoothly got on the jaguar’s driver seat. I followed him on the passenger seat.

Still, this car’s seat base did an exquisite inclination no matter how many times I sat on it. It felt like a chair sticking to your body.

“Well, are you okay with dropping off at Takadanobaba?”

“Thank you. By the way, should I reply with the ‘I could die now’ already?”

Richard’s face at that moment was a spectacle. His mouth and beautiful eyebrows distorted as if to say, “Haah?”. His eyes stared dangerously at me.

“I mean, isn’t that the context? Futabate Shimei and Natsume Souseki, right?”

“I love you”.

Apparently, the literary masters of the Meiji Era had racked their brains about to how to translate a sentence that didn’t originally exist in the Japanese language. This would be a standard drinking party talk. Well, I didn’t know if there was a standard for all kinds of drinking parties, but just recently, during a drinking party we held with a group of men from the Department of Letter’s Faculty of Japanese Literature, we got fired-up over that topic. “Girls like this kind of talk, so you guys from the Faculty of Economics should also keep it in mind every once in a while,” they told us. Futabate Shimei used “I could die now” as a code for “I am yours” and Natsume Souseki used the anecdote “the moon is beautiful, isn’t it” as what was claimed to be a good anecdote for “I love you”. We were thankful for the trivia. That being said, none of the members who attended the drinking party had girlfriends, so I had thought there would be no opportunity to use this trivia, but to my surprise...

Richard, who had been stiff for a moment, exhaled with a loud “haaah” and turned the engine key. The body of the iron machine shuddered.

“That was terrifying.”

“So even you got freaked out! I can say some Japanese-like things too.”

“I will proceed to kick you if you say the same thing again. Be quiet for the time being.” Richard pulled the car out of the parking lot from backward, and as he stepped onto the accelerator and we got out into the street, the car trundled on with us in silence for a while. After we had passed four or five buildings, the beautiful jeweler opened his mouth again, “These words are not meant to be spoken lightly. A sentence taken out of context is like a lonely stone removed from a bracelet. In what kind of situation did people say, ��The moon is beautiful’ or under what circumstances did they think, ‘I could die now’? What matters is the process until things arrived to that point, and not scraps of words. In the past, during the times when the people of this country were not as filled with imported mentalities as they are now, they probably understood this very well.”

“Hey, why’d you think of reading Natsume Souseki?”

Richard didn’t respond. I’d known for a while now that there were lots of things this guy didn’t want to answer, but his silence at the question was unexpected. Was something up?

Something related to moments when he might feel like saying things such as “the moon is beautiful” or “I could die now”.

It was clearly not a topic that I should pry too much about. Pretending to have found something interesting out the window, I put on a smile with no particular connotation. Leaning my body against the window, I looked up at the sky. “Ah, I can still see the moon.”

“You do not say. Is it beautiful?”

“Yup, but you’re more beautiful.”

Richard’s hand instantaneously glided in a swift motion. He pressed the car stereo switch. What played at an explosively loud volume wasn’t the Finnish rock that I had listened to before. It was a sutra in an ethnic-sounding female voice. That was all I could say. What was this? As I asked in a loud voice what language that song was in, he said it was Bengali. Was it an Indian song then? I couldn’t talk to him unless I shouted in one breath.

“HEY! IF I PISSED YOU OFF, SERIOUSLY, I’M SORRY!”

Richard’s mouth moved in the form of an “I cannot hear you”. It seemed he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. But he didn’t look angry. The corners of his lips were smiling just slightly. Like he wanted to say that this was so stupid it made him laugh. He appeared a lot more relaxed than when listing up the names of those literary figures, so I became kinda happy.

When I got out of the car, the southern country atmosphere was gone at once. At the roundabout in Takadanobaba, Richard took off with the jaguar as soon as he said goodbye. As the same old habit, for whatever reason, I ended up watching him off until I couldn’t see him anymore.

As I looked up the blue moon was floating in the black sky, unchanged. This was also a matter of “having a feeling”, but this emotion I was feeling today at this moment was a definite form of happiness too.

Honestly, the moon was beautiful tonight.

[whimperwoods]

Oswin - The Archdevil

Part 2 of a new series about Oswin Greystone, wizard con man and deeply unfortunate man.

So anyway, yeah, the captain of the guard wants a pet wizard. Things are not looking great for poor Oswin. They’re not looking great in his own series, now, because this is long enough to need a readmore. Let me know if you want to be on a taglist and I’ll start one. I’m not sure how much of this there will be, but he and his creepy captain really grabbed my imagination, so certainly there will be some more after this.

Continuation of this post.

tw: abuse, tw: abuse of authority, tw: fantasy police brutality (though he’s kind of stopped pretending to be acting as a cop at this point), tw: fantasy devil worship, tw: pet whump (working toward it anyway), tw: devil contracts

*****

Oswin’s legs couldn’t hold him, but the whip that had nearly killed him was back in the guard captain’s hand, so he kept dragging himself along beside him, crawling awkwardly forward on his good hand and his knees and nearly tangling himself up in the robes that, with the back sliced open, hung down in his way, barely attached to him anymore.

At the bottom of the steep, winding staircase, Oswin’s limbs were already quaking, and he let out a soft whimper that made his throat ache.

The captain moved around him and squatted down in front of his head, cupping his face in one hand. “First choice, pet. You’re going up two flights of stairs, up to my chambers over the main office. You may crawl, you may be dragged, or you may be carried. I spent too much on that healing potion to hope for dragging, but you’ll need to be a very good boy if I carry you.”

Oswin’s brain couldn’t catch up. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. This wasn’t how people talked. It wasn’t how people were. Except - wasn’t it? He’d been in the courts of petty, tyrannical lords before, on occasion. He’d watched men who could get away with it pinch serving women and belittle servants and - and perhaps that was what this man thought was happening. Perhaps he thought Oswin a servant, or likely to become one. And without Oswin’s books available to him, maybe he was right.

Oswin wanted to look down, to avert his eyes, but his time when he tried, the captain kept a steel grip on his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. They were dark, a brown that tended toward gray, without any of the warmth of his own, and hard as stones. He swallowed heavily, the pain in his throat insignificant next to the pain still raging across his back, but still easily made worse.

It had been hard enough getting himself to the foot of the stairs, and he couldn’t imagine breathing or moving would be easier on an incline.

“I can be a good boy, Master,” he whispered.

The captain smiled. “Clever. I’ll have to keep my eye on that. But then, I knew you would be. Come on, put your arms around my neck.”

Oswin knew he was a little underfed, but the captain picked him up like it was nothing. The pressure of the captain’s arm across his ruined back felt white-hot, and he cried out hoarsely as he wrapped his arms around the captain’s neck and tried to hold himself up, away from the contact. He wasn’t strong enough, and had to settle back into his new master’s grip, his eyes filling with tears and his breath growing ragged again.

“That doesn’t sound like being a good boy,” the captain whispered into his ear, a low half-growl, “That sounds like complaining when you’re being done a favor.”

Oswin forced himself to breathe through the pain, to catch his breath, to talk. His voice came out strained, and barely above a whisper. “No, Master, please! I’m grateful! I just -” he grunted in pain, in spite of himself, “I just needed to adjust but now I can be - I can be fully grateful, Master, please.”

He wasn’t sure he’d ever begged so much in one day, but this time it seemed to work, or at least, his master didn’t drop him down the stairs. Instead, the captain started climbing, not winded no the stairs even carrying Oswin’s weight. Oswin shivered in the man’s arms. He’d hoped during his whipping, before his mind fully abandoned him, that the beating would stop when the captain grew tired, but he was certain now that that hadn’t been the case.

He’d been in dangerous spots before, but this time - this time he couldn’t afford the sob that threatened to rise up in his throat, so he buried his face in the side of the captain’s neck, clinging more tightly so that the man wouldn’t think he had any thought of trying to get away.

The captain’s pleased little hum made the pressure behind Oswin’s eyes spike, but he couldn’t afford the tears, so he focused instead on his breathing, on keeping it steady, on leaning into the captain’s grip so as not to fall, and then they were at the top of the stairs and his master was still carrying him, his footsteps steady as he walked through a small receiving room, a smaller office, which was little more than a closet with a desk in it, and into a sparsely-decorated bedroom.

The captain set Oswin down on the floor, just inside the door, and Oswin watched as he pulled an old, soft-looking rug to the side and revealed a set of sigils carved into the floor in circles, which he calmly traced over in chalk, reinforcing them.

Oswin’s skin crawled, and his stomach soured, but he knew he had no hope of making it down the stairs, much less out of the building, without being caught and, presumably, tortured to death.

The captain retrieved a set of fine wax candles, more expensive than Oswin would have expected in a room like this, and Oswin thought, passively, that a quick death might have been worth it, but that wasn’t what he’d been promised.

The captain lit most of the candles and then came toward Oswin, manhandling him into the center of the circle without a word, and then arranging him on his knees, barking a single order: “Kneel.”

Oswin’s hands were bound behind his back, and he hung his head, not sure if he was going for deferential, or just for too pathetic to hurt again. Either way, the effort of staying upright soon took all of his attention, so that he hardly noticed the final candle being lit.

An enormous, winged figure stepped into the room, out of nowhere. He seemed to fill the space entirely, then shrunk down to merely looming, a head and a half taller than the guard captain and clearly strong enough to break either of them in half.

Oswin’s master was beside him, and knelt, too, albeit only on one knee, bowing deeply to the archdevil.

As the captain’s back straightened, the devil said, “Rise. Why do you request an audience, my champion?”

The captain got to his feet, but then bowed again, still standing. “I humbly propose an addendum to my contract, Master.”

Oswin’s mouth dried instantly. Power radiated from the archdevil like nothing he’d ever felt before, and his voice dripped with it. Was this fool really going to try to negotiate with it?

The archdevil laughed. “I already own your soul, child. What else is left to offer?”

The captain gestured toward Oswin. “His, for a start.”

Oswin looked up in surprise, and instantly regretted it. It had been one thing to sneak glances at the archdevil through his eyelashes; it was another to look directly up at him, meeting a pair of terrifying eyes that seemed made entirely of fire.

“You think you can make contracts with other people’s souls?”

“I can if you’re willing to agree to my terms - what I want is his soul, but not to keep, of course. I’m happy to cede it back to you the moment he dies. And my original contract stipulated that I was willing to work for you, but not to proselytize. It was a point of contention at the time, if I recall, but I told you I would not be certain enough to promise such a thing, outside myself, for some years. It has been ‘some years,’ Master, and I’m happy to find you new followers, provided that it does not jeopardize the other work I do for you.”

“And your interest in his soul?” the devil asked, still looking Oswin in the eye. Oswin found himself paralyzed, unable to look away. Under that devilish gaze, he felt like his chest was being torn apart, his insides pulled out and studied, even though no one was touching him.

“I’ve always wanted a pet wizard,” the captain said casually, “Call it professional curiosity. I know my magic is yours, of course, Master, but I’d like to study those humans who do it on their own - and I’d like to harness it. I won’t be learning myself, of course. I know where my skills lie, and the purpose you’d have me put them to. But I don’t like the idea of humans with power, and I want this one under my thumb, where I can learn to tear those apart.”

Oswin was shaking, the wounds across his back pulsing again, agonizing, while the devil’s eyes continued to rove over his front. He felt like a bug, pinned to a scientist’s paper, but the paper was burning, too, acidic and deadly.

“And why this one?” The devil’s eyes suddenly left him, turning their full force on the captain, and Oswin sagged forward, gasping for breath.

“This one’s a very interesting case,” the captain said. “No respect for a contract, which I’m hoping to beat out of him, but for once I had a wizard in my sights who wasn’t blatantly dangerous, and I thought I’d make good on the opportunity. He’s been selling counterfeit spell scrolls, and then disappearing to ply his trade somewhere else in town before his victims actually try to read or copy the damned things. The thing is, we know he’s strong enough that he could make the real thing, were he properly - motivated. He’s useful, but in need of - management.”

The archdevil hummed thoughtfully, and the captain added, “In our attempts to capture him, he displayed quite a bit of power and - spunk. I know better than to think I could control him without your direct assistance, my lord. But I hope to use him in your service.” He bowed again, more quickly this time.

The archdevil stepped forward into the circle, which Oswin had really been hoping he couldn’t do, and reached down, raising Oswin’s chin to make him look into those flaming eyes again, and nearly lifting him off the ground by the head as he did it.

“And I suppose it doesn’t hurt that he’s a pretty little thing, hmm?” the devil asked, his flame eyes flicking quickly to the captain and back.

The man chuckled. “No, my lord. It does not. Nor does it hurt that he’s already proven he breaks beautifully. You should have heard him begging earlier.”

“We will negotiate the details without him,” the archdevil said imperiously, “It’s simpler that way. And he can agree or refuse.”

Oswin was nearly hyperventilating in the devil’s grip.

“I’m not sure which I think is more interesting,” the devil added casually, before letting go of Oswin’s face and waving his hand in a pattern too quick for even Oswin’s practiced eyes to follow. A blanket of silence fell over him and he could hear nothing, not even his own breathing, for so long that he found himself collapsed inward before the sound returned, bowed low, with his forehead on the floor and his chest and stomach cushioned against his legs, where he could feel the rise and fall of the breaths he couldn’t hear and know that he was still alive.

He realized he was sobbing in dry, heaving gasps only when sound came rushing back to his ears, but he wasn’t sure how long he had been doing it.

“Very well,” the archdevil said, “Lift his head. I want to look him in the eyes again.”

The captain’s hands forced Oswin upward, tilting his head back to make him look up at the looming devil.

“Oswin the wizard,” the archdevil said, power already crackling in his voice in a way that seemed to bind up the air in Oswin’s lungs. “I assume there’s a surname that goes with that.”

“G-greystone, my lord,” Oswin said, the answer tearing out of him in spite of his dry mouth and aching throat, “My father was a mason, but thought to better himself, or at least our family.”

“Hmm, well, now you’ll be in service of a captain of the city guard - and of me. It seems he’ll be getting his wish.”

Oswin shuddered. The archdevil’s voice was oil-smooth, but so, so dangerous. He nodded wordlessly, knowing better than to disagree.

“Should you agree to cosign this addendum with my champion,” the archdevil continued, “You will be bound, body and soul, to his service. Your soul will be mine, to be delivered upon your permanent death. You will be marked as mine, but you will not receive any of my power, nor will you be allowed to use yours outside of your master’s orders.”

The archdevil’s mouth quirked upward into a smile. “I should warn you, wizard, this is an extremely bad deal for you. But my champion assures me that you are a genuine affront to order, and that whether you sign or not, you will be brought to heel. Or you could choose to be tortured to death. But you should know that your master’s contract with me stipulates that if you do not cooperate, he may kill you up to five times and have you returned to his care to try again. I have never seen a man strong enough to withstand being tortured to death a third time, much less a fourth. I’m afraid a bad deal is the only one you’ve got.”

Oswin’s mind swam. He was trapped again, pinned by those eyes, and he was burning, he was sure of it. His mind felt like it was caught in an earthquake, struggling to run to safety with the land bucking underneath him. Just as he took in a breath to speak, the archdevil interrupted him.

“Do not think you can make a deal of your own with me, instead, Oswin Greystone. This one likes a challenge, and he is a useful servant. I don’t make contracts with the desperate. Not worth the work of keeping an eye on them. Break his hold on you, and I will let the consequences be what they will. But try to take your soul back from me and I will destroy you where you stand. I do not have the patience to shepherd one who is reluctant.”

The captain held up a knife. “This agreement will be sealed in blood, or not at all. What do you choose, submission or death?”

The archdevil’s eyes had not left him. Gods, he was burning up. He knew with complete certainty that death, even drawn out, would mean facing this devil again, would mean those flaming eyes burning into him, that oil-slick voice talking to him, that crackling, unbearable power licking at the edges of his own, and he’d just wind up right back here again, waiting to be tortured.

What escaped his lips was a sob, and not an agreement, but the archdevil looked away, making a soft noise of satisfaction. “He chooses submission. Bring the parchment.”

[spiritualgateway]

You are your own creation

written by Steven Black:

At least since „Seth“, we all know the famous sentence: „You are the creator of your own reality. “

Fine.

But we usually overlook the most important point, namely the center of where everything happens.

OUR SELF!

The very personal kind of evaluations we make about ourselves creates our human personality. The identity as which we know and experience ourselves. This is how it manifests itself. Our stream of evaluations leads to patterns of conviction and to a certain belief structure. And with this we then identify ourselves, which sets a certain dynamic in motion through which we will attract and experience certain things.

The core of the center lies in what we believe about ourselves, how we feel about ourselves and how we think about ourselves. This in turn is closely related to what kind of experiences we have already had. And how we have then judged these experiences. If we really want to understand the phrase – „You are the creator of your own reality“ – then it is valuable if we look at the stream of evaluation that we generate about ourselves throughout our lives. Second by minute, day by week for months for years and decades.

The person we are now is the product of many years of incessant evaluations and definitions about ourselves.

Sure, before we are born, we put together a kind of blueprint – with certain character traits, talents and inclinations, in order to be able to have certain experiences. And of course, when we come to Earth, we go through an imprinting process that will activate this Blueprint. We go through education by parents and the school system, learn cultural, social and societal collective beliefs and much more. In this way we learn to think in a certain way and to classify things, circumstances, people and situations – we adopt the definitions and evaluations that have been given to us.

In fact, it is only the basic training for being human at the moment, it is not the „wisdom last resort“.

Much more important for our human experience are our judgements about ourselves – which we make again and again (mostly very unconsciously) permanently. We constantly make comparisons and constantly generate our very personal interpretations about other people, life, our experiences and ourselves. And this, of course, first on the basis of what we have been taught.

All these interpretations, evaluations and definitions flow to what we call the subconscious and bundle there into beliefs (beliefs). This is called programming; this is how a program is written – and it is we ourselves who write it. Minute by minute for hour for day, months and years.

Beliefs become a program that works continuously without us having to consciously think about things. Belief systems are automatically formed after a certain amount or load of (good or bad) evaluations we have made about our experiences. Beliefs are nothing more than a condensation of evaluation streams that accumulate within us over time.

Each one of us is a creative soul, each one creates his own reality – without exception. And we create with the highest possible commitment: with ourselves.    

However we evaluate ourselves, whatever beliefs and ideas we may develop about ourselves – we ourselves bear the consequences. Because we will then have to live this idea we have about ourselves.      

We usually believe that it is only our experiences – the good and the less good – that influence our ways of thinking and acting. This is only partly true – I mean, of course experiences shape us. But much more important for the subsequent shaping is our personal evaluation of the perceptions and experiences we have made. For an impressive imprint a certain form of meaning is necessary. Meanings do not exist „just like that“, a meaning is created by weighting. By different evaluations within a certain context and by the feeling or an emotion that co-creates this evaluation. I have to evaluate things in order for them to have a meaning for me personally. This means that the meaning that any things, situations, people, and diverse experiences have for us is co-determined and shaped by ourselves.

Of course, when we are young and inexperienced, we will usually „blindly“ follow the definitions and evaluations that we have been taught. No matter how good, healthy, disabling, limiting or valuable they are. As we get older, we will probably realize at some point how many of these are not really ours. Then, at some point, we will probably make adjustments and think differently.

For example, if we often had the experience of being criticized as a child, we will develop an „inner critic“ over time. Considering the fact that there is a psychological study that says that a child up to the age of 5 is criticized about 40,000 times, we can safely assume that almost everyone develops an „inner critic“. The „Inner Critic“ emerges as a kind of protective function for the child.

He criticizes with the „good intention“ of sparing the child further criticism, which of course does not work. The Inner Critic is usually associated with a parent’s voice or that of another important caregiver. And what they say must be true, right? We quickly make the experience that we can rarely meet the requirements and so we develop additional feelings of guilt and shame. The heard criticism, together with the emotional reaction in us, leads to an often traumatic impact in our consciousness. The more often this happened, the more often we were criticized, the more often we felt shame about it, the more a conviction structure condenses and bundles itself in us, which approximately says: You are not valuable, you are not enough, you are … blah-blah-blah. We then believe that.

The vehemence and psychological scope of this „inner critic“ may vary individually, but the point is: You create a thought form that will accompany you and tell you unpleasant things about yourself until you start to stop and find a way to stop it. Because – you are hitting yourself …

In eastern spiritual traditions the „monkey mind“ has been blamed for centuries. The „stupid (monkey) mind“ that just does what it wants – as if it had its own life and its own decisions that have nothing to do with you. The solution to this problem was then – just don’t judge anymore. This is in my eyes a very immature idea, because the mind has no own ideas and no own consciousness – it is a function, like a kind of operating system, which does, repeats and executes what WE have given it to work. Our brain works with what it is offered.

And if we keep making devaluations about ourselves, what will keep coming up?

No matter how much other people may criticize you. No one can criticize you as badly, rob you of your own value and strength as you rob yourself. The consequence of this will be that we will be plagued by countless fears, physical tensions and insecurities – which will of course also be triggered by the outer world. The outer world always reflects our inner world in a special way. If you get criticism from the outside, it will most likely bring up the old shame inside you, which reflects the conviction that you are worth nothing. This in turn will throw up another chain of self-critical thoughts, which are usually suppressed as quickly as possible.      

As long as we are still unconscious, we will devalue the other and call him an asshole because he makes us feel that way. But it really hits us, because deep inside of us there is a conviction that correlates – even if only a little – with this criticism. That’s why it hurts, because something in us says – that’s right. No matter how wrong that may be. It is inside of us. The person in question may still be an asshole, but he is not responsible for how I feel about it. The statements trigger and activate the content, which we ourselves have already evaluated countless times in this or similar ways (for whatever reason) and also hide it from ourselves. If this is touched, it hurts. If we had no subject with it, it would not hurt so much.

But you only check it after you have worked your ass off on your topic. Not before – as long as we are only focused on the outer world and its dynamics, we are more likely to make classifications and evaluations that are based on a victim and perpetrator spiral. Me, the poor victim and the evil perpetrator.

Sure, from the outside it looks the same in its EFFECT. But there is always a complex dynamic behind it that has unfolded. We can either learn something important about ourselves from it or we simply repeat and repeat and repeat this dynamic. And we will repeat it if we are not aware of it.        

I know this has been a very strong example of how you create your own reality. An example that can show us that the esoteric idea that everyone creates their reality quasi-consciously is quite unrealistic. We create a lot of unconscious dynamics and weird behaviors because at some point we just didn’t know better. Because basically nobody taught us how to deal with ourselves. And so it is in most cases, life is based on trial and error dynamics when we know very little about how our own system operates.

As long as we do not deal with our own consciousness and inner world, we simply take for „God-given“ who we are and how we think about ourselves. So much mindfuck accumulates there and also the images and ideas we have about relationships, success, money, politics and thousands of other ideas are based on various evaluations and definitions that we have very rarely questioned. Most of the time they simply do not apply (anymore).

As you can see, we are actually deep inside the topic of „self-love“ (whatever that may mean).

Namely: How do I deal with myself?    

How we think about ourselves, how we evaluate ourselves and how we feel with ourselves has an enormous importance for our personal development. It also has a great influence on which connections our brain synapses develop, which ones we expand or whether some of them are broken at all. The state of our brain and all its connections correlate closely with our thoughts and emotions, as well as our actions.      

The axis of meaning

We cannot do without ratings!

I have to rate something as great, exciting, important, boring, euphoric, insignificant, desirable, aborting, likeable, good or bad (etc; etc.) in order for it to have this meaning for me at all. Through evaluations, like „yes, I like“ or „no you, don’t bother“. Evaluations, how difficult or easy the respective situation is or was for us to cope with. Ratings, how to deal with it in the future – acceptance, affirmation or avoidance. These evaluations are made on the basis of permanent comparisons between past and present. And they are extrapolated to future developments.  This feeds our expectations of how things will happen in the future …

As mentioned above, there are of course also meanings whose context has been shaped by other people or society. Because they are simply taken over and regarded as „given facts“. Every meaning has a kind of weight. How heavy it is depends on how important we consider those who taught and taught us various meanings. But a really strong weight they get from us, if it really concerns us and we make an experience about it. Until then, it has more of an abstract meaning, the weight of which has been shaped by others.

The weighting of a meaning is usually only given when we have experience with it and have repeatedly given the same or at least similar evaluations of it. OR relatively quickly, as soon as we are violently „hit“ by an emotional wave – positive or negative in nature.  

EMOTION IS A RESPONSE TO WHATEVER WE BELIEVE IS TRUE

Every emotion and feeling is a reflection of the energy of negative or positive judgement that we have defined and put into it. Emotions are reaction patterns that show us what we believe in. We condition the way we feel. And this means that a feeling or an emotion does not necessarily have to be true.  But it feels very, very true. Sometimes so true, so devastating, depressing and depressingly true that you get stuck in it for a long time. You can also forget about the highly praised „gut feeling“ – because that too is based on resonances that have a connection to any kind of meaning and judgement. Sometimes they are correct, sometimes they are just avoidance, rejection or fear. Also „gut feeling“ is something you can only rely on if you are emotionally relatively clear.

Emotions contain a certain definition, the core of which is a wide range of evaluations that have formed into a conviction. This is the origin, the root of all emotions and also the reason why emotions can sometimes be violent and so overwhelming. The content cascade of countless mental and emotional evaluations is so extensive that we can feel overwhelmed by the respective charge of emotion. Emotions are the first and fastest reaction of our system to flush content – i.e. information from the subconscious – upwards. Imagine if all the thoughts and evaluations we have ever made on a topic suddenly appeared in our waking consciousness – I think that would be much more confusing.

That is why I never tire of emphasizing the value of feeling work. When I am „buried“ by emotional things, I sit down and sit with the emotion – I follow it to the center of (my own) hell. At some point the tangle of meaning unravels and I understand the definition behind it. And then I have the opportunity to see – is this now REALLY true? If so, is it still true now? Very often there are unresolved issues that reach far back into childhood. An emotion that hits you now can be an original situation or experience from childhood, with all the definitions given to it, some of which have – even if only slight – similarities to the current situation. The similarity is enough to trigger the emotional field.

Knowing the definition allows me to make a new assessment – either to reinforce and respond to it or to add a new perspective. This allows me to update my emotional content and my evaluation stream. In order for this to work, I have to sit with the emotion in question until it is halfway discharged. Charge = all of the given evaluations and received feelings. Sometimes this happens quickly, sometimes it can take months or even years. If energy has been put into something for years, it does not dissolve overnight.

Our assessments are rarely made by purely cognitive, logical or clear, sober conclusions alone. We judge situations not only by factual and cognitive criteria, but also how we feel about them. How we feel with it in turn directly reflects our underlying thoughts and beliefs. And the respective emotional perception will in turn lead to certain thoughts and evaluations about them. In this way, our beliefs are condensed. All of this flows incessantly into our „subconscious“, this is how we write our story.

We not only evaluate, we also evaluate our evaluations and our emotions in addition. This reinforces the whole pattern even more. So most of our evaluations have become „self-runners“. We do not question them. They simply continue.

We evaluate almost every perception, every thought, every feeling, every emotion:

The sky is blue – feels good. It is raining – rather bad. It is hot – shit. It is cold – shit. I have to go to work – fuck. The neighbor – is friendly, sexy, annoying, exhausting, cheeky, creepy – whatever. I am in a relationship – super. I’m in a relationship – my god, what was I thinking? A look in the mirror shows – I’m too thin, too fat, too big, too small, have too big/small breasts, have too little/too many muscles, everyone else looks better/worse than me.

I like Rock ’n Roll music/all brass music lovers are morons. Classical music is for snobs. My boyfriend/girlfriend has left me – my god, it feels so shitty/ jeez, I’m so glad about that. I have no money in the bank – my life is boring. I have no money in the bank – at least I don’t have any debts.

There are thousands of different evaluations we make about ourselves and things. The beliefs we have accumulated over the course of our lives are so deeply rooted in us that we are not even aware of them. This happens so fast within us that we are very, very rarely consciously aware of it. We simply take them as a given reality and overlook the fact that we ourselves formed this reality. With our evaluations we condition our personal reality and the kind of person we are. How we evaluate ourselves forms the personality we perceive ourselves as. The personality that we are attracts certain experiences because of their belief patterns. So yes, we all create our own reality …

As we evaluate, so do things appear to us. No matter what kind of beliefs we have, they tend to confirm themselves. We always find confirmation of what we believe.

Of course, we always have the choice to say – „well, I don’t like my reality and I’m going to sit in my corner defiantly, it’s not my fault“. Mostly, however, life forces us to continue learning, to adapt and to change. Sometimes in an absolutely unpleasant way – through pain, trauma or we are confronted with difficult diseases. With everything that gives us the opportunity to pause and realize that we have to go INSIDE to face the many challenges of human existence. Mostly we will only emerge stronger if we redefine ourselves.

No matter why we get stuck in something – we ourselves are the root. Only from there change can happen. If we do not change ourselves, our life, our reality, cannot change.

Alright! Then I just start to think differently!

Good luck with it.

Will not work.

Forget it!

I mean, if you don’t have a big issue with it, if you don’t have a serious emotional charge attached to it – then, yes, it can work. At least it’s a small start. But if that’s not the case, you will just have many and long „discussions“ and arguments against one of your „inner voices“. You will not win this fight this way. This is war with yourself and will only aggravate your inner condition.

Our evaluations are a decision from which perspective we choose to see things. Of course, this means that we can make and give other, new decisions, i.e., new evaluations regarding EVERYTHING. But as long as we have not discharged „the old“, as long as we are not clear about the definitions we have made – about whatever – we will be maltreated by the „old stuff“ of our old creation. That is the incredible power we have, we make LIVING and experiencing what we believe. And what we believe in, comes about through our very personal stream of evaluation.      

The experience of our human personality is a flowing process that is never really complete, because there are so many possibilities and perspectives that we can experience ourselves again and again. We are not a rigid, fixed matter – it sometimes only appears that way. There is a lot of room to readjust or change that. It is possible to make new, better, clearer evaluations about ourselves. But sometimes this is one of the hardest transformation processes one can undergo.

Refine your inner world and you refine your reality

Basically we are never „finished“ unless we stop learning.

Until next time same station

DISCLAIMER:

Nothing you read here is THE truth. It is my truth, my perception and how I see things – now, in this moment.

THE INFORMATION SPACE

[taurianskies7]

This could sound a little weird but what happens if a person does not follow the traits of the sign one's NN is assigned in birth chart yet at the end of their life die peacefully and having a satisfactory feeling of completing your goals and destiny? What if they choose to follow some other sign traits? Like if they want to conquer the sign one's Saturn is sitting in. What will happen to the individual at the end of their life? I hope my question is making sense. Apologies.

Interesting.

I understand, dealing with abstract and out there concepts is something my brain loves to do, so don't worry about it.

I think it comes within the determinism and free will argument a little bit. Firstly, by accepting or trying to understand astrology, you have to look at it with a perspective that it calls for fated elements, however someone else pointed out (and I agree), while there is certain events that are bound to happen, it is not as fatalistic or set in stone as others make it out to be, lol.

And also a general understanding of how different aspects of a chart works. You have to keep in consideration, that while each and every placement has an interpretation, the chart works as a whole and it is an interconnected makeup of You. Basically.

Putting these two in mind. I think you're taking NN as a life path/destiny thing, right? Something that the soul wants to complete in this lifetime/a desire that it wants to fulfill? North Node can described more as something the soul really wants to have that feels very new and unique and is more focused on the material in a way,, it's the nodes of the moon, so there is a more emotional and subconscious connotation to NN, I have to say though, while the path of moksha is releasing desires of any earthly quantities, I haven't actually seen anyone be so entirely willing to ignore their NN? There is a reason their north node is the way it is, and often times, it can act like a magnetic force to pull them closer. Like, it's something they want deep within themselves but it is it's own struggle to get because it's something different than you had before. But regardless, yeah, you can arguably still be satisfied without feeding a dime to your North Node and die happy, but that also depends on your chart makeup.

If you don't have a chart that is more inclined to repaying karmic debts, serving the society and the mass (Saturn themes), or relinquishing desire itself, you will be far less inclined to ignore your NN, and it will likely always persist as urges within yourself. Regardless of what anyone says, humans are emotional beings who make decisions according to our urges, and everything needs to be right in order for it to work as such.

I can see it happening if one's Saturn or other planets is ever-dominant, where you are inclined both emotionally and environmentally to focus on certain themes or planets in your life more.

This is sort of a funny question to ask, because North Node isn't exactly goals or destiny? It's more like an insatiable emotional desire that requires you to balance both nodes to properly satisfy. Leaning into too much SN or too much NN is both seen as a detriment.

If you're looking to see your destiny and goals for this life, your rising and its lord placement is your bet best.

It's funnier because I personally see astrology as, while free will allowing for the making and breaking of karma, also shows the urges and situations that will eventually cause you to face the thing that you were supposed to, or go through the things you were supposed to, and to escape from it entirely is a completely different spiritual hurdle.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “Animal Planet.”

I had the sudden desire to do one of those documentary style episodes today, so that is what you are going to get. This will probably have one or more episodes, but it should be fun. Hope you all like :)

“Ok, ok ok, everyone listen up!... QUIET DOWN PLEASE…. Ok very very good. Now we have been cordially invited to interact with a very special group while they are being quartered here on our planet.”

“Don’t you mean you pestered begged and threatened?”

“You know what, you, you can shut up.”

‘Why are we doing this anyway. Humans aren’t all that interesting anymore?” 

“That is where you are wrong! Universe-wide opinion polls state that, behind the drama with the LFIL, humans at large and the most sought after topic in the galaxy. My other sources tell me that only 5% of the galactic population has ever even seen a human. You should read some of the rumors about them, it is quite stimulating. 

“How did you even get this to work?”

“The humans seem to want good PR as much as we want good entertainment. Alright everyone! GET YOUR CAMERAS READY!” “Do you want us to turn on the translation software?” 

“No, of course not, well for everyone accept humans.”

“Why.”

“Well the public won’t exactly get a great thrill from them if they think they are intelligent speaking creatures now will they.”

“But they are?” 

“Shut up, and get ready.” 

“Three….. two ….. One.” 

“HELLO EVERYONE! I am Mendex of the Tesraki, and today on my journey through the universe to meet some of the most dangerous species known to the galaxy, I have taken a stop back on my own planet for a rare opportunity. Now my researchers have come up with a few statistics I would like to share with you before we begin. According to intergalactic poles only five percent of the universal population has ever met, in person, one of these creatures. Number two, since their introduction, these creatures have been the cause for a 15% incline in death rate and a .2% drop in life expectancy for your average dweller of the GA. They can digest metal,, and reports say that they evolved to run their prey to death….. A slow death towards exhaustion.”

The camera pans slowly over the face of the Mendex, his light brown fur accented by a scruffy red scarf around his neck. They are walking up a grassy pathway, though the grass comes in shades of purple and blue instead of green.

“Now as I said before, I have been given a rare opportunity to interact with these creatures in their own environment. Now based on the concerns of some of my producers, we will not be allowed to go in alone, but have connected with an Expert who will take us through safety. Now as I understand it, this expert has left society to spend entire swaths of time with these creatures. He claims to have been incorporated into their pack and has enough social standing with them that he will be able to protect us while we interact.” 

The ground grows steep for a moment as the camera moves up a hill and over the other side.

“Ah, there it is, their hive. Look at it. Now not much is known about how they build such complicated structures, but we do know that they enjoy the use of very hard sharp lines and corners. “ They trundle down another hill and towards the ship sat crouched in a field. Overhead clouds pass over the star.

“Oh, and there is our expert, waiting for us at the entrance to the hive.

The camera cuts for a second, and when it comes on the Tesraki and a Vrul are sitting side by side at the base of the hive.

“No more suspense. It is time for me to tell you what we are going to be seeing today….. HUMANS. Yes that’s right everyone, I have been given access to a human pack and the expert who has been living with them for the past few cycles now.” He turns to the Vrul sitting by his side, “Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself and your research, Docotr.”

The little creature glances up at the sun and then back towards the cameras, “Well I am Dr. Krill, and I have been working as a surgeon for as long as I can remember.” “As A surgeon, how did you end up here?” 

“Well, that is actually an interesting story. I was working at the Thevel-1 Andromeda Trauma center, when a human ship actually called in for an emergency landing. One of the humans had been involved in some sort of freak accident on board, and they required immediate medical attention, so I men them in the trauma bay, and, I will leave the details out, but as it turned out one of the humans had a metal rod logged in his brain, through the orbital socket.”

“No, you’re kidding me?”

“Not even a little. I had never seen anything like it. Accidents like that result in visits to the morgue, not the hospital, but the human was still alive, so I removed the object and watched his recovery. Now at this point I was so fascinated that I couldn’t just let them go. There was so much for me to learn.”

“So just like that, you hopped on a human ship, and went gallivanting across the galaxy.”

“I know, sounds strange every time I hear about it, hardly something I would do.”

“What was that like, first day aboard a human ship, surrounded by predators.”

“Terrifying as you might imagine. I was convinced that I was going to get eaten or worse, but of course I never did.”

“Now why don’t you tell us a little about humans.

“Well, Mendex, the first thing you should know about humans is how social they are. Humans generally require SOME contact with other humans weather it be in large group units or at least one other human that they can interact with. It is such a big deal in fact that isolation can drive a human to madness or worse. They are very perceptive to social situations, and that is what made my first day so terrifying because the humans have many social rules that are expected to be followed that just never crossed my mind.”

“And how dangerous would you say a human is?”

“Well that depends entirely on the human and the situation. If a human thinks they are in danger, they will either run or they will fight. Humans have a special hormonal response that, during times of extreme stress, can allow them to life objects up to 500% their own body weight. For most of us a human, even the weakest humans, have the ability to maim, injure or severely mutilate.” he held up a hand, “however, I am not saying that to make you wary of humans, they are generally very friendly and curious creatures, and as long as they don’t feel threatened they will at least be tolerant of you.”

“Why are humans so dangerous?”

“Well that is a funny question, it actually stems from the simple fact that humans aren't actually all that dangers…. At least not on their planet, on the basis of raw power or predatory instincts.”

“Fascinating, what do you mean by that?”

“I mean that humans were not originally a predator species, in fact they are actually pretty poor hunters compared to most everything on their planet. In fact prey animals have been known to maul humans if provoked. Humans are probably the LEAST durable species on their planet. They adapted to survive in a world where the prey animals were dangerous and the predators could decimate them with the sweep of a paw.”

“Is that why they are a pack-creature.”

“Precisely, you see, a single human has a very low likelihood of being dangerous on their own planet, but together they can hunt creatures three four five times their own size if not more. You see comparatively to other animals of their planet, humans are slow, weak, with a poor sense of smell, hearing and even sight, but they had the one thing that sentient life is known for, and that is intelligence. This intelligence allowed they to group together and create a strategy for surviving in a hostile environment. That then led them to the building of weapons and machines to the point that survival was no longer an issue, and hunting even the most dangerous of their previous predators had become laughable.” 

“That is fascinating, to think that a creature that dangerous could be so weak on their planet….. Have you met any of these other dangerous species?”

“Actually, yes/ Humans are so social and pack oriented that they have the ability to bond with non-sentient animals. They call it domestication, and it requires an animal to be, pack oriented, easy to feed, and have a short gestation period. The humans then take that animal and only allow the breeding of animals with specific desirable traits. In fact, they took a similar pack predator, and used their natural sociability to integrate them into human packs. The humans keep them as pets and began to use them as hunting partners considering their new pack member was faster, stronger, had a better sense of smell and hearing, but was now loyal to its human companions.”

“That doesn’t sound real.”

“Oh but it is. We have one aboard the ship.”

“And this creature could rip the humans apart?”

“Oh pretty easily, especially if she had the element of surprise.”

“Amazing, so what do we need to know before we get on the ship with you, you know for our safety and security.”

The doctor shifts in place. He is making a strange expression that seems unnatural for a Vrul, “Well you have to be aware that the humans have a strict hierarchy. When you get on the ship you are immediately assigned a specific sort of guest place in this hierarchy. The human pack alpha that runs the ship is higher than you as well as the betas below him and their immediate underlings. You can assume that your comfort is more important than the low ranking humans but you MAY NOT order them around since it is not your place and you have not been accepted into the pack. Generally speaking though, a human ship is a relatively safe place as long as you are polite, apologetic, and willing to do what is asked of you. Now the humans are likely to be very curious, try not to show signs of fear, but if you do they aren’t going to attack or anything. Depending on the human they may or may not gently mess with you, they may playfully try to dominate or scare you for their own amusement, but don’t worry they aren't likely to attack. Do not make any disparaging remarks or insult the humans.”

“Are humans very sensitive to verbal attacks?”

“Some are and some aren’t. In the case of insulting a human, I have found that it is not generally the human you have insulted that you should be afraid of, but the other humans around the human you have insulted. You see many humans have no issue in making an insult, but will not tolerate one directed at one of their pack members. They are very protective of each other, especially the alpha. It is also a good idea not to insult objects that belong to humans. The human bonding instinct is strong enough that they will bond to objects. So the ship for example, do not offend the ship. I made that mistake on my first day and thought the alpha was going to tear out my throat.”

There was a shifting amongst the crew.

“What are the rules on touching.”

“That is complicated, it also depends on the human. The general rule is not to go up and touch a human without permission. If a human approaches you first, you may make contact with them. Generally hands and arms are acceptable to touch though I would suggest avoiding any other part of the human anatomy for the sake of their privacy. Humans are very very serious about their personal space and their personal privacy 

“Are there any warning signs that we should be aware of, just in case.”

The doctor nodded, “Well there are a few things. Humans have a warning call they use to indicate to other humans that something is wrong, it generally indicates pain or immediate danger and is specifically designed to get attention and bring other humans to assist. This involves a high pitched sort of keening, it is very loud and very powerful, and will hurt your ears if you aren't careful. Generally though, I have only ever heard it used on a few occasions. As far as more subtle things to look at. If a human gets into a defensive posture in your direction it isn't a good sign. They will bend at the knees and have their hands up to protect their face. Their chins will be lowered to cover their necks. Another important signal to look at is the face. A frowning human could either be thinking or they could be anger. That is when the mouth sort of dips on either end like this…. Yes…. yes like that. But the important thing to look at is the eyes. The eyes will always give them away.”

“What is so important about the eyes.”

“Well, human eyes are enormously expressive. I swear by them personally. Humans have this habit of pretending one thing but meaning another, and looking at the eyes can tell you that. Eyebrows slanted down is generally a good indicator. A frown mixed with slanted eyebrows and…. Its hard to explain. If you look into the eyes and feel as if their expression could kill you, you probably want to stop doing whatever you are doing. Also sudden silence isn’t entirely a good thing either. Humans love talking to each other, there is always someone speaking, most of the tie, but if you are in an area with many humans and none of them are speaking there is either something wrong, or they have been ordered to behave that way”

“What is a good indicator of a happy human.”

“It seems strange, but showing their teeth is a good sign most of the time. A curious human is generally a happy human. They like learning and interacting with their environment, so encourage curiosity and the showing of teeth. Also there is a strange sound they make, sort of a repetitive revving noise that comes from the back of the throat or the chest. That means that the human is amused, and that should also be encouraged.”

“Alright…. Do you think we are ready.”

“I think so…. Follow me.”

The crew gets up and the feed cuts to black.

This episode will continue after the break.

[thefreakydeaky]

Call Out My Name

Part Eight Title: The Town

Characters: Negan, Reader, A stupid little prick named Rick Grimes, Garbage pail kid Daryl Dixon, Tanya and Frankie.

Summary: You belonged to him.Try as you might to pretend indifference, Negan’s very presence has awakened feelings in you that you believed had died with the old world.Is the ruthless King of the Sanctuary still human enough to fall in love?

Warnings: Language, Canon Typical Negan BS, Canon Typical Violence, A bit of gore, Angst.

Word Count: 3000

With each step you took your stomach knotted tighter in dread of the big scary u.Dealing with the unknown had always been a problem for you. When something was unknown, you were stuck waiting around to find out and in that time you could not plan for it.Upon reaching the ground floor, you saw that all of the dock doors had been pulled down. Every exit locked and blocked.The hungry rasps of the dead filled you with dread.It sounded like you were surrounded. Your eyes darted nervously about the place, from the worn and teary faces of the scared inhabitants to the hard expressions worn by the invaders.

The pounding of heavy boot steps had you swiveling your head about to find the source.

“Don’t you think of tryin’ anything.” Darryl grated.

“Get down on your knees.” He ordered gruffly.

You and the other two girls knelt on the concrete floor, waiting.

You could hear someone approaching behind you.Your breathing quickened in horrible anticipation.

“Are these his...wives?” A deep voice, asked calmly. “Carl said there were five.”

“I looked all over. Found one dead and these three."

You closed your eyes, wondering briefly who it had been.Your stomach churned.You knew what would happen next.He would hit you.He would hit you and demand to know where Sherri and Amber were.You wouldn’t have an answer, except to say you hadn’t seen them in a couple of hours.

“We’re not here to hurt you.” The man’s gentle tone was reassuring. “We’re here to free you.”

“Where is number five?” He inquired.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the man, you couldn’t bare it.

Darryl put a hand on your shoulder and shoved you forward.

“Ask her.This one was leadin’ ‘em.”

A pair of worn leather work boots stopped in front of you.The man inhaled deeply as if to calm himself.

“Are you alright?”He seemed to actually mean it.

You clenched your jaw.

He reached out and brushed his knuckles along your cheek.

You stiffened, hardening your heart for what was to come.

He tipped your face up, his index finger just under your chin.

Your eyes met his clear blue gaze.

The gasp you emitted made Tanya and Frankie turn to look at you.

“Y/n?” He sounded as astonished as you felt, almost hoarse with the shock of this revelation.

His arms were around you and squeezing you in a warm embrace before you could fully process it.

“Oh,” He kissed the top of your head.“You’re alive!”A sigh of relief escaped his throat.

Your lower lip trembled, emotion overtaking you.

Home hadn’t come to mind in a long time.Hugging him, you were transported to a different stage of your life, a different society.

“She doesn’t understand.Much as I wanna be there,I have got to put work first.We talked about this when I joined the force.Lori agreed that she should stay home and take care of Carl, that I would provide for our family. These days, I cover a late shift for another officer, get home and she starts ripping me a new one. Says everytime I’m out late I been drinkin’ with Shane.She accuses me of any wrong thing a husband can do.You name it, according to Her, I’ve done it.”

You frowned a bit at that. Lori wasn’t the best person, but she certainly wasn’t the worst. Neither of you was really in a position to judge her. Not when you were sleeping with her husband.

“Well, I’m sorry that ya’ll are goin’ through a rough patch.”Your voice sounded dejected even to you.

He closed his eyes briefly, his expression contrite.

“I’m...I’m sorry.You shouldn’t have to hear all this.I don’t know what I was thinkin’.” He kissed the top of your head in apology.

You snuggled closer, your head on his bare chest and sighed.

“It’s okay with me for you to talk about your problems.Everybody needs to vent sometime.The thing is, I feel...bad.I feel like I’m part of the problem.”

“You’re not.” He said vehemently. “Lori started accusing me of havin’ an affair long before you and I ever...”

He couldn’t bring himself to say it, his guilt wouldn’t allow it. That sat well with you. It was the least either of you could do.Admit that this temptation you’d both given into wasn’t right.

“How much do we owe you for watchin’ Carl?” He inquired with a softness in his tone that made you melt inside.

“I can’t charge you not when we’re sleeping together.It would feel like-like-“

“I get it.” He ran his hand along your side tenderly. “But I’m gonna have to pay you anyway.”

You winced.Of course he did. She would notice if suddenly there was an extra $80 bucks in their account every week. He could hide the money, save it and use it for something. but that would be one more lie he had to tell Lori. So you accepted the money and put it all in your savings account. Guilt kept you from spending it and as it turned out,you had needed that money to get yourself out of Kentucky.It had gotten you as far as Richmond,Virginia when all hell broke loose. It was there you met Charlie and the gang...

“It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” He murmured into your hair.

Darryl cleared his throat. “Are you forgetting somethin’?”

Rick looked to him questioningly.

“She’s married to a sociopath!”

“She’s...a friend” He hedged. “I know her. She would never willingly have married a man like Negan."

“I don’t care if she’s your damn aunt fanny! Her husband murdered Glenn and Abraham!” He growled and spit at your feet.

You jerked back at the insult.

“You’re not the only one that’s lost people to The Saviors.” Your voice shook as you spoke.You couldn’t bring yourself to say that it was Negan who killed Charlie.Negan had done terrible things, but he also made you feel wonderful things, now was not the time to reconcile the two.

“He killed my best friend. My co-leader,Charlie.” You told them.”He forced me to become a wife. You gestured toward Tanya.

“Her mom was terminally sick.She was suffering. He offered to get her some morphine if Tanya would become his wife.”

Rick was listening with wrapped attention, compassion in his gaze.

“Frankie,” You nodded toward the redhead. Her green eyes begged you not to tell.

You took a breath.

“She was attacked by a group of cruel and violent men. Negan and The Saviors, rescued her.The price for his help was marriage.” You hoped Amber had gotten far far away from the Sanctuary.

If your words were revealed to be untrue, you might all be killed. You had no doubt this, Darryl guy would have you strung up in a heartbeat. Quiet followed the sad tale.

“I believe you.” Rick said calmly. “I’m sorry you had to go through this.”

Your eyes filled with tears.Not because you agreed with his insinuation that your marriage to Negan was a form of torture you had undergone, but for all else you had endured since leaving Kentucky.

Darryl huffed loudly.

“What are we gonna do with Negan?” He ground out.

“Now’s not the time or place to discuss this.” Rick inclined his head, peering at Darryl over your shoulder.

“We’ll talk about it once we get them to Alexandria.”

“Fine.” The man responded.Though it didn’t sound as if he were fine with Rick’s decision at all.

Once we get them to Alexandria. He’d said.

Your heart leapt at the possibility that Rick’s them included Negan.

During the three month deliberation of Negan’s sentence, Hilltop’s Doctor Carson had informed you that your dizzy spells and drowsiness were actually pregnancy.You were elated at first, then heartbroken when you realized there was a huge chance your child would never meet it’s father.

It took pride shriveling amounts of begging and sweet talking your ex-boyfriend to get him on your side to save Negan’s life.Rick turned the majority of the council in your favor.Their final decision was that Negan would live.Your relief at hearing this was immense until you were told the terms on which his execution had been stayed.You would be delivering his sentence.

The rustling sound of soft soles walking across the dirty concrete floor reached Negan long before your tear stained face came into focus in the dim light.

“Negan.”

He kept his face blank.

“Y/n.” His voice sounded raspier to you than usual.

Your eyes scanned over him in the dark and caught on the white bandage set across his throat.

“I’m here to-“

“Do I look like I give a shit?” He glared over your shoulder at Darryl.”You people are ridiculous.Five women to choose from and you send the one I regret ever setting eyes on.Nice.”

You glanced over at Darryl.He looked supremely unimpressed.

“That isn’t true and you know it.” You wet your lips with your tongue.

“You get the fuck away from me right fucking now.”

You took a shaking breath and tried to hold back the tears.A sobbing emotional mess was the last thing either of you needed at the moment.

You held your wrists up where he could see the restraints the council demanded you wear at all times.

You felt sorry for him.This was going to hurt both of you immensely, but if you didn’t do as you’d been asked, he would be getting a hell of a lot worse than a life sentence.

He turned away from you, unable to bear the sight.

“You’re wasting your fucking time.I am not fucking talking to you.”

“You don’t have to say anything, just listen.” You inhaled slowly and held it, to steady yourself for the pain to come.

“I’m not married to you.I wasn’t ever married to you.You manipulated, scared, and threatened me into submitting to you.”

He stiffened.

“You are a power hungry, sociopath who took advantage of my weakness and the weaknesses of many others-“

“Weakness? You?” He scoffed.

“-you brain washed us like some kinda deranged cult leader.I don’t love you.I never loved you and neither did any of the other wives.”You spat the word at him.

He laughed bitterly.

“I did what had to be done to keep all of you alive, if that makes me the fucking bad guy then fuck it.”

“Don’t you dare laugh!”You cried glaring at his back. "Do you have any idea how many people had to die because of you?Do you have any remorse for the pain you’ve caused? The lives you’ve taken?”

He turned to look at you then. From Negan’s surprised expression, the tears streaming down your face must really be selling it.

“You know I don’t.”He frowned, uncertainty in his tone.

“I hate you!”

“Hate me? For what?” He huffed.

“For everything you took from me! For everything you did to me!”

“You sure seemed to like what I did to you. Used to beg me to keep doing those things to you...But don’t you worry, Baby. I’m sure you’ll be getting your retribution soon enough.”

He crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

You sniffed, choked down a sob and prepared for the grand finally.You stepped right up to the bars.Eyeing you wearily, he moved slowly towards you.

“Kiss me.” Your voice was a low whisper.

The reluctance in his gold flecked eyes unsettled you, made what was to come that much harder.

He leaned in and through the bars pressed his dry lips to yours. He closed his eyes, reveling in your proximity, the familiar intoxicating taste of you.You fought to keep still, to appear unaffected. It took him longer to realize that you weren’t participating, than you thought it would.

He pressed his forehead to yours.

“I love you, Y/n.” He declared, breathing harshly. “Don’t you forget it.”

You raised one eyebrow attempting to seem aloof.

“You have been sentenced to life imprisonment.You’ll have all the time in the world to reflect on the atrocities you committed.It’s a fitting punishment for what you’ve done. Wouldn’t you say?"

He smiled sadly.

“I would much rather die, but they know that, don’t they?”

“Mhmm..”

He held you as best he could.

“They don’t have any mercy to spare where I’m concerned...Why’d they send you to tell me?”He wondered out loud.

You pulled away, taking a few steps backwards, so he could see you fully.You placed your hands on your stomach in that soft maternal way, the sick fucks had told you to do.

His face fell.

“I’m expecting.”

“No, no no no no.”

“Oh yes...but don’t worry.My baby will have a father.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Do you remember those little chats we used to have?”

He nodded, hanging on your every word.

“I told you about the man I was seeing, the cop with the bright blue eyes...”

Negan shook his head in denial.

“Fate has brought him back into my life. Can you believe that? I mean what were the chances, that the man to take you down, would be the only man that I have ever loved, Rick Grimes?”

Negan dropped to his knees. His eyes were wide pools of vulnerability.

“Have a nice life. I know I will.” You turned away.

Darryl gave you a begrudging nod of approval on your way out.

You’d never hated yourself as much as you did in that moment.

[milfbailorgana]

I posted it 

The urge to nest had been bothering Han for almost a week now. He knew, in the back of his head, that the urge meant he was in preheat, but he really wasn’t going to let himself hide in the Falcon for a week, pretending like he didn’t have things to do.

But the urge was overwhelming now. Han could feel it gnawing at the pit of his stomach, along with the beginnings of his heat; the feeling was a restless anxiety and restless urge to do something.

Huffing and getting up from where he was meant to be relaxing in the captain’s chair after fixing some faulty wiring in the Falcon’s cooling system, he walked down the corridor and pulled up the cover to one of the smuggling compartments with a grunt. It was empty, not having seen much use since he joined the rebellion. A little dusty but otherwise clean. Hidden. Safe.

Han dropped his pillow and blanket into the hole. If this is where Han’s hindbrain wanted him to spend his heat, who was Han to deny it. He’d come a long way from Corellia and Qi’ra and their singular bunk where anyone could walk in on her helping him through his heat, but it seemed his mind still hadn’t adjusted to the fact he was safe here. Well, as safe as one could be, in the rebellion.

Chewie was somewhere else on the base, which meant Han could raid his room. He wasn’t sure if it was unusual for an omega to want the scents of many different people around them, even non-humans, but his nests always felt the best when he could smell his family all around him. He grabbed Chewie’s blanket and pillow, standing for a minute to debate taking the fitted sheet but deciding against it. It was too much of a hassle and he had two new scents to add to his nest this heat, he would be fine without it.

He pressed his face into the pillow to take a deep inhale of Chewie’s scent, reveling in the familiar smell. Chewie smelled like motor oil and fur and something else that was distinctly Wookiee. It was what home had smelled like for the last ten years. Sighing, Han dropped Chewie’s things into the compartment and contemplated when he had last taken his birth control. It wasn’t yesterday, and certainly not the day before, but if he took two today, he’d be fine, right? It almost made Han long for his days in the imperial navy, where he was kept on heat suppressants, but he shuddered remembering how bad the heat afterward had been. Without Qi’ra he’d had to go to Lando, cramping and feeling slick drip down his thighs, hoping the man wouldn’t take advantage of him.

Grabbing Lando’s things was easy. He had never cleaned out his closet after Han took his ship and even though those clothes were almost ten years old by now, Lando liked to leave Han a shirt or cape whenever they spent time together. Whether Lando knew he brought them into his nest during heats or just left them around to mark his territory was unimportant; Han was grateful. Not that he’d ever tell Lando that. He grabbed the lilac cape that had been hung up in the closet a few months ago and pressed it to his nose, breathing in the scent of linen and something smoky that always followed Lando around before tossing it into the smuggling compartment.

Now, getting Luke and Leia’s scents in his nest would be more tricky. Neither of them stayed on the Falcon, and Han didn’t exactly know where they were staying, let alone their room codes. Plus, walking around the rebellion base smelling like he did was not Han’s idea of a good time.

His scent suppressants had gone missing over a tenday ago. Well— missing was relative. Chewie could probably find them if Han bothered to ask him to look, but his pride and the assurances he’d made to his hairy friend that ‘yes, I am going off my scent suppressors willingly, I think being drug free would be good for my system’ with his fingers crossed behind his back meant that wasn’t possible. Curse past him and his procrastination problem.

Comming Luke wouldn’t be a problem. Han was sure the beta would lend him a jacket or blanket or something if it would help Han through his heat, but the princess was a different story. She’d started giving him looks ever since he’d come off his scent suppressants and she had finally noticed he was an omega. If Han really thought about it, the looks might be about the fact he was in preheat and ignoring it, but it could just as easily be that as her thinking him less capable than another alpha or beta. Han wasn't very inclined to believe that someone who called Chewie a walking carpet on first introduction wasn’t probably a bigot in another way.

He rumbled in frustration— a noise he’d picked up from Chewie— stomping back to his room. He pulled out the stack of blankets Chewie had gotten him when they had first gotten the Falcon, just in case Han wanted to nest like a good omega should, rather than shacking up with a rando he’d picked up at a bar. If Han was honest with himself, he’d always preferred the heats he had on the Falcon. The familiar setting calmed something inside of him and Lando— the only alpha Han had ever let fuck him on the Falcon— was, admittedly, a good alpha. Too bad he was playing by the rules now. Not to mention, the last time they’d talked was... not pretty.

Han threw the blankets into the smuggling compartment and lowered himself inside after them. The compartment wasn’t exactly tall— the walls only came up to his armpits when he stood— but whatever his hindbrain wanted, Han was going to have to provide. Setting up a nest was never something Han had been particularly good at. His nests never looked pretty or elegant or clean, but he made them work. Arranging the blankets and pillows around the compartment in whatever order would appease his omega brain, Han contemplated what lay ahead. Usually in this situation, Han would be flying to a seedy bar on a seedy planet to for a seedy alpha to fuck him. Unfortunately, a snowstorm had come in the night before and was forecast to last at least a week and there was no way anyone was granting Han clearance to take off.

And the alternative: fucking someone on base. He’d considered it, of course he had, but it was completely off the table. Han had a policy: there was no way in hell he was going to fuck anyone he might have to talk with again later. It just led to knothead alphas feeling entitled to his body and Han wasn’t doing that again.

So here he was. Sitting in one of the Falcon’s smuggling compartments, getting ready to ride his heat out with nothing but toys. It certainly wasn’t any omega’s favorite way to spend a heat but it wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before. With the way he never tracked his heats and Chewie doing his best to make sure Han didn’t sleep with any shady people, Han had weathered multiple heats with just a knotting dildo and his fingers.

Flopping down once his nest was as complete as it was going to get for now, he pressed his face into the closest blanket. It was one of his designated nesting blankets so he couldn’t smell anything but Han assumed it probably smelled like him. He’d been told during a heat once that he smelled like delicate jogan fruits and honey, and since Han wasn’t exactly going to ask someone what he smelled like— nor had he ever actually smelled a jogan fruit— he supposed that was the best he was going to get.

Han climbed out of his nest and traipsed into his bedroom, where his compad and birth control were.

The birth control was easy. Han took three from the bottle and dry swallowed them. That should make up for his missed days, right?

The compad was harder. How was he supposed to write this message to Luke? ‘Hi, I’m horny and needy and I just need your jacket so I can sit next to it and feel safe whilst I get myself off’? It was stupid.

Han flopped on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He’d never had to do anything like this before. He’s never had a group of people he could almost call a pack. As much as being in the rebellion made him nervous (one of Jabba’s goons could pop up any time to take back what the Hutt was owed) the people here were some of the best Han had ever met. It wasn’t exactly a high bar, as a street rat turned imperial soldier turned smuggler, but the kindness he had been shown in his few months in the rebellion was nice, even if Han didn’t think it was deserved most of the time.

Han could feel the beginnings of heat gnawing at the pit of his stomach. Soon he would be slick and open and wanting. He didn’t have time to put this off.

He groaned and opened the device, finding Luke’s contact

H.Solo: hey kid

H.Solo: you know that jacket I lent you for the ceremony?

H.Solo: the yellow one?

H.Solo: I need it back for something

H.Solo: pretty urgently

It was seconds before he got a reply from Luke

L.Skywalker: of course!

L.Skywalker: I'm glad you messaged me now, I’m about to start combat practice with my squadron

L.Skywalker: Leia should be free, I’ll ask her to bring it to you

Kriff.

H.Solo: Kid

H.Solo: You don’t need to do that

H.Solo: I’ve got it under control, actually

But it seemed Luke had already started his training.

He really didn’t need that temptation around. Leia, who smelled like leather and something earthy that was unidentifiable to Han. He wasn’t sure there was any scent better than it. In his weaker moments Han could admit to wanting to press his face into her neck and drown in her smell, and this was certainly one of his weaker moments.

But as much as he wanted her, Han couldn’t let himself. Whenever he let an alpha with any power over him into one of his heats it always ended up with he and Chewie being blackmailed and Han having to do things he didn’t want to. Han would stick to fucking strangers he picked in bars, thank you very much, even if it dissapointed Chewie.

Han whined in the back of his throat and got up to pace. There was no way he could let Leia see him in this state.

Taking deep breaths to calm himself down— Leia didn’t need to be smelling a distressed omega along with one going into heat— Han left his room and walked back to the smuggling compartments, tugging the metal cover back over his nest.

Moving to the ‘fresher, Han took a moment to stare at himself in the mirror. His face was flushed and his hair was messy. He looked exactly how he felt: hot and out of control. It was a look Han wore a lot whilst working on the Falcon, though, so Han hoped he wouldn’t look too bad.

There was no way to disguise his scent, but Han hoped if he looked out together enough, Leia would assume he had a plan for his heat beyond fucking himself on a toy.

Alphas love to butt their heads in where they don’t belong, especially if they think it’s good for an omega, and the princess was definitely one of those righteous types.

Han froze from where he was trying to tidy up his hair when he heard the entrance ramp to the Falcon being lowered. Kriff. Either Chewie was back or Luke had given Leia the code for his ship. Either way Han wasn’t particularly enthused.

Straightening his shirt to make himself look as presentable as possible, he walked to the ramp, clearing his throat loudly. “Entering someone’s ship without knocking is rude, you know? I could’ve been naked”

[rayghosts]

wingman

"So, which one am I talking to?" Holly asked, looking up at the human boy stepping out of the shuttle.

The human smirked and answered, "The dreamier one."

Holly sighed and rolled her eyes. "Hey, Orion."

"So you admit I'm the dreamier one?"

"If the dream is a nightmare, maybe," Holly muttered. She craned her head around his body to look at the empty shuttle behind him. "No Butler?"

"Ah, Butler," Orion began dramatically, and Holly groaned as she realized he was about to burst into poetry again.

"Such a fine and loyal knight. He is as sturdy and reliable as a mountain, but alas, mountains are not meant to be buried in small spaces. He suffocates under the pressure of walls closing in around him, both metaphorical and physical."

"You're saying he has claustrophobia?"

"What is claustrophobia? Is that a fear of San D'Klass?"

Holly shook her head. "Let's just get you to the clinic," she said.

"As you say, my princess."

"Don't call me that."

"As you say, my...Holly."

As they walked, a fair number of heads turned their way. The sight of a human in Haven tended to do that. At least it wasn't nearly as much attention as when Artemis first started his therapy; by now, most fairies had gotten used to seeing him or his alter around.

The majority steered clear of the pair, except for one. A goblin came close and brushed against Holly, and suddenly, her pocket felt lighter.

"Hey!" she called out and turned around to catch the pickpocket, but the reptilian individual had already gotten on all fours and was fleeing swiftly.

She wasn't sure if Orion was aware of the theft or not, but as soon as he saw her angry, a scowl adorned his own features, and he ran after the goblin yelling, "Return at once, you evildoer!" He didn't reach far before Holly pulled him back.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked her, "The dragonborn is getting away!"

Holly didn't bother correcting him on the species. She pursed her lips and watched the goblin escape while her brain made a split second decision. She was supposed to be escorting the boy to Argon's clinic, but she couldn't just let the thief get away with her wallet. Even if Orion was more nimble than Artemis, Butler would kill everyone and then himself if she got a scratch on him, so she made up her mind.

"Stay here," she ordered Orion. "I'll be right back."

"Then I shall eagerly await your return," the boy called after her while she pursued the thief.

He obediently stayed and watched her turn a corner and disappear from sight. His wait lasted for about ten seconds before he got bored and began to wander around.

A draft of wind piqued his curiosity. He followed its source and gasped. "What majestic wings you have!" he exclaimed, looking at the sprite flapping his wings before him.

"Thanks," the sprite replied goodnaturedly, turning around to face him. As soon as he saw who the speaker was, the fairy's smile vanished, and he hovered back nervously. "A human! You must be him--Artemis Fowl!"

"My green-skinned compadre, you are mistaken," Orion informed him. "While I do share his face, I am not Artemis. I am his more chivalrous alter ego, Orion Fowl."

The sprite landed on the ground with a frown. "Oh, yeah. Atlantis Complex. I've heard."

"Correct. El Complex Atlantis. A disorder that sounds like it might also be the title of a very catchy song." He inclined his head and asked, "What about you? By what name shall I adress you by?"

"Chix," the sprite introduced himself. "Chix Verbil."

"Chix Verbil," Orion repeated. "You must be an excellent flyer with those wings."

Chix's expression turned sad, and he sighed. "Not really," he admitted, rubbing his wing. "At least, not anymore."

Orion noticed the coarse circle on the sprite's wing. "That spot..."

"A scar," Chix confirmed. "My wing got torn a few years back. It's healed, but never the same." Another sigh. "The ladies used to love it..."

Orion's expression hardened. "Now, that's just nonsense," he said. "Scars should not detract from your physical charm. They are the signs of a warrior's journey! If anything, they make you more appealing to the females."

Obviously, the praise was enjoyed by Chix, but he still raised a sceptical eyebrow. "You know a thing about ladies?"

Orion smiled and replied, "I consider myself the proud owner of all Artemis's smoothness potential. By the way, have you done something with your skin? It looks especially emerald today."

Chix chuckled, pleased, and fluttered his wings. "Wow. You're way more likeable than the other you."

Orion's smile fell, and he sighed wistfully. "If only Holly thought the same."

"Holly?" Chix prodded. "The cute Recon babe?"

"She is, indeed, what one would call a cute babe," Orion agreed, sitting on the ground so he and Chix could be at the same level. "Sadly, as much as it causes my heart despair, she does not love me back."

"That's understandable. Holly's a tough catch. I've worked with her for a while, and she was always too much of a prude to go out with me."

"You take that foul word back," Orion said passionately, pointing an angry finger at Chix's face. "Holly should not be pressured into any kind of date. She is perfect enough existing and exuding beauty by her own."

"You're right," Chix said, sounding remorseful. "I shouldn't have said that about her. She did save my life."

"She saves many lives," Orion said, his expression returning to its wistfulness. "An elegant princess, yet such a fierce warrior at the same time."

Chix smirked. "You have a thing for her?"

Orion's reaction was to become somber. "I have long ago accepted that she does not return my feelings," he said. "I only wish she does not hate me."

"Woah, hey, she couldn't hate you," Chix said, eyes wide.

"She does," Orion insisted. "She only cares about Artemis. I am nothing but an annoyance." He slumped. "It is not my fault Artemis is too anxious of our Complex to come out."

"I know Holly. She doesn't hate anyone," Chix argued. "Maybe she's just annoyed because you come off too strong. Girls prefer a tease."

Orion frowned. "Why would anyone tease emotions? I tell my feelings as they are. Though, it does not matter. Even if my awesome and beautiful warrior princess did like me back, Artemis would never approve of pursuing anything with her." He looked at his feet--Artemis's feet--and added, "I understand why. My existence is not eternal. Once Artemis is healed, I will be gone forever."

Chix remained awkwardly quiet. His wings twitched nervously as he wondered what comforting thing he could possibly say.

"That's a big oof from me," he ended up saying, which wasn't a comforting thing.

"Indeed," Orion agreed. "A fail gamer moment for me."

Chix patted his arm. "Hey, I'm sure you can find someone to love before you disappear," he said and shrugged. "I mean, there's plenty of other fish in the sea who would totally love your smooth flirting. Some Artemis might even approve of."

Orion mulled over this for a moment, then slowly nodded. "You're right," he said, his conviction strengthening. "Perhaps none as beautiful as Holly, but if Artemis wants any chance at romantic love, he needs my help. Gods know he's hopeless by himself."

Chix laughed. "That's the spirit," he said, nudging his shoulder.

Orion smiled. "And you, my winged friend. You do not need excellent flight to find a match for you in heaven."

"Wow, you really are smooth," Chix said, a dark green blush dusting his cheeks.

The call of Orion's name brought both males' attention around to Holly, who was coming their way. "There you are," she said to the human as she approached. "I thought I told you not to move."

"Holly," Orion greeted enthusiastically. "My beautiful prin..." He caught her expression and quickly amended, "My friend."

Hearing that from him made Holly smile, which in turn made Orion happy. The elf noticed Chix and greeted, "Hey, Verbil. How's that wing doing?"

Chix hovered a few inches off the ground and smiled. "It's doing great."

Holly met Orion's eyes and gestured with her head. "Well? You coming?"

Orion stood to leave, but Chix quickly said, "Yo, dude--I liked talking with you. Maybe we should exchange contact information. You know, just to chat."

Orion grinned and responded, "I would love that."

Holly looked between the two of them, her eyebrows raised. "You two are friends?" A second later, she hastily added, "Never mind, I don't want to know."

Orion winked at Chix. "I believe we would make excellent wingmen to each other."

"You would," Holly said, and the scary thing was that she meant it.

[wistfulcynic]

The Eternal and Unseen (2 of 3)

(there is additional chapter art from the amazing @carpedzem​ further down, I just wanted to use this one again because I love it so ❤️❤️❤️❤️)

SUMMARY: Misthaven University is an ancient place, and as all ancient places do it guards some secrets. Secrets such as Emma Swan and Killian Jones, a fae princess and her royal guardian, whose true identities are well concealed behind the guise of average college students—if not quite well enough to foil the plot their enemies have hatched against them. Now their friends will have to come together, putting their own differences aside to battle an enemy that threatens them all—fae and vampire and werewolf together… plus one very baffled human named David.

For @cssns​

a/n: This chapter fought me every step of the way, and it’s a beast at nearly 9k. Settle in, and I hope it doesn’t disappoint. All manner of love and adulation to @thisonesatellite​ for being the rock she is, and to @ohmightydevviepuu​ and @katie-dub​ for their brilliance and encouragement. And @spartanguard​ and @optomisticgirl​ for the prompts that this monster of a fic now barely resembles, but hey what can you do? 

Finally, please everyone flail like mad at @carpedzem​ and her perfect eye for detail and characterisation in the art for this chapter: 

(WHAT’S IN THE BEAKER, YOU ASK? LET’S FIND OUT)

AO3 | Tumblr part one 

-

CHAPTER TWO: 

The sunlight shone through the window and right on his face, bright and warm, though not enough of either to wake him up. It was Harriet who managed to rouse him, finally, after several minutes spent stroking his forehead with her fronds and patting his cheek with her leaf. When this produced no effect aside from some incoherent muttering and limp attempts to push her leaf away, the plant rustled with a botanical sigh and gave him a sharp smack upside the head. With her thorns out. 

“Ow!” cried Killian, jerking into abrupt and painful consciousness. “What the bloody hell—Harriet! Lass, I thought we were friends.” 

Harriet smacked him again. 

“Oi, seriously! What—” He broke off as Harriet unfolded her larger leaves from where they had been wrapped around him, cradling his body protectively, and Killian realised he was lying sprawled on the floor of Emma’s dorm room and that his head ached like a son of a bitch. 

“What happened?” he groaned. Harriet’s leaf brushed his face again and then caressed the back of his head and Killian followed its path tentatively with his fingers. They encountered a tender, painful lump at the base of his skull and a nasty gash in his scalp, coated in a springy, jelly-like substance that he recognised by its texture and aroma as Harriet’s sap. 

“Harriet... did you heal me?” he asked her. She inclined her leaf in a gracious nod, and Killian felt a lump rise in his throat that could almost rival the one on his head. “Thank you, lass,” he said, stroking the edge of her frond with his fingertip as Emma had taught him. “I’m very grateful. But why did you need to? What happened here?” 

Harriet tapped him on his temple, gently but with a clear rebuke. “Aye, I’m trying to remember,” he replied wryly. “But cut a man a bit of slack, would you, when he’s been thoroughly coshed and spent the night on a cold stone floor.” 

Harriet shrugged and Killian pressed his fingers to his eyes, willing his brain to kick into some kind of gear. “I remember going to the pub last night with Emma,” he said slowly. “We had a few drinks and we wanted food, but the pub kitchen had closed so we came back here... we were going to order pizza but then there was a knock on the door... I went to answer it, and she joked that maybe the pizza place had read our minds… I turned to look at her as I opened the door, and then… then… oh, bloody hell.” 

His eyes had been scanning the room as he spoke, taking in the upended chair and the books fallen from their shelves, the overturned plant pots and shattered glass vials. But this chaos, though alarming, was not what caught his attention. 

Beside the door, half-buried beneath spilled soil and shards of glass, lay an object. A small, purple object, roughly round and attached to a long and slender strip of leather. An object that Killian had last seen glowing faintly against Emma’s pale skin as he’d trailed kisses down her belly. 

With a choking cry he scrambled on his hands and knees across the room and picked it up. The power within it hummed through him, and agonising terror sank its claws deep into his chest. 

“Bloody hell, Emma,” he whispered. 

~

David was lingering over his coffee with a gentle smile on his face, listening to the bright sound of Snow and Ruby’s voices as they chatted over breakfast. Snow’s voice in particular with its sweet tones soothed him as much as it did her birds. If he could start every day like this, David thought, watching as the bird on her shoulder hopped down her arm to peck at the pile of seeds she’d left next to her plate—with good coffee and Snow’s voice and the occasional trill of birdsong... well, he wouldn’t hate it.  

That thought had barely even crept into his mind when the door to the dining hall burst open and Killian appeared, one hand pressed against his head and the other clenched in a tight fist. He took two steps forward then stumbled, groaning, swaying precariously on feet that seemed reluctant to hold him up. Coffee sloshed over David’s hand as he moved to stand but Ruby and Graham were far quicker, darting forward with inhuman speed and managing, barely, to catch Killian before he collapsed to the floor. 

“What happened to you?” cried Ruby, as she and Graham took Killian by the arms and helped him into a chair. 

“Emma,” Killian gasped. “Emma.”

“She’s not here—” Ruby began, but Killian shook his head. 

“Gone,” he whispered. 

“What?” 

Killian closed his eyes and appeared to marshal his strength, and when he opened them again they were frantic. “Emma’s gone,” he said, in a far stronger voice. “Taken.” 

The room went utterly still and utterly, utterly silent.

That vague sense of unease, of foreboding, that had been simmering in David’s gut for weeks flared now into a full and rolling boil. He set his coffee cup down on the table with a thunk and glared at Killian. “What do you mean she’s been taken?” he demanded. 

“More importantly,” said Snow, her voice barely audible and her eyes wide with fear. “Who took her?”

Killian’s expression darkened and his closed fist clenched tighter. “I don’t know,” he said. “I never saw their face.” 

The eerie silence shattered as everyone began to talk at once. 

“But that’s impossi—” 

“No one could just—” 

“—even with magic!”

“How could someone just take her?” Graham’s voice rose over the din. “How did they get past you?” 

As quickly as they rose up the voices fell silent again, awaiting Killian’s reply. 

Killian’s expression went, impossibly thought David, darker still. “They coshed me,” he snarled. 

“They what?” David demanded.

“Hit me on the head with something hard, a stick or a bat or—hell, it could have been a frying pan, I don’t bloody know.” 

The silence in the room took on a baffled quality as Killian’s glare was met with a wall of blank and uncomprehending stares. 

“And that… worked?” ventured Ruby. 

“Of course it worked!” Killian snapped. “I’m immune to magic, not blunt objects.”

Victor’s face wore an expression that David recognised as one he often had himself, whenever he tried to do math in his head. “But they just—” he gave his hand a vague wave. “Hit you?” 

Killian shot him a mocking look. “Yes, they ‘just hit me,’” he sneered. “It was a more than adequate measure, I assure you.” 

Snow placed a steaming cup of tea in front of him and Killian’s sneer faded to pained gratitude. “Thanks, love,” he murmured, and took a long sip before turning back to Victor. “It’s a human strategy, yes, but you have to admit an elegantly simple one. You lot would have tied yourselves in knots trying to work out a way to defeat me by magic, they just whacked me upside the head. I’d admire it if it weren’t so bloody painful.” 

“Emma gave me a jar of headache powder a while back, let me go get you some,” said Ruby sympathetically and Killian once again nodded his gratitude. 

“Thank you, lass, I’d appreciate it.” 

As Ruby hurried out the door Graham looked at David, his brow furrowed. David was by this point mightily confused and so full of questions they tumbled over each other in his brain. Before he could even begin to sort through them, Graham spoke.

“So whoever took Emma was human,” he mused. David frowned, surprised to hear his friend wasting time with such a remark. Of course they were human. What else would they be?

He fully expected to hear another mocking reply, but Killian simply nodded. “Aye,” he said. “One of them, at least.” 

Graham’s expression sharpened. “There were more than one?” 

“There had to have been.” Killian’s clenched fist trembled as he pressed it against the tabletop, his knuckles stark white. “No single human could have taken Emma, not alone. Not from her own bloody room. There are distinct signs of a struggle—it’s pretty clear both she and the plants fought back.” His mouth pressed into a grim line. “I don’t know what we’re dealing with here but it’s big,” he said hoarsely. “And what’s more, Emma knew it was big.” 

“How do you know that?” asked Graham.

“She left this.” 

Killian wrenched his fist open to reveal a stone, a deep purple stone with a shimmering glow that seemed to hover over his palm. It was roughly round, as though carved hastily by hand, with a small hole hewn through it slightly off-centre, threaded with a leather cord. It looked to David’s eyes thoroughly unremarkable aside from that unsettling glow, the sort of pendant you find on a three-for-one sale in a shop that also sells patchouli candles and things woven out of hemp.  

“What is it?” he asked, but his words were drowned out by the collective gasp from the others.

“Is that what I think it is?” Victor’s voice held genuine fear. 

“So Emma has it,” Snow breathed in awe. 

“She did,” Killian replied grimly. “She wore it around her neck. She never took it off, and I mean never, not for anything. Until now.” 

“But what does that mean?” Victor’s whispered question was drowned out by the sound of the door opening. Ruby strode through it, trailed by a rumpled and sleepy August. 

“Hey guys. I woke August up and filled him in,” Ruby said casually, as though August wasn’t the one person in the dorm she actively avoided and never spoke to except in anger. She strolled over to Killian and held out a small paper packet. “Here’s your powde—fuck me sideways.” Her eyes went wide and the packet fell from her nerveless fingers. “Is that—” 

“Aye,” said Killian, “it is.” He picked up the packet and tore it open, tipped the contents onto his tongue and chased it with a swallow of tea. 

It’s what, damn it? David’s brain screamed, but his mouth refused to form the words. 

“So Emma has it,” August echoed Snow’s words but in a very different tone of voice, his expression now sharp and alert. “I should have guessed. Sky tribe, of fucking course.” 

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” Ruby snapped, rounding on August with her teeth bared. 

“Ruby, now is not the time,” said Snow sharply, as Graham leapt to his feet and took Ruby’s arm. 

“It’s not the time,” Killian agreed. He stood as well and fixed them all with a steady gaze. The haze of pain had cleared from his eyes, David noted, and he seemed much steadier on his feet.

“You all know what this is,” he said, holding up the purple stone. “You know its significance and the vital importance of keeping it safe. And yet Emma, the woman tasked by her birthright with its protection, deliberately left it behind.” He paused to let his words sink in. Even David could feel the solemn weight of them settling into his bones. “She would not do such a thing,” Killian continued, “unless she thought that leaving it behind was safer than risking it falling into the hands of whoever took her. She would not do such a thing unless she trusted us to keep it safe. She did it because she knew it was the one thing guaranteed to make us understand that the danger she’s in is serious.” 

The air in the room felt heavy as lead, holding them still and silent within the moment. It pressed on David’s shoulders on his chest, holding him frozen until after an interminable moment Snow spoke. “So… what are we going to do?”

A smile spread across Killian’s face, a sharp and dangerous one. His eyebrow quirked. “We’re going to rescue her, of course.”

“Oh, well,” mocked Victor, “of course.” 

Killian’s smile faded. “Listen to me, all of you,” he said firmly. “I know that we have our differences and I know how deep they run. But you all understand the enormity of this and how it affects every single one of us. We have have no choice but to act, and act now. Fast and united, before it’s too late.”  

He scanned their faces, making eye contact with each in turn. “Are you with me?” he asked.  

His answer came from the last source any of them expected. “You can,” said August, and I think I speak for all of us when I say that.” Snow, Ruby, and Graham all nodded in agreement then turned expectantly to Victor, who rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh. 

“Fine,” he said. “What do you need us to do?”

~

“They’ll take her to the forest,” said Snow.

“Do you think so?” Ruby frowned. “That’s seriously risky.” 

“So is hauling her across the campus,” Graham pointed out. “Even if they managed to restrain her, there’s no way to move a body without looking suspicious.” 

Graham sounded like he was speaking from experience, which was surely impossible—or so David would have said half an hour ago. His definition of ‘impossible’ had shifted pretty dramatically since then and he was no longer certain anything could be ruled out.

“I agree with Snow, they’d go to the forest,” Graham continued. “Remember we’re dealing with at least one human, they might not know what the forest is to Emma.” 

“Hmm, that’s a point,” Ruby agreed. She looked turned to Killian. “Okay, we three will go to the forest and see what we can find there. Can you give us an hour?” 

Killian nodded. “That should be enough. Keep your phones on. And be careful.” 

Ruby’s smile flashed. “Always am.” 

“Killian,” David croaked, finding his voice with effort as he watched Snow follow the Ruby and Graham from the room, bluebirds hovering worriedly around her head. His mind was still churning and he stumbled over his words. “What—what exactly is—what are they—why are you—why are you all talking about humans like you aren’t… one?”

Killian regarded him with a curious blend of exasperation and empathy. “Because we’re not,” he said bluntly. “Well, they’re not.” He waved his hand at Victor and at August, who gave David a small bow. “I am, more or less.” 

“Is this some kind of joke?” David asked faintly. Victor snorted and Killian sighed, running a hand over his face. 

“David, look, mate, we tried our best to ease you into this and let you figure things out on your own,” he said, “but honestly I’ve never seen anyone fail to pick up on hints as comprehensively as you can.” 

“What—” David rubbed his throbbing temples. “What does that mean?” 

Killian turned to Victor. “We’re going to need something to open his mind,” he said. “There must be some magic that’s keeping it closed, I have a hard time believing even he can be this clueless. Have you got some sort of potion or something that might work to soften him up a bit?”

Victor scowled. “I don’t do potions.” 

“What the bloody hell do you always have on those damned burners, then, or are you just making the whole floor smell terrible for your own entertainment?” 

“Those are experiments.”

“And you can’t experiment with potion making?”

“I do sometimes, but Emma’s really the potion expert. If I need one I usually just get it from her.” 

“Well, Emma’s not bloody here, is she?” Killian hissed through gritted teeth. “What have you got?” 

“Um, well, I mean, not much for opening minds,” stuttered Victor, recoiling from Killian’s glare. “Heads I can open. Minds are trickier.” 

“I’ll open your head in a minute—”

“I can do it.” 

Killian and Victor turned in unison to stare at August, who was lounging against the door frame, casual and nonchalant. “Influence him, I mean,” he drawled, in a careless tone that sent a shiver up David’s spine, like tiny spiders dancing down the back of his neck.

“Um,” said Victor, with a frantic glance at Killian.

“Not too much, of course,” continued August, soothingly. “Just crack him open a bit, you know, make him… receptive to your input.” 

Killian looked at David, with a look that sent the spiders scattering all across his skin. “That…that could work, actually.”

“Seriously, Jones?” cried Victor.

“Look, we can only use the resources we’ve got and if you can’t produce a potion we have to come up with something else,” Killian snapped. “Can you produce a potion?” 

“I already said no!” 

“Well then. These are the resources we’ve got.” 

“And just how are you going to give him this ‘input’ once he is ‘made receptive’ to it?” Victor sneered. 

“If I’m right about him I won’t need to,” said Killian. “It’s already there. All I need to do is trigger it.” His expression turned calculating and David's skin-spiders grew claws. 

“Do I get a say in—” he began, but Killian cut him off. 

“No you don’t,” he said shortly. “We haven’t got the time. Victor, do you suppose you might be able to locate a basic solvent, one able to emulsify plant sap and willow powder? Can you do that, at least?” 

Victor nodded. “That I can do.” 

“Do it, then. And August, you make whatever preparations you need. I’m going to go grab some things from Emma’s room, we’ll meet back here in ten.” 

“Killian,” David tried again, “I’m really not comfortable—”

Killian rounded on him with a glare, dark and intent and terrifying. “Emma is in danger,” he said, spitting every syllable. “Serious, life threatening danger. I know you can understand that, David, if you understand nothing else, and I know you can’t ignore it. I know you’ve come to care about her.” 

“Of course I have—” 

“Then help me save her.” Killian’s voice broke. “Please.” 

The look in his eyes—raw vulnerability and soul-deep terror bolstered by a core of iron David would never have dreamed he possessed—struck a chord somewhere deep within him and resonated there. For the first time he felt that he was seeing Killian as he truly was, and there in that brief flash of kinship David understood, as surely as he’d ever understood anything, that Killian loved Emma, that he would do anything for her, and that he was deathly afraid his anything would not be enough. 

“All right,” said David, clasping Killian’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “Just tell me what you need me to do.” 

~

Ten minutes later David was waiting anxiously in the common room with August sitting in the chair across from him, legs crossed, watching him with a cool stare that did nothing to calm the energetic gyrations of the skin-spiders. When the door opened to admit Killian and Victor he leapt to his feet, desperate for any excuse to escape that unwavering gaze.

“Did you get what you needed?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice steady and disguise his nerves. “I’m ready for... er, whatever.” 

Killian was carrying another paper packet similar to the one Ruby had given him and a small, grey-green leaf. These he set on a table as Victor produced a beaker half-full of a milky substance. Killian tore open the paper packet and tipped its contents—a few ounces of dusty grey powder—into the beaker. He then took the leaf and squeezed it until it began to express thick, clear sap, then dropped that in as well. The liquid in the beaker began to make a faint popping noise and Killian looked satisfied as he picked it up by its narrow neck and held it up to the light. He swirled the liquid in a deliberate manner, first clockwise then counter, then clockwise again, counting under his breath, until it turned a dark, swirling purple and began to smoke—rather ominously, David thought. 

Killian turned to him with a slight smirk and a raised eyebrow. “I hope you mean that whatever,” he said, holding out the beaker. “Because the first thing I’m going to need you to do is drink this.” 

“Er—” said David. 

“Then look deep into August’s eyes.” 

“Um—” 

David jumped as he realised August was now standing directly behind him, grinning widely, the tip of his fang catching a shaft of bright morning sunlight with a distinctly mocking gleam. He ran the tip of his tongue along it as his eyes flashed red and at least three impossible ideas began to coalesce in David’s brain, coming together to form a conclusion that within his new definition of ‘impossible’ was in fact anything but. 

“How—” David cleared his throat, still unable to quite believe he was entertaining any of this. “How are you out in the sunlight?” he asked. “Aren’t you—doesn’t it—burn you?”

Killian and Victor chuckled and August’s grin widened. “That’s a myth, I’m afraid,” he drawled. “Sunlight doesn’t harm us, we’re just not morning people.” 

“It might be best if you operate from the assumption that everything you think you know is wrong,” said Killian. “Start with a clean slate, so to speak.” 

“My mind is a clean slate,” David echoed faintly.

“Exactly.” Killian smirked at him. “So are you ready?” 

David hesitated. “You’re sure this is necessary to help Emma?” 

“It’s the only way.” 

“All right,” David sighed. “Give me the damned potion.” 

~

The purple of the potion rises up, engulfs him, dark as smoke, only the red of August’s eyes as shining beacons to guide him. He follows them through the swirls and eddies of the smoke until abruptly it is gone and he is standing in a forest of tall trees reaching straight up to a cloudless sky. 

He hears a noise behind him and turns to see a woman, beautiful and terrifying, wreathed in smiles and swathed in darkness. As he watches she waves a wand of blackened wood and a substance, viscous and dark as tar, begins to bubble up from the ground and ooze from the trees, to drip from the very air itself. It twines around her in glistening ropes, hissing its displeasure, a slave to her whims, and she throws back her head in peals of triumphant laughter. 

“The Black Fairy,” says Killian’s voice in his ear. David spins around but no one is there, and the dark woman takes no notice of him. “I’m not actually there,” says Killian, an edge of impatience now in his tone. “And neither are you. Remember that. What you’re seeing is long in the past, shadows of your history. You can’t touch or change it. Just watch.”  

As the dark substance swirls about her the woman draws it, slowly, into herself, absorbs it. Her eyes turn black, and her hair and her gown; the colour drains from her skin until she is pale as a moonbeam in the night. Her lips curve into a satisfied smile and David, though he is not within his body, shivers. 

The image fades away, replaced by another. A village in flames, the agonised shrieks of  people—yes, people, David sees and knows them to be humans like himself—as they try in vain to flee. The cackle of the Black Fairy, appearing in their midst. 

“Surrender,” she hisses. “And your lives will be spared.” 

“At what cost?” spits a woman, glaring contempt as her children huddle in her skirts. “Our freedom?” 

“You will give your lives in service to the fae,” says the Black Fairy. “Or you will give them to the flames.” 

“Burn us then,” says the woman, her chin raised in defiance. “For we will never serve you.” 

The scene blurs again and resolves into another forest, lush and green. Tall trees surround a large, flat rock in the shape of a circle, around which many beings are gathered. Some have the appearance of humans, others anything but, and still others combine human-like forms with horns or feathers or fur or leathery skin. Some have wings, others tails, all are angry. And scared. 

“We must act!” cries one, slapping the rock with his tail to punctuate his point. “The humans no longer believe she does not speak for all of us! If we do nothing she will wipe them from existence in our names!”  

“Perhaps we should let her,” retorts another. “These humans breed quickly and their numbers are ever growing. Their settlements already threaten our lands.” 

“Not threaten,” says a third. “We can live peacefully alongside them, as we have done for centuries.” 

“Oh yes indeed, when they were but few.”

“Their numbers are beside the point!”  

“Enough!” shouts the first, banging his tail on the rock again. “The qualities of the humans as a species are not germane. We simply cannot allow her to wipe out an entire race of beings. It is unconscionable and a breach of the ancient covenants!” 

A chorus of agreement rustles through the assembled crowd. The second speaker observes her fellows in silence for a moment, then gives a shrug. “I will stand with you, Elisedd, in accordance with the covenants and for the moral strength of your argument,” she says. “But I wish for my warning to be noted: The human race will be the end of us, if we allow it.” 

“Your objection is so noted, Eigyr,” says Elisedd with a nod. “Now let it hereby be known that we the Fae Council stand in agreement, and shall act with due haste and taking all necessary measures to stop the Black Fairy in her slaughter of the humans...” 

The image blurs again and David finds himself in the midst of a raging battlefield. Human warriors stand shoulder-to-shoulder with fae, against the Black Fairy and the army of demons her dark magic called into being. He feels a hum of energy in the air to his left and turns to see a woman who he thinks at first is Emma—the same golden hair with a life of its own, the same deep green eyes. But this woman’s nose and chin are pointed, as are her ears, and her fingernails when she raises her hand in the air are long and sharp as talons. She holds up her hands to the sky and sings out, a haunting tune and words in the language Emma uses when she sings to her plants. She stands at the centre of a circle of her kind, blonde and green eyed, pale-skinned and sharp-featured, themselves encircled by the battling warriors. They chant a rhythmic beat as she sings, and though the Black Fairy is far away David can see her face clearly as alarm flares in her eyes, as slowly the thick, black substance begins to ooze from her, hissing as it goes, swirling and twisting into a single thick and oily strand. 

“No,” she whispers, then her voice rises to a shriek.“No, it can’t be! It’s impossible! Nooooooo!” 

She clutches frantically at the magic but it slips from her grasp and when she gropes at her belt for her wand she finds it gone.

“I don’t imagine you’ll have much further use for this, milady,” says a voice, and both David and the Black Fairy turn to see a human warrior with bright blue eyes brandishing the wand in a mocking salute. 

“Insolent cur!” she snarls, and the human laughs. 

“Would you believe that’s not even the worst thing I’ve been called?” he asks, and darts away into the heaving battlefield. 

The Black Fairy lets out a scream of rage, turning back to look up at the sky and the coiling rope of magic as it sails over the heads of the warriors and towards the circle where Emma’s ancestor stands, calling it to her with her song. It heeds her call with typical ill humour, hovering malevolently and obediently above the circle as the fae woman holds up a small, purple stone. 

The darkness shrieks as it is pulled into the stone, writhing and twisting in concert with the impotent howls of the Black Fairy, but Emma’s ancestor neither flinches nor wavers. She pulls in every particle of the darkness and when the last traces have been absorbed she waves her hand over the stone with a few final, whispered words and then collapses, stumbling forward into the arms of her kin. 

“It is done,” she breathes. “It is done.” 

The scene fades once more and when it resolves David is back at the circular stone in the forest, this time surrounded by humans and fae alike. 

“Then we have an accord,” says the human man who captured the Black Fairy’s wand, placing his prize upon the circle. 

“Yes,” replies Elisedd. “The human race agrees to relinquish all claim to magic. The fae peoples agree to keep the Black Fairy’s darkness bound for eternity, held in the tywyll stone and guarded by the Awyr people. Fae magic and cures shall remain available to any humans who seek them and no human shall encroach on lands the fae hold sacred. We are in agreement on these points?” 

The human nods. “We are.” 

“Then let it be done.” 

“Not yet, Elisedd, if you please,” says a third voice. “There is one more thing.” 

These words are spoken by another blond and green-eyed fae, this one male. “My people, the llwyth awyr, agree to guard the tywyll stone” he says, “but this task is a heavy burden upon us. My wi—” his voice breaks as pain flashes across his delicate features. “My wife, Arianrhod, chosen by the moon herself to lead our people, has given her life to contain the darkness,” he continues gruffly. “And now my daughter Morcanta must carry the weight both of her legacy and the stone. Though we accept to bear these burdens gladly, we respectfully request not to bear them alone. We would ask that a human representative agree to take up at least a part of the weight alongside us, for the sake of our people and of the covenants, and for the sake of all our descendants.” 

“That seems fair,” says Elisedd. “Cynbel oCymric? What say ye?”

The human man nods. “We agree,” he says. “A similar thought had occurred to us as well. But humans are far more vulnerable to magic than the fae, and so in shouldering this burden we will require some protection.” 

“Nynniaw? Is this condition acceptable to the Awyr people?” 

Emma’s ancestor nods. “We can place a shielding spell upon you,” he replies. “One that shall fuse with your blood and pass on to your descendants, removing your susceptibility to any magic. And in order that the location of the tywyll stone not be made too plain to see, we propose that such shielded human guardians should be paired with each fae tribe, to further protect the stone and ensure the covenants are kept.” 

The crowd hums with murmurs of agreement. “These are fair terms,” says Cynbel, “which we gladly accept.”

Smoke swirls up again and David is yanked from the vision. He gasped and stumbled and nearly fell, reaching out blindly for something to hold on to. 

“Steady on, there, mate,” said Killian, catching him by his arm, but David’s head throbbed and the room begin to spin around him, and the sound of Killian’s voice grew fainter as his eyes rolled back in his head and he tumbled into unconsciousness. 

~

When he opened his eyes again the first sight to meet them was Killian, dressed as usual in his black leather jacket and black t-shirt bearing the faded image of a skull, belting a long sword around his waist.

“That’s—” David gasped, blinking hard and giving his head a firm shake. The images from his vision were still swirling in his mind, and though he did feel he now had a firmer understanding of just what, precisely, the fuck, some things he suspected would still require some getting used to. “That’s a sword,” he sputtered.  

“Naturally,” said Killian, pulling the blade from its scabbard with a flourish and examining its edge. “You didn’t think I’d be going in armed with nothing but my good looks?” 

“Well, no, but—” 

“Speaking of which, you’ll be needing one too. Belle!” 

The air next to him shimmered and Belle resolved into it, a large, leather-bound book in her hand and a bright smile on her face. “Hey, David,” she said. “Killian tells me you’ve been having a bit of an adventure.” 

“Uh, yeah, I guess that’s one way to put it.” 

“Oh I’d love to go back and see the ancient times,” said Belle dreamily. “I don’t suppose you’d let me have a sip of that potion?”

“I’m pretty sure it only works on the living, love,” said Killian, and David barely resisted the urge to smack himself in the forehead. She haunts the library. Duh. 

“Typical,” pouted Belle. “I haven’t had any fun in nearly five hundred years. But I have” —she held out the book, open to a brightly illustrated page— “acquired some serious research skills in that time, and I’m pretty sure I’ve found it.” 

Killian peered at the book. “Where the devil is that supposed to be?” 

“It’s one of the old classroom towers. When I was alive we used to learn magical defence there.” 

“Well that would at least make some sense. Victor, mate, do you suppose you might rustle up something capable of dissolving a mystical lock or two? I mean, I know it’s a potion and all, but this one does seem to be rather more in your wheelhouse.” 

Victor ignored the sarcasm. “On it,” he said.

Killian turned back to David. “Ready then, mate?” 

“I—” David wished mightily that he could say yes, of course he was. “I genuinely have no idea.” 

Killian laughed. “That seems reasonable, given what you’ve just been through.” 

“It might help if I actually knew what we were doing now.” 

“Oh that’s quite simple.” Killian gave him a wide grin and the worst wink David had ever seen. “We’re going to fetch your sword.” 

~

Emma regained consciousness then promptly wished she hadn’t, as nausea roiled in her stomach and some unseen force attempted to drive an ice pick through her skull.

Instinctively, she knew not to move or groan or do anything that might alert her abductors that she was no longer unconscious. Anyone powerful enough to incapacitate her in this way was an enemy to be reckoned with, and despite feeling like how she’d always heard hangovers described Emma was determined to find out who the hell these people were and what they thought they were going to do with her.

She could feel the forest around her, the soft, peaty ground beneath her cheek and the rustling of the leaves in the wind, the power of her connection to the land and all the things that grew from it. She sank her fingers deep into the dirt and prepared.

“Mother, we don’t even know what we’re looking for!” a voice exclaimed, with a note of petulance and an underlying quaver of fear that caught Emma’s attention.

“We’ll find it,” replied a second voice, flat and coldly confident.

“How?” pressed the first one. “How will we find something we have only the vaguest ideas about?”

“She’ll tell us what we need to know.”

“Mother, you don’t understand! We only managed to capture her because we took her by surprise! We have no means of getting her to talk, and her Guardian—”

“I took care of him.”

“You hit him on the head, he’ll survive,” the first voice retorted. “If you had actually read the tribal histories you’d know that it takes more than a big stick to eliminate a fae Guardian!”

“She’s right, Mother,” said a third voice, dry and wicked. “You should have killed him.”

“Perhaps,” drawled the second, “but there wasn’t time. If he is as and what you say he is, Regina, he’ll come for her. And we will be ready for him.”

“Ready for...” The first voice, Regina, trailed off in exasperation. “How will we be ready? In case you forgot, we don’t even know what we’re looking for!”

Emma knew, though. She knew exactly what the histories of the fae tribes hinted at, just enough hints to catch the attention of the clever and the ambitious, not nearly enough to give them what they would need to know. These three were hardly the first to come in search of it and they would not be the last. She’d recognised them last night for what they were and though she doubted they would actually recognise the thing they sought, Emma hadn’t hesitated for a moment to leave the tywyll stone behind, trusting that Killian would find it and understand the message that she sent by leaving it in his care. 

He would be on his way now, she knew that too. Her Guardian would die to protect her as he was duty bound by the covenants and his heritage to do, but even beyond that Emma knew that Killian Jones would never not fight for her. 

She cracked her eyelid open just far enough that she could see the women attached to the voices. Only the three, she was relieved to note, and apparently without backup. Two younger and one older, a mother and her daughters, the mother with a haughty expression and brown hair beginning to show streaks of grey. Her daughters did not much resemble each other; one had a tawny complexion and dark hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders, while the other’s hair was red and wildly curling around her pale, sharp face. Half-sisters, at a guess, thought Emma, and unless she was gravely mistaken both half-fae. A human woman with two half-fae daughters whose fathers were of different tribes. That was very interesting.

Also interesting were the piles of scrolls she could see poking out of an old trunk behind them, scrolls she recognised as library copies of the more well-known tribal histories. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, she’d once read, and it appeared these women had a very little knowledge indeed. And were all the more dangerous for it.

She closed her eyes again then pretended to wake, letting out a long groan as she sank her fingers further still into the soft soil and felt the forest stir around her.

“Ah,” said the mother. “She’s awake.”

“Where—where am I?” groaned Emma. “What happened?”

“What happened is that you are now our prisoner princess,” cooed the mother’s voice, and despite herself Emma felt icy fear twist around her heart. “And you are going to tell us where the Black Fairy’s magic is kept.”

“I—” Emma groaned, cracking open her eyes again to see all three women watching her expectantly. Regina’s expression was apprehensive, her red-haired sister’s triumphant. And their mother… her face wore an expression of naked greed that made Emma’s skin crawl. This human woman had no magic but her daughters did, and she, oh, she wanted what they had.

“I—” she said again, and the women leaned forward, their attention so captivated by Emma that they failed to notice the tree branches bending and closing in around them, or the grey-green roots of the forest plants breaking through the ground, rising up and curling around their trunk full of scrolls and crumbling the fragile parchment into dust.

“I don’t think I will,” said Emma.

~

The old classroom towers, David had been firmly informed by the assistant director of the university’s Office of Residency Affairs, were closed. Had been closed, she told him, for some centuries now, at least since the Hall had been renamed. Andersen students were to attend their classes in the academic buildings and that was all there was to it. David had shrugged and agreed and signed the form she gave him, not entirely clear on what made her so extraordinarily adamant on the point. 

Now, as he trailed up a spiral staircase made of stone, with dips worn into the centre of each step by the feet of many generations of students long past, he thought he might have some inkling as to why. This place was dangerous, and not just because the steps were worn. There were whispers in its very walls, centuries of magic infused into each minute mote of dust, and that dust and those walls and every other thing in and around them was not best pleased by the appearance of interlopers. 

Despite this he pressed on, for Emma and because he doubted that Killian, his hand gripping the pommel of his sword and his jaw set, would allow anything to deter him from his goal. Victor followed at Killian’s heels, carrying another steaming beaker, with August behind David bringing up the rear and Belle, glowing with an otherworldly light, serving as their beacon through the shifting shadows. 

Around and around they climbed, through the darkness and the whispers until David’s head was spinning and he’d lost all sense of time, then quite suddenly a door appeared in front of them. Belle pushed it open and led the way into the room beyond, and David followed eagerly, glad to be out of that interminable stairwell. 

The room was large and circular, quite as you would expect a tower room to be. It had four tall and pointed windows with four columns spaced evenly between them. There were no desks, but smallish wooden tables arranged in a circle and one larger one in front of the largest window, upon a raised dais. 

Killian began to move around the room in what David could only describe as a prowl, muttering to himself as he went. He appeared to be measuring the size of the stones in the floor, the distance from window to window, and the position of the stairs they had just ascended. 

“If this is what I think it is,” he said to Belle, “it’ll be aligned to the eastern point.” 

Belle nodded. “That seems likely. But how will we know where to look? None of us has the right kind of magic to detect it.” 

“That might not be entirely true.” Killian looked at David and Belle followed his gaze. 

David had to suppress a flinch. What now?  

“How are you holding up, mate?” Killian asked kindly. 

“Fine,” replied David. “So far, at least.” 

Killian grinned. “I’m glad you’re catching on.”   

David sighed. “So what do I have to do?”

“Just be yourself.” 

“And what is that supposed to mean?

“Close your eyes,” Killian instructed, “and tell me what you feel.”

David let his eyes fall shut, shivering as the spiders tangoed across the nape of his neck. “Like something’s watching me,” he said frankly. 

“Like it’s calling to you?” Killian’s voice was sharp. 

The whispers in the walls grew louder. “Yeah,” said David. “I can hear... something.”  

“Can you tell where it’s coming from?” 

“From all around.” 

“Are you sure? Concentrate.” 

David focused on the loudest whispers. “From… below us? Somehow?” 

“Good.” Killian sounded satisfied. “Can you follow it?” 

David frowned, concentrating hard. He felt an odd tug just behind his bellybutton, urging him to move, which he did, opening his eyes to see that he was being led towards the largest window and the raised table. He followed the pull until it stopped, abruptly, replaced by an overwhelming urge to go down. “There,” he said, pointing at the large, square stone beneath his feet. “It’s coming from there.” 

Everyone gathered around, peering at the stone he indicated. 

“Victor,” said Killian. “Do your thing.” 

David stepped back to make way as Victor took his steaming beaker and dripped its contents carefully onto the mortar that held the stone in place. Nothing happened, to David’s eyes, but the others waited tensely and with bated breath until all the mortar was covered. When the last drop dripped from the beaker a faint click sounded in the air and they all exhaled.

Killian unsheathed his sword and placed the tip just in the centre of the stone. Closing his eyes, he murmured a few words David couldn’t quite make out, then gave the sword a sharp 90-degree twist. The stone made a groaning noise and shifted, shimmered, then faded away to reveal a set of steep stone stairs leading downwards to—

“Where do they go?” David demanded. 

Killian caught his eye. “Below,” he replied. 

~

The stairs were pitch black and endless. David kept his eyes trained as best he could on Belle, but even her glow began to fade the deeper they descended into… wherever this was. He wished he knew where they were going, if only so that this strange and powerful pull he felt would have some destination, some explanation of just what the hell it was.

After a small eternity the stairs ended, so abruptly that Killian stumbled, and David had to grab at the wall to avoid crashing into him. “Ugh,” Killian groaned, leaning his own hand against the wall to get his balance and bearings. “I guess this is it.” 

As he spoke a faint glow appeared, a small flicker in a vague distance, and with his jaw set grimly Killian began to walk towards it, the others on his heels. The glow grew stronger the closer they came, and then with a flare as bright as daylight it encompassed them. They blinked for a moment and when their eyes adjusted they found themselves in what was by all appearances a forest clearing. A very familiar forest clearing, David realised, with tall trees that reached up to the sky and a large, round stone at its centre. 

Belle gasped. “Is this…”

“Aye,” said Killian. “The chamber of the Fae Council. If the sword is anywhere, it’s here.” He turned to David. “Mate?”

David nodded. He had no idea how he knew what to do, only that he did. The knowledge came from somewhere deep within him, the same place as the images he’d seen after drinking the purple potion. He knew that if he laid his hand on the stone just so, if he then pressed against it gently, that the shielding spell would fall away and his sword would appear. He knew this, and yet he still couldn’t quite believe his eyes. 

The sword was breathtaking. Longer than he would have imagined and viciously sharp, with an ornate hilt and symbols carved into the blade… symbols his brain wanted to understand, insisted that it should understand, but which hovered stubbornly just beyond his comprehension. 

“Take it,” said Killian, nodding at the sword. “It’s yours.” 

How is it mine, David wanted to ask. How is this, any of this, even possible? 

The moment his fingers gripped its hilt, the symbols on the sword began to glow, as though molten metal were flowing through them. As David lifted it from the table he felt a weight around his waist, and looked down to see a sword belt much like Killian’s appear around his hips. 

He turned to meet Killian’s eyes. “How?” he whispered. “I know we don’t have time for explanations, but please, just tell me—how?”

“You’re a Guardian,” said Killian, with a small smile. “Like me.”

~

The trip back from the council chamber to the classroom tower and then out of the Hall and into the forest felt as though it took no time at all. Or more likely, David thought, he was just too preoccupied to take notice of it passing.

Killian’s words kept echoing in his ears. You’re a Guardian.

David had no idea what that meant, but he couldn’t deny how deeply he knew that it was true.

They entered the forest just as Snow, Graham, and Ruby were leaving it, looking shaken and anxious.

“What did you find?” Killian asked them.

“There are very clear tracks,” Snow replied. “Clumsy ones. Whoever took Emma doesn’t know this forest at all. They must just have chosen it thinking it would make a good hideout.”

"We followed them as far as we could, but there was no sign of them ending," Graham added.

"All right,” said Killian, removing the purple amulet from his pocket and holding it up. “Lead the way.”

David wasn't sure whether he was addressing Snow or the amulet, or possibly both, but it didn’t seem to matter as they pressed deeper and deeper into the forest, further than he had ever dared venture before. With each step Killian’s face grew more grim. He gripped the amulet tightly by its leather strap as it began to glow and hum, an endless, atonal hum. It hung from Killian’s hand at a sharp and unnatural angle, seeming to pull him along behind it as they grew closer to wherever Emma was.

Snow shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “Where did they take her?” she whispered. “How did they even get so deep into the forest?”

“I don’t know,” said Killian. “Everyone, stay on your toes.”

Without warning the ground beneath their feet began to rumble and shift, the thick, damp soil cracking open as the roots beneath it moved, slithering like snakes beneath the surface and heading in the very direction they themselves were following.

“Emma,” muttered Killian, as he broke into a run. “Bloody hell, woman!”

The others ran after him, leaping over the roots and the shifting soil with a nimble speed that David was hopeless to match. He tripped and stumbled and barely managed to keep his feet under him until Graham and Ruby appeared at his sides, each catching one of his arms and propping him between them as they ran.

The forest before them was a blur of movement, twisting roots and waving branches, magic spitting and hissing through the air, and David was just about to cry out in protest—there was no way they could enter that melee and come out alive—when a figure emerged from the chaos, golden hair whipped to a frenzy by the wind and red cloak swirling around her.

Killian raced to her and caught her in his arms, lifting her feet off the ground and burying his face in her hair. “Bloody hell, Swan,” he whispered. Emma clung to him, her fists tight in the back of his jacket, as the rest of the group gathered around them.

Killian set Emma on her feet and loosened his hold on her, stepping back just enough to give her a glare that even David could see held no heat. “What the devil do you think you’re doing, love?” he grumbled. “Depriving me of a dashing rescue.”

“I told you,” retorted Emma. “The only one who saves me is me.” She smiled softly and caressed his face, fingertips brushing his cheekbone. “But I’m glad you came, Killian.”

“I’ll always come for you, darling,” he said with a smirk. “In all senses of the word.”

She snorted and gave the back of his head a feeble smack, but didn’t protest when his arms tightened around her again and his hand tangled in her hair.  

“Well this is adorable,” said Victor. “If a bit sickening. But would you mind telling us just what exactly you've been up to here?”

The movement in the forest had ceased the moment Emma and Killian embraced but the space behind them was still in chaos, with unearthed roots and tree branches bent at unnatural angles, forming a very effective-looking cage.

“I’ve bound them,” said Emma. “In magic it will take them some time to break.”

“They?” demanded Killian.

“Yeah, three of them. A human woman and her half-fae daughters. I can’t keep them trapped forever but we should have enough time to figure out what to do with them.”

“You can’t just kill them?” asked August.

“No!” said Emma and Killian in unison, as Graham punched August’s shoulder.

“Hey, just putting it on the table,” August protested.

“We’re not going to kill them,” said Emma firmly. “There’s something about them... something that I can't quite put my finger on, but honestly it troubles me. I need to know more before we decide how to act. Let’s get back to the dorm.”

“The dorm?” asked David. Emma turned to him and her eyes lit with amusement.

“Well, you must have had a rough few hours,” she said, nodding at the sword he held.

David grinned a bit sheepishly. “You could say that.”

“Welcome to the team,” said Emma, smiling warmly. “And yes, back to the dorm. I need my plants, my books, a scrying mirror, and a cup of tea, not necessarily in that order. Let’s go.”

___

[questionsonislam]

Does Allah like aggressive people?

In sura Fatiha which is the first chapter of Quran, we are ordered to pray “Show us the straight way”. The destination is described with words that are different but close to each other in meaning; such as “moderate way”, “straight way”, “smooth way” and “justice”. Quran describes this way as “the way of Allah, to whom whatever in the skies and on earth belong.” And the way leads to Heaven.

True believers cite Fatiha in every part of prayers (salah) and ask to be directed to the straight way by Allah. Those who complete this way arrive in Heaven that is the land of unique bliss. Below this way is Hell. To whichever side one strays from the way, he falls down into the land of that terrible punishment.

By asking Allah to direct us to the straight way, we also ask Him to let us live our worldly lives on the straight way; that’s to say, we ask Him to let us cross al-Sirat (the bridge over Hell stretching to Heaven), which is sharper than a sword finer than hair, while on earth. Indeed, it is very difficult for us to keep our all works, deeds and words on the straight way. However, it is also impossible for us to cross this bridge in the hereafter unless we complete this sharp and fine way without straying too far.

Al-Sirat is built over Hell. And just like this, in front of our all deeds is Heaven and below them is Hell. Whatever we do straying from the way of Allah, we become sinner and rebellious. And this state in worldly life is the portent of Hell.

The straight way leads one to the land of content, the eternal land of true delights and bliss.

The straight way is the moderate way, free from all extremes. Is this not also the way which leads to happiness on earth? Is it possible for us to find happiness unless our body together with its all organs and our heart together with its all feelings are on the straight way?

Neither should our eyes be shortsighted nor should they be farsighted. Neither should our tension be high, nor should it be low… The electrical current of the mechanism which runs our brain should neither be low nor high. Our heart beats should be within definite limits. So is our body temperature…

All of the activities occurring in seventy trillion cells of ours should be on the straight way so that we can be occupied with other things, rather than occupying ourselves with the problems of our body. Otherwise, we will have to spend our life in clinics.

We are face to face with a trick, a deceiving game. There is an enemy hidden inside us. Although we feel right away what harms our body and hurry to find its cure, we cannot be as attentive towards moral diseases, which injure our hearts, stray our feelings from the straight way, and direct our mind to dangerous fields, as we are to bodily diseases. Even worse, we like them. This hidden enemy of us, which makes us mistake bad for good and drink poison in joy, is our lower-self. When this enemy inside us cooperates with devils from humankind and devils from the jinn, our soul weakens and strays from the straight way. As a matter of fact, the real danger for us is not the disturbance of our worldly peace, but loss of our happiness in the afterlife. Nevertheless, the lower-self manages to put it in the background and take the other to the foreground.

We are supplicating to our Lord to guide us to and keep us in the straight way, in spite of our enemies which never seem to tire. And we know that this can be realized only by “praying to and worshipping Him and asking for His help”.

I think that I never manage to forgive a friend of mine, who made a mistake against me. I feel like teaching him a precise lesson and take revenge on him. This thought leads me to this reality:

“While I cannot silence a single feeling of mine, how can I arrange my whole world of soul? This can be realized only by my Lord’s blessing, kindness and guidance. It is impossible for my soul, together with its all feelings and emotions, to stay on the straight way without His help.”

Faith is the greatest guidance for one’s heart… A heart which has got faith is on the straight way. A true believer’s heart is directed to the Lord, who is everywhere. Wherever he looks, he sees a manifestation of His names. He puts himself next to that work imaginarily, and says: “Praise be to Allah, who disciplines both of us nicely.” Then, a third one, fourth one, a thousandth one and a hundred thousandths are added to these two. And the heart turns to the Lord of the Universe with praises. A heart that has reached to this point, whatever it may like, is on the straight way. However, a heart that is unaware of Allah adds another curtain of unawareness and grows further away from the Lord, with the every creature it likes.

It is a great deal not to lose the straight away in spite of these innumerable creatures and events. Moreover, this difficult test can only be passed with the guidance of Allah. Otherwise, one drowns in material world, gets lost in causes and becomes destroyed.

A heart that is saved from the danger of disbelief and idolatry and believes in Allah is on the straight way. And also there is a straight way for faith in heart. This is possible through following the way of ahl-i sunnah. An example for this is as follows:

Fate is a part of faith. Both the sect of Jabriyyah which denies that human beings have got the control of their acts to some extent and the sect of Mutazilah which considers human beings the creators of their own acts are astray from the straight way. The moderate way of this is believing that demand is from human beings and creation is from Allah. This is the straight way.

In The Signs of Miraculousness from the Nur Collection it is stated that “the straight way” refers to “accuracy and justice which is consisted of the combination of courage, chastity and wisdom” and it is explained as in the following:

“The lowest degree of power of lust is calmness, in which one is neither inclined to halal nor to haram. Its highest degree is sinfulness, in which one is tends to destroy honor and chastity. Its average degree is chaste, in which one inclined to what is halal and not to what is haram.

And the lowest degree of the power of aggression is cowardice, in which one is afraid of even the least and non-frightening things. Its highest degree is rage, in which one is neither afraid of worldly nor unworldly things. Its average degree is courage, in which one can sacrifice his life for the sake of lawfulness both in terms of religion and worldly life, and does not get involved in unlawful things.

And the lowest degree of power of mind is dullness, in which one is aware of nothing. Its highest degree is demagogy, in which one has got such intelligence with which he deceives people by presenting what is wrong as right and what is right as wrong. Its average degree is wisdom, in which one accepts what is right as right and behaves accordingly, and accepts what is wrong as wrong and avoids it.”

One can become a true believer on the straight way by eliminating these lowest and highest degrees of all powers, emotions and feelings in his soul.

When heart finds the straight way and faith, it is time for good deeds. One, in order to find the straight way, should keep his deeds and acts fair. His gaze will be straight, and he will not look at what is haram. His speech will be straight and he will tell everything as it is. He will neither flatter too much nor will he vilify. His trade will be straight, free from deceiving, usury and profiteering. All these are what one’s lower-self dislikes. As a matter of fact, the straight way is the reverse direction of what our lower-self shows us.

And another definition of the straight way is choosing the middle way, which is away from extremes in terms of all moral qualities.

Generosity is a high moral quality. A person who is neither extravagant nor mean is generous. And being just is another high moral quality. A just person will neither be unfair to anyone else, nor will he be incapable of defending his own rights, and thus he will not cause his addressee to be unfair. And also there is the fact that one can be unfair to himself. One who misuses the divine blessings given to him becomes unfair to himself by entering Hell. And another primary high quality of moral is submission to Allah. One who attempts to alter the causes and yet is content with the outcomes means to have comprehended the secret of submission and is on the straight way.

A true believer, by praying “show us the straight way”, demand from Allah to let him walk on the straight way with all of its qualities. And he includes all believers in this prayer.

Just as all faces turn to Qaba in prayers, all souls must turn to Quran, so that social life will be on the straight way.

Our Lord, who teaches us to pray “show us the straight way” in Quran, draws our attention to the fact that happiness in worldly life can be reached via this straight way, just as happiness in the afterlife. Those who stray from this way are “maghdup” and “dallin” as Allah informs us. Maghdub are those who have been subject to Allah’s wrath and “dallin” are poor people who have been the captives of false beliefs. The end for both of them is severe punishment.

[crispyliza]

Spamano multi-chapter fanfiction recommendation masterlist!

For all you home-quarantined people that have nothing to do and also because I’ve been meaning on making one of these since 2015 (took a global pandemic to get me started lol) 

These fanfics are all with multiple chapters and listed in no particular order. Of course some are better than others, but every single one has its charms! I added only a few with 3 or 4 chapters because i liked them too much not to whereas the rest of the fanfics have at least 5+ chapters. So without further ado, here they are:

Una Notte A Napoli “One night in Naples, by the moon and sea, my heart was stolen by an angel who had forgotten how to fly.” (completed)

Per Sempre Tuo “Lovino Vargas, better known as Romano, is a famous TV actor. He has everything anyone could ever want. The only problem is that the thing he wants, over-night singing sensation Antonio Fernandez, is married.” (completed)

HOVA “The Nova Sagittarius was a ship that would take myself and countless other passengers on a one month trip around our solar system. But things went wrong; the ship changed and just like that, we were stranded. We got to know each other but more than that, we got to know ourselves.” (completed)

What We’d Do Without Gravity  “While lost in a hospital Antonio comes across young terminally ill patient, Lovino Vargas. With Lovino left only six months to live it’s an awful time a romance to blossom between the ill fated pair, but with a bucket list to race through as the clock ticks down, the two find that love is very hard to avoid.” (completed)

Numbered Lithograph “When Lovino starts attending art school with his brother he finds his most important lesson doesn’t come from his professors, but from a culinary student at a sister school: sometimes the flaws hold the beauty.” (completed)

Tienimi Streto “Lovino Vargas is a detective with a poor attitude and a dark past, driven to the side of law by pain and revenge. After his partner quits, he is paired with specially recruited Antonio Carriedo, who becomes something more than just a co-worker. When deaths linked to the Italian start popping up over the city, Lovino begins to question everything he thought he knew.” (on-going)

More than attraction “Antonio says he met his love’s eyes over the bin of tomatoes. Lovino says he was stalked relentlessly until he was forced to give in.” (completed)

Credo “AU, 1502. Fueled by revenge, Lovino Vargas hasn’t failed an assassination job yet - but when a new Spanish captain comes to Rome, killing the unorthodox Antonio Carriedo might just be the death of him.” (completed)

Secret Tunnels from Madrid to Sicily “When Antonio Fernández Carriedo begins work as a professor at a prestigious university in Britain, one of his students, a Sicilian boy who goes by the name Romano, immediately catches his eye. He is a clearly gifted writer, who closes himself off in the wake of a dark and painful history. Even wrapped in his darkness, pushing everyone away, Toni finds himself determined to bring out the potential within Romano…They drag each other into a passionate, inevitable affair–doomed, they know, to end in flames.” (completed)

Why Did it Have to be You? “Lovino’s parents are tired of his horrible behavior, and hire Antonio to babysit him. But time is a cruel mistress, and in absence the heart grows fonder. These are just some of the things Antonio and Lovino will learn.” (completed)

And the Birds Sing No More “Don’t ever leave me.” Lovino said nothing. He allowed the tense heaviness to settle among his shoulders, tighten his lungs, and spread between the space from where he stood to where Antonio was seated lethargically. Antonio’s gaze sharpened. Lovino, inclining his head slightly, whispered, “I won’t.” (completed)

A Dancing Star “Antonio is the easy-going, life-loving art professor and Lovino is the Italian exchange student who walks into his art studio. When Antonio falls in love he thought he only had his job to worry about, but maybe it’s Lovino’s dark secret that’ll push him away. Trigger warning for self-harm and dark themes.” (completed)

Kismet “Lovino learns the hard way that things change and that they can change quickly. The necklace fell and now he’s in a strange land far from home. Will he ever see his brother again? Will he find his way home? Or will he discover home is where the heart is? Fate is a strange woman and can work in mysterious ways.” (completed)

Let that be enough “Lovino had given up hoping for someone who’d care about him. Antonio never expected to fall for the most tormented guy in town. But dark secrets and hidden dangers threatens their blooming relationship. Is it over before it even begun..?” (completed)

Child services “Romano and Feliciano Vargas have just lost their parents. Romano, who is 22, must care for his 6 year old little brother. Enter Antonio Carreido, the agent from Child Services who must record his progress, however, it’s hard for the cheerful Spaniard to keep from falling in love with this little broken down family and with Romano.” (on-going)

Loving a Stranger “You don’t remember, but I know you. We were- I don’t even know how to describe our relationship. That sounds bad, I know. I think you might have been in love with me, although I cannot see why. That’s just what I’ve been told. I acted as though I hated you, but I never did. I was afraid, because you were kind to me. I didn’t know I loved you until you forgot me��“ (completed)

The Many Personalities of Spain “England casts a spell to rid himself of Spain. As expected it goes wrong; leaving Romano to deal with the many personalities of Spain. That sounds like a normal day for Romano, right? It would be if the personalities not had their own personifications.” (on-going)

Daisy Genocide “My name is Lovino Vargas but that’s not who I actually am. I’m my brother. They put his DNA into a little ball of jello and grew me like a house plant. To say it blatantly, I’m a clone and I’m in a disturbing amount of trouble. I’m about to tell the story of my fight to preserve my humanity followed by a vicious history of crime but it’s a secret. Nobody has to know.” (completed)

More Than Meets The Eye “Striving to find approval and meaning, Antonio throws himself into the world of art determined to come out on top. Yet, in all of his searching, burning, and pain, he never thought that a single culinary student could ever manage to tear down his walls and make him face his biggest fear; himself.” (on-going)  

Cryonic “After suffering a fatal attack from an unknown illness, Lovino Vargas underwent cryopreservation, leaving behind his only family, his boyfriend, and a blooming company. Years later the effects are only just coming into play causing more problems than his preservation was supposed to solve. Human AU; T for language; pre-established Spamano.” (on-going)

All of Our Flaws “Antonio is a man whose world revolves around anyone but himself. Lovino is a man with dreams bigger than a job behind a drugstore counter. Antonio is broken; Lovino is incomplete. Will a chance meeting lead them to mending their cracks and finding their missing pieces? Human AU, trigger warning for self-harm.” (on-going)

Truly an artist “Having already completed college, Lovino Vargas lives in Madrid as an artist suffering from severe artist’s block. In one of his visits to his old school he runs into a new teacher, Antonio Fernández Carriedo, who decides he’ll be the one to help Lovino in his endeavor to find himself. However cheerful and optimistic, Lovino still feels there’s more to Antonio than he’s letting on.” (completed)

The Heartbreaker “Sometimes the best things happen unexpectedly. Certainly this is Antonio’s opinion at the moment. The handsome stranger he met upon moving to a new town in Italy seems to be able to do almost no wrong. Until he digs a little deeper below the surface and begins to discover an unsettling reputation. And if the rumours are true, is it wise to trust a man known as ‘The Heartbreaker?” (completed)

We sing, We dance, We eat tomatoes “When Lovino Vargas takes in a starving guitar player called the Curbside Prophet from the streets of Philadelphia, he isn’t expecting the man to tolerate him for more than a couple weeks, much less fall in love with him. Based on the the music by Jason Mraz.” (on-going)

Underwater Land “Antonio was a merman. Lovino hated water. It was truly a match made in heaven.” (completed)

Flashlight “If I throw a tomato at you, vampire bastard, will you still sparkle under the sauce?” Twilight parody. (completed)

Catch you, Catch me “Clumsy, clueless detective Romano is on the trail of the infamous handsome and charming thief El Apasionado Caballero. But there’s more to this, what seems like a simple game of cat and mouse, than meets the eye.” (completed)

Blackbird “Antonio walks into a small coffee joint, hoping for just some caffeine to take the edge off of late-night studying for midterms, and gets a whole lot more than he bargained for in the form of a snarky, foulmouthed, Italian barista.” (on-going)

Counting Stars “Antonio, failed writer and journalist, thinks things are finally going his way when he lands an interview with actor Lovino Vargas. But it’s only the start of a long line of problems… the biggest of which may be Vargas himself.” (on-going)

Cosa Nostra “Based on the historical background of the Sicilian Mafia during the First Mafia War starring Mafia!Romano.” (completed)

Tight Rope “Rich, spoiled kid Lovino Vargas hates pirates. Pirate captain Antonio Carriedo hates rich, spoiled kids. None of them ever thought they could feel something different from hatred towards one another. However, Fate seems to have different plans for them, and twists their lives in unexpected ways.” (on-going)

When You Recover “Nurse Lovino Vargas has to take care of brain damaged patient Antonio Carriedo, who seems to have a strange affection towards him. N-not that Lovino likes it! The Italian is determined to make the man recover, no matter what it takes. What will little Lovino get himself into with this patient?” (on-going)

Like All Things, It Ends “Lovino doesn’t want his family to know how much his childhood trauma still affects him and he does a good job at hiding it. That is, until he moves to a new town and meets Antonio, someone he is unable to hide anything from. (Warnings for PTSD, Depression, harmful thinking of oneself, and violent death of a loved one)” (completed)

Wish upon a star “A drunken wish on a star lands Lovino back in the time of pirates, and when he runs into a familiar face with an unfamiliar personality, he’ll start to question his own heart. Pirate!SpainxRomano. Rated for language, violence, and maybe mature situation” (completed)

Crooked Timber “As an artist, Lovino understands that perfection doesn’t exist. If only Antonio agreed with him, and stopped trying to hurt himself. -Human (College) AU. Spamano multi-chapter with other minor pairings. Depressed!Antonio, Writer!Antonio, Artist!Lovino- TW for self-harm.” (completed)

Just Pretend! “Romano liked Emma- a lot. Except her stupid big brother was too overprotective (and, okay, a little scary)! He wouldn’t allow any guy near her- unless they weren’t romantically interested in Emma. So, Romano decided to pretend to be gay, with the help of Antonio, in hopes of getting Emma to fall in love with him. Perfect plan, right?” (completed)

The Duty of an Elder Son “Lovino Vargas knew a lot about duty.” His Grandfather’s swollen empire puts all of his family in danger, the other gangs are massing, the police are on their tails and Lovino is given a bodyguard in one Antonio Carriedo. 1920s Mafia AU fic. (completed)

Flatmates “They were flatmates, they were best friends and they were really frustrated about relationships. So what would two young men do about this?” (completed)

Zero Tolerance “Lovino lives a perfect life. Or atleast thats how he is suppose to appear. Antonio lives a life as a dangerous gangbanger. North Side meets South Side as these two are partnered in their Chemistry class. But there is one chemical reaction these 2 arent prepared for- Love. AU, human names used. Based on the book “Perfect Chemistry” by Simone Elkeles.” (completed)

Your Love Can Be My SIght “Seventeen year old Lovino Vargas lost his sight in a terrible car accident. Antonio, a teacher at Lovino’s school was born without it. Can Antonio teach Lovino that even without sight, life can be beautiful?” (completed)

The Greatest Treasure, You Idiot! “Spinoff of the “Sea Foam” chapter in Hetalia Fairy Tales. Captain Carriedo of the pirate ship, Buscador Dorado, seeks a legendary treasure “that is worth gaining” with the help of the infamous wish-giver, Lovino. But what is the true treasure?” (completed)

Crowns of Triple Gold “Things are rarely simple for Romano in the Eternal City, especially when he falls for one of his clients, a Hispanian senator up for consul against his father.” (completed)

Prisoners on the Slave Ship of Love “Lovino Vargas has been captured and taken hostage in a pirate raid led by Captain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo and his band of Spanish buccaneers. Tensions grow high and hearts are tested when Lovino becomes Captain Carriedo’s personal prisoner…” (on-going)

The Lemon Tree “Lovino didn’t want to be a slave in that scary mansion. He needed to break free. The fight for independence, however, is a difficult path, and falling in love with the man that destroyed his life doesn’t make things any easier.” (completed)

Sun Kissed “A powerful man once created gods to rule the sky as the creatures of the land lives. The Sun and the Moon. Brothers since birth, and all powerful, they rule side by side. As time passes, the Sun realizes how unhappy he is watching people hide from him. What happens when he discovers a man who isn’t afraid to live under the harsh sun?” (completed)

Tesoro Mio “Antonio’s the charming, handsome farmer with an infuriating Spanish accent, and Lovino is the mysterious wine entrepreneur who comes and goes. When Antonio falls in love, he throws society, expectations, and religion to the wayside, but can a strict Catholic like Lovino do the same?” (completed)

Because of the war “A first person POV for Romano during and after WW2. His thoughts as he fights and survives. Beware of angst.” (completed)

Just Add one Mermaid’s Tear “To gain something of ultimate value; the unthinkable must be preformed. The line is etched upon the brow of every nation, the taste of the water still on their lips. What happens though when one nation desires the fountain of youth once more?” (completed)

Until the Moss Had Reached Our Lips, and Covered Up Our Names “In a city filled to the brim with gangs, all the territory split between them, peace has lasted for the past sixteen years. It’s a tentative peace, won after the last massive gang war reshaped the entire city. Except all it takes is one domino to fall, and the Vargas patriarch is dead, leaving behind Antonio to lead his house, who isn’t even his blood relative. With an untried Head, the balance of power has started to shift again, and it seems as good a time as any to start calling in old debts and revenges.” (on-going)

The Bet “When someone kisses you, and then moves away you’d think that would be it. But when Antonio comes back from Spain he wants Lovino to be his again. Except Lovino now hates Antonio…which sucks for Lovino because Antonio isn’t going to let go that easily.” (completed)

Wings “People ask me a lot why I love him. Why I spend so much time chasing him when he never returns my feelings. It’s because I see something they don’t.” (on-going)

My Heart is Drenched in Wine “Wine and romance. More importantly, when you cut through my wine!fangirling, this is a story about Lovino and Antonio and how they find their way back together (in spite of the past and occasionally the present) as they attempt to make wine and sometimes love.” (completed)

Of Two Minds “Feliciano and Lovino are living on the streets, with a secret that keeps them from getting close to anyone. Will their lives get better or worse after being forced to join a pirate crew, and what will happen when their secret finally comes out? Rated T for some (minor) violence, Romano’s mouth, and some angsty feelings. Pirate AU.” (completed)

Beats of Fever “Antonio Fernández Carriedo is a doctor working in Madrid dealing with a crush on an Italian tourist when the tensions in Spain reach a head and Civil War breaks out.” (on-going)

All of Our Sins “Lovino is Catholic, but he’s not entirely sure what he believes. Nevertheless, he and his brother Feliciano are forced to attend confirmation classes. When Lovino meets their group leader- bizarre, cheerful Antonio; one of the first people to treat Lovino like he matters- things get complicated. When they find this church is much darker than it appears, things get terrifying. Fast.” (completed)

Es Sólo Tu Corazón “Lovino has been in love with Spain for as long as he can remember. All he wants is to be with his former caretaker, but he soon finds out that the Spain he knew as a child is no longer there…and the real one is far more dangerous.” (on-going)

There Goes My Life “Antonio, 26, a old gourmet chef, a bachelor who’s all party. Lovino a 20 y/o premed student who only has one goal, to be become a doctor. He is determined to let his feelings for the Spaniard fade away, but after receiving devastating news, a drunken one night stand leads to the end of life as Lovino knows it.” (on-going)

As We Were “Rich, bored and unhappy, Lovino Vargas is the heir to his grandfather’s wine brand. Antonio is the restless young traveller prone to attacks of claustrophobia. For them, falling in love is a journey. Literally. Spamano, Human AU, multi-chapter. Warnings for language and sexual themes.” (completed)

NekoRoma “Antonio has been feeling lonely with his recent break up with his on/off boyfriend. The solution: a new kitten that his boss doesn’t want. Just as he gets used to this cat, a new challenge is thrown at him. How do you teach a cat to be human?” (completed)

Summer Sensations “The hot summer nights of Madrid bring many things, but one very special night changes two lives forever. Lovino learns that love is not such a frivolous thing after all.” (completed)

Fools Like Us  “What starts out as a normal Friday night for the “Bad Touch Trio” soon becomes an opportunity for Francis to use his favorite word in reference to his best friends. Unfortunately, Gilbert and Antonio couldn’t possibly have fallen for people who would return their feelings easily, but Francis is determined to help them out despite his own relationship-or lack thereof.” (completed)

Hear Me “Antonio and Lovino are trying their best to get by in high school, but between the stresses of grades, family, friends, and heartache, it’s a lot harder than it looks.” (completed)

Fame and Fortune “Lovino Vargas is a barkeeper and reluctant Stasi informant. As much as he despises what he does, he obeys the terrifying Red Army colonel, Ivan Braginsky. That is, until the secretive and frustratingly attractive Antonio Fernandez Carriedo arrives in his life and breaks all the rules. Inspired by the Elvis Presley song of the same name.” (on-going)

It’s all Antonio’s Fault “Condoms, footballs to the stomach, fake nurses, confusing hallways, and flying backpacks. Lovino Vargas’s first day at World Academy was already one of his worst, and he could only imagine that it would spiral downwards as he got to know the tomato bastard, otherwise known as Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.” (on-going)

My Antonio “Going against everything in his strict, Catholic upbringing, Lovino has fallen desperately into love and lust for his family’s Spanish stable boy, Antonio.” (completed)

Sound Life “Spain is dead, leaving Romano distraught and wishing for there to be a way for him to see his beloved Spaniard alive and healthy…Only to wake up in a strange alternate world… with another Spain seeking his affection.” (completed)

Possessively Scary “Romano begins college late with his brother after their nonno passes away. When entering, he meets a very strange Spaniard. The man is odd but still attractive at the same time. As they get closer, Romano learns more about Antonio and doesn’t know if he should be scared of the man or not. Can he get out of something he got himself into?” (on-going)

This Dance “Antonio wants Lovino to be his dancepartner at Austria’s ball. Lovino, struggling with his growing feelings of love and affection for everyone’s favorite tomato-bastard as always, agrees. Now, there could be worse things, right?” (completed)

Powdered Sugar “Truth, like powdered sugar, tastes sweet but goes down cold. If a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down, we might need a bit more.” (completed)

Singles “Antonio, Francis, and Gilbert are three friends who suffered their first heartbreaks at the age of fifteen, and made a pact to never fall in love again. That will change for Antonio when he first lays eyes on a brown-haired young man in a club…” (completed)

A Heated Story “Sky High / superpower hs au. wip. Lovino Vargas is a new kid at Sky High with his brother. He has the power to control fire. Only one problem, he hates the heat. Spamano, and other ships. Doesn’t actually have anything to do with the movie, just used the school.” (on-going)

I Don’t Hate You “Lovino and his brothers face the unknown while on a mission to Earth. The Italian angel comes up against more than he bargained for when a dark angel takes a liking to him and now he and Feliciano might be cast out.” (completed)

Like all things, it ends “Lovino doesn’t want his family to know how much his childhood trauma still affects him and he does a good job at hiding it. That is, until he moves to a new town and meets Antonio, someone he is unable to hide anything from.” (completed)

Disegno e Colore “A young, apprenticing artist, Lovino craves rationality, perfection, and self-possession, and has curated his life to one day attain that. He never expected a chaotic and brash painter to barrel into his life and test everything Lovino thought he wanted and knew of himself, his art, and his heart.” (on going)

Land Beyond Dreams “Antonio is saved from death by someone he’d spoken to only a few times, but who lost his life in the process. Grief-stricken, he only wishes he could have gotten to know his savior, when his dreams suddenly become reality…or are they still only dreams?” (completed)

It’s All Antonio’s Fault “Condoms, footballs to the stomach, fake nurses, confusing hallways, and flying backpacks. Lovino Vargas’s first day at World Academy was already one of his worst, and he could only imagine that it would spiral downwards as he got to know the tomato bastard, otherwise known as Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.” (on-going)

A tale of endurance “Lovino had no idea what to do. Knowing that your life will be over in half a year tends to do that to you. Well, one thing he knew for sure. No one would ever discover this until the day he was pushing daisies. And that was a fact.” (completed)

The Risk of Love “Romano is dead and Spain is broken, spiralling into the deep, blackness of depression. And as he locks himself from the outside world, isolating himself from his friends, from everyone, in his oblivion of pain, Romano find’s he’s the only one who can help. Only, how can useless ghost like him even dream to help the slowly dying love of his life?” (completed)

Dance with me “Lovino Vargas started taking tango lessons completely by accident. Who would have thought that one day he wouldn’t mind those hands roaming over his body? That he would be dancing with his teacher as if there was no one in the room but the two of them?” (on-going)

Fireflies “Lovino was abandoned in Italy with his grandfather at age seven because his parents liked his little brother better than they liked him. On his way back from America, he sits next to a far too happy Spaniard. But, when this childish Spaniard turns out to be his new teacher, what will happen? And with a field trip to Venice on the way, what antics will they get up to?” (on-going)

El Corazón del Pirata “Fate is once kind, twice cruel. And Captain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo does not have a heart, nor does he fall in love with his prisoners. But Lovino Vargas might just be the fuel to his flame - certainly there’s more to him than meets the eye.” (completed)

More Than Lust “Why did the Spaniard always hope for the impossible? That Romano would come to him one day, confessing his feelings, and they would make LOVE? That they would cry out each others names, he could hold the Italian, wake up the next morning, and he would still be there?” (completed)

The Prince and the Pauper “When Prince Feliciano goes missing, it is up to a poor servant boy Romano to step in to take his place and thwart an evil plan to take over the kingdom. However, falling in love was something neither one anticipated. Based off of the Princess and the Pauper.” (completed)

Talking to My Shadow “Lovino spends his life telling doctors about his brother, Feliciano. They hear about his look-alike brother everyday but never see him. Lovino is finally taken to a new physiologist and he meets the doctor’s son, a springy little Spaniard who’s excited to help his new friend, no matter the difficulty. Will this illness mean a life time of seclusion for Lovino or can he win?” (completed)

Spend my time dancing “As much as Lovino loved seeing the upperclassman in his soccer jersey, he’d much rather help him take it off. It’s about time they started playing on the same field. AU. SpaMano. Various others. All’s fair in love and soccer.” (completed)

Maybe, Just Maybe “Romano couldn’t help but be instantly attracted to the stranger on the train, the one with bright green eyes and an unforgettable smile. How could something so simple end up changing his life so much?” (completed)

Dead Alone “Lovino drains the life from anything he touches, seriously. It seems that he’s the embodiment of death while his lively twin brother is his counterpart life. He has isolated himself from everyone, for their own protection. So what happens when a new transfer student decides to take an interest in him his freshman year of high school?” (on-going)

Lovino and the Conquistador “Lovino lived a life of simple pleasures; a good book, his own little world and an odd, but loving, family. However, in order to save his family, he must take their place as prisoner of a hideous beast within a gloomy castle. Based on “Beauty and the Beast” (completed)

Truth Be Told “The Well of Uncomfortable Truths is discovered & deals Spain a hard fact- "Whenever you said you loved him, you didn’t really mean it. You were thinking of his brother. They were empty words.” Can Romano be convinced about whom the Well was talking about?” (completed)

Scaliest “When his entire life is taken from him, Antonio vowed to slay the beast that ruined his life no matter the cost. But on his travels he meets a secretive, sassy bard who might be more helpful than either of them realize. Is vengeance the answer or is there more at stake?” (on-going)

All I’ve lost “Lovino Vargas has slowly fallen into the trap that is Anorexia. He meets Antonio who is a strangely kind kid. Lovino thinks maybe, just maybe…there is hope. Warnings: Depression, anorexia, bulimia, mental illness and bullying.” (completed)

Infection “Antonio didn’t know what to think of the man who randomly showed up in his home… completely naked. Yet, he still found himself drawn to this “Lovino”, only to be thrown into his worst nightmare.” (on-going)

Tomato Angel “What happens when Antonio get’s jealous? (Aftermath of ‘Awesome Being Evil’)” (completed)

Step-Lovers “King Romulus is getting married to Queen Isabel. While the wedding goes smoothly, things don’t go all that smooth for Antonio and Lovino. The heat is especially turned up when it’s decided that there will be a competition for who gets to be heir to the throne.” (completed)

There goes my life “Antonio, 26, a old gourmet chef, a bachelor who’s all party. Lovino a 20 y/o premed student who only has one goal, to be become a doctor. He is determined to let his feelings for the Spaniard fade away, but after receiving devastating news, a drunken one night stand leads to the end of life as Lovino knows it.” (on-going)

Broken Wings, Healed Hearts “Junior Lovino Vargas, a broken angel, has a dark secret he’s determined to keep to himself, now matter how much of an outcast it makes him. But will his new neighbor, Antonio, change that?” (completed)

The Reunion “Light or Dark?” Lovino asked. Feliciano studied him before answering. “Light. Light always wins” When Feliciano Vargas catches the eye of a mysterious man only by the name of “The Lord,” he finds himself and his brother on an adventure ending in Germany’s infamous Black Forest. However, the Lord’s affections are not what they appear to be and Lovino finds himself worried there is a worse threat other than some creep trying to get into his brother’s pants. (on-going)

Slowly But Surely In Love “Lovino Vargas turns fifteen, the age at which the words of peoples’ soul-mates say to them when they first meet is branded onto their wrists. Feliciano has a brand as soon as the hand strikes midnight, but why doesn’t Lovino?” (completed)

Life with Lyrics Lovino Style “Lovino struggles with what he believes is a one-sided crush and his completely oblivious, also entirely too cheerful, brother. Mentions of suicide, but not a death fic!” (completed)

Walking the Line “Maybe stumbling into Walmart in search of supplies during the end of the world wasn’t as good of an idea as Lovino initially thought. Nothing screamed desperate like raiding the aisles of a fucking Walmart for food while a hoard of the undead snarled at him from outside, but that didn’t seem to matter to the armed trio he stumbled into, or more specifically, the odd Spaniard munching on Skittles. His ideas were getting to be pretty lackluster these days.” (ongoing)

Hymn to the Sea “Please, call me Antonio,” he says. “Oh, and Lovino?” “What?” Lovino snaps, a little sharper than he wants when his brain has finally caught up to his embarrassment and he realizes he’s acting like a love-sick child. He finds he still can’t keep up when Antonio’s smile changes into something different: not the friendliness it was earlier nor the comforting warmth it was moments ago. No, this one is affectionate. “I prefer your smile over Feliciano’s any day,” he says, quiet and honest. (completed)

I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You “Throughout the 500 years they spent together, Antonio never stopped reminding Lovino of how special he was, and Lovino never stopped making Antonio the happiest man on earth.” (completed)

Lentamente “Antonio and Lovino are struggling with catastrophic life changes. A traumatic event leaves Antonio scared of his own shadow; a romantic betrayal destroys Lovino’s ability to trust people. And when coping seems impossible, can dance save them?” (completed)

We’d Be Together “Something felt off about Antonio’s new home. The stairs creaked, the windows groaned, and in the mirror he saw a face he didn’t know. The face was young but the gestures old; Toni began a romance untold. He felt an issue new to most… if only he could touch Lovino the ghost.” (completed)

Blessed WIth A Curse “Monsters are real… and they didn’t just hide in your closet or under your bed. Too bad they came in the form of Antonio Fernandez Carriedo- a Spaniard too sexy for his own good. / AU Vampire!AntonioxLovino” (on-going)

Speak  “Lovino is shy. So is Antonio. Oh dear…” (completed)

You Belong With Me “Lovino wished for a lot of things. He wished he had a family or food or fitting clothes or friends but mainly just wished to belong. He doesn’t quite get what he wished for when he meets filthy rich Antonio, who just came from Spain and has settled in the same town as the little thief. Still…it’s a start.” (completed)

The Witch of Sicily “There were still whispers, rumors that the witch of Sicily remained in that forest, cursing all who would come near. It was a place many feared to tread, treated almost as sacred ground. Only fools would dare incite the wrath of the witch by entering that place. Only fools…and pirates.” (on-going)

We the Dreamers “New York City, 1940: Antonio is a recently arrived refugee from Spain, a scarred soldier with firm political convictions. For Lovino, everything is pointless and nothing ever lasts. The two of them live, love and dream desperately, as World War Two threatens to take it all away.” (completed)

Guide Me “After witnessing a startling event, Lovino Vargas finds himself stricken with blindness from a psychological misfortune called ‘conversion disorder’. Without anyone to guide him, he is placed with Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, a novice seeing-eye counselor, who will try to help him regain his sight and if not, teach him how to live in the new dark, lonely world ahead of him.” (completed)

Pirate’s Lullaby “It was the last thing in the world that Lovino Vargas wanted. To fall in love with Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. But when the pirate takes him aboard his ship, Lovino learns that maybe it’s not so bad to be a pirate.” (on-going)

Infamous “Lovino was a childhood actor, but once the show he was a part of got canceled he thought he was free and could leave all the acting and fame up to his brother Feliciano. However, when a 'follow up’ episode is decided upon ten years later, he ends up going back. There he sees a familiar, face; Antonio Carriedo, a singer with his eye on Lovi making normal impossible” (completed)

Guilty Bliss “Lovino has had a drug problem for years that he’s never been able to stop. With his debts getting out of hand, Lovino finds himself in situations that made him wish he had quit.” (completed)

Bottoms Up! “Follow Lovino on his weird and, well, at least quite interesting trip around Europe in order to find out some of the greatest secrets ever about himself, Europe, tomato-shaped alarm clocks and the past of his lovely, but complicated Spanish partner.” (completed)

A Trip To Spain Could Only End In “Lovino is a foreign exchange student in Spain. Things were going just brilliantly before he happened upon a Spanish restaurant in the heart of Madrid where he laid eyes on a certain Spanish Sex God…” (completed)

The Pirates Treasure “Pirate Captain Antonio wants one thing, and one thing only; a mermaid. Boy or girl doesn’t matter, as long as they are royalty and can make him jewels.He’s got his wish, but dealing with this prince is going to be much harder than he thought.” (completed)

Strike a Pose, Fake a Smile “Antonio loves the stage; Romano hates it. So when he’s “convinced” into coming to drama club, he’s not gonna like it. In fact, he’s going to say things that he’ll regret. And because he’s such a good actor, this time Antonio believes him. Uh-oh.” (completed)

A Helping Hand “Antonio owns a cafe low on business. One day a strange boy comes in, running from a group of men and covered in wounds. Antonio offers for him to stay and repay him with work. As payment, the boy Lovino begins to make new dishes to bring more people into the cafe. Who is this boy and why won’t he tell Antonio anything but his name and age?” (completed)

A Beautiful Story “Lovino Romano Vargas is a suicidal designer who is unhappy with his fate. One day, he chances to meet Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, who turns his life upside down.” (completed)

Careless “This year, Antonio had priorities: grades, girlfriend and the Football competition, securing college with his two best friends! But that was before the Vargas moved in with all their drama including kidnapping, threats, and football talents. If anyone asks Lovino, not getting killed would be a clear ecstatic success. He is just what Antonio needed, or not.” (on-going)

This is it for now but I might update this if I get any suggestions, if I remember any fanfic that I missed or if I find any new good ones. If you’re an author and want me to add your fanfic or if you just want to suggest me one don’t be afraid to PM me! (because this is a masterlist after all)

[healingchildhoodtrauma]

Sacrificing Authenticity for Attachment: The Adaptive Survival Responses of Children and Their Influence on Future Relationships

(Part 2)

Generations of projection and “normal”

“Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.” ~ Carl Jung

As I’ve written about extensively in other articles (see here and here), what parents (and schoolteachers) cannot tolerate in children is often what they learned to suppress during their own childhood. What they denied within as an adaptive survival response they now “project” onto the young ones before them.

When they were children, our parents likely learned some combination of: “anger is inappropriate”; tears are a sign of weakness; “don’t be silly”; deny your dreams for “reality”; “grow up”; be “good”; do things “right”; “suck it up”; “be responsible”; please; prove; accommodate. They learned to survive at the cost of who they really were. They learned to survive because going back in time living was less about thriving and more about coping, getting by.

It’s safe to say that our parents, their parents, and so on, had to dim their vibrancy to please their primary attachment figures and satisfy family, institutional or cultural norms. The collective ethos would have had an aversion to people being a “tall poppy”—to standing out mentally, emotionally, physically or spiritually; to being unique, a trailblazer, a wildly imaginative soul—much more than today’s societal aversion. And so to cope and survive, our ancestors adapted, and they were rewarded for it. Parental and societal approval incentivized them with false ideas of belonging. And with most institutions, such as church, government and education, built largely on blind conformity and standardized compliance, it was difficult, if not impossible, for our ancestors to not take the bait. Unwittingly, they “sold their soul to the devil”—they became pleasers at the cost of their authentic feelings, needs, desires and voice. Attachment trumped authenticity. The relational aspect of fitting into society, of blending with the flock, the ethos of family, institution and culture, became the approved and “normal” way.

Despite advancements in consciousness, we still see plenty of evidence of this today. Just consider: How willingly do parents support their teenager’s unconventional, artistic dreams? How often do teachers follow a child’s lead? How much do we still expect children to bend to authority at home, school, church and elsewhere? How often do adults bristle at the sight of a kid being a tall, self-governing poppy?

Back to our ancestors, their adaptive survival response to obey and fit in, when acted upon enough, became a well-worn identity of pleaser. Coupled with approval from family, institution and culture, the need to please motivated our ancestors to achieve through, say, high marks in school, being “good”, or performing in sports or debate. It compelled them to acquiesce to traditions that they, on some level, knew were deeply flawed.

Pleasing, not standing out too much, and proving themselves as worthy, was forged into their neurology. As they grew older, this wiring manifested choices and lifestyles that reinforced their conditioning and the continued denial of their true nature even more. It was a vicious loop, one that fortified the longstanding collective ethos built on superficial ideas of belonging.

It’s worth wondering: how much of culture is just this—a collection of fear-based beliefs and adaptive survival identities trying to fit in? How much of our societal systems is a collective pathology based on unresolved survival responses?

How much do people actually know where their choices come from? Who is choosing? Their authentic self or the adaptation?

Aside from the rebellious ones, the rare thought-leaders, the trouble-makers or revolutionists, our ancestors mostly lived with an external locus of control—making sense of themselves and the world based on outer influences versus intrinsically defined thoughts and feelings (internal locus of control). Without a strong enough core of “inner rightness” or integrity, without the courage to stand tall and speak boldly as the likes of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Mark Twain did, they eventually would have succumbed to a hollowness inside that nothing could fill.

But because almost everyone was primarily oriented externally (and there was no internet or social media to show another way), they didn’t know any different. Add the fact that skillful healers, shamans, wise elders and therapists weren’t readily available back then, and our ancestors, sadly, had little choice but to acquiesce. They had to settle without knowing they were doing so; to endure through their anxiety and depression through the aid of work, drink, and other distractions. Surviving, just getting by, not thriving according to one’s inner compass, was the accepted norm.

Not surprisingly, based on research conducted by Julien Rotter in the late 1950s, we learned that when a child orients primarily with an external locus of control, it correlates to rising rates of depression and anxiety. How could it not? Years of self-disregard will do that to you.

Twenty or thirty years later, having grown up and with their own kids, our parents, to varying degrees, predictably struggled to offer safe space for us, as children, to make our own decisions and for our wide range of expression. Having grown up with an external locus of control, they expected us to define ourselves by external norms: to fit in; do what’s “right”; follow instead of lead; travel the path traveled by others; stay true to the known and expected; not stand out too much; don’t make the family look bad; make your parents proud… again, at the cost of authenticity.

If you got angry, and your parent learned to suppress and judge their own anger when young, without full awareness, they likely suppressed your red-hot energy through admonishments, judgment, punishments, or a cold, stern look. It would have been hard for them to see anger as a healthy emotion because they learned that it was bad, or even harmful. You then automatically oriented and adapted according to external pressures.

If you, as a child, dreamt of being a musician and your parent grew up learning to be a hardworking, practical, responsible individual, then they may have shunned your imagination. They might have expected you to live and work between the lines, not take risks. To choose the coal mine or accounting desk instead of the mic. Without a strong enough internal locus of control, you likely forwent your instinct, your authenticity.

If you felt a wave of sadness when young, and your parent grew up with the message that “tears are a sign of weakness”, then the impulse could likely have been to direct you towards “strength” and away from vulnerability. Your parent would not have seen the strength inherent in vulnerability. In fact, just like with anger and big dreams, your parent may have viewed your tears as a threat.

As the saying goes: “A parent tells a child to put on a coat so the parent feels warm.”

The impulse to orient a child externally and dim their wild fire is not a conscious choice by the parent, but an unconscious reaction. It is automatic. Though it may seem something they are doing from clear volition, they are, in most cases, re-enacting the past —which is what re-acting is—by projecting their disowned authenticity onto their children.

This is psychology 101, a process also known as “transference”: What the parent judges within, such as anger, imagination or sadness, they transfer onto the child. Unconsciously, they experience the child’s anger as a projection of their own disowned anger, rather than as the unique and natural experience of being human, let alone a bubbling child.

In other words, what we keep in the shadows internally we have a hard time seeing in the light externally. Considering how bright children shine in their physical, mental and emotional states, how unbridled they are in their expressions, it is no wonder that their exuberance is a threat to the locked-up, shadowed adult.

A child consistently projected onto, and controlled as a result, grows listening less to their heart and more to their brain—to thoughts of what they should do/be to make mommy, daddy or the teacher happy. They think more and feel less. This survival migration away from heart / somatic awareness to the calculating mind is a means of self-preservation and navigating through life. But it is a most profound loss to the full-bodied child that has significant ramifications on current and future health and wellbeing. The rootedness and instinctual aliveness of the feeling-body is suppressed for the predictability of rationality. The once natural inclination to be honest, as children so beautifully are, must hide. The natural impulse to trust themselves, what feels right, their internal locus of control, is denied for insecure attachment.

Years later, it’s no wonder it’s so hard to have intimate relationships, let alone navigate through life.

https://www.vincegowmon.com/sacrificing-authenticity-for-attachment/

[autumnblogs]

Day 41: Caliborn: Enter

https://homestuck.com/story/4956 It’s pretty natural that Dirk’s move on Jake is going to put a strain on Jane’s friendship with him, even if he hasn’t made it yet; I think it definitely gives some insight into Jane that she reacts the way that she does. Not exactly a graceful loser, and in a way that is really pretty passive-aggressive.

She’s not as open and honest as Jade is; as the Prospit Dreamers go, in general, she’s really pretty guarded.

More after the Break

https://homestuck.com/story/4961

The AR, I feel like, gives us a pretty good look into who Dirk is, and while we already know that he impulsively jumps to the first solution he can think of, we can see through the shades that he tends to advise people to do the same things that he does.

Dirk is an extremely headstrong guy, and while he’s both very intelligent, and would really like to be a Puppetmaster, he can’t help but let his personality shine through his puppets; and he can’t help but let his first inclination determine his course of action. He’s him, after all. Why would he question his own judgement?

A bit like how Kermit the Frog is really just Jim Henson the Frog.

https://homestuck.com/story/4962

So what is a Juju?

Juju is a word which comes from French, and means plaything. It is a term that has been used to characterize the Folk Magic and/or Folk Religion of the people of West Africa, in much the same way that Totem has been, or that Fetish has been. In a nutshell, Juju can mean both Spiritual Power (as Mana), and an Object of Spiritual Power (as an Amulet) - the physical manifestation of the thing, and the thing itself are the same, in this sense.

The God and the Idol are the same - at least, they are to the external viewer. While it should be clear that this is a reductive view of it, the fact of the matter is that, a central part of a lot of religious practice in general is to treat the image of a thing, and the thing itself, as though they are the same; and we see this sort of image-based performance all throughout homestuck, through symbols, and rituals, especially where they are empty signifiers - symbols and rituals that have been emptied of their original meaning, and are now practiced only for their own sake.

Following the rules actually doesn’t seem to pay all that much in the world of Homestuck, and almost universally leads to disaster - which in no small part appears to be because the creator of the rules is Lord English.

https://homestuck.com/story/4965

I think it’s pretty interesting that Caliborn’s conception of smut is something as tame as fluffy hand-holding and caressing. While on the one hand, we can just say “Cherubs think it’s taboo because they can only enjoy Caliginous romance” I think we can also associate it with the relatively sexless nature of Homestuck, beyond how horny the characters are, and a few oblique references (which is not a bad thing; it’s about teenagers). In spite of all of the suggestive language and content, there is no possibility of consummation in Homestuck, or even until well after the end of Homestuck, because Caliborn’s vision of intimacy is a sexless one.

https://homestuck.com/story/4967

This takes a turn for the fucked up at the end. I mean, it’s all fucked up to begin with, but it’s such a non-sequitur.

https://homestuck.com/story/4968

Caliborn uses consumption related metaphors and imagery in relation to smut. Aside from jokes about Vore, what’s the significance of that? That the intention of Caliborn and Calliope is to comment on the fandom of Homestuck itself (continuing the identification of the Characters with the Audience that we discussed yesterday) is not really a secret to anyone. How does Caliborn view engaging with Homestuck, and how does he therefore view engaging with Andrew? His view is Hegemonistic and Predatory. From his point of view, the universe he inhabits is full of things to be consumed; objects to absorb, break down into the parts of themselves that make him more powerful, and the parts that can be discarded.

https://homestuck.com/story/4970

I really never get tired of Caliborn, he’s so awful.

https://homestuck.com/story/4971

His conception of human romance is one where he conceives of women as essentially objects of gratification; woman on woman is allowed, I suspect, for much the same reason that it is often rationalized that f*tanari porn isn’t gay; how could jackin’ it to two women be gay?

The idea of women as actors who exist for reasons other than to gratify men, and other than to gratify Caliborn in particular does not occur to him.

Obviously, men don’t exist to gratify each other. That’d be too mutualistic.

https://homestuck.com/story/4981

The Interplay of Sex and Violence.

As long as this sequence is pretty much over;

Why does Caliborn want to play a game? I think the answer is in line with the overall theme of Homestuck. Cultural transmission.

In his book Homo Ludens Dutch historian Johan Huizinga discusses the nature of Play as an element of cultural transmission, and as a necessary (but not sufficient) condition for the generation of culture.

What this means in a nutshell is; Games aren’t the only thing that is necessary for culture to be created, but they are necessary for culture to be created. Can’t have culture without games. A big part of this is because games serve as a stage for human beings to symbolically and ritualistically practice the activities that, as a member fo their culture, they will one day have to perform in order to survive.

This is why games like Tag, and Hide and Seek are the oldest in the world; humans are persistence predators, we hunt down our prey by just not giving the fuck up.

Caliborn’s game is Irony and Porn; insincerity, reproductive activity, etc. and gaming is intrinsically competitive to him; he uses his game as a form of power over Dirk Strider, the power to make him suffer, although since he’s such a dweeb, he’s pretty bad at making him suffer.

https://homestuck.com/story/4986

Meenah likes games too, but her enjoyment of them seems to be a lot more authentic, sincere - as opposed to being a form of power for her to hold over her enemies, her little word-games, with her fish-puns, are a source of legitimate joy to her, and the fact that Aranea will engage her in them creates friendship between the two of them.

https://homestuck.com/story/5027

All this may not have a whole lot of substance to it (I’m making posts at this point almost 40 pages apart), but that doesn’t mean it’s devoid of worth. Homestuck has plenty of pathos, and in spite of the fact that Andrew adores making fun of us for caring about these characters, I do actually care about all of these characters.

They sure have come a long way.

https://homestuck.com/story/5083

As Roxy is ostensibly the stealth leader of her session, we should generally be willing to accept her takes as gospel in a way that we don’t take other characters’ (at least to a certain extent). We just got done talking about how important rules are to the cherubs, and to Caliborn explicitly - we should take heed of the fact that Roxy is very willing to throw caution to the wind and abandon the rules.

Rules in Paradox Space are largely harmful restrictions to be worked around, rather than auspicious maxims to adhere to.

https://homestuck.com/story/5071

Caliborn is a serial forced memer. We’ve already talked oodles and oodles about symbols and rituals and empty signifiers; what is a forced meme except for an empty signifier? An attempt by a malicious third party to turn a meaningless set of pictures and words into a symbol, a symbol that signifies nothing other than itself, and commands the attention and adherence of people in the culture? Rules for the sake of rules. Memes for the sake of memes.

https://homestuck.com/story/5089

Roxy’s anxious babbling is just so much like Dave’s, it’s hilarious. Their language less so.

https://homestuck.com/story/5092

The answer to what a ball’s topspin is, by the way, if you didn’t already know is

an English.

https://homestuck.com/story/5099

Why does Calliope want to be a Troll so badly?

The answer is that she doesn’t want to be a Cherub.

Why doesn’t she want to be a Cherub?

That question could probably keep me up all night, but I think I have an answer right away. Cherubs are arbitrarily powerful, and Calliope does not want to be a Cherub. She wants to be anything other than a Cherub. I can kind of relate to that, even as a human being. After all, there aren’t cherubs and trolls around, even though they are conceivable. Of all of the things we know for sure that consciously exist in our own universe, humans are the most powerful things we know exist for sure. I’d spend a lot to not be one; power, after all, makes us more inhuman.

https://homestuck.com/story/5116

Since I can’t pass up an opportunity to comment on the metanarrative indulgence of the second half, let’s pause to appreciate the term MacGuffin; in a nutshell, an object which exists to be desired. Its only purpose in the story is for someone to want it.

https://homestuck.com/story/5217

The fact that Dirk is conscious of the internal head-goings-on of Brain Ghost Dirk, and is therefore, to some extent cognizant of the head-goings-on of Jake English just opens up so many questions that I still don’t really have an answer to.

https://homestuck.com/story/5238

I rag on Dirk a lot for being a piece of shit.

But man, he is so cool.

https://homestuck.com/story/5246

This entire awful romantic escapade has been created by the Auto-responder, and while Dave has been complicit in it, he is not the puppetmaster behind it. Sound familiar?

https://homestuck.com/story/5252

This flash is just so delightful to me.

It’s the first time Roxy has ever touched another living human being and look how delighted she is.

LOOK HOW HAPPY SHE IS.

https://homestuck.com/story/5261

Now that we know who Lord English is, we have an opportunity to get to know him a little more as a person. Aside from his absurd commitment to puzzle-murders, his strange relationship with romance and sexuality, and his awful and perfunctory craftsmanship, here’s the most important thing to understand about him;

He will always destroy something irreplaceable if it means he can acquire more power.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 18: The Side Effects

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

These things take time; a lesson Nadya is learning the hard way as she continues her psychic training. Guilty consciences are eased, an old flame gains new fire, and a night out on the town doesn't go as planned.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Six weeks later…

“Perhaps we shall make this our last trip for the night, ma chérie?”

There’s a hint of chiding in Serafine’s voice but it lacks real heart. That much is obvious by her amused little smile when Nadya throws a look back to her. It certainly doesn’t help the woman’s case that during these last few excursions into her halls of psychic memory she’s pretty much been given free reign. Like a kid in a candy store.

“If you’re saying that because you’re worried about me tiring myself out — I actually feel really good this time. So maybe, like, one more after this?”

Her enthusiasm gets a little laugh in return. “We shall see. It wouldn’t do to overexert yourself too soon. Now — come back closer please. We won’t be wandering aimlessly this time.”

She falls back in step at Serafine’s side; eyes widening in surprise. “Then why are we here?” A completely innocent question that by all accounts should have had an equally innocent answer.

But there isn’t one single instance in history when a stretched out and tense silence meant anything good. Well… she supposes she’ll find out soon enough.

There’s no doubt in Nadya’s mind that the real Hall of Mirrors in the real Palace of Versailles — only a metro ride away from their apartment — is still breathtakingly beautiful. She doesn’t even doubt that a connected woman like Serafine herself could get them into the Palace after hours for a real, physical tour of the place. But there’s a unique beauty to seeing it in its prime. Everything still fresh and new and dedicated to the Sun King rather than those who came after his reign.

There must be a hundred candles above and around them. But they are, for the purposes of this memory, a source of light rather than heat. Even when Nadya stands on tip-toe and brushes the flat of her palm through a steady orange flame she doesn’t feel so much as a tickle.

Just another oddity to hammer home Serafine’s first lesson.

You are not a participant in the world around you, here. You are merely a voyeur — there to observe and nothing more.

They reach the center of the long and glittering Hall. Serafine stops and gives her an expectant eye. “How are you feeling; has anything changed?”

“Nope — everything’s still crystal clear.” Even in her excitement Nadya knows the importance of these questions. This may look like a field trip on the outside but deep within it’s just another in a long string of exercises. And they’ve been working at them diligently; every night for over a month now.

Frankly it’s about time all her hard work started paying off.

Out of the corner of her eye Nadya sees a flicker in the normally steady light. The flames of half a dozen candles barely clinging to their candelabra’s moorings giving a little impromptu dance. Just a small wind, she tells herself; and chooses to ignore the contradicting stillness of the window drapes.

“Is something supposed to happen?” Is something happening already?

Serafine nods in reply. “Up until tonight, our focus has been on the first step — the crossing of the bridge between minds and memories. But memories aren’t portraits frozen in time. By their very nature they are alive and in an endless cycle.

“The task we’re undertaking won’t be one you can find in an abandoned landscape, Nadya. When the time comes you must be ready to bear witness.” If only the apology in the vampire’s furrowed brow wasn’t more unsettling than it was reassuring… “And I regret to say not everything you take in will be beautiful.”

The candles waver around them again. Casting long shadows and dewdrops of golden light across every shining mirror. Bitter experience has Nadya almost certain she does not want to look into one. Better to spare herself even a brief glimpse of any number of dark and horrific deeds.

That’s the thing about bad memories. They are far too easy to conjure up — no matter who they belong to.

“Perhaps we’re attempting this too soon.”

Concern catches in the woman’s normally carefree tone and drags Nadya’s attention back outward — makes her shake her head insistently.

“I’ve gotta do it sometime. We’re already here, so let’s try it.”

“Are you sure?”

“No pain, no gain.”

Whether the vampire believes her or not, she accepts it. The memory continues.

Sharp footsteps echo back in the direction they had come from. Serafine looks up with a strange resignation in her dark eyes; her normal soft-humored smile replaced with pursed lips turned down somber and stoic.

Nadya doesn’t have the chance to question her about it before Gaius waltzes through the open doors.

He’s not real — he’s not real—he’s not real. She repeats the mantra until the thought is all-consuming but that doesn’t make it any easier to see him. He looks exactly the same after all. As does the familiar cherubic face that skips happily away at his heels.

Marcel.

Every step Gaius takes is with purpose. His eyes are trained forward but from where she stands it’s like he’s looking right at her and even though her brain is a broken record screeching he’s not real he’s not real he’snotreal nothing can stop the noise she chokes out; the hasty one-two-three steps back she takes before he passes her right on by.

She breathes.

You aren’t a participant in this world. You’re just a voyeur.

Marcel’s face lights up and he takes off in a dash, calling out “Serafine, Serafine!” gleeful and grinning. Nadya turns just in time to see him leap into her arms. She swings him around in a full circle before setting him down. They exchange familiar kisses on either cheek.

All at once the child’s face goes sour. The delight of reunion now gone and replaced by something much more important. Nadya knows this because she can feel the trepidation rolling around her insides in that now-familiar phantom way. A feeling that only comes with memory.

“Tell me it isn’t true, Serafine,” he practically whines; throws an arm out behind him to gesture vaguely in Gaius’ direction where he hangs back from the pair politely, “please tell me it isn’t true!”

The two older vampires lock eyes. Serafine wars with the guilt creasing her brow. Her King, as ever, able to compose himself utterly porcelain.

“You know full well I wished to tell him myself.” Her dress billows out as she takes to her knees.

Gaius shrugs; clasps his hands together behind his back. “It happened to come up; in my defense I thought you had already told him.”

Child’s hands cup Serafine’s cheeks. Marcel’s lower lip wobbles.

“Why won’t you come with us?”

She covers one of his hands with her own. “My work here is not yet done, petit. Not while the Holy Knights still lurk in the Sun King’s shadows. Surely you of all people can understand that.”

“But where we’re going… there won’t be any Knights.”

“For your sake I would pray so.”

“Banner is coming; Kamilah too! I cannot bear the thought of leaving you behind!”

“And your love brings me unbounded joy, but —”

“How can you stay here Serafine,” he interrupts, “after everything they did to us? In the New World we can start a new life! One without having to worry about the Knights, or—or any of their silly human struggles.”

Serafine quirks an eyebrow up at Gaius. “I would dare say the struggles in a unfamiliar world would be far greater.”

The man inclines his head. “Steps have been taken to ensure we will be well-received.”

“How can you be certain?”

“Do you doubt me, Mademoiselle Dupont?”

There he is. The Gaius that Nadya recognizes, who she struggled to try and find under his powdered face and frilled collar. But she knew he couldn’t resist showing his true self for long. All this decoration is just another glamour. He’s still a monster beneath.

Quickly Serafine bows her head; speaks a low “Non, My King,” and is forced to wait until he silently accepts her apology to regard him again, “but I have seen the struggles of new nations before, as you have. What is to stop the Holy Knights from following you across the world? They have done so before; surely they would again.”

A shiver runs down Nadya’s spine as she watches Gaius’ eyes burn red. Dozens of flames reflected that give him an awe-ful power; something near godlike. Even though she knows firsthand he won’t see that kind of power for centuries to come it still leaves her frozen in fear.

The Vampire King smiles down at the pair cold; confident.

“I would hope they try. For then I will show them what happens to their kind in my Shadow Kingdom.”

The world around her begins to blur at the edges much to Nadya’s relief. Pinpricks of flames growing brighter, whiter; until they swallow her and the three vampires whole. Until Gaius and Marcel are left in the past and that version of Serafine with them.

Then all she sees is the black void and flashes of nameless colors behind her closed eyes.

Nadya waits until the high-pitched ringing in her ears dies down; gives way to the sounds of the apartment and the strange life they’ve built within it. She knows from tragic experience that coming back to herself, to her own head and the present with it, so soon would only end in nausea and the occasional nosebleed. Funnily enough she’d rather avoid that this time around.

When Lily’s laughter from the other room is louder than the noises in her head, Nadya knows she’s in the clear.

It takes a few blinks for her eyes to adjust. She reaches blindly and feels a cool glass slide into her hand. Her thumb brushes over Adrian’s — he waits patiently until she has the strength to hold it on her own. Each gulp soothes the itching, burning rawness in her throat. A welcome relief.

“How do you feel?”

“Honestly? Kinda fuzzy.”

She regains full and clear sight just in time to catch the furrow in Adrian’s brow. “‘Fuzzy,’” he repeats; and he’s two seconds from scribbling the word down on a notepad before she stops him.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“But you just said —”

“Yeah, well…” Nadya turns her head to look across the table; to Serafine and her (rightfully, absolutely justified, totally warranted) guilty expression. “I wasn’t exactly expecting to hang out with Gaius tonight, so fuzzy is better than the alternative.”

The woman grabs for her waiting glass of wine and sips. Tries—and fails—to be idle about it. At least she isn’t pretending like she didn’t throw Nadya for a loop.

“What the heck was that about?”

Serafine swallows after a moment. “It was not my intention to sneak the memory upon you, Nadya.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“You’ve been progressing so well, ma chérie. The decision was a spontaneous one; not to mention a success, do not forget.”

“Yeah, but…” Surely she gets why Nadya’s not the happiest camper! “Did it have to be him?”

“I was advised you work well under pressure and with little time to think.”

“By who?!”

She regrets it the second she asks. No, she knows the answer the second she asks. It’s pretty obvious after all; possibly even more than since Nadya isn’t alone as she and Adrian whirl around in their chairs to look through the doorway into the living room.

Jax is just a little too focused on his book to actually be reading it.

“Nadya —” Serafine drags her attention back with a hand over hers, lacking warmth but still just as soft; she still tries her best to keep that frown front and center, “— you did remarkably. Far better than I could have hoped. Ask yourself; do you feel any of your usual aches or side effects?”

Under the pair’s scrutiny Nadya does go through her mental checklist. However reluctantly. The ringing is all but gone and whatever stomachache she’s feeling is probably because she hasn’t eaten — for fear of the nausea she doesn’t feel either. Every physical followup she’s experienced since they began the painstaking process of dismantling her ‘psychic walls’ either isn’t there or is so faint it’s easily attributed to being human.

Her defeated sigh is met with smiles from both Serafine and Adrian — rude of them but… still. “No,” she reluctantly admits, “but that kind of pain usually only happened when the memories were being pushed at me, you know? It was all chaos and noise and crowds and stuff I couldn’t understand. But… that doesn’t make what you did okay.” Since Nadya really doesn’t know which was worse; the pain of being practically assaulted with vampire memories or the stress of having to even look at Gaius’ dumb face.

At least she gives Nadya that. “I apologize for my deception. But this is fantastic news. It means we can begin pushing your boundaries, seeking what we need; what all of this time has been for.”

All of this time, she says; like Nadya hasn’t been struggling with her self-imposed guilt every single day. Like she hasn’t been pushing herself — sometimes a little too far too quickly — because it’s been six whole freaking weeks.

Six weeks of psychic Karate Kid training.

Six weeks of (admittedly delicious) gut-wrenching French food and wine.

Six weeks of absolute radio silence from New York.

“We will begin plotting our course tomorrow evening.”

Serafine drags her attention back to reality as she stands; Adrian with her out of habit. She grabs her coat from the back of the chair and folds it over her arm. The last look she throws Nadya’s way is a proud one.

“May I walk you out?” Adrian asks and offers her his arm. It takes everything in Nadya’s power not to burst into knowing and maybe even childish giggles. Like he hasn’t walked her out every night since they started this?

But hey — with roommates as nosy as them she gets his want for even a little bit of privacy.

The woman takes his offer with warmth in her eyes. “I would be glad of the company,” she accepts. The pair exit the apartment with remarkable grace; especially seeing as their sharp vampires ears definitely hear their audience’s laughter the moment the door closes behind them.

When she’s gulped down enough water to hope the Gaius in her head is drowning, Nadya joins Lily on the couch with a box of leftover macarons. It’ll be sunrise soon; not enough time for them to get into any trouble worth the effort.

“Any-f’ing ah’ all?” Nadya asks around her mouthful of sugar; jerks her chin in the direction of the news station Lily must have settled on some time ago.

It’s no surprise when Lily shakes her head. Nadya doesn’t even know why she asks anymore.

Yes she does. Because she’s Nadya.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come with us?” But this is the third time she’s asked and by now the jig is up — Lily knows full-well she keeps turning back because it’s an excuse to try and inch her way away from the door. A way to try and find a reason to stay right along with him.

Judging by the wry amusement in Adrian’s little smile he’s pretty aware of it too.

“I’ve never really been a club kinda guy. But don’t worry about me — you guys go have fun and have a drink on my behalf.”

“See?” Lily all but snaps. “We’ve practically got his permission to go!”

Jax can be seen through the open front door; waiting in the hall with arms crossed over his chest and foot tap-tapping in exasperation. “You can’t force her to go if she doesn’t want to go, Lily.”

Which is something even Nadya has a hard time believing. It’s like he’s never met her or something. Or maybe it’s because he has — because he knows trying to convince her that she isn’t the Grand Master on High in Control of Nadya’s Fate will only ensure their night out could only be stopped by a nuclear apocalypse.

Nadya wrenches her wrist out of Lily’s grip with no small amount of effort. If she bruises, someone’s sleeping on the couch. “Nadi’ I swear to God —”

“I’m coming, okay?! Yeesh just…” Her words trail off when she looks back to Adrian. All on his lonesome at the kitchen table normally shared by at least two others, staring at his laptop screen with his usual work-busy furrowed brow and his index finger curled over his chin in deep thought.

“Just gimme a minute, okay?”

Lily holds her hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. You’ve got three minutes before I haul you out over my shoulder. And don’t think I won’t.”

“I know you too well.”

“Damn right.”

She closes the door behind her, separating them and leaving Nadya and Adrian actually and properly alone. When it’s clear he won’t be looking up from his screen of his own free will she huffs her way over to him, practically stomping in her heels by the time she gets there, and forces the lid closed with an open palm.

Adrian jumps back, startled. Even with superhuman senses he gets too lost in his work too often.

“Well hey there stranger,” sarcasm dripping from her drawl, “welcome back to reality.”

Adrian tries to frown but there really isn’t any heart in it. He’s barely frowned at all these last few weeks — not unless Psychic 101 ends up leaving her with a headache the size of the Eiffel Tower. It’s been refreshing to see; which is what makes seeing even the shadow of it now all the more frustrating.

“Please come with us?”

He takes her outstretched hand and squeezes it with his own. “I’m not kidding about the clubbing thing, Nadya. And I don’t want you to miss out on my account. Go, have fun, enjoy the real Paris for once. Serafine is right — you need a break. I think we all do in our own way.”

Nadya’s eyebrow almost becomes one with her hairline.

“You know this —” she circles her finger around the laptop, “— this is the exact opposite of taking a break.”

“Not for me.”

She’s probably winding down on her allotted time. When Nadya reaches out Adrian meets her halfway; both of their hands together swinging between them. He’s probably thinking the same thing, too, since he throws a look towards the door fully under the assumption Lily is about to storm her way right back through. Likely while using Jax headfirst as a battering ram.

Adrian brings her back to reality with a tiny squeeze. “You don’t have much time left to tell me why you’re really so hesitant. I’d use it wisely.”

Nadya whines; it comes out more petulant than anxious which definitely wasn’t her intention in the least. Luckily Adrian knows her pretty well already.

“Are we bad people for doing this?” She asks, and bites her bottom lip.

“What, going out?”

“Doing something fun.” Because Kamilah definitely isn’t having fun. Maricruz definitely isn’t having fun.

So by that logic they definitely shouldn’t be having fun. Right?

“Nadya… c’mere.”

And this, right here, is the reason she’s okay with not being able to double back to her apartment for her anxiety blanket. Adrian’s hugs are just as fulfilling; just as calming. She buries her face into his shoulder and squeezes so tight her arms start to prickle with pins and needles and he knows just the right amount of pressure to give back.

He pets her hair with a small sigh. “I don’t think I’m telling you anything new when I say this, but things… aren’t all that great right now.”

“Wow, really?”

“Really. But this may surprise you — things are still going to be not-so-great tomorrow. Or the day after, or the day after that. It’s terrible, I get it. Every night I wake up and my first thought is always the same; ‘this isn’t the day I’m going to fix things.’ And that eats me up inside. I’m sure you’ve seen it… because to me it feels like if I try and pretend I’m not battling those thoughts then I’m doing a disservice to everyone who stayed behind; especially to those who didn’t have a say in the matter.

“And there’s nothing wrong with feeling that way, or thinking negative thoughts. In fact, I think they can be great reminders for what we’re working towards, here. What everything is for.” Adrian eases her back, practically forcing her to look him in the eyes. He may be smiling more but in the end that doesn’t make up for the fact that Adrian likes to shoulder a lot of the world’s emotional guilt. Nadya does, too. It’s probably why they get along so well, huh? “But if you don’t step back and remember what makes the loss of something so sad to begin with, then you can get caught up in all that negativity way too easily.”

Nadya’s sigh is a heavy thing, but she feels the weight — the burden of it lessen like the oxygen in her lungs. Adrian’s right; they both know it. But how dare he use his years of experience and immortal wisdom against her like this.

How dare he make her feel so young.

“I know.”

He nods. “Kamilah stayed behind because that was the right thing to do. But I think we both know she’d be giving you the lecture of a lifetime if she knew you were spending all your time beating yourself up about it.”

Ugh, true. “Yeah, and when she would be done all the time for going out would have been used up.”

“Exactly.” He kisses her forehead and tries his level best to shift her hair back in place. He fails, of course, but nobody’s perfect.

“So go and enjoy yourself for tonight. You’ll feel less guilty tomorrow, I promise.”

“Promise me you won’t brood here all alone tonight, instead?” Which makes Adrian laugh and leaves Nadya more than a little confused. Less so when she catches his smile.

“Who said I’m going to be alone?” He glances at his watch. “Serafine should be here soon. And you guys were supposed to be long gone by now.”

Ew. He’s staying behind to get lucky.

“Just… don’t forget to put something on the door,” after a quick ruffle to his hair for revenge, Nadya slings her purse over her shoulder and makes to scram, “your tie, a sock, something. I’ve seen enough things to scar me for this lifetime.”

“Not funny, Nady—!” She cuts him off with a closed door.

Jax heaves loudly. “Finally — can we go?”

With Lily’s arm looped in hers Nadya starts to walk rather than give him a verbal answer. “This side of you scares me, you know that?”

“Not me,” Lily chimes in, “after my banger I’m convinced you were a regular Travolta in your heyday.”

“White suit and all?”

“White suit and all.”

Their laughter follows behind Jax like a banner of shame all the way down the apartment stairwell.

By the time they make it to Hip-Trendy Parisian Club Number Three, there’s nothing left for them to do but finally be honest with themselves.

None of them are really “club people,” and even if they were there’s something so fundamentally wrong with the sight of people partying, kicking back; enjoying their lives. Of course these random strangers don’t know any better; their lives are weird and complicated in their own unique ways but for Nadya, for Jax and Lily? All they see are blissfully ignorant victims dancing and grinding and drinking their way through the end of the world.

Not that they don’t nab a few of those drinks for themselves on the road to enlightenment.

Lily forces her way none-too-gently through the throngs of neon-clad pretty faces, finally arriving to their little standing table like she’s made it home from a decade-long war. Nine shot glasses scattered on the tray, more than half of them the same color purple as her locs, and they all grab one and raise the first drink in cheers the same way they had at the club before this, and the club before that.

“For Kamilah.”

“For Mari. Salud.”

“For the Shadow Den.”

In what is now a well-rehearsed choreography, the trio knock back their glasses with gusto. Is she following Adrian’s advice and trying not to wallow in guilt, yes. Does that mean they can’t take a drink for the things their hearts ache for, absolutely not.

Artificial lime flavoring does wonders for masking the alcohol’s burn all the way down to her stomach where it settles just about as well as every other weird flavor before it. When Nadya comes back up she sets the glass down a little too heavy-handed; lets her world spin for a moment in ways that have abso-tootly nothing to do with vampire memories or psychic visions.

Well, that’s what she thought, anyway.

Her brain has a different idea and has decided (without her permission, to be clear) that it’s totally okay to blur the lines between reality and memory. It wants her to see things that aren’t actually there.

Oh, he looks like he is. Sticking out like a sore thumb in his crisp but ill-fitting suit and a scowl that probably sealed in place when he was Turned. Among the party-goers and club kids he’s not easily missed and the fact that he isn’t even trying to blend in all but hammers home the fact that he can’t be real.

Much to her surprise Nadya doesn’t even have to think hard to place where she’s seen his face before. Then again all of the Baron’s goonies look the same at the end of the day; stock-cut henchmen out of a bad British spy flick.

One second he’s standing there, a literal sore thumb in the neon-colored chaos. Three blinks later he’s gone; retreated back into Nadya’s unconscious where she will, inevitably, replay the events of that night on the airstrip over and over and over again.

“Welp, it’s official,” Lily takes her remaining two and knocks them both back together, because why not apparently, “we are the biggest bummers to ever bum around Bummertown.”

It’s enough to bring Nadya out of her Bloodkeeper weirdness and back to the others. Jax, leaning over the table with his head sagging onto his palm, looks to her for translation. Not the first time tonight.

“We’re very sad, dear.”

“Oh, yeah. But that’s not a real place, right?”

“No, dear.”

He clicks his tongue and takes his time sipping something with edible glitter swirling around inside. Flecks shimmer in dazzling rainbow on his upper lip when he’s done, but she can’t muster more than a “heh-nheh” at the sight.

“That’s the double-edged sword of being a mosquito, you know?” Lily looks at them both like they should very much know what she’s talking about. They do not.

Nadya pushes her glasses up carefully. “Uh… pardonnez-moi?”

“You know…” flicking over one of the empty glasses, “on one hand, you can’t get drunk. No hangovers is literal nirvana. On the other hand, you can’t get drunk. And I think I’d give my left tit to be drunk right now.”

“You did always prefer your right one.”

“It’s better shaped.”

Twin looks make their way to Jax at the same time, and finally there’s something worth laughing at. He’s looking between them like they’ve burst into spontaneous French and he’s never heard the like in his life, and that’s pretty freakin’ hilarious. He doesn’t even let her try to translate in between bouts of laughter; just holds up his hand and looks away with a disgruntled “I don’t want to know, I really really don’t.

“But —” and doesn’t that make them snap back to attention, “— I’ll agree about the booze thing. It’s not hitting the spot, you know?”

Lily nods in solidarity. “Just what I was thinking.”

“We could always try somewhere else?” Nadya offers, and tries not to look as utterly offended as she feels by the mutual sympathy the vampires send her way.

“Not like that, it’s… Lily, you explain it.”

Subtle wink. “It doesn’t —” —subtle wink— “— hit —” —subtle wink— “— the spot, Nadi’.”

Not the way Jax would have done it but he did hand it off, so that’s on him. “Not like we were dining out every night at the Shadow Den, but sharing the rations on Raines’ plane between three vampires doesn’t even reach the bare minimum. D’you get it now?”

Yeah, she got it after the first wink, but thanks for hammering it home. And she feels pretty bad about not considering their plight earlier — choosing instead not to look when the day’s blood bag makes the rounds rather than make sure everyone was getting their fair share.

As she sweeps a long look over the crowded club, though, it doesn’t seem like one or two people heading off for an hour or two would be all that noticeable. Right? The advantages of fast-paced urban crowding.

“If you guys need to, like, do the thing, I could be lookout?” she offers. Jax doesn’t miss a beat to laugh, like she’s suggested robbing a bank to meet a measly bar tab, but when he glances to Lily she isn’t joining in. In fact, she looks incredibly thoughtful.

“No.”

The younger vampire whines and stops her foot against the concrete dance floor. “Come on… we’re careful! And it’s just once.”

“We haven’t scoped the territory, noted the exits… we’d be sitting ducks for that order of hunters.”

“I get that,” Nadya agrees in earnest, “but do you really think there’s enough of them to scope every club in Paris, or even all of Europe?”

“I think risking it is inviting trouble.” And maybe she’d be content to let the matter rest if he looked as sure as he sounded. But it isn’t a trick of the lights that have his eyes changing color; Lily’s either. Nadya recognizes the look and by now she’s been around vampires long enough to know when the hunger starts to hurt more than the reasons for it help.

All it takes is for Jax to look at the flicker of desperation Lily normally keeps hidden in her eyes. Maybe it’s easier for someone else to feel it, too. “Okay, okay,” he grunts out, immediately sliding into a different kind of leaning stance. One that reminds Nadya of a tiger; of the predators they actually are. “But we do this as carefully as possible, and we need to find someone who won’t think twice about what’s going on.”

Lily grins wickedly. “So someone high off their asses, got it.”

Anyone else — and perhaps even a version of Nadya in which none of the events of the last year-and-then-some have never happened, thus making her staggeringly normal — would—should—find this to be ‘too far.’ But that version of her doesn’t exist. The last year-and-then-some did happen and Nadya would rather her friends do what they can to keep themselves safe and strong and very much not easily beaten bloody. Despite all of that and with her compromised morals aside, though, she draws the line at actually helping them find someone. That’s a bit like asking a vegetarian which beef tenderloin looks the best, isn’t it?

The girl Lily and Jax finally agree on is ordinary. Well, ordinary in a hangs-out-in-French-clubs kind of way; so almost alarmingly pretty in ways Nadya doesn’t want to describe for the health of her own self-image. There’s a moment where she wants to question their choice only because she doesn’t… look like she’s on something. But when Jax goes over with his dark hair swept a bit over his eyes and the top three buttons of his shirt undone and does his thing — Nadya realizes she’s just a hilariously bad judge of sobriety.

Probably doesn’t help that she’s not too sober herself.

Could be minutes, could be ages, either way Jax finally gets the young woman to follow him out through the back door of the club. “He told her he had a motorcycle,” Lily tells her, making sure to lean in and keep both of their heads down as they abandon the rest of their drinks and follow soon after, “which actually isn’t that bad of an idea.”

“What a gentleman.”

“Actually you’d be surprised. He dresses like a bad boy but he’s pretty tame once you get to know him.” No matter how much she wants to doubt it, though, Lily would know wouldn’t she?

Abandoning the humid atmosphere of the club for the outside world is like traveling to a whole different planet. And it’s one Nadya isn’t sure they should be on; not when the abrupt shift in all her major senses acts as a big fat slap in the face to the fact she’s definitely had more than she thought. It’s like the lack of constant thrumming of bass in her veins throws her off-kilter; has Nadya reaching out for Lily’s arm to steady herself on something, well, steady.

“You sure you’re okay to be lookout?” She gives Nadya a once-over that’s just long enough to show she’s reconsidering. Which simply cannot do. So she pulls up her Big Human Girl Pants and practically shoves Lily away.

“I’m fine!”

Lily’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “I dunno… you’re reminding me of Easter again.”

“Hush, we promised never to speak of Easter.”

“Well at least you remember that.”

It’s the perfect place for this sort of thing; an alley only open at one and and with a large chunk of old wooden pallets stacked precariously against one wall and a dumpster pressed up against the other. The smell isn’t exactly what Nadya would call appetizing, and it can’t be much better for Lily’s hyper-senses, but the hunger wins out over bad smells just like it does over continuing to argue. She squints through the fingerprint smudges on her glasses, trying to catch a glimpse of Jax in the darkness, but all she can see are shadows. Can’t even tell if they’re moving or not.

“Is he back there?” Turns out sight isn’t what was needed, though. Nadya isn’t exactly familiar with dingy alley makeout sessions but she does know what intense kissing sounds like. “This is gonna scar me for life.”

Lily pecks her cheek; when she pulls back her eyes are bright and red and near-primal. “You’re the best B-F-F ever, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah, go… slurp or whatever.”

She’s lookout, remember? No amount of money could get her to follow and watch.

With a couple (light) smacks to her cheeks and a big gulp of wintery air Nadya whirls around on her heel. The club back door is on her left, the mouth of the alley dead ahead — oh yeah, nobody’s gettin’ in here without her knowing about it.

Well… nobody except for the returning hallucination of Evil Henchman #1.

“Just ignore him, he’s not real…” Nadya mutters under her breath. The same thing Serafine had her say the first time this had happened, and every time after. Eventually her psyche will re-align itself or… re-build her defenses or… whatever technical term there was for the echo of her own memory going away on its own. “Or at least try and think of someone less ugly.”

The hallucination frowns; deep lines carving themselves into his face all the way up around his lumpy bald head.

Nadya’s halfway to pulling out her burner phone to beat Lily’s high score on ‘SNAKE’ when it dawns on her.

Hallucinations don’t react.

“Found you.”