#i wish we had it before people formed some crude opinions about him

[thefirstknife]

Iron Lord Saladin Forge

Season of the Lost dropped some major lore about Saladin and I love every piece of it so I will make a huge post detailing stuff about and what's important.

The lore is on Iron Banner armour which you can see in-game when you go to the armour section. The lore is the same on each class so it doesn't matter which one you read. It's in the order of how armour is set, so helmet -> arm piece -> chest piece -> leg piece -> class item. There's some extras on Iron banner weapons that I'll add as well.

The rest under the cut due to length and also spoilers!

I'll link to the Hunter gear because I'm a dirty Hunter main and I read it from there and that's what I have open because I couldn't remember the names for other two classes, but the lore is the same on all of them. The set is called Iron Forerunner.

We haven't really had any substantial Saladin lore in D2 besides few lore pieces from Chosen and Splicer. Not nearly enough I think, especially since he wasn't properly introduced in D2 at all and it was kinda assumed that everyone would know about him from the Rise of Iron expansion in D1. He had plenty of voice lines, but with no real context. His voice lines in Season of the Chosen were interesting, but also made a lot of people think he's a bad person and a warmongering coward who sat on his butt during the Red War and was then preaching action for action's sake.

The situation is obviously more complex, but I've always said that it's Bungie fault for not explaining more about him prior to his involvement in the Season of the Chosen. Well, now we got some really interesting information at last!

Anyway, helmet first!

Flavour text:

"Some know the legend. We threw ourselves on the blades of tyranny so others may live free." —Lord Saladin

This is referencing the Iron Lords' fight against the Warlords in the Dark Age. Saladin is heavily influenced by his time in the Dark Age. It seems like some really old Guardians never get over the trauma of living through that (Drifter is another example). Side note: this could also be referencing the battle against SIVA since Rasputin is also known as "The Tyrant." It's not fully relevant tho, as Saladin was equally affected by both periods in his life.

This first entry details something we don't really think about when it comes to Guardians: death. It's a temporary thing with them so it doesn't really matter. But Saladin recounts how he remembers his deaths and how each one felt. Despite the fact that he will be brought back, the pain and struggle of dying are very real. There is also the associated trauma of the realisation that you will go through this over and over and over:

He laughed when his Ghost reassembled him. Then, he cried.

It's not something mentioned often, and definitely wasn't a point raised with Saladin. It gives some context to how seriously he takes combat, training and the lives of his fellow Guardians.

Saladin remembers the day he stopped counting deaths. "Something about you is different," Jolder had said, and put her hand on his.

This explains that his worldview of the role of Lightbearers changed the moment he was invited to become an Iron Lord. It's also important to remember that he loved Lady Jolder very much (in whichever way you want to interpret it) and that watching her make the choice to die a final death has had a heavy impact on him.

Saladin remembers all this and more when he looks at the Crow. He feels rage form a hot pit in his belly when Osiris tells him about the young Lightbearer's suffering at the hands of his fellow Guardians. Osiris asks him if he can keep a secret.

"I don't like secrets," Saladin says, and that's the end of it.

Saladin doesn't really say this during Chosen and his interactions with Crow, but it's evident from this that he cares deeply about the young Light who suffered in ways Saladin only remembers people suffering during the Dark Age. It's also important to note that the Osiris he speaks to here is Savathun. Saladin seems to be uniquely unaffected by Savathun's schemes. This will repeat itself again later.

Second, arms piece.

Flavour text:

"Some know the legend. We were forged in the fires of a burning world." —Lord Saladin

Same thing as before. Referencing the post-Collapse Dark Age. The lore tab details a really tragic story of the Iron Lords burying bodies, including the implication of Saladin burying the body of a child. He recalls that these people were victims of Fallen Raiders.

"It's a vicious circle," Efrideet had said as she tied off a funeral shroud with great care. Saladin remembers the bundle being very small. "One day, I'm going to break it."

Saladin remembers how easily the body fit in his arms, how light it felt as he laid it in the grave. He remembers, with shame, pretending not to hear Efrideet's words so he wouldn't need to respond to them.

He remembers not having anything kind to say.

He obviously regrets not having a stronger stance on this in the past. Where Efrideet seems to have always been keen on ending the cycle of violence, he clearly thought differently and is now ashamed of it. This transitions into more about his relation to Crow:

Saladin remembers all this and more whenever the Crow talks back to him. Sometimes, he bites down on the inside of his cheek. Sometimes, he looks up to find his Ghost focused on him with a knowing look.

He doesn't say anything to his Ghost either.

Because Crow was saying things that reminded him of Efrideet. Breaking the cycles of violence, extending a friendly hand, not treating everyone like an enemy. It's evident that this turmoil is still inside of him as someone who spent most of his time fighting for survival, only to be told by those younger than him that there's a way out of that war. It's a very common struggle of people dealing with trauma and specifically PTSD to not be able to imagine and/or live in a world of peace and to outright reject the possibility of peace ever existing. Saladin is very clearly dealing with that and here, we see it from his own POV: despite sometimes being harsh to Crow, there were times when he chose to say nothing because deep down he knows that Crow is right. Accepting that is a long process though.

Third, chest piece.

Flavour text:

"Some know the legend. We rose from the ashes of a dying world to save humanity from itself." —Lord Saladin

Same again, but this is an interesting way to phrase it. He's talking about humanity being a danger to itself, not about any external threat. Ultimately, the Traveler's gift was the first thing that harmed humanity post-Collapse, despite later being the thing that saved it.

This leads into Saladin's thoughts on the Red War, something we've been sorely missing for a very long time.

Saladin remembers losing his connection to the Light. He remembers thinking that the Traveler must have discovered his most secret doubts; the darkest thoughts he shared with no one—not even his Ghost. He remembers the strange sense of relief that had washed over him until his radio crackled to life just moments later.

His deepest secret? Probably that Light is a burden. When he lost the connection to the Light, he specifically thought it had only happened to him and then felt relief. Freedom from the eternal war he has to keep waging. I'm sure he feels incredible shame for thinking it would be better to just lose the Light and die a final death, but alas, he is bound by duty. Especially a Titan's duty.

He stands there thinking about it for a while before finally deciding to embrace that duty. And now we know what he was doing during the Red War:

"Saladin," his Ghost said again, and Saladin remembers moving. He remembers clutching his radio and rallying survivors—those strong enough to make the journey—to the Iron Temple.

It's been abbreviated as him "sitting out" the Red War because he didn't fight. Of course it was strange that the last remaining active Iron Lord did not show up to the City to fight alongside all the others, both Guardians and ordinary humans. That Lord Saladin, someone who endured so many hardships and fought so many battles since the Dark Age, hasn't come to help humanity in its time of greatest need.

But now this hits different. He didn't fight, yes. He couldn't. Losing the Light wasn't just something that made him scared (like all Lightbearers): it was something that made him scared of how he might actually enjoy dying a glorious final death. To end the trauma and the memories of all the horrors he's been through. So instead of throwing himself into a reckless death, he chose to stay in the Iron Temple and protect survivors.

So yeah, he didn't fight, but he did something equally important. The Iron Temple is an extremely well protected fortress that's very difficult to reach and breach, so any survivor he gathered was perfectly safe there until the Red War ended. Sometimes "sitting out" is more noble than fighting.

Saladin remembers all this and more whenever the Crow challenges him on his cowardice during the Red War. He wants to break the young Guardian's back to teach him a lesson about what it's like to feel helpless, but something stops him.

He remembers hearing stories about the Crow's life on the Shore before he arrived at the Tower, and does not raise a hand against him.

The lore entry ends with telling us that Saladin was clearly very agitated about Crow's teasing. But in the end, he remembered what Crow has been through and realised that Crow already knows what it's like to feel helpless. He did not need a reminder and Saladin decided to take the teasing without a response. It truly frames some of those voice lines in a different light, knowing this background.

Fourth, leg piece!

Flavour text:

"Some know the legend. We crossed a burning world with sword in hand, bringing justice and blood." —Lord Saladin

Once more, we are told that Saladin was mostly forged (eheh) through his experience in the Dark Age.

The lore page details a bittersweet memory Saladin has of him with his fellow Iron Lords and friends enjoying some good time over a meal and song.

He remembers Radegast asking him to sing the song taught to them by the people of the blacksmith's village, but agreeing only when Jolder and Perun promised to join in. Their voices rose like wolves in the night and were so raw by morning that none of them could speak.

This is honestly heartbreaking. Saladin being this happy and free to sing and enjoy himself: compared to how he is now. But even with that, he has retained the need to do it again sometimes, if he ever finds people to be comfortable around.

Saladin remembers all this and more when Zavala tells him Amanda has taken the Crow out to drink in the City's streets. He wonders what song they'll sing, if it's anything like the one he's heard everyone humming lately—even though he hasn't tried it himself.

I love how he projects his past joy onto the two young people and wonders if they'll do the same as he did once. Here we also get another hint about Saladin apparently not being affected by Savathun's viral chant. It might be a point relevant in the future.

Finally, class item!

Flavour text:

"Some know the legend. We crushed the Warlords beneath our heel so that they may never rise again." —Lord Saladin

Nothing new here. Just Saladin recounting how hard they went against the Warlords.

The rest is a very poignant lore page that details the relationship between Saladin and Zavala. Zavala studied under Saladin who was his mentor and it's been repeated often that Saladin has retained a "soft spot" for him.

Saladin remembers the first time he met Zavala. He remembers thinking that the Awoken had regal bearing like the stags he once hunted on the Steppes. His shoulders were broad, and his chin held high. When he moved, he did so with the strength and purposeful deliberation of someone with the power to determine his own place in the world.

"You'll never have a son," his Ghost had said, "but it isn't too late for you to take an apprentice."

I love when non-Awoken describe Awoken, there's always something ethereal about it. But I'm mostly putting this part here because of what Saladin's Ghost says.

First, I am incredibly soft for older Guardians adopting younger ones as kids and teaching them. Easily my favourite dynamic ever. Saladin seeing Zavala as a son makes me cry a thousand tears.

And second, is this finally a full confirmation that Guardians cannot bear children? It's kind of a strange place to put it, but it seems to be the implication. It makes sense they wouldn't be able to, but it's also nice to have some direct lore information about it in case it pops up as a question. I'm sorry if this ruins anyone's fics.

Saladin remembers their sparring matches. He remembers how Zavala always got back on his feet, no matter how many times Saladin put him down. He remembers refusing to offer the younger Lightbearer a hand up. Until the day Zavala finally bested him in combat.

He remembers lying flat on his back, left shoulder dislocated and ribs shattered, a strange pressure on his chest that made it difficult to breathe.

"Finish it," Saladin had commanded because that was the way of things. His Ghost would revive him.

Saying nothing, Zavala hauled him to his feet instead.

I love how this is placed at the end, paralleling the beginning of Saladin remembering his deaths and the pain of dying. But instead of "finishing it," Zavala pulls him back up. It's definitely something Saladin hasn't experienced before, especially not before becoming an Iron Lord, when all of his deaths were just gruesome ends to a struggle. Then seconds after, he'd be back up. He took the revival for granted, until Zavala offered him the alternative. Again, an interesting perspective about something we don't usually think about much. I do wonder how Saladin healed afterwards though.

Saladin remembers all this and more when his former apprentice calls him into his office and tells him about the face behind the Crow's mask. Zavala says he knows that Saladin doesn't like secrets; that it's unfair to ask him to keep one of this magnitude, but there will come a time when the Crow needs someone—the way Zavala needed Saladin.

"You never needed anyone," Saladin insists.

Zavala only smiles.

This page ends with the two bonding again. Despite their differences and disagreements, there's mutual respect between the mentor and the apprentice. The father and the son.

And Saladin thinks Zavala never needed him, but that is obviously not true and Zavala tells him so. He also tells him that Crow, and implied Guardians like him, will need the same guidance.

It gives us a full circle back to Saladin's musings about his purpose as a Guardian and Lightbearer. He may have doubted his place in the world before, but seeing as he's still here with us and actively participating and helping; training us through Iron Banner, helping with the Eliksni, refusing to side against the Vanguard despite the difference in opinion, now serving as Zavala's ambassador for the Cabal and easily bonding with someone he would've considered an enemy not long ago...

I think Saladin knows his place. He's one of the strongest Lightbearers and most principled among them. He is not swayed by lies and deceptions, he does not abide by them and speaks plainly. He has deeply rooted beliefs in justice and he will not compromise himself, even if it means conceding his position to make peace with a former enemy when that enemy proves their worth, honesty and good intentions to him.

He is a Guardian.

He is an Iron Lord.

[missskzbiased]

Getting a Roommate

That’s Actually my first fanfic here (I wrote fanfics a loooong time ago, but not about SKZ, so it’s a whole new world) So I’m kinda nervous kkk

Genre: Romance; College Au; Roommate Au; Love Triangle Word Count: ~2,9K Female lead YAYAYA: For now I only know it will have a Roommate (Not necessarily Who Y/N will end up with) , Romance and everyone is in College. Would like an opinion about who She should move in with, but don’t even know if someone will answer it KKK So maybe I just choose it randomly 

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Final)

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    You couldn’t believe your luck, maybe it’s because you don’t have any. Not sure. You just needed to find a roommate for now, but it’s your life we’re talking about so of course, it couldn’t be so easy, right?

    Well, right.

    To begin with, you could only find male roommates, which could not be a bother, but also could! So you decided to go out of your way and meet all of them in person and on the renting place, because who knows what could be there waiting for you? You were very aware that psychos could exist in all forms and usually, they looked like a normal dude waiting for you to take that bait, but at least you could narrow down a bit the ones that look suspicious from the start, right? It couldn’t hurt...

    Except that yes, it could!

    You only had a day to find a new place, because your so loved old roomie made you the favor of getting both of you expelled! A really great day it was. Now, her parents wanted her back and out of college (rich brat, indeed), but you do not have the money to live alone (you wished you could be a rich brat, hm?) and happens to need a place that takes your money and your sorry ass by the night. You had four places to look up to that met your needings, that were really just being accepted by the night, you swear you didn’t even ask for a good bathroom, a bus stop or a nice place! You just needed a bloody bed!

     The roommates you saw, unfortunately, weren’t helping your case tough.

      The first place was really pretty! The guys were also quite alluring, but they were kinda... Fuckboys? It wouldn't really be a  problem if one of them wasn’t a dick!

      “ Hey, Y/N, right?” A boy asked when you stepped in. Friendly enough, you guessed.

      The place was all clean and bright, which may suggest he could be a psycho... Blood cleaners could make the walls so shiny? Maybe. Your worrying thoughts about the possibility of being murdered ended when he spoke up again.

      “ As you can see we have a really clean place” He bragged. You don’t think that a psycho would be bragging about his skills to hide evidence to a victim, but again you don’t understand a psycho’s mind “Everything has to be clean if you want to bring chicks around, right? You guys love a clean place to fuck”

     Oh, well! It was... Unexpected.

    “I beg your pardon?” You tried to be polite and smile, unsure about what to think now.

    “I and my roomie are really... How can I say it to you? Fuckable? Well, it may sound crude, but yeah! Fuckable” He was pondering really hard about the words and he still managed to choose Fuckable. Nice. He wasn’t wrong tough “And we like to do it, okay? So we bring a lot of girls here, that’s why we like to keep everything clean and shiny, so they can feel well”

    Your mind was stuck on “we like to do it, okay?” but you also noticed the warm smile he was giving, trying to be a gentleman. What in the world? You smiled back to him, feeling at a loss of words.

   “Well, you can like to do it... It’s not wrong at all, hm...” You tried to remember his name.

   “Minho” He said, smiling.

   “ Minho” You smiled back “And I can see you guys think about the girls a lot...” Well, at least they wanted them to feel welcomed, right?

   “Not really” Another voice spoke up, and you turned back to see the other fuckable roomie you could get. You can’t believe you thought that.

    And you couldn’t believe he said they don’t think about the girls at all! What a jerk.

   “ Oh, this is Hyunjin!” Minho said to you, pointing at his friend “He’s the one who cleans the stuff and I’m the one who cooks stuff”

   “ So you guys have a system... What would I do if I got to live here?” You asked, curious about the practical matters.

   Hyunjin smiled, but different from Minho, who only smiled friendly until now, Hyunjin’s smile was cocky and you could almost hear his mind talking shit right now.

  “  You could fuc—“ Before he could end his sentence, Minho rushed to his side and put a hand upon his mouth.

  What an asshole...

  “ What he means is that you can help cleaning stuff or cooking stuff, anything you feel comfortable with. Hyunjin doesn’t really like to do the dishes and neither do I... So you could do it if you don’t mind... And you could do the laundry if you don’t want us to see your stuff or something” He tried to be reasonable.

   Something was smelling suspicious here... Why would Minho be so worried about Hyunjin talking shit if he was alright with “fuckable” and “we like to do it” himself? He got his hand off Hyunjin’s mouth and you narrowed your eyes in their directions.

   “Okay, spill out” You said, crossing your arms.

    “ What do you mean?” Minho asked, confused.

    “ Are you trying to find a new fuck buddy or something? Why are you so desperate in getting a new roommate if you guys have all sorted out? I can see you think Hyunjin is disturbing your plans on getting me here” I blurted out and they were surprised.

     “ A fuck buddy?” Hyunjin laughed out loud, slapping Minho’s shoulder “My dear, why would we look for a fuck buddy that lived with us? It would only make it difficult to fuck another person later. Are you even hearing yourself?”

     “What Hyunjin means” Minho tried again, fed up with his roommate “Is that fucking our roommates would not be allowed at all”

    “ And we mean it” Hyunjin warned “I know we’re really good and all, but even if you begged I couldn't fuck you” He said sympathetically.

    What?!

    Minho widened his eyes, shocked with his friend’s words, and so did you.          

    “ Why on the Earth I would beg you to fuck me?!” You let out, enraged.

    Hyunjin smiled and you wished you could smack it out of his face. Minho held his shoulder, trying to warn his friend, but Hyunjin was not the smart type at all.

    “ Believe me, you would beg so much you would be embarrassed the next day”

    Minho slapped his own face and turned to you with an apologetic smile.

    “He’s dumb but he’s a good roommate, I swear” He tried, but you were already heading towards the door.

    “ Y/N!” Minho called you, and you turned back, your hand on the door handle and the door open “The truth is that the rent will get higher and we don’t have the money to continue to live here... That’s why we want a new roommate. It’s just that Hyunjin is an asshole and doesn’t want a girl here...”

    You scoffed.

    “What? Are you afraid to beg me to fuck you later?” You utter.

    Minho let a small laugh at your retort, amazed, but Hyunjin scoffed.

    “ I’m afraid you will want to fuck us so much that when we do fuck our real fuck buddies you get all shitty and decide to move out, and we have to look up another roommate all over again” He spoke a little too high to your liking.

    “Not everything revolves around your dick” You said, a fake and sweet voice coming out.

    “ But a lot of people do” He guaranteed, mimicking your tone.

    That was it, you couldn’t deal with him any further, so you slammed the door and went to the next place. You could hear Minho fed up “Nice one, dumbass” from the other side and it made you feel a little better.

    The second place was way better if you were being honest, but the guy was a little bit... Tight? Maybe he just needed to warm up a little bit, He seemed really nice and sweet.

     “YN?” He asked simply, letting you come in when you nodded.

     He walked you through the apartment, pointing and explaining some things here and there. When he finished, he looked to you and waited.

     “It’s a really nice place” You offered, unsure about what to say “I could move in right now” You smiled, trying to be a friendly guest.

    He hummed, sitting down and gesturing you to do the same. You sat down on the sofa across him.

    “ So let’s talk about the rules” He suggested and you thought it was a really good idea. He seemed responsible and smart, different from the other roommates you met. “Neither of us can bring anybody home” He eyed you, searching for a reaction “ And we should be home at eleven at most”.

    That made you furrow your brows.

     “Why?” You asked suddenly “I mean... I would like to go out sometimes, wouldn’t you?”

    “I don’t really have the time” He answered simply “And you can go out as much as you want if you don’t come back after eleven” He shrugged.

    Hm… It wasn’t so bad, but it could be better, right? Maybe one of the others could be a better option.

    “ That’s…” Understandable? Okay? You weren’t quite sure what to say, so he just spoke up.

    “Boring?” He offered “Yeah, I get that a lot… But I have a really tight schedule and I would like to not be bothered by anyone past eleven. You may say you won’t drink much, but eventually, you will have a day when you do and I will have to hold your hair up instead of sleeping”

    Oh… That was kinda sweet, actually.

    “ Or you will get home all excited about a hangout and I will have to listen to it instead of sleeping… Or you will bring someone home and ask them to be quiet, but they will be loud as hell instead of letting me sleep…” He rumbled.

    You guessed a lot of roommates really disturbed his sleeping schedule before.

    You laughed, and he stopped talking for a moment.

    “Sorry, I can totally understand you. If I decide to be here, I will make sure to let you sleep like a king” You smiled, but he didn’t return it.

    “If?” He asked, sighing “So you’re not interested”

    “What?! No!” You tried to say, but he put his hand up, asking for you to stop.

    “That’s fine, I get a lot of it… I guess people don’t need to sleep anymore and I’m just an old hag” It sounded like a joke, but he wasn’t smiling, so you tried not to.

    “ I don’t think you’re an old hag” And the smile slipped right away “I just think that maybe I can find someone as nice as you, but a little bit less… Tight?”

    “ That’s fine” He assured “I have another person to come to check here out, tough” He warned “I won’t save it for you, okay? If He wants to stay, I will let him”

    “Understandable” You laugh “See you later, Seungmin” You said, getting up “I will probably be back since you’re the nicest old hag I ever met”

    He smiled at it and shook your hand.

    “ I hope the next guy isn’t an old hag, then, so I can live with the nicest not hag I met around here” He said, this time I laughed and went towards the door.

    “ What an honor” You said, faking a bow, and He laughed back.

    So the second place wasn’t really a disaster, right? But maybe you could do better… The third-place got your hopes down, tough. Although the guy was really nice and gentle, live with him could be a little… Noisy.

    When you knocked, He was already waiting for you and you got yourself thinking about all the murderer thing again. Was Seungmin too nice? Maybe He could kill you past eleven? You laughed at the thought and looked to your new guy. He looked nice… His smile was big and his voice really warm. When you stepped in, you noticed the house was a bit dark, though.

    “Oh, We got a vampire here?” You said smiling and he laughed.

    “ We have a lot of light here” He answered, fully opening the curtains. When the room lighted up, you saw that the place was actually cozy. “I was just watching a movie” He explained, pointing the TV.

    “Sorry to interrupt” You said, but he waved his hand, telling you not to bother.

    “Well, I will be honest with you, okay?” He started, and you could see nothing good would be coming “Before you see the apartment, I have to warn you that I bring girls here”

    Great, another fuckboy? Was the college so full of hormone like the movies pictured it?

    “That’s not a prob-“ You began to say, but he interrupted you.

    “And they can be loud” He continued.

    Ok? Was He bragging about his sex? Was he hooking up with really loud singers? What is the point here?

    “ Do you have a problem with listen other people sex?” He asked.

    Excuse me?

    “Well, yeah” You answered high pitched.

    “ That’s a shame…” He sighed “I was hoping you would like this kind of thing, but that’s fine… Actually, you wouldn’t hear much, I guess, but maybe some pet names or begging… Is it really unbearable?”

    Okay, so He was a dom who liked making people beg for him? You must have been thinking a lot because his face seemed a little embarrassed right now.

    “That’s not something to be ashamed of!” You rushed to say, kind of shouting it to his face. He got surprised and smiled at you, laughing right after.

    “ I know it’s not, I just thought I had made you uncomfortable” He said “I really need a roomie and I’m hoping to get someone that likes it” He confessed.

    What?

    “ I don’t really plan to make sex with you” You blurted out.

    You felt your face burn and you saw his ears getting red. Really red.

    “ NO! That’s NOT what I meant” He hushed “I meant I hope to get a roommie that doesn’t care about the name calling and the sounds! Not that it would be bad if you planned to make sex with me… I mean, you’re really pretty and all, but if you don’t like that kind of stuff it may be a little difficult… I mean, why am I even saying this? That’s nothing wrong with making sex any other way, it’s just…” He let a big breath out, this time he looked abashed “I will just stop talking”

     “Oh… Well…” You weren’t sure what to say. Both of you flustered in the moment, looking at each other “I guess it won’t go well… I still have one more place to go and I have one place in mind… But I wish you luck!” You rumbled.

    “Yeah, ok! Totally cool!” He said, still ashamed of his speech.

    You waved goodbye and got out of the room. Only one more and maybe you could find the perfect place.

    “Y/N!” The guy was really happy to see you here.

    “Hey” You smiled, unsure.

    “Is that her?” The other guy asked, coming to the living room. 

    Well… You could say that everything was out of place. Even tough both of them seemed ok, the place looked like it was turned upside down. Were They looking for something? You probably were staring a lot, because one of them scoffed.

    “Jisung can be like a hurricane” The one you assumed to be Changbin said, while poiting to his friend, who smiles sheepishly.

    “I will admit the place is not tidy, but we’re fine people” He assured you and you laughed.

    “Besides the hurricane guy is there something I should be aware of? Do you have a curfew or something?” You asked, just to be sure.

    “ Why the hell would we have a curfew?” Jisung blurted out and looked at you like you were crazy “You can go and come as you wish, dude”

    “Although you may have to be aware of something” Changbin started and you didn’t like it. What would it be this time? “We make music and we can be really loud sometimes” He warned.

    Oh boy.

    “How loud?” You asked, tired.

    “A lot” Jisung admitted.

    “ Could you guys stop being loud at night?” You asked, hopeful.

    “ Maybe?” Jisung wondered, looking at Changbin “Sometimes we would have to go through night tough… But we could try to arrange that, I guess”

    “ Yeah, we could…” Changbin agreed.

    “ Would you guys also help to clean up the place?”

    Jisung laughed at that.

    “Of course! I can be tidy” He assured.

    “No, He can’t!” Changbin scoffed “But I can help you and He can mess everything up all over again”

    Hm… Was it a good option? Maybe you should take it, you would have just to  put up with a messy roommate and a loud background. It couldn’t be that bad, right? If it was really this bad, you can search for a new place, having time to get a really nice place this time.

     Or maybe you should go to Seungmin… He looked tidy enough and you don’t really need to party that much. You can just hang out with your friends all night long If it’s necessary or crash in their place.

----------------------------------------------//////////////-------------------------------------------------

I’m not a native speaker, so if you guys have anything to suggest about the writing I am more than happy to listen (read?) about it!

Felix and IN will come next. Kept them for logistic kkk I Just LOVE Love triangles, but I still don't know who they are going to be. Suggestions are welcomed 

[sebspocketsquare]

Quarantine 5

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (online)

A/N: Heya guys! Here’s part 5, sorry it’s been a little bit. I had some trouble with this one because I really just wanted to get to part 6 LOL. Anyway, i hope you enjoy it! -T

Warnings: Flirting, language, quarantine, feels, fluff

The next morning, a string of texts wakes you. 

It’s J, letting you know his friend will be by in a couple of hours to install your security system and bring by groceries. 

He tells you to double check who’s on the other side of the door before opening it, and informs you that his friend's name is Sam.

Seems simple enough.

You get dressed, deciding to wear something a little nicer than the pajamas you’d been wearing lately. Makeup finds its way to your face and you even manage to brush your hair.

You could at least make yourself look human today, especially since you didn’t know how good of friends J and Sam were.. what if he went right back and told J you looked like you hadn’t bathed in weeks? 

That wouldn’t be good for your blossoming relationship…. friendship? Whatever it was.

You’re getting yourself a glass of water when someone knocks at your door. 

The couch had been moved back to its original position, and you look through the spyhole on your door to find a man standing there in a doctors mask with a backpack and bags of groceries in hand.

“Can I help you?” You ask through the door.

He makes eye contact with you through the spyhole. “I’m Sam, J’s friend. I’m here to install the security system for you?”

That was convincing enough for you. Opening the door, you offer a small smile. “Hi.. I’m uh.. I’m Clair.”

You can’t tell if he’s smiling through the mask, but he makes his way inside and sets the bags on the floor. 

“You mind if I take this off now? I promise I’m not sick.” He motions to the mask and you laugh softly. “No, go ahead. It’s fine. Just uh.. Stay six feet away.”

He removes his mask with a sigh of relief before flashing a pearly smile at you, “I’m Sam. Nice to officially meet you.” He looks familiar for a split second, but you convince yourself you’re merely imagining it.

Sam gets right to work with the install, and you take that time to put away the food and wine he’s brought. It’s too much for just you, it’ll last you months, but with everything that’s going on, you don’t know if you’ll even be ready to leave the house again anytime soon.

You make sure to shoot J a text telling him thank you.

Sam puts a device on each window and in each doorway of your apartment. A keypad is put right by your front door, and a panic button right beside your bed. He helps you set up a 4 digit pin that you’ll need to enter any time you come or go, and shows you how to set the alarm when you go to sleep at night. It’s so simple, but so secure.

J was right. It made you feel better. Safer.

Once everything is completely set up, he pulls a piece of paper from his back pocket and hands it to you. It’s an order form. For your computer and television. You’d made the decision to not let him replace your tablet. He was already doing too much.

“Oh..” is all you can manage to say as you look it over.

Sam chuckles in return, “He um.. he really cares about you, you know..”

Meeting his eyes, you risk asking him a personal question, “What’s your opinion in all of this..? How he feels about me?”

He looks taken back for a moment, but smiles fondly before he answers. “I’ve known him for awhile now, and.. He’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him when he’s talking to you.”

You can’t help but smile at that knowledge.

“And Clair?” 

You meet his gaze one more time.

“I know it’s probably weird for you, that he wants to take care of all of this for you, but.. let him. He’s a good man. He doesn’t have any ulterior motives. He just.. when he cares about someone, he’s all in.”

Your heart warms at his words and you nod slowly.

He smiles again before picking up his backpack and heading for the door. 

“Hey Sam?”

He turns to you just before he’s out the door.

“Tell J I said hi.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, “Will do… and don’t tell him what I said about him being a good man and all that…  he’ll never let me live it down.”

HIM

I know as soon as the system is installed because a crude outline of her apartment appears on my computer screen. 

I set alerts to let me know anytime someone approaches the vicinity, when she leaves and when she sets the alarm for the evening. If she presses the panic button, it alerts the authorities first and then me.

I have to take every precaution to keep her safe. 

I’m closing the window on my computer when Sam returns home. I hear him kick his shoes off and set his bag down before heading straight for the shower. He pokes his head in my room on his way there. “System is installed, also.. damn she is way out of your league.”

His observation makes my heart rate increase. “Wait, what? What does that mean?”

He laughs and shakes his head, leaving it at that as he continues on his way.

I find myself suddenly jealous that he’s gotten to see her with his own eyes and I haven’t.

“You could at least describe her for me!” I call after him, to which he just cackles.

My best friend is an asshole.

HER

You’re sitting on the couch watching random videos on your phone when a new message comes through from J.

[Sarge:] Everything go smooth? :)

You’re sure he already knows the answer, and you’re positive that Sam already told him all about you, but you decide to humor him anyway.

[clairv0yant:] Yes. :) Thank you again for everything.. I really appreciate you. I checked the tracking on the form that he gave me and everything should be here by the end of next week. 

[Sarge:] Doll, I promise you don’t have to thank me. I’m happy to be able to help you out. :) 

[Sarge:] It will be strange not gaming with you every night for a while, but.. We’ll just have to find another way to spend time together.

His words only cause the smile on your face to grow. He’s so sweet. So considerate. So genuine and unfathomably selfless. You weren’t sure what you’d done to earn the affections of such an amazing person.

[Sarge:] By that I mean.. expect phone calls every night ;) 

[clairv0yant:] That sounds perfect to me. :P

xxx

You spent more time on the phone with J over the next week and a half than you’d ever spent in your life. Constantly exchanging texts and making phone calls, but never once asking the other for a photo. Not that you weren’t curious, because you surely were, but you were afraid of what he expected you to be like. Did he already have an image of you in his head? An ideal Clair?

You’d tried to picture him several times, but failed at each attempt. He still remained a mystery to you.

When your new tech finally arrives, you nearly jump out of your skin with joy. You make sure to lysol the holy hell out of the shipping boxes before touching them, and once the product inside is removed and placed in the safety of your apartment, the useless cardboard goes into the recycle bin outside.

It takes you an hour and 45 minutes to get everything set up, but of course as soon as you’ve finished, J is insistent about playing.

It’d been so long, there was no way you were denying him.

You missed it just as much as he did.

“You know what I miss most?” You speak into your mic, keeping your eyes trained on the battle scene happening on the screen before you.

J hums a soft, “hmmm?” in response, trying to keep his focus too.

“Mexican food.”

He can’t help but let out a bark of laughter, obviously shocked at your most missed thing while locked away.

“Mexican food? Really?”

It’s your turn to hum a soft, “Mmmhm��.

He’s quiet for a few moments except for the sound of his keyboard clacking as he fights, determined to win this round.

When the word Victory appears on your screen, he speaks again.

“You know I um..” He pauses, and you can feel his anxiety seeping through the internet connection. “Nevermind, heh..”

“What is it?” The first emotion you feel is concern. What could he not feel comfortable telling you?

“Promise you won’t just laugh at me?”

That’s a promise you know you’ll be able to keep. “Of course, J. What’s up?”

There's a bit of silence on his end, and then you swear you hear his adam's apple bob in his throat in a gulp for courage. “When all of this is over, I.. I’d really like to take you out on a date..”

You’re stunned into silence, thankful that a new game has yet to start.

He must take the quiet as a negative response, because he immediately backtracks.

“I-I mean, that’s stupid right? You wouldn’t go on a date with some guy you met online.. Hell, I could be some cree--”

“I would love to.” You cut him off before he can ramble on too much.

“You-really?” You can hear the smile in his voice and it brings an even bigger smile to yours.

“But only if it’s mexican food.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, the rumbling of the sound making your heart flutter.

“I wish..” He stops himself again, letting out a little sigh, “I wish I knew when that would be though.. When all of this will be over.. I just.. I really want to spend time with you, Clair.”

A new match begins in the game, but you’re so distracted by his confession that you almost miss your window to pick your character.

“We’re spending time together right now, aren’t we?” You joke, but there’s a falter to your voice, a doubt. You know what he really means.

“You know what I mean, I.. I want to be there, with you.”

It’s your turn to exhale a sigh.

“I know what you mean..” A funny image comes to your head, and you find it slipping from your tongue before you can stop yourself. “What would a quarantine date consist of anyway? You sitting on the opposite side of my front door drinking beer, while I sit inside drinking wine?”

He’s silent.

Not even a laugh.

It’s a whole two minutes before he speaks again.

“You know.. That could work.”

TAGS: (I wasnt sure who to tag, so if you dont want to be, I’m sorry!! Just trying to get this out there. ALSO if you wanna be tagged INBOX ME! I tend to miss people in the notes :(  ).  @mindingmyownbusiness​ @plumfondler​  @buckybarnesappreciationsociety​ @loricameback​ @tinaferraldo​ @geminimoonbeamx​  @preserumsteverogers​ @moderapoppins​ @lowkeysebby​ @buckyshattergirl​  @jayattemptstoruletheworld​    @the-observant-fangirl​ @moondancewrites​ @moonbeambucky​ @trinityjadec​  @stevieang​  @bionic-buckyb​ @eyecandybarnes​ @propertyofpoeandbucky​ @promarvelfangirl​ @ballyhoobarnes​ @bucky-plums-barnes​ @cate-lynne​ @witchymarvelspacecase​ @imaginingbucky​ @theimpossibleg1rl​ @babygurl8840 @wonderlandmind4 @buckysthing​ @formulafun​ @curvybihufflepuff​ @fanficsformarvelkillme​  @shadyskit​ @lostinthoughtsandfeelings​ @reading–mermaid @fuckmestan​ @siliverin​ @verygraphicink​ @sallyp-53 @thatsbucknasty​ @steadyphantomcat​ @booktease21 @kiki5283 @lostinspace33 @drayshadow​ @theperditioncrasher​ @mmyepic​ @feelmyroarrrr@alien-beans @heartsaved​ @sideeffectsofyou​ @dreamingofonceuponatime​ @just-a-littlebit-of-everything​ @bluerorjhan​ @tarynsnotokay​ @jamdropx35 @turquoisekokiri​ @pinknerdpanda​​ @starkrobb​ @marvelgirl7​ @unscriptedtimetraveler​ @fangeekkk​ @wonderlandmind4​ @pinkisokay​ @mrsdaamneron​ @rynabarnesrogers​ @wish-i-had-something-better​ @stanning-seb-stan​ @oilersgirl35​ @vaisabu​ @paranoid-borderline-insane​ @bonkywobble​ @vikki-rogue​ @witchymegg​ @a--1--1--3​ @margetastic33​ @stuffandstuff-stuff​

[clairecrive]

“Look at him!”- Bane x reader imagine

This is for the anon that asked: For a Bane request, what about the reader approaches him about getting a pet and reader ends up getting said pet whether he approves or not? Hope you like it!

Requests are always open!

Tag list: @mollybegger-blog​ (let me know if you wanna be added)

How difficult could it be to convince someone to adopt a dog? I mean, who wouldn't want to have a bundle of joy in their life? You would have met with such resistance on the subject. You really underestimated the situation. One of the reasons you had found Bane so fascinating was the way he has always been able to broaden your horizon and let you see things and sides that you would never think existed. You had had such different lives and had so diverse experience that your union seemed almost doomed to an outsider. But you had always reacted warmly to his different point of view and opinions and much to anyone surprises, so did he. Well, up until this point anyway.

"Babe c'mon, you're saying no before even hearing me out." You had been nagging him about adopting a dog for a few days now but he had always quickly dismissed the subject with a shake of his head and an icy glare. Shame on him to think that you would be so easily deterred though.

"Look around you, do you think this is a place where a dog can live?" This was the first time he argued about it and so far, he was already loosing. You lived under the city. And Gotham was fucking huge, so.

"Absolutely. There's a lot of space where he or she could roam free and happy. Besides, you basically have beasts running around this place. I don't see how a beautiful puppy can cause you any problem."

"I don't have the time to take care of him and neither do you."

"Please, they're not so high-maintenance as you're making them out to be. They only need food and lots of love, which we have lots of." You easily pointed out. Besides, you were thinking of a company buddy nor a guarding dog.

He didn't give you an answer, just a pointed look and you knew that you were nowhere near convincing him.

"Why are you so opposed to getting a puppy? They're small and cute and an endless source of love and affection."

"Do I strike you as the affectionate type?" He deadpanned looking at you for a few seconds before focusing back to his paper. Obviously not.

"I know that you're not. Very well actually, always begging you for a little of attention." you sassed because in this case, appearances were not deceiving. It's not like his lack of affection came from the absence of feelings or emotion. You knew that he was deeply traumatised and he has a hard time showing affection other than with his eyes. Just being with you was a huge step forward for Bane and you're aware of that. While you appreciated deeply this will of his to step out of his comfort zone to please you, you couldn't help but feel something missing. Because there was. And it was not only a reference to his inability to kiss you. That was for obvious reasons. Sometimes though a soft caress was just as full of meaning as a kiss, especially when it was pretty much the only way he could show affection that was PG-13.

"Oh, I see what's happening here. You want a dog because I don't give you enough attention. That's selfish." He snickered and you were taken back by how cruel he sounded. Was he trying to hurt you? To make you feel guilty about your wish and desires? Ugh, such a man move.

"First of all, I'm not selfish. Seeking affection from the man you love isn't selfish, it's human. You don't have the same need for it and that's fine. That makes you different but it does not make me weak or weird. Plus, don't pretend that you won't be head over heels for a puppy after a while because that's a load of bullshit." Now the conversation has shifted to a more personal subject and the tone both of you restored to use didn't help to make the atmosphere less tense.

"That's not what I meant and you know it. There's no place for a dog in our lives. I'm sorry." You knew that in his way he was trying to apologize for his cutting words but now he had crossed a line and you were so fucking done with his dismissive attitude and assertive tone that suddenly you wondered why you were even asking him for permission. He wasn't your husband much less your father. You didn't owe him an explanation nor did you need his approval. Of course, his enthusiasm and participation would have made the whole experience even more jolly but it wasn't mandatory. You could do this even without him.

"Maybe in yours but you bet your ass that there is in mine."

You didn't realize that things had gone sour up until the moment you stormed off his room. Maybe you were being a little dramatic about it but that's just what happens when you're frustrated. And God only knows how much Bane is good at it. Despite what it could have looked like, your theatrical exit didn't mean you were going to leave him. As if. You hadn't climbed on top of the mountain just to go sliding down it at the last minute. You know him and you knew that he just needed some time to get adjusted to the idea. Or well, you hoped so. Because there was a beautiful light brown curly poodle in your arms now and since the first time your eyes landed on his quivering form, you knew that only death could separate you from the little thing.

Bane was pushed at the back of your mind, he was going to deal with it. He had to. Maybe he'd throw a fit at first but you'd guarantee that he would love him just as much as you did. He was the best little boy you knew after all. You had just got home from the animal shelter and was currently laying on your bed when a loud knock was heard. You quickly turn around to weakly try to hide the little thing with your body. You didn't answer, knowing already that it was him, but then again he wasn't asking for permission, he was just notifying you of his presence. Well then, so would you.

"Y/N?" His voice came muffled by the ever-present mask on his face. He sounded almost uncertain. He didn't know where he stood after last night. You had stormed off and he didn't come to your room that night to sleep. You didn't think too much of it given that it wasn't an unusual thing for him to do. He often works all night and you always wondered how he managed to function without a good night sleep.

You just hummed in response, too focused on playing with your new buddy. He was growing his teeth so he had the tendency to bite your fingers, his teeth were so tiny though that you hardly noticed.

"Listen, about last night-" he started but stopped when he came closer enough to the bed you were sitting on to see the puppy you were holding. "- was totally pointless seeing as you went ahead and did it anyway." he growled displeased with the fact that you went behind his back.

"You're my boyfriend and I love you but I don't need to ask for your permission. I wanted a dog and so I adopted one. You don't want it and that's fine. He won't be a burden for you in any way, I assure you. See? Not that selfish." you couldn't help but throw shade at him. What? You weren't angry that he didn't want a dog, but his words last night stung and he hadn't apologized for that yet.

He let out a deep sigh, and you knew that he was feeling guilty. No matter how violent and crude he was with certain people, he never was one to hurt people without a reason, people that he loved nor women. And you ticked two out of the three boxes.

"You're the least selfish person I know, I'm sorry for yesterday. I didn't mean what I said." He simply offered but you took his apology gladly. Turning towards him, setting the dog on the ground so that he could explore a little, you simply looked at him in the eyes. They are really expressive.

"Does it really bothers you my need of affection? Is it a burden for you?" You ask. The thought that you could come across as clingy had never crossed your mind. Yes, you were affectionate but not that much. Or at least you thought so. But maybe for Bane's standards you were and he was just too kind to tell you.

Sitting next to you, he takes his hands in yours before speaking. "It really doesn't. I've never had someone to love him as you do before. Yes, sometimes it can feel too much but it's a good kind of feeling. Although I worry that you need more than what I can offer you." It was not the first time that he shared with you his apprehension of him not being enough for you. However, he never opened up to you like this before. The intensity of his gaze made him look more vulnerable than ever and suddenly you realized what the fuss was all about. He was scared.

"How many times do I have to tell you that you're more than enough?" Allowing your foreheads to touch, you try and infuse your love to him so that he could feel less insecure. You felt a cold nose poking your leg and smiling a little, you picked him up and held him close to your faces.

"Besides, that's not true. Now you have someone else that will love you endlessly. He won't ever get angry at you and won't ever leave you. Say hi to daddy, baby." You cooed and smiled when the dog started licked Bane's cheek. By the way his eyes narrowed, you figured he was smiling under the mask. You attacked his other cheek with small little kisses so that he was smothered with love.

"We" kiss "love" kiss "you" another kiss. The giggle that he made was music to your ears. Holding you close to his chest, he let himself fall on the bed so that you and the dog were laying on him. Picking him up, Bane observed him for a moment.

"I guess we can keep him." He said and almost as if the puppy understood what he said, he barked and licked Bane's cheek again making you laugh and your heart flutter with joy.

[moon-ruled-rising]

as the rain hides the stars | xv

read it on ao3...

where to begin?

Babe, there’s something wretched about this,

something so precious about this,

where to begin?

Babe, there’s something broken about this,

but I might be hoping about this.

Oh, what a sin.

-Hozier, “From Eden”

“I’m sure Rhaenys will be fine, it’s Aegon I’m worried about. He’s a little chatterbox.”

The bits of dialogue between Dany and her conference call reached Jon’s ears as he stared out the window and watched the countryside slip past. They were on their way to another Northern landmark, just the two of them. Their Majesties thought it was a good way for the public to see them acting like a real couple, even though it was far from the truth.

Despite the impending publicity stunt, Dany was seemingly playful. After a week of wedding planning she was probably ecstatic to get away from it all. And understandably so. He attended a few of the planning sessions, specifically the cake tasting and menu planning. Dany surprised him by taking his opinions into consideration and even Catelyn appeared to tolerate his presence. 

They also had their first dance lesson which only reinforced the fact that Jon had two left feet. Luckily, it wasn't a standard ballroom dance so they were both spared any crushed toes. Although there were a few instances of hands missing their mark and ending up in the other’s face. They could hardly look at each other the next day without cracked smiles and stifled laughter. Much to the dismay of the Great Wedding Committee who wanted to discuss stationary and rings. 

Jon felt guilty after that particular meeting. Even though they were discussing wedding rings, he realized he’d never given Dany a proper engagement ring. She’d taken to wearing a ring of her mother’s on her finger so no one would get suspicious about the lack of a real proposal. Dany said people wouldn’t question the legitimacy of their engagement if a ring was involved. So Jon employed the help of Arya and Sansa, who were both detrimental in getting Dany’s ring size on the sly and helping him choose from the modest selection of jewels. They found a perfect choice after an hour of looking, it didn’t even need to be reset. He would’ve given it to her there in the car but it wouldn’t matter. The weather took a nasty dip and it was always cold on the wall so they would be wearing light gloves.

“Oh, thank the Gods!” Dany cried, breaking Jon from his reverie.

“Finally done?”

“Deadzone.” she let her phone fall dramatically onto the seat between them and leaned her head on the window.

Jon chuckled. They had crossed into the Gift, a swath of land set aside for the Night’s Watch specifically and notorious for its spotty reception. In another hour they would be at Castle Black. He would by lying if he said he wasn’t anxious to be back. The reminder of the incident and his subsequent indefinite leave were still fresh in his mind.

Even though he trained and studied like the other recruits, he was never meant to be a ranger. The job was too dangerous for the Prince of the North so Lord Commander Mormont requested Jon be his personal steward. While he still craved the adventure of the rangings, he was willing to concede. However, there was one time he’d gotten a taste of what he could’ve had if he weren’t so damned important.

Shadow Unit was down a man and with no reports of wildling activity in the area, they let Jon ride out with them. The route they patrolled was clear with no sign of any wildling activity. That was how it usually went. In his four years at the Wall the only times there were actually run ins with the tribes that lived there got too close or Mormont sent the ranging parties further north.

The clear mile between the forest edge and the Wall was in their sights, bringing with it the promise of warmth and rest. The night was still and unnaturally dark and cold, the men in the unit were just as wary of the atmosphere as their mounts. The Haunted Forest was overgrown and wild, making it impossible for bulky vehicles to navigate. And going on foot was worse for obvious reasons so the Watch kept horses. 

A rustling in the trees brought their procession to a halt. With no wind to shake the branches, Jon knew at once that they shouldn’t have stopped. One of the men went to radio in  the activity when dark shapes descended on the front and rear and chaos ensued. Their formation broke into a mess of nervous horses and shouting men. On the narrow trail there was no way to break through, they were fish in a barrel. 

Somehow, in the darkness and confusion, Jon was tossed from his saddle. He landed on the frozen ground and avoided being trampled by his own horse. With no cover and no clear way out, Jon ducked into the trees. He managed to conceal himself and was about to try to contact Castle Black when he was tackled, his radio skidding across the snow and out of his reach. He managed to get his forearms between the attacker and his face but not before his crude knife slashed at his eye. 

The shout that left Jon filled the still forest as he forced his assailant off. Jon flipped himself over and tried to crawl to his radio. A searing, fire erupted in his leg and he knew he was a victim to the primitive tool his attacker had. As though it was second nature, Jon drew his gun and aimed. 

Even in the dark, he could feel the eyes of his opponent. Jon realized there was a human staring down the barrel of his gun. It was a brief thought, fleeting. Neither of them moved. There was no time to overthink it and without any more consideration, Jon pulled the trigger. 

He wasn’t shaking like he hoped he would. His breath was even and the pain from his eye and leg was dull but the sensation was growing. But as he laid there in the snow he contemplated what would come next.

The afternoon brought a meeting with Lord Commander Mormont. He wasn’t in command of Shadow Unit, nor was he leading the ranging so Jon had no idea why the Lord Commander would want to talk with him about the incident. At least that’s what he told himself to keep the dreading feeling away. Mormont was going to tell him his time with the Night’s Watch was over and he was going back to Winterfell.

“You wished to see me, Lord Commander?” Jon asked as he stepped through the door.

“Have a seat Jon.”

He didn’t want to. He wanted to be ready to leave the moment the Old Bear said the words but the ache in his leg was still too bothersome to ignore.

“I’m sure you know that your father was alerted about the attack last night. Once he heard of your involvement and subsequent injury he commanded that you be placed on leave indefinitely and sent back to Winterfell.”

There it was. “What did you say to him?”

Mormont sighed, “I tried to convince him to let you stay but my explanation of the events did little to sway him.”

“I can’t go back there.” Jon shook his head.

He knew he would return eventually but he hadn’t planned on it being so soon.

“Neither of us have much choice in the matter,” the Old Bear reminded him, “We must all answer to the crown.”

At court, he felt like everything was handed to him. Even his claim to the throne was presented like a gift on his name day. While any other man would’ve taken advantage of it, Jon came to resent it. He found it to be one of the many reasons for the disdain surrounding him. It didn’t help that bastards were considered treacherous, even a legitimized one.

Serving with the Night’s Watch gave him the chance to earn something. Even if it was the least exciting of the positions, he put in the time and effort to achieve it. Hearing his name called and reciting the word beneath the grove of heart trees was the most gratifying experience. 

Jon found himself in much the same position again, though this time it was a woman the Crown placed into his life. Like an invitation for a week-long hunting trip on Bear Island only significantly more permanent and harder to refuse. And they were both real people with their own wants and needs but some selfish pricks higher than them decided that none of that mattered; reducing him and Dany to mere pawns in the ever evolving game.

The view outside the window changed with the first signs of Mole’s Town, several roofs and chimney stacks sticking out of the ground. To help protect against the cold homes were built underground and the public buildings were connected by tunnels. In more recent years, people began constructing their houses into the sides of man made hills. It seemed the only structure to be seen from the road was Castle Black, standing stoic and dark against the gleaming ice of the Wall.

Once a simple fortification of towers and scattered rooms, the years saw it transform from ancient keep to proper military base. Not that there was a great war to be expected from the folk beyond the wall, Castle Black was really a form of discouragement from trying to sneak through the wall.

“Seven hells,” Dany muttered as they passed through the gates, “That is a lot of ice.”

“Wait until you see the view from the top,” Jon said.

“We’re actually going up there?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t be a trip to the Wall without it.”

There was a media frenzy in the courtyard. As part of the agreement between the press and the Royal Family, Jon and Dany would give them enough time for a photo op as they were greeted by the Lord Commander and then they expected peace and quiet for the day and a half they were there. 

Jon was surprised they were willing to accept such a quick and easy deal since it was the first public sighting of the newly engaged royals. A pair who were supposedly so in love, they decided they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together in the span of a week. Luckily, decorum helped them avoid any public displays of affection and bed sharing as their accommodations provided two separate rooms.

Brother’s of the Night’s Watch paused along the walkways to view the flashing cameras and the two people all the fuss was over. Jon didn’t recognize any of the faces. He doubted he would, a lot could change in two years. He at least expected to see Edd Tollett walking alongside the Lord Commander, complaining Mormont’s ear off. But the Lord Commander arrived alone, dressed in the ceremonial blacks with the bear of Mormont set among the various pins and medals.

“Your Highnesses, it is an honor to have you at Castle Black.”

The camera flashes increased as Jon shook Mormont’s hand and they posed for a good minute afterward, smiling and acting gracious. The press was ushered out of the courtyard and Mormont dropped the pretense.

“So, this is the young lady you’ve decided to spend the rest of your life with?” Mormont sizing up Dany, “A spectacular choice.”

Jon saw her smug smile. When she noticed he was looking at her, she nudged him with her shoulder.

The loud, high-spirited sounds that accompanied a returning patrol unit drew his attention away. Ghost Unit, he could tell. The two friends he made in his time at the wall, Grenn and Pyp, were in that group. 

“Well if it isn’t Lord Snow!” one of them called.

He shook his head. The nickname was meant as a mean tease and it stuck. Jon should’ve corrected them, reminded the men that he deserved the respect of his rank, but it brought back a wave of nostalgia he was grateful for.

“Aurochs and Pyp-squeak,” he greeted in the same mocking tone.

“We were about to head to Tormund’s if you wanted to join us,” offered Grenn, clapping Jon on the back.

“The lady can come too.”

Pyp nodded toward Dany, who stood by Jon’s side.

She laughed, “I would love to but one of us should stay for the tour from the Lord Commander.”

“You don’t mind if I go?”

“Of course not. You’ve probably seen enough of the place anyway.”

Jon thanked her, which she waved off in her casual way before leaving with Mormont.

Tormund’s little pub was one of the busiest attractions in the underground village of Mole’s Town. The atmosphere was humid and hot with all the bodies stuffed in the small space. When Jon inquired about the increase in people, his brothers laughed.

“It’s because of you and your sweetheart. As soon as news broke about your visit up here they all decided to make a weekend trip just to catch sight of you two.” Grenn informed. 

Jon noticed there were quite a few people wandering around up top. They were probably hoping to get close enough to the base but would have to wait until the photos were released. For once the strict policy on royal/press policy. 

The group found an empty table somewhere, Edd ended up joining them later. He wished he could enjoy their company like he used to but they kept asking him about the wedding and Dany and he found himself dodging questions, unable to relax.

“Can I come to the wedding?”

“You can come to the reception.”

“What if I’m your supporter?”

“Robb’s already got the job, Pyp.”

“Okay but what if-”

“If you don’t shut up I’m going to throttle you,” Edd threatened, as tired of the wedding talk as Jon was.

He managed to flip the conversation back to them by asking Grenn about his possible promotion. Grenn launched into a long winded rant, with added talking points by Pyp, about the placement of new recruits and new training requirements. All was going well until Tormund found out they were at his establishment.

Jon heard his warhorn of a voice call ‘Crow!’ from across the packed room. There was more grey in his orange hair than Jon remembered but that didn’t stop him from plucking the Prince out of his seat and nearly crushing him in a hug.

“I thought I’d seen the last of you when they shipped you back south. What the hells are you doing up here?”

“He and his fiancée are here to see the wall.”

“Fiancée? Well, what are you waiting for crow, show me a picture of this special woman,” Tormund demanded.

Jon pulled out his phone to find a picture of Dany and realized that he had none on his camera roll. He tried to search the internet for one but Tormund spotted him.

“You don’t have a picture of her in your phone?”

“They’ve only known each other a week,” Pyp chimed in.

“A week? Gods you work fast,” echoed Tormund in disbelief.

“It’s a long story that I’d rather not get into,” he tried to defend.

He wasn’t allowed to reveal the exact nature of his and Dany’s relationship, no matter how far-fetched it seemed to other people.

Edd broke in with, “I think we know why Lord Snow fell so fast.”

The tone in his voice reminded Jon of someone who was about to tell a bad joke. When he gave Edd a questioning look, he shrugged.

“When we found out who you were engaged to we did some digging.”

“The deep web is a wonderful, wonderful place,” came Pyp’s addition.

“The situation is much more complicated than that.”

Jon tried to sit down but Tormund pulled him back up and threw an arm around his shoulders.

“At least he’s found himself a girl to share his time with. Unlike the lot of you, sitting in my pub every weekend in the same spot and leaving together. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re more like to warm each other’s beds.”

Groans and protests went up from the group, mostly accusing Tormund of similar bachelor behavior. Jon patted Tormund’s shoulder, relieved that the conversation was off of him. 

When he returned to Castle Black with Grenn and Pyp, the sun had dipped below the wall, the sky making it’s nightly shift from orange to pink to purple to black and casting the southern half of the wall in shadow. The breeze had a harsher bite to it and Jon shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat. His gloved fingers brushed against something small and odd shaped. The ring. He’d almost forgotten about it.

In a streak of luck, Dany was crossing the courtyard with the Lord Commander. He called out to her and she stopped to look at him.

“We were about to go up top,” she said, “Everyone says now is the best time.”

Jon doubted it. The air would be colder and the wind rougher but there was something he needed to do.

“I can take you up.”

“Are you sure? Lord Commander Mormont said he would do it.”

“I’m sure.”

The Old Bear backed off and let Jon take Dany’s arm.

Despite the creaking and rattling from the winch, it was an unbearably silent ride. One that left Jon with nothing to do but fiddle with the piece of jewelry in his pocket and watch Dany readjust her scarf from the millionth time.

No matter how much he’d seen it during his four years at the Wall, the view from the top still impressed him, especially then. The horizon burned orange, lighting the soft clouds yellow and making the purple-blue of the sky look electric. The light reflected off the trees and light snow of the lands beyond the wall.

“The Lord Commander told me there are still people who live out there. What will they do when winter comes?”

“They’ve survived the cold and snow for thousands of years, they can handle one more.”

Silence settled between them again. 

“You were right. It is beautiful.”

Dany tucked her chin into her scarf as the wind picked up, swirling her loose hair around. She gathered it in her hands and wrestled it under her scarf. A few pieces managed to escape and as she turned to look at him they brushed across her face. Her cheeks and nose were pink from the cold and her eyes were starting to water. Jon lost his nerve.

It was too romantic, he decided. There was nothing he wanted less than to seem like he was trying to woo her. Not to mention with their security officers present and the possibility of a watchman passing by, it was too public. 

“We should head back down,” he offered.

She agreed and they descended, heading directly for their guest quarters. The pair of bedrooms with a common space between was fully furnished and  a welcome retreat from the oncoming cold. There was even a fire burning in the fireplace. Castle Black had a modern furnace system but nothing truly beat the cold like a roaring fire.

They parted to peel off their outerwear and change. Jon waited a good few minutes, sitting on the edge of the bed, examining the ring and trying to get his nerve back. He finally stood, walked into the living space and said, “Hey Dany, can you come here for a second.”

She appeared in the doorway. An oversized brown flannel hung from her shoulders, dwarfing her small frame, and she wore a pair of hot pink fuzzy socks on her feet.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, heading straight for the sofa in front of the fire.

Dany pulled her legs up beside her and twisted so she could see him. Her hair had a frizz to it, he noted. The light from behind caught in it, surrounding her make-up free face in a halo of gold.

“Yes,” he answered without thinking, “I mean, no… Yes and no.”

Her eyebrows raised as she eyed him. 

Jon moved to sit on the sofa with her, “When we talked about wedding rings this week, I realized that I forgot an important part of engagements.”

He realized the error he’d made in waiting until then. While the scene on the Wall was romantic in a trope riddled teen romance movie way, the low light and Jon and Dany in their sleepwear was much more intimate. And Jon cursed himself for it.

“Uh, it’s fine? I’m not really sure which part of the engagement you’re referring to.”

“That would be the proposal. I mean, you deserve a real one.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, that’s a shame because I have this…” Jon held the ring up.

“Oh, I’m fine with the one I’ve been wearing. You didn’t have to-”

“I know.” Without another moment’s hesitation he continued, “Daenerys Stormborn the First of House Targaryen, Princess Royal of the United Kingdoms of Westeros and Lady of Dragonstone, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

A laugh escaped her, good natured and light, “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Considering the wedding is in three weeks, I figured I’d better squeeze it in at some point.”

“Talisa was right, you are such a sap.”

“If that’s the case, I’ll be taking this back.” he started to put the ring back in his pocket but Dany reached for it.

“No, no, no, you proposed and I said yes, the ring is a fair exchange.”

She still had on her mother’s ring, so she took it off and put it on her other hand.

“Here,” Jon offered, taking her hand and sliding the real engagement ring onto her finger.

It wasn’t anything extravagant or glamorous, a simple kite shaped diamond with flecks through it (something Sansa called a ‘salt-and-pepper diamond’) set in silver. The shape reminded Jon of the tiara Dany wore to the charity gala, as well as the dragon sigil of her House.

“It’s a beautiful ring,” she said with a soft smile, still twisting and turning her hand to watch it catch the light.

“It was my Aunt Lyanna’s.”

“What happened to her?”

“She renounced her title. After Uncle Brandon died the succession skipped to my father. She was never meant for the princess life anyway, it was too stifling for her.”

“Where is she now?”

“We don’t know. Sansa thinks she fell in love with a Myrish merchant and took off to be with him in Essos.”

Dany’s face took on a thoughtful look, she dropped her hand to her lap and looked to the flames.

“I was engaged once.”

“Really?” 

Jon was shocked. As far as he was concerned, Dany had never been in a serious relationship. She just flitted from one man to another.

“I was fresh off my first semester of university and it was my first time in Meereen. The Grand Masters invited me to a gala of theirs and the Dothraki Khal happened to be there. We hit it off right away, although he didn’t speak a word of the common tongue except ‘no’. Ser Jorah had to translate everything.

“When I returned to Meereen the next summer, he invited me to Vaes Dothrak and I spent more time with him than I should have. It wasn’t a proper proposal, there was nothing planned about it. No ring, no kneeling, no pretty words. It was spur of the moment and I said yes.”

“What happened?”

“Rhaegar found out. I haven’t seen or heard from Drogo since, unless you count that tell-all article.”

“I’m very sorry.”

She looked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Why? It wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t anybody’s fault but my own.” There was bitterness to her voice.

“I guess I… have sympathy for you,” Jon admitted.

“Well thank you for that. And for the ring.”

She paused, like she was contemplating something more, then got up and disappeared into her room. Jon gazed at the closed door. He sighed and departed for his own bed.

[alarawriting]

Inktober 2020 #30: Ominous

A sharp and bitter autumn day, the kind that made you glad of the classroom's warmth.  Danielle Corbeau and Belle Resone walked down the street to the Okusanya house, with a bookbag floating behind Resone, trailing her like a patient pet.  Ayumi had stayed home today, ostensibly due to illness, but they both knew better. Ayumi couldn't get sick.  Most likely her father had kept her home to help him with something.

"He could have asked us," Danielle groused.  "I'd have been glad to stay home."

"So'd Ayumi.  And Dr. Okusanya's not our father, much as we might like."  Resone was uncharacteristically cheerful-- not that she was normally depressed; normally Resone was an emotional cipher, showing about as much emotion as your typical android.  Today she walked with a spring in her step and a faint, almost imperceptible smile on her lips, which for Resone was what skipping down the street singing would have been for anyone else.

"I wish," Danielle muttered.  "What are you so happy about?"

"Am I?" Resone frowned slightly. "I suppose so.  Look, Danielle."  She turned and gestured at the patiently floating bookbag.  "I can control it."

"Wow." Danielle was not impressed.  "You've been able to control the teek ever since I met you.  You just need to be in the right mood."

"No, I--" Resone stopped in some confusion.  "This is the first time, isn't it?"

"You don't remember?"

"Oh, right." She had lost the faint smile, though, her face reverting to its usual expressionlessness. The only way Danielle and Ayumi knew she wasn't an android was the few times the floodgates had opened, and Resone had gotten violently emotional. Andys did have emotions, but they didn’t have hormones, so that kind of behavior was not a thing they’d do. She never admitted to these episodes afterward, but they were enough to prove that she wasn't an andy.  That, and the fact that andys didn't have psi, according to Dr. Okusanya, and he was the world's top cyberneticist, so he'd know.

They turned a corner and passed a group of guys.  "Woo-oh!" Danielle turned her head to watch them as they passed, leering. "Check out the buns on the blond there!"

"Danielle, you're almost as obnoxious when you do that as the guys are when they do it."

"Come off it, Resone. Either I'm every bit as obnoxious or no one is.  Hidden sexism, you know. Oh, wow!"  Resone followed Danielle's gaze to a stunning redheaded girl.  "Excuse me."

"She's got a boyfriend," offered Resone as advice.  "And she doesn't like you."

"Who asked you?" Danielle slid into an alleyway and transformed, taking male form. Resone had seen this scene before-- she didn't need her precog to tell her how it would come out.  Daniel, now, would attempt to charm the girl, and either get into her pants or get hit.  Most likely get hit.  Resone had already divined the girl's opinion of Daniel.  She didn't need to watch.

//don't you?//

Resone lifted her head slightly.  Someone had spoken.

Who's there?

No answer.

Something was happening. Resone tried to analyze it, but it was no more yet than a prickling at the edge of consciousness.  She'd have to wait for it to come.  Perhaps it had something to do with Ayumi.  She continued on a path for the Okusanya house.

Once there, she paused at the threshold.  She's not here.

`Something was happening. An electric current in the air. Something she hadn't seen, yet. From somewhere inside, Resone felt the first faint uneasy stirrings of fear.  She liked things predictable.  If she saw it ahead of time, she could compensate.  Predictable and safe.  The other way was nightmare.

mommy please don't i'm sorry

No.  The fear went away, like that.  Like a circuit breaker in her mind, shutting off emotion.  She pushed open the door-- and turned, startled, as with a thud her bookbag fell to the porch.

Wasn't controlling.  I must be more careful.  Resone picked it up, brushed it off and went into the Okusanya house.

Dr. Seye Okusanya was working on something.  Resone waited patiently outside his door for ten minutes before realizing that he was far too distracted to notice her when her whole field projected a don't-notice-me aura.  "Excuse me.  Dr. Okusanya?"

He turned his head. "Ah, Resone.  Is Ayumi in detention again?"

"No..." Resone was esper.  More than simply meaning she had psi, it meant she had perceptions outside the sensory realms, and she integrated faster than most.  It occurred to her, now, that Dr. Okusanya had not kept Ayumi home. Therefore, something else had kept her from school.  Due to Ayumi's desire to be a Peacekeeper, that something was more than likely trouble.

"I think she's in danger," Resone said.  "She and Danielle both."

"What?" Dr. Okusanya turned all the way around.  "Why do you say that?"  He then remembered that "why" was a nonsensical question when dealing with Resone. "What sort of danger?"

"When did you last see Ayumi?"

"Why... last night. She said good night to me."

"She was abducted between here last night and the school this morning," Resone said. "Or perhaps enticed.  It's hard to say.  I left Danielle behind on the way here, but I shouldn't have.  I didn't sense the danger."

"What's the danger?"

"I don't know."

"Well, let's have you do a psychometric location, see if you can find her.  And Danielle.  Does the danger know what the three of you are?  Is it targeting you three in particular, or is it going after the population in general?"

"I don't know." The fear was beginning to stir again.  That wasn't right.  Resone was never afraid, not of anything.  But then, she always knew how it would come out.

Ayumi's scarf, from her bedroom.  Ayumi loved that scarf, wore it whenever they were going on a job.  It had to be something with emotional resonances. Resone picked it up and wound it around her tiny hands, picturing Ayumi.

Ayumi Okusanya-- tall, with deep brown skin, the flawless body of an African goddess, Japanese features that might have been delicately beautiful if they weren't pulled into a scowl all the time, and frizzy pink hair.  Everything about her screamed "attitude."  Teachers hated her, and she returned the favor with interest-- unless they were that rare breed of teacher that could see through the tough-girl pose to the wounded child inside.  Ayumi was a full-body cyborg, made so at the age of 5 by an accident that had killed her mother, and now very little of her was still organic, as of course she'd had to transfer bodies every two or three years to accomodate her growth.  The body she wore now was a state-of-the-art android with an interface to her human brain and actual hormonal glands to enable a full range of emotional experience, since unlike an andy Ayumi had a brain that could interpret emotional inputs. It looked, felt, and smelled fully human, and had been designed by her father to Ayumi's own specifications.  

But it was the first body she'd had that couldn't be pegged as a cybe.  The first body she'd had, as a small child, had been crude and robotlike, matching the then-current android technology, and though each new body had been cutting edge, the edge hadn't reached humaniform until now.  

In fact it could be argued that Ayumi's pain at being a freak had been part of what had driven android bodies to improve so rapidly, as her father was the leader in the field and was probably so because he'd been personally driven to make his daughter the best bodies possible.  But having a fully humaniform body now didn't erase ten years of being a freak.  Ayumi couldn't quite believe that people were no longer laughing at her clumsy metal body, and it made her lash out.

At the same time, despite her reputation as a JD, Ayumi was truly committed to helping people.  She wasn't a school nark or a monitor, because she couldn't handle toadying to the Establishment.  But she had, for the past schoolyear and change, used her rep to get the lowdown on the gangs and the deals, and reported to her father, who reported to the police.  Tifaret High was a lot cleaner now than it'd been this time last year.  Ayumi wanted to be a Peacekeeper, and she didn't want to wait the three years until she'd be 18 and it'd be legal, she wanted it now.  She wanted to prove that teens could be effective Peacekeepers too.

When Resone had first detected the dimension warp and recruited Ayumi and Danielle against it, it had been Ayumi who gave the group its strength.  Resone was the brains and Danielle was the guile, but Ayumi was the heart of the three, her passion driving the other two.  Since that time, the three had actually become best friends, despite their differences.  It would hurt, if Ayumi was suffering.  It would hurt, and Resone pulled back, not wanting to see what she would see.

But of course, she saw it. The ice came down, freezing her in perfect control, blocking away the pain, as she saw Ayumi trapped in a genie bottle, shouting curses.  Resone couldn't see Ayumi's body, but could tell where it was likely to be-- hooked into a virtual reality simulator.  Ayumi was inside a computer, and didn't know it.  She was no linerider like Danielle-- she would be totally unable to alter her surroundings, even if she knew it wasn't real.

Resone couldn't see Danielle, even when she held Danielle's mojo stone, but that wasn't surprising. Danielle was quicksilver, a water elemental, flowing and changing shape, with little constant enough to make a firm psychometric imprint.  She did, however, get a very distinct impression from touching the stone. Words, symbols, resolving into a phrase.

OUR LADY OF MERCY HOSPITAL.

"The hospital," Resone said.  "Mercy Hospital.  A virtual reality, and a hospital..."

"What's happened to them?" Dr. Okusanya asked.

"They were lured. Tricked into going to the hospital, separated from the rest of us.  Each of us, one by one.  Dani, they used sex, of course.  Ayumi, they presented with one in need of rescue."

"And you?  How will they go after you?"

"Oh, they already have. Obligation and loyalty.  I'm going in after them."

Dr. Okusanya considered. "They'll be prepared for you, if they're luring you.  I think you need some kind of equalizer."

Resone stood behind ice, insulated, and watched herself say, "Don't worry, Dr. Okusanya.  They don't know me well enough to prepare for me."

***

Resone was a tiny, albino female of fifteen, still not quite 5 feet tall, with a mane of fluffy white hair, watery blue eyes she generally concealed behind extremely dark prescription sunglasses, and a girlish, undeveloped body.  One would think she would be very difficult to disguise.

One would think.

With hair braided and hidden under a short, dark blonde wig in a boy's cut, with dark contacts replacing dark glasses and makeup to make eyelashes and eyebrows look brownish-blond and not white, with tape wrapped around her tiny breasts and a boy's school uniform on, she felt very masculine in a boyish way.  Not Resone anymore.  This was Jason.  Jason turned this way and that, surveying his appearance in the mirror.  He wasn't very objective, of course-- he always saw himself as male, since that was what he was-- but Resone could be objective, and objectively she looked like Jason.  So let it be.  She let herself be Jason, and strode off purposefully, heading for the hospital.

//Something's happening, and you don't know what it is, do you, Belle Resone?//

Nobody here by that name. Sorry.

He walked to the hospital, sensing dimly a gathering storm.  The warp was active.  This was another stage of the strange war the intruders waged.  The hospital was not the hospital.  The street was not the street.  Like traveling between air and water, he stepped onto the street and everything was different.  Yet he couldn't tell exactly how it had changed.  Everything looked the same.  Change of refractory index-- inside, it was the same. It was the outside that was different.

Jason was afraid.

He wanted to be Resone again.  Resone was sheltered under ice, cold and insulated from fear.  But Resone couldn't do this.  They were looking for Resone, so she could never walk in directly under the eyes of the receptionist.

"Young man, where are you going?"

The receptionist was a pinched and dusty old lady with piercing glasses and the smell of moldy fish, not quite drowned by antiseptic chemicals.  "I'm visiting someone," he said.

"It's not visiting hours," the turtle-mouth snapped.

A stained clockface on the wall read a dreary four o'clock.  "When are visiting hours?"

"Not until five."

Hands of the clock spun, aged and rusty things responding to Jason's will.  He was dominating, not like passive Resone.  He was free to act, to control.  "But it is five," he said.

"It's only--" The receptionist glanced up.  Jason worked the same alchemy on her watch as she looked away, so it confirmed the lie. "That's strange.  Where does the time go?"

"The time eaters get it," a tall black man said, and laughed at his own joke.

"Who are you here to see?" the receptionist asked.

The lobby was filled with people, loud and chaotic.  Old smelly women with bulging black handbags as weapons against the world.  Young women in loose t-shirts with huge breasts and screaming dirty children clinging to them.  Snot-nosed brats of 11 or so flinging slingshot spitballs at each other. Dirty unshaven men in undershirts with beer bellies.  And the black man with the spiked dreadlocks, the mishmash mismatched clothing that covered plaid, solids, spots, in bright and loud colors, a ridiculous leisure suit and a ridiculous bowtie, askew, over a Day-Glo yellow shirt.  The man with the piercing grin.

//Something is happening, but you don't know what it is-- do you, Belle Resone?//

Jason pulled a name and a number out of the air.  "Room 23B," he said.  "Rachel Buscaglia.  I'm her brother."

"You have to be over 14."

"I'm 15.  I'm short."

//You're also a girl, girl-child.//

Shut up.  I'm a boy.  "Can I see her?"

Unable to find another reason to prevent him, the receptionist muttered, "I suppose so. Elevators are back that way."  She gestured vaguely.

Jason lost it as he left the waiting room.  The man in the mismatched clothes was following him, and a surge of fear swamped him. Be Resone, cold, controlled. Resone turned to face the man, safe behind a thin but strong layer of ice.  "Excuse me, why are you following me?"

"We're going to the same place," the man said cheerily.  "I'm Rachel's brother, too."

Resone frowned. "Rachel who?"

"Rachel Buscaglia. You remember, girl-- or maybe you don't, oh well.  But we're going to the same place.  You're gonna need help."

"I don't need help. I don't know you."

"I'm the March Hare."  He grinned broadly.  "Also known as the Cat Who Walks Through Walls.  That was a book by Heinlein, long time ago.  Good book."

"Who are you?"

"Who are you?"

"Resone.  I'm Resone."

"I like your first name better."

"What?"

"Belle. Bella.  Beautiful.  Vous erez La Belle Dame Sans Merci, n'est-ce pas?  The Beautiful Lady Without Mercy.  Ah, Bella."

Resone stiffened. "Don't call me Belle.  I don't go by it."

"Somebody does."

"What?"

"For someone who's supposed to be such a hot esper and have so much on the ball, you can be dense, chère Belle."

"Don't call me that! I'm Resone!"

A white heat threatening to crack the ice.

my belle my beautiful belle come to daddy belle

The ice engulfed.  The anger drained out into the encroaching dark. Why should I care what he calls me?  "I have things to do."

"So do I.  By some strange trick of fate, many of them are the exact same thing as yours.  How's that for coincidence?"

"Hmm.  You're an esper, I take it."

"You know all about me, Bella.  All you have to do is think."

"Perhaps I don't care to."

She headed for the staircase.  Danielle should be found first, because she could hook into the line and find Ayumi. Resone might be esper, but she wasn't a linerider.

"Perhaps not. Where to?"

"Find Danielle."

"Could be rough. I think our friends are about to find you."

"Really." Resone didn't sense any danger-- but then, her senses seemed to be somewhat dulled here. “What am I expected to do about that?”

“Well. You in the mood for a fight, or you wanna hide and keep your powder dry?”

“I think I should hide,” Resone said, looking around. The elevators were coming. 6, 5, 4, on one elevator. 5, 4, 3 on the other. Her eyes fell on a set of double doors that she wasn’t supposed to go through. There.

The March Hare, or the Cat Who Walks Through Walls, or whatever his name was, followed her. “Interesting choice.”

As soon as she was through the doors, she whispered to him. “You are too distinctive. There’s no way I can not be here with you beside me. Go away.”

“Mm, no.” The Hare opened the nearest door. It was an empty examination room, darkened. “I don’t see any reason why we can’t join forces. Hide in here.”

Resone raised an eyebrow. “A fifteen year old girl hides in an empty hospital room with a grown adult, probably in his forties at least, that she doesn’t know. What’s wrong with this picture?”

He sighed explosively. “Bella. Such a correct and careful girl you are. Do it or don’t, but I can’t help you if I can’t talk to you, and we can hardly talk while you’re not here.”

“I think you can talk to me when I’m not here,” Resone said. “I think you’ve done that a few times today.”

A broad grin split his face. “Guilty as charged, but there’s can do the thing, and then there’s can do the thing and still have the juice left to run a mile or jump a fence. C’mon, Belle, I gotta save it for the parkour.”

Resone was used to knowing everything she needed to know. Remain passive, remain quiet, but look at everything. She was legally blind, and her mother couldn’t afford to get her cybeyes – Dr. Okusanya had offered, but for some strange reason her mother hadn’t been willing to entrust the father of a random school friend of Resone’s with doing surgery on her child, even if he was well regarded in a field she knew absolutely nothing about. Imagine that. But she watched everything, and she listened to everything, and if she held still, knowledge just came to her.

This man was an incomprehensible black hole. He was a singularity where knowledge went to die. Resone wouldn’t tolerate that.

With the faintest sag of her shoulders that on anyone else would be an explosive sigh, perhaps with eye roll, Resone went into the hospital room and let the March Hare shut the door.

“I’m going to begin by saying you’re an asshole,” Resone said. “And extremely creepy.”

“Oh, now ‘asshole’ I’ll own to, but when you say ‘creepy’ it sounds less eldritch horror and more Uncle Grabbyhands. If that’s what you’re picturing there then you got it all wrong.”

“You keep calling me by a name that’s not mine. You’ve referred to me as ‘beautiful’ and ‘the beautiful lady without mercy.’”

“A man can’t make a play on words about your name? I was joking, child. Have I touched you? Looked at you anyplace below the chin? But I’ll admit, I’m not used to dealing with kids, and I’ve been around a long time. Was a time they’d have strung me up for talking to you, white girl… if they could catch me. I’m gonna talk the way I know how, but I don’t mean nothing creepy about it. Unless you mean creepy like Slenderman or the man hook door hand story. In which case I absolutely mean it.” He grinned.

“Are you going to call me by my name?”

He sighed. “I suppose. You know, a fellow has as many names as I do, he doesn’t get so hung up on them. And you’ve got a lot of names, too, but then again… I’m guessing you don’t. Can’t read you as well as I’d like, to tell the truth.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” Indefinable pressure. Time, pushing at her, and a sense that space was congealing around her. If she didn’t move soon she never would. “Who are the enemy?”

“Well, chère, thereby hangs a tale.”

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

This is all I have on a story called “Welcome to the House of Fun”. It’s quite old; I had to revise a good bit, mostly for cultural reasons (Ayumi’s dad, for instance, originally had a name that was African, but it was an African woman’s first name and the last name is a word but not a name, mostly because in the 90′s and early 00′s we did not have the resources for research that we do now.)

The time stamp on the file before I started working on it claimed I started this in 2001. I’m pretty sure it’s older. Ayumi, Danielle and Resone are a trio of teenage heroes (do not call them magical girls) who are essentially a mishmosh of elements from other stories. In Ayumi I’m counting Asamiya Saki from Sukeban Deka, Cyborg from Teen Titans and The Major from Ghost in the Shell, at least.

There is some stuff in here that is very, very 90′s, DC Vertigo-inspired, that I am likely to pull back on. I may rethink what’s going on with Resone, or maybe not. 

[sonxflight-a2]

Would you kill me if I asked you to do all the emoji thing for hanryou lol 😝

☯ Send Me An Emoji ║ @kathexismania ☯

😤 - Something about your muse that makes mine angry

“His recklessness and obstinacy have always been the cause for my frustration, but... Nowadays, I doubt I can actually get angry at him in particular - no matter how stupidly stubborn he may occasionally act, my discontent grows out of worry and care rather than annoyance or ire itself. Even in the time of parting or disagreements, our bond doesn’t cease - if anything, the only reason I ever confront Hanzo is the desire for him to heed to my voice a bit more often. To remember that I wish him good and to know that he deserves the share of peace and love, no matter of his opposing beliefs. And this is the matter about which I will stay uncompromisingly persisting...”

😰 - Something about your muse that worries mine

“The very same matters I just mentioned, plus I can add here his morbid willingness. This whole nonsensical concept of ‘life isn’t meant for everybody’... He says it’s no one’s mindset but his own, yet knowing his past and trusting the experience of mine... I nonetheless believe it was long-ingrained within him by outer forces and most likely without his inital realization. I wouldn’t be surprised if once he believed oneself to be some kind of instrument, a tool of certain authority rather than actual human being. I am more than sure his late wife brought him a certain enlightenment about it, and I can only thank her for that... ”

🤥 - Whether my muse thinks yours is an honest person

“He is. At times, even brutally so, which I believe causes people think he’s crude and unthoughtful, while in reality it’s quite otherwise... At least, when it comes to the ones my husband is close with. Let this be something I got used to, it's not the best quality once you need to reach a certain goal with cautious mean, especially when the right person is already wary towards the men of our profession. Guess in this case professional partnership adds to the pros of shared workfield...”

😈 - If my muse has dirty thoughts about yours

“We are highly active, willingly married couple... Why won’t you try and guess?”

💩- A mean thought my muse has about your muse

“Hasashi, I love you, but damn I swear I'll kick your ass myself if you will do that again... Something like this, the train of such thoughts is usually pretty similar when it comes to me.”

👌 - Something my muse finds amazing/impressive about your muse

“The fact he embarked on the path of atonement and is determined to follow it with no askew is already more than worthy of admiration. Let his motives being somewhat selfish and price he paid terrifying, not many would be willing to go through such drastic change. For good or bad, his willpower in general never stops to amaze me. Even though we both think we met our match when it comes to each other’s volition...”

👍 - Something that my muse approves about your muse or thought they have done very well

“I can’t thank him enough for helping me to finally deal with the downside of my restrainment. The treatment of wounds, any wounds, can be quite hurtful and requiring of the certain anesthetic... My emotional stagnancy wasn’t exclusion. Despite me being absolutely pissed at the whole damn world the morning after our ‘cooperative therapy’, I’ve never felt so relieved in ten years as I did feel later, like it was some kind of abscess upon my very heart getting opened at last. For this and many other things that was brought by our relationship, I will always be grateful...”

😘 - How my muse shows affection to yours and if it’s different from how they show affection to everyone else

“I guess I'm way more... physical when it comes to Hanzo, in the mean I barely mind and even tend to initiate the occasional tactile contact in spite of the risk to catch a prying eye. While the most of our affections will always happen behind the close doors, at times I cannot help but yearn for something as allegedly simple as the hold of his hand. Makes me feel like some shy adolescent boy, yet all the same there’s something lovely and beauteous in the moment his palm or fingers take a returning hold of mine.”

📺 - What show my muse thinks yours will enjoy watching (together, or just in general)

“Our work schedule doesn’t allow to us pay that much attention to movie industry these days, but I don’t remember us ever watching the movies of Akira Kurosawa. Then again, it can be easily fixed during our joint days off...”

💀 - Whether my muse thinks yours is dangerous and how dangerous

“We are both dangerous, in various meaning of this word and when we need to be... Neither of us has a peaceful past nor serene field of work, so becoming a reciprocal menace in reaction to the threat can be vital for the sake of survival, either of our loved ones or our own. Men like us... They will do anything possible in order to protect the people they love. Regardless if this will require them to sacrifice their own live or take the one of their enemy...”

👑 - Whether mine thinks your muse is of high social status and/or whether they respect them in such a way

“It’s no need to mention I’ve fallen in love with my husband for who he is as a person... Honestly, I’ve never paid that much attention to the status issue. Furthermore, growing up in highly esteemed family and being surrounded by peers like mine, I know well such matter can serve as the force of deception - I cannot tell how often I had to encounter the spoiled brat who believed they allowed to do whatever they want because of their parents’ money, and how the look of their faces changed once they realized the boy who dared to resist them is no less rich. Respect is to be earned, regardless if you’re some kind of modern prince or the child of simple worker. Unfortunately, the crowd tends to believe otherwise...”

🥃 - How many shots of strong liquor my muse thinks yours can take before passing out

“I think the better question will be how many bottles... Then again, it can depend on his current condition, because it’s either just a few shots or a whole damn gallon not being enough to put him to rest.”

🎁 - What my muse will get yours for a present

“Well, it’s for him to know at his Birthday... Or any other day I will decide to make him a certain gift. After all, does the present really stays an actual present if you know what you’ll be given beforehand?”

🍿 - What my muse thinks is entertaining about yours

“We challenge each other. Motorbike race, the contest of dry humor and sassiness or... other matters of our life together, it’s nice to have a worthy opponent for a friendly brawl. Though my husband may be a sore loser at times, in my view it’s a win-win situation either way, for I enjoy the process as much as the possible victory.”

📚 - What my muse thinks your muse’s usual reading material consists of (a specific genre, smutty literature, etc.)

“Does operation reports count? It’s been a while since I saw Hanzo reading an actual book rather than work’s material, but I can't and will not make a complaint in relation to this - our job requires such a responsibility. All the same, his workaholism causes the stir my concern, no matter how hypocritical this may sound...”

🍽 - What kind of table manner my muse assumes yours to have on first meeting them

“Not the best question to ask when it comes to our couple. Recalling how tense and cranky our relations were at the very start, I doubt either of us tried to think much about each other - it was only about getting my work done as soon as possible and be over with it until the next visit. Now, I think we both were too hurting and too headstrong to see anything else aside of established images. In a way, this makes feel thankful for that hostage incident...”

🏆 - What my muse thinks of your muse regarding a specific achievement yours have

“Specific? Oh well, I believe you should name an exact one then. There’s actually a lot I can be proud of in relation to my husband and people may have a different opinion towards what to count as some sort of achievement. High career rank and well-build physical form is usually the first to be noticed...”

⚔️ - If my muse wants to have a fight with yours

“Sigh... No. Actually, I question if I ever truly wanted to fight or harm him in any way... No matter how much I treaten to kick his ass, due to his recklessness or during another of our sparring sessions. If anything, I’m still sorry for how prejustly I could treat Hanzo back in the days. Pretty sure he feels the same...”

⚰️ - What my muse will say at your muse’s funeral

“I... don’t want to think about that, all the more answer on this question. The death of beloved one is something you cannot and should not plan or even imagine - it brings no use and only gives a rise to unnecessary ache. Regardless of how morbidly curious one’s mind can be, it reality you won’t ever be ready for this kind of things. The thought itself is devastating enough...”

💎 - The most valuable object my muse can willingly give your muse

“Whatever he’d need from me... We can act grumpy about us stealing each other’s clothes, but in reality it’s really that simple.”

📣 - Something my muse will say in defense of your muse being unfairly accused

“A few would dare to make any of such accusations about my husband right in front of him, yet there were some attempts behind his back I was drastic to prevent. As a rule, people doing that lack certain intelligence along with caution and know nothing of Hanzo and what he had to come through, while I on the contrary manage to possess a sufficient data about my opponents in order for them to be quick to hold their tongues once they’re clever enough. One shall think twice before opening their mouth...”

💃🏿 - Whether my muse would want to dance with yours

“We already did, and it was quite a pleasant suprise for me to learn he’s capable of waltzing around without any actual preparation. I wouldn’t mind if he’ll express the wish to do it again once we will have a spare time or will pay a visit to Sakai’s familial residence - there’s very specific beatitude can be found in the instants you’re circling around the dance hall within the hold of your beloved.”

👗 - Whether mine thinks your muse looks good in their usual clothing/their chosen clothing style

“He does... Albeit, as long as he’s safe and sound, he looks good for my vision either way. In the eyes of beholder and all that, you know?”

🎻- If my muse thinks yours can play an instrument, or what it is

“I’m aware Hanzo doesn’t play any. Althought, as much as I don’t mind being the only musically inclined person in our pair, it would be interesting to see him learning... Knowing his tastes, a guitar would probably suit him well.”

🎲 - If mine thinks your muse’s luck is good or bad

“I don’t know... I’ve never believed much in luck anyway, however, I believe its concept is far from being so simple... Much as one’s morals, the fortune can be incredibly relative and versatile.”

💰 - If my muse will pay the ransom for your muse if they’re kidnapped

“I think Hanzo would rather want me to find the bastards who kidnapped him and bring the frigidity of justice upon their rotten heads. Not to mention, it’s unlikely someone would be foolish enough to attempt doing this to the commander of Special Team, at least not for the money...”

✉️ - Whether my muse would want to keep in contact with yours if they are apart

“We’re husbands... The answer is kind of obvious, don’t you think?”

👀 - The most interesting/memorable rumor my muse has heard about yours

“When we just started dating and yet had to reveal our relationships... Some of my former colleagues and the members of his squadron asked if we finally found a lady friends, which was especially amusing to hear when we appeared to be in the same room. Yeah, one gruff six-something-feet tall brawny girlfriend I was happy to become a spouse for, heh...”

[rough-n-randy-rando]

Edd and Flow; Jitters, Junk, Fireflies

Eddward Vincent had never been on a clandestine date before. Or any date for that matter.  He’d gone to Sadie Hawkins with Nazz, but it had been a pleasant outing between two friends. Nazz had met his parents, he’d met Nazz’s, pinned a corsage, danced together under the supervision of chaperones, drank punch that may or may not have been spiked. It had been a quick affair, never repeated and with no misunderstandings or hurt feelings.

     As he decided on what to wear, he thought over the situation in terms of what a date classically is and found that it was beyond typical categorization. If anything, it was a rendezvous. It had all the thrill, danger and intrigue of one at least. And it was hot, but not just hot, humid at that. A romantic rendezvous in a tank-top and shorts? It would be so.

    There was another point of consideration; was that all this would be? A passing… something… in the night? Is that worthwhile? Is that something to look forward to? So many questions, and nothing but a time and place to answer them. As well as an auburn-haired boy. That raised more thoughts, lewd, personal thoughts. He humored them and changed again. Messy, messy, messy.

    By four in the afternoon he’d run out of things to catalogue and alphabetize; every advisory note left by his parents was read and followed; Jim and the ant colony fed and watered; any and every bit of clothes washed, folded. Now he’d resorted to an impromptu one man play in the living room, portraying both himself and a suddenly erudite and proper Kevin, replete with baseball cap. Then, a knock at the door.

    Actually, it was less a knock than it was Eddy strolling in, Ed in tow. “Hey Sockhead why dontcha answer your phone?” He tracked in mud, fresh, blackened mud likely from a runoff canal near the Creek. “Ed and I found a great spot ta set up Slippery Eddy’s Super Summer Splash Park and we need ya ta draw up the plans.”

    “Eddy, shoes, please!” Double-Dee sprung over the couch and dialed a command into his wristwatch, sleeker models of the cleaner bots from the café emerging from the hall closet and setting to work.

    Ed swept Double-Dee in his arms and crushed the air from his lungs in a rib-cracking bear hug. “Eddy told me you’d been taken by the sewer people, to build them a radioactive claw they’d use to steal the Earth’s core!” He mimicked a gnarled claw and snapped at various objects on the end table near the couch, curling his lip and crossing his eyes in his best impression of a sewer person.

    “Ed, we’ve talked about unnecessary roughness in our greetings.” Double-Dee felt the pressure around him relax.

    “Sorry Double-Dee.” Ed seemed on the edge of tears, sincerely remorseful he’d slipped up and possibly disappointed his friend.

    Double-Dee had a special place in his heart, and therefore his patience, for Ed, and gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s perfectly fine, Ed, just a friendly reminder. Now, if you wouldn’t mind releasing me.” Ed dropped him bodily to the floor and stood smiling.

    Eddy had meanwhile helped himself to one of the pre-made sandwiches Double-Dee had spent the morning preparing for himself and was lounging on the couch, a phone in his hand. “All my missed calls and you didn’t even try to get back to me.” He seemed taken aback by something he saw on the screen and flew into a rage. “Kevin? What, he tryin ta shanghai ya ta help him with his summer school?”

    Double-Dee scrambled over the couch and tried his best to get his phone back, Eddy keeping him at bay with his leg. “My correspondence with other people is my own business, Eddy; so unless you’re listed as the account holder or contribute directly to my service bill, I’d appreciate you returning my property to me and pondering your own social interactions, thank you very…” he kicked off the arm-rest of the couch and managed to spring past Eddy’s leg, grabbing ahold of his phone as he sailed off towards a crash landing, “much!”

    He made a hard landing against the opposite wall, knocking over a waist-high bookshelf. Ed scrambled over and helped unbury Double-Dee, lifting him up to his feet and dusting him off.

    “Are you okay, Double-Dee?”

    “Yes, thank you, Ed… you didn’t take off your shoes?”

    Sure enough, there was a long, thick trail of viscous, blackened mud from the entryway to him, the cleaner bots chugging along frustratedly.

    “Forget his shoes, what’s Shovelchin tryin ta rope ya into, huh, huh?”

    Double-Dee held the phone to his chest and turned his nose up at Eddy, moving off towards the kitchen. “None of your ‘beezewax’ to borrow from your own crude vocabulary.” He glanced at the screen and saw he had indeed received a message from a number identifying itself as Kevin.

Hey Double-Dork, it’s Kev, don’t forget.

    He felt a bolt of lighting shoot up his spine and crash back down in the pit of his stomach, flooding him with warmth and energy, his heart racing. Now how to go about responding. He wanted to send a long-heartfelt message filled with his excitement and anticipation, the concern and worry that had been consuming him ever since their brief intimacy the day prior. Then he thought of how Kevin, up till now the smoothest of operators when it came to romance, would take this outpouring of deep emotions, especially in such an early, fragile state of their… relationship.

    “Hello, Double-Dee, ya have a stroke or somethin?” Eddy had finished his sandwich, wiping his hands on the couch, and was looking at him expectantly.

    “Eddy, how would you respond to someone who had asked you out on a date, wishing to maintain a level of distance and mask your enthusiasm?” He looked to Eddy, who had a crestfallen look on his face.

    “Oh come on, not Boxhead…”

    “The identity of the individual is irrelevant, but the question stands.”

    “Is Double-Dee in love, Eddy?” Ed again closed the distance between himself and Edd, wrapping him up in a cautious embrace.

    “I wouldn’t call it love, Ed, but someone has piqued my interest, yes.” Double-Dee relished the affection afforded to him by his gregarious friend and returned the hug.

    “What you have to do is beat up their enemy like in Ultra Space Adventure number six-hundred and four, where Tim Cobalt, space explorer, fought for the love of an alien with a thousand mouths by defeating the hairy mutants from X-O-Nine!” Again, sudden silence, pleasant smile.

    “I’ll take it under consideration, Ed.”

    “I say leave him hangin, never text back, move away, save yourself the headache.”

    “Come now, Eddy; could it be your prior antagonistic encounters with Kevin have soured your opinion of him?”

    “Kevin’s a jerk, always will be a jerk, ask Nazz.”

    Double-Dee bit his lip and tapped Ed to release him. He moved into the living room and sat in his father’s recliner, looking off to a spot on the carpet. “I admit, Kevin’s romantic record to this point has been less than stellar. But could it be that that’s a part of adolescence? After all, Kevin and Nazz remain close friends, despite their history.”

    Eddy looked Double-Dee over and shook his head, standing to leave. “Double-Dee ya could marry a hornet’s nest and I’d ask when the reception is…” he picked at his teeth with the nail of his pinky-finger and examined what he’d scraped loose, “but Kevin?” He tutted and walked towards the door. “Just don’t ask me ta be nice ta him.” He paused and said over his shoulder, “Keep it loose, say when and where, then be there, keep him guessing.”

    “Remember Double-Dee; defeating your love’s enemies is the key to the heart.” Sudden silence. Pleasant smile.

    “Ed, your advice, as always, is illuminating.”

    “Wait for me, Eddy!” Ed raced after Eddy and practically bulldozed him out the door, the pair alternatingly laughing and arguing as they made their way back to whatever spot they’d staked out.

     Save for the cleaning machines lethargically scrubbing away at the last of the Ed’s mess, the house was quiet. Double-Dee looked at his screen again and considered a response. Then, another text popped onto the screen.

Don’t flake on me or I’ll pound ya.

    It seemed Kevin was also in the throes of pre-date jitters. He thought on it for a moment, then replied.

Eight o’clock, the park.

    And that was that.

       The Park was one of the oldest in Peach Creek, planned back when the cul de sac and other suburb outcroppings were still just blueprints and promises. It was simple, a few play structures, slides and swings, as well as a sandbox. Ringed by tall, old trees that were always last on the town’s list of landscaping priorities, a canopy had formed in some places, and in others crowded saplings and bushes fought for space. Otherwise, it was a straight shot through the park from one end to the other, wide open views from the street that anyone could take in unobstructed while passing by.

    These observations were obvious to Double-Dee as he sat at the picnic table, glancing at his phone every few seconds. 7:55pm. He’d arrived promptly at 7:30 to allow himself the opportunity to settle in, seem casual, build an alibi should anyone from the neighborhood or beyond happen upon him and subject him to interrogation. He’d imagined a million and one scenarios, his stories becoming more and more fluid as the questioning increased in severity. By 7:45 his resolve had faltered a bit, though he quickly reminded himself that it was Kevin who’d set the time and Kevin who’d sent a reminder, as well as a, hopefully, playful threat.

    The summer sun set late. It would be almost 9 by the time it fully set beyond the western mountains, casting everything into deep, dark night. Now, at 8pm, there was more than enough light to show someone mounted on a restored, candy-red ’92 Honda VT600 Shadow roll up to the curb beyond the park’s entrance.

    The mystery rider cut the engine and sat back in the seat, arms crossed, the tinted, visored helmet clearly looking towards him, “You comin or what?”

    Double-Dee felt both underdressed and intimidated. Whereas he’d resolved to wear cargo shorts and a simple band tee, Kevin was clad in black denim with a weathered, adobe-colored leather jacket. He needed to retain some of the rehearsed blasé attitude he’d constructed.

    “I’d accuse you of showing off but I’m afraid I don’t know enough about motorcycles or the necessary safety gear to offer any real criticism.” Humorous, self-effacing, humble.

    “Shut up Dork, put this on.” The careful waltz of clever witticisms was shattered, and Kevin lobbed a small backpack at Double-Dee. Inside was an equally weathered chartreuse leather jacket and an older, Italian motorcycle helmet.

    “First of all, Mr. Barr, don’t speak to me in that way.” Double-Dee let the bag drop to his feet and crossed his arms. “I’ll admit I’m positively disposed towards you but this disposition does not mean I’ll forgive disrespect.”

    Kevin kept his helmet visor down, a black-eyed cyclops that stared him down wordlessly. He triggered the kickstand switch and let the bike settle at a cant, dismounting and walking straight up to the other boy. He stood a full head taller, and he still didn’t raise the visor.

    “Well?” Gasoline fumes mingled with the aseptic bite of a cologne that had given up the ghost long ago. The closeness of the two as well as Kevin’s facelessness revived the sense of enticing danger Double-Dee had dismissed as romantic fantasy.

    Kevin flipped up the visor and was smiling. “You’re cute when ya want to act all tough, Mr. Vincent.” He scooped the bag up and handed it daintily to Double-Dee. “Pretty please, with sugar on top, put this on.”

    “Very well, but only because you asked so nicely.”

    Soon, they were off, riding for about an hour to the west, halfway between Peach Creek and Lemon Brook. Suburbs gave way to orchards, the new moon providing more than enough light to navigate the many backroads Kevin detoured. Here and there you’d spot farmhouses; lonely old things that looked abandoned, only the motion-activated security lights close to the road reminding you that people lived there.

    Even with earplugs, the sound of the bike’s engine was monstrously loud, the vibration of the road rattling Double-Dee numb. He’d kept his eyes clamped shut for much of the ride, but as Kevin slowed to take the winding roads to their unknown destination, he’d allowed himself to peek out into the night, take in the sights. In the milky-white brilliance of the new moon, details were discernable; old collapsed fence posts with depression-era barbed wire; an actual honest-to-god phone booth at a crossroads that still had a functioning light on the inside; an abandoned tractor that had been consumed by wild grass and weeds, a thicket forming around it; acres upon acres of anything and everything that grew on trees.

    Though named for the citrus fruit, no lemons grew in or around Lemon Brook. The main employer of the community, Staple and Citrus Cargo Company, named the town after the first product they’d shipped in upon opening in 1890: Lemons for the Navy from California. Rail-lines, weigh stations, turntables, fuel and water depots cross-hatched and dotted the county. This area surrounding the town was known as the badlands, beginning and ending at an old district boundary no one bothered to review.

    They finally came to a halt at the beginning of a gravel road that disappeared through a cluster of beech trees. Kevin killed the engine and sat for a moment, then turned his helmeted head.

    “Hey, uh, you can let go now.”

    Double-Dee did so, the blood rushing back into his arms, hands, fingers. “My apologies, Kevin, I’m not used to this mode of travel.”

    “It’s fine, Nazz hated riding this thing too.”

    Double-Dee dismounted shakily, his legs waking up. “I’m glad to know how other people you’ve dated enjoyed the experience.”

    “Come on, Double-Dee, I didn’t me-” Kevin saw that the other boy was politely stifling a laugh. “Good one, you really made me feel like a jerk.”

    “I can’t make you feel what you already suspect.” Eddward allowed himself the laugh and removed the helmet, his beanie pressed flat underneath.

    “I’ve never seen someone get helmet HAT before.” Kevin dismounted as well and walked the bike off the side of the road into a stand of already dying paper birches. Double-Dee was waiting for him as he reemerged, and Kevin thought on how ridiculous he looked in the oversized jacket, shorts, and chipped-white helmet, old-school driving goggles sitting crookedly across the brow. “You look like you shop at the Salvation Army.”

    Double-Dee considered what he was wearing and shrugged, “Half of this outfit was provided by you, so I’d say it reveals more about your own stylistic choices than mine.”

    “Fair enough, come on, we’re almost there.”

    They set off along the gravel road and entered the stand of beeches, Double-Dee taking note of the many bottles and cans strewn about the ground.

    “I take it this is a popular place for revelry, shame they’re so inconsiderate of the local flora.”

    Kevin stooped and came back up with one of the cans in hand. It was so faded, half-covered in a slimy, mossy sludge that he couldn’t make out any kind of date or design. He let it fall back among its brothers and wiped off the sludge on a tree as he walked by. “Used to be, all the upperclassmen would come here.”

    “We’re the upperclassmen now.”

    Kevin chuckled, “Yeah, we’re in the big leagues.”

    They exited the stand of trees and stood at the edge of a field of tall grass about two acres long by two acres wide. Rising out of the grass here and there were old hulks of various vehicles. They were rusted husks without engines, without seats, skeletons of skeletons. In the center of the field there rose a jagged mound of earth and steel. Bicycles, shopping carts, weathervanes, melted and crushed together into a chaotic mass half-buried by an abortive burial attempt. The earth that had been heaped upon it had, over time, solidified and compacted, and now was topped by thin, white, fluted flowers.

    What gave this mound shape was the most surprising specimen of all; beneath the wreckage and dirt sat an old tank, its turret turned slightly to the right, main gun held aloft by a sturdy-looking support brace bolted to the chassis.

    Kevin took Double-Dee’s hand and squeezed it. “Welcome to the ThunderDome.”

   Double-Dee giggled and took the lead, pulling Kevin along as he walked towards the mound. “I’d be interested to see what species of flower that is, as well as the model of the …”

    They’d only taken a few steps in when the fireflies, as though they had fallen asleep on the job, rose and began their display. The two teens were surrounded by a flurry of light, a chain reaction rippling outward across the field, legions upon legions of the luminescent insects taking flight. The new moon was obscured by a blanket of clouds that threatened rain and thunder, the night deepening across the land. The fireflies were transformed from points of light to living stars, meteors caught in the atmosphere of this private universe, celestial bodies that collided and danced all around them.

    “It’s beautiful, it’s like experiencing the moment after the Big Bang!”

    Kevin looked at Double-Dee and was struck by the awe, the wonder in his eyes. As those wide orbs of glacial blue diamonds took in the beauty of the moment, reflections of fireflies that passed close by blinked in and out of existence like sparks from a flint. For a moment Kevin was party to Double-Dee’s immense knowledge, imagination, and understanding, and in that moment he felt afraid. He was one of the most intelligent people Kevin had ever met, an inscrutable mind of unknowable potential. What could he offer him? What could he give to him that he couldn’t create himself, better, at ten times the scale with ten times the power?

    Double-Dee moved in close and laid his head on Kevin’s chest. “I could live in this moment for the rest of my life.”

    At a loss for a response, but feeling victorious, he held him close and said nothing.

READ THE FULL STORY IN SEQUENCE HERE

[smithereensbymaisie]

There was once a demon named Émond

A brief warning: This is an entirely fictional piece that is based on a dream of mine, but it does mention child trafficking and child labour, so please proceed with care. Your well-being is the most important. This is also written in the heat of the moment, so the subjects that this touches on may be poorly-researched or misinformed. If that’s the case, please kindly let me know. It’s uncertain whether this will have a follow-up, and although I will try my best, there’s no promises. Lastly, English is not my first language. With all that said, I hope you enjoy this weird dream of mine.

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

There was once a demon boy. Well, not exactly “boy”, since demons’ age, sex, and gender just did not work that way, but he liked being a young boy, so why not? Wayward was the word that he deeply identified with, and it did not help that he also disapproved of certain rules and values of the demon world. After too many times refusing to perform his duty of being an “upright and devoting member of the community”, The Council of Demonic Society put limitations on his magic before casting him to earth as a punishment. The demon would not be able to return until he successfully tempted seven kings into wrongdoings.

He had no intention whatsoever to complete the task.

On earth, still in the form of a young boy, he decided to simply live on the street and went by the name Émond. His magic, though limited, was still more than enough to suffice, so his new life mainly consisted of magicking whatever food and drink he needed if he was feeling lazy, and stealing if he was feeling particularly bored or adventurous. He could no longer make money out of thin air, though, so that was a shame. He then decided that he would feel adventurous most of the time, which was terrible news for shop owners in the area.

That way of living lasted for about as long as the lifespan of a dragonfly. Wandering the land of the living without any permanent shelters, money or full power, Émond found himself being snatched from the street and sold to some kind of twisted organisation located in a desert faraway. All the manual labour was young boys who had to stay in tents. There were also adult supervisors who lived in brick houses nearby. The children were chained together at the wrists in groups of seven when they worked and forced to dress in uniforms at all times, which consisted of too big a shirt and a pair of baggy trousers that looked like they had been vomited out by an entity that solely produced eye-achingly bright red-colored clothes. There were about five groups of seven red-clothed children. Usually, they had to work in the desert under the sun, digging sand for wood, animal or human bones, and if they were in luck, scattering pieces of jewellery; in general, anything that was not sand and could potentially be sold for money. On special occasions, the boys were given the job to act like “feral cheerleaders” in a spectator sport taking place on a dune near where they put up their tents. The so-called sport apparently included gruesome murders performed by men on horses. They were told to scream, clap and jump manically whenever someone was killed or badly injured to ���set the atmosphere”, metal chains clinking and air thick with the pungent smell of fresh blood.

Naturally, Émond did not get on well at first. He was made fun of by adults and children from other groups, as well as having to endure snickers from his own for his rather chubby body and long mop of curly hair, although he did not give a monkey’s about that. He liked this body. What truly annoyed Émond was the fact that he was expected to take commands from these ridiculous, violent, crude supervisors, whom he ignored out of spite most of the time, and just as often, they got furious and took that anger out on the children in his group. Whenever that happened, the demon would use the little power he was allowed to his advantage. He created a strong and urgent urge to fall asleep and planted it inside the minds of red-faced supervisors. Being in the thrall of demonic magic, they had to crawl back into their bed and slumber for the next hour; he then wiped their memory of his unruly behaviour, which oftentimes resulted in a dopey and silly facial expression when they finally woke up from the unnatural sleep.

Very quickly, other boys in the group started to pick up on the pattern and confronted the demon on one late afternoon.

“How did you do that?”, one child named Asher asked him when they had finished the work for the day. The supervisors had taken off their chains and retired to their brick shelters. Their tent had been put up properly for the freezing forthcoming night, and sunbaked wood and dry grass had been provided for each tent for fire.

“Do what?”

“Stop the adults from hitting us, obviously”, another small child, Neil, he recalled, turned to him, squinting his hazel eyes.

The demon soon found himself the object of curious and suspicious gazes from six little humans. Well, he thought to himself, they are going to stay with me for quite some time anyway, I may as well get on with it.

He told them everything, from the fact that he was not as human as it seemed and there was an entire world full of his kind to the event of his punishment and his life before being taken here. Émond also told them that his magic abilities had certain limits, and that yes, he could make the supervisors forget about his scornful attitudes and behaviour, but no, he could not do the same for memories concerning other people, the boys included. As that was the case, the demon could not wipe away the existence of six children from the minds of several supervisors and help them escape. Also, they were in the middle of a desert, it was not a very good idea to venture out without sufficient resources, knowledge of their current location or a map for direction. Émond had expected the boys to get terrified, accuse him of lying, or laugh in his face and consider him insane, but that assumption was quickly proved wrong. Apparently, the demon had not been very subtle with his magic, and as it was, he found himself surrounded by six fearless, inquisitive little creatures.

“Do you have horns?”, a boy named Alex, twelve years old with wide brown eyes and short hair of indiscernible color, asked him. “I heard that demons have horns.”

“Well, I can have horns if I wish to,'' came his answer, “but those things are just terribly inconvenient, are they not?”

“You can change how you look? That’s wicked awesome!”, exclaimed another child, Alfie, who was sitting cross legged next to Alex. The other children just looked at Émond with even more wonder evident on their faces.

“I wholeheartedly agree with you, child.”

“Wait, so are you really a boy, then? And how old are you, exactly?”, asked a fifteen-year-old named Victor, which made him the oldest of the six.

“No, I’m not really a boy, I’m a demon. We don’t normally categorize our kind into boys and girls, or anything like that, really. There are certain types that run The Council, but that place is full of stiff demons that know no fun, so let's not count that. Most of us just exist or don't. And it’s rude to ask people of their age.” Then, after a beat of silence: “Also, I don’t remember. It’s been a while since I last checked a calendar.”

“What about magic? Can you do magic now? I want to see it!”

The children looked at him excitedly. Happy to entertain, and also starting to feel a bit cold, Émond magicked a burning fire next to their tent. It crackled cheerfully and smelt sweeter than any scents the children had ever smelt before.

The last remnant of sunlight was starting to fade on the horizon. The group of seven shifted closer to the fire, basking themselves in the warmth, hoping that the biting cold of the desert night would not seep into their bones.

“Do demons have parents?”

That question took the demon by surprise. He contemplated for a while before settling on an answer: “You know what, I’m not sure. The first memory I have is waking up alone on the floor of a dimly-lit room with only one door. The knowledge of my power and who I was just…magicked itself there, I suppose. I then opened the door and found an entire world of demons on the other side.”

“Oh”

“Right, it did get a little overwhelming.”

“I have a mother,” said Little Henri, aged eight, after a while, “She’s still waiting for me to come back, I’m sure. I just hope she doesn't cry so much anymore.”

And so, the conversation turned to the life stories of each child. Henri was the youngest in the group. He loved visiting the park with his mother when she came home from work. The ducks in the park’s pond, in his opinion, had been the most interesting citizens he had ever encountered, aside from his mother, of course, and a source of endless entertainment. Alex and Alfie were of the same age. They were orphans and had lived together on the same street before being kidnapped. The A-Duo, or TAD for short, was how they had called themselves back in the glorious olden days of mischief. Mind you, they were still TAD and still full of shenanigans, but artfulness was now their main focus to avoid the beating from supervisors, whom they called “visors” because “really, it’s impossible there is anything super about them”. Émond found it funny. Neil and Asher were brothers, aged ten and fourteen respectively. While Neil was an energetic little boy and was often found conversing amicably with The A-Duo, Asher was rather reserved and quiet. They had lived in a loving family, although both knew that “sufficient” could hardly be used to describe their home. Neil had been snatched from a vacant playground on a humid summer afternoon. Asher had witnessed the incident and rushed to his little brother without thinking, which had resulted in him being rendered unconscious with a bat in the head. They had both been dragged away from view in an instant. Asher had woken up with a mild concussion to find Neil hugging him tightly, sleeping, cheeks still streaked with tears. The pair had travelled with a dealer for about a week before being sold to this place. The oldest among the children was Victor, who sported a perpetual grim face. He was reluctant to talk about his family, but the little information he provided was telling enough: he had been sold by the hand of his own kin. The pain of that memory seemed to etch on his brow, cling to the downward corners of his mouth and the dimmed color blue of his eyes. Sensing the unease, Asher steered the conversation away from Victor, asking Alex and Alfie about their latest mischief.

“Well, since you insist,” said Alfie before the duo plunged into every detail concerning The Sandy Bums Operation with obvious pride. Victor looked at Asher gratefully.

By the end of the conversation, Henri and Neil had been fast asleep. Alex and Alfie were struggling to keep their eyes open and failing spectacularly. Victor ushered the two inside the tent, meeting with little protest, and followed them with Henri in his arms, while Asher gently scoped up his little brother. For a moment, the gentle crackling of the fire was the only sound that dared to disrupt the quiet night.

“Why haven't you escaped on your own?” A hushed voice broke the silence. Asher seated himself beside Émond, hazel eyes fixed on his profile. “You know, you have magic and all that, and I reckon you also have better endurance than us humans. So why?”

Chuckling lightly, the demon turned to look at him: “Why do you ask? Do you want to get rid of me that much?”

“Not really,” Asher shrugged, letting out a sigh, “just curious.”

They fell into a comfortable silence. The flickering fire threw long shapeless shadows on the ground, unfailingly scented the surrounding air with its enticing aroma.

“It doesn't sit right with me, whatever that may mean coming from a demon,” Émond said after a while, still resolutely staring at the fire. “Leaving the children here when I walk free and wreak havoc to the world, knowing that I might have been able to aid their escape in some way, doesn't sound very fair, does it? It's bad for business, anyway, that not everyone is given the same chance to do evil.”

A smile grazed Asher’s lips. It was a small, fleeting thing, but in this harsh and unforgiving place, it was more precious than gold. “You know, I think I get why those stiff demons rejected you. You are terrible at being a demon.”

“Wow, thanks so much for that”, said Émond, feigning outrage.

“You would make a pretty decent lad, though, if you were a human being”, Asher carried on, unfazed.

That threw the demon into a lapse of silence. He looked in bewilderment at the child beside him, dirty face and matted blond hair. Then, softly, as if he feared the image of that boy might shatter before his eyes: “But I'm not, aren't I?”

“No, you aren't,” the boy gently shook his head, “but I choose to see you as such anyway.”

They sat in silence for some time before pulling the sweet air into his lungs, Asher patted Émond on the shoulders and stood up, stretching and yawning: “I don’t know about you, but I’m knackered. Going inside now. You coming?”

“The night sky is too beautiful”, Émond replied simply.

“Alright. Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight.”

There was a soft rustle of fabric, and then, once again, Émond found himself embraced by the chilly stillness of the desert night. The sky was indeed beautiful. He might as well admire the stars while he could.

[spiritsdw]

{Letters} - Sent at Stroneth Port

The Right Honorable The Earl of Carneath, Clarence Temple

Dear Lord Temple, 

By now, your birthday has most certainly passed at the writing of this letter (although this and the last will be posted at the same time, so you’ll receive them together), so I shall again wish you a splendid one. I wonder if I should get you something at our next port of call, but it is hard to get something that feels meaningful when I have been all these places numerous times, and you have not. Would you appreciate a tourist-y statuette? A clip, perhaps, for your hair? 

I’ve learned not to tease about a ring, so that is out. 

All the same, I should ask you next I see you. It has been years and I never thought to ask before, but I generally can stall our departure long enough that I do not miss your birthday, or it was before we were together. This year was not favorable to either of us, I’m afraid. Or you can tell me in your next letter, and I shall pick something up before my return home. 

I think by the time of reading this letter, you have read the reports from Adi in regards to what they found on the cliff-face. The emblem I have sketched for you here, as it is harder to describe it in words than it is to see it. I would like to know the court’s thoughts on the group, but I do not trust it enough to send it in a letter or via telegraph. But I hope that His Majesty is as concerned as I am, though I do not express as much to my crew. 

We are designed to keep the peace and to investigate. We do not have authority to engage in something that could escalate. There are many new faces on board, and I don’t want the worst to happen to them because I unduly alerted them to trouble. 

All the same, our crew made it back to us safe and sound, and we set off once again. 

As I write this, we have just recently pulled out of ‘port’ at an abandoned island that housed the ruins of Fort Stofiss. I would have loved to see it, as we have never stopped by here in all the years of my rotation. But, from what the others said, there wasn’t much to see. 

Except, perhaps, some frogs, but I will get to that in a moment. 

We thought it wise to dock and take on fresh water instead of risk running through to Aelem with the storms looming so close on the horizon. Even with Grissa calling down Ydir’s favor, we all agreed it the best course of action to stop by the island. It is one of several on the far end of Nibiru’s coast, one of the larger that managed to hold a fort at one point. Many of the others only would have served as food stores, or hide-outs for pirates in the space between Nibiru and Braesail. 

However, since the storms became more constant and wards began to fail, a lot of the presence here faded off to somewhere safer. But there were still notes of a freshwater spring from when forces came through here to see if a foothold would need to be secured (thank goodness one did not -- while they are close to Gwaelod here, they are closer still to Nibiru). 

And indeed, the island is largely uninhabited, save for a tribe of sentient frogs. I sent Grissa along with Adi, Pasha, Ulutka, and Natalya to fetch the water, and there was a small mishap involving some poisonous flora -- luckily, Grissa was there to tend to their wounds, or else I would be more alarmed at the state of them. 

As they were preparing to leave, they were confronted by these frogs, who stood on two legs almost about as tall as a human. They wore leathers, carried crude spears, and while they did not speak a common tongue, seemed to maintain their own conversation between themselves and smaller frog-sized frogs in croaks and grunts. 

Ulutka, somehow, managed to convince the frogs to let them go, as they were only there to collect water. But, as Grissa helped them load the barrels back into the skiff to return to the ship, the others expressed interest in wanting to investigate the rest of the island and the fort. 

Pasha did not want to go, and, I am hesitant to say, he was not given a choice in the matter. 

I have let a lot of Natalya’s tricks slide without comment, for they have been small and unobtrusive. Things easily passed off as something else, and so I have not drawn attention to them. But what she did to Pasha -- used a few words to change his state of mind so completely… That is something altogether more alarming. I do not know if she is even aware of it, more than just honeyed words and suggestions against weak minds. 

I do not think that it has occurred to anyone else that it might be something more than what she passes it off to be, and I wonder if that is because somehow her own obliviousness is influencing the minds of everyone, or if because they do not know what to look for. I know what to look for. 

Rhea, too, but I do not think she interacts with Natalya enough to form an opinion on the matter. Nat spends a lot of time below deck with the engines, and I do not want to say that that is a good place to keep her away from influencing the crew, but… I worry. When I agreed to keep an eye on her as a request from her father, I did not think… 

Pasha was very upset when he got back, and rightly so. I did not have the chance to talk to him properly about it, but I hate to think about the lingering conflict between them. More than just what that conflict means for Pasha, but for Natalya as well. If she doesn’t learn how to control these abilities, and continues to push people without their consent, it could go very wrong for her in the future. 

All the same. 

They went back to Fort Stofiss, and there they found a large frog who proclaimed itself a king. And this they learned because the frog could speak in common. I do not even know how to quantify this information. A large frog, dressing itself like a monarch of a ruined fort, and demanding a tribute from the four who investigated at the cost of 50 gold per head (a steep price for ‘trespassing’, but otherwise violence would have been pressed upon them). 

They returned with nary a hair harmed upon their head, but as the influence began to wear off of Pasha. Grissa confessed to me later that it made for an awkward ride back. 

My largest concern is that Natalya did not seem overly concerned when she and Ulutka reported what happened. I learned of Pasha’s frustration through Adi and Grissa. It has been a few hours since they returned to the ship, and he has not left his workshop. I wonder if I should go to him, or wait for him to open up to me. 

Either way. It is late, and the clouds are closing in quickly. Grissa assures me that it is not the storm and no cause for concern, but I still cannot help but worry. Lately, things have felt increasingly off. Ever since we left the docks. (I do not think that it is because it took us so long to get started, though the engines not starting were some cause for concern.) I think that since our last night on shore, I began to worry. 

Do you remember? You woke up to find me sitting at the desk. You said something to me, but I did not hear it. And when you repeated it, I still could not understand. 

Perhaps that never happened. I did not think to ask you the next morning what you had said. Perhaps it was just a dream, and there was something in the distance that I watched. And despite the way you called for me, and asked me to return to bed, I did not. 

I worry, Clarence. And it increases as the days tick on, and as the miles pass as ocean waves beneath us. 

I cannot wait for your letter when we reach Aelem, when you tell me to not worry, and you will give me evidence from past trips where I have expressed the same concerns to you and nothing has happened. 

“You are being silly, Love,” you will tell me, and your handwriting will convey that fond smile. 

I hope that that is the case. I would rather be silly than to worry. 

All my love,  Ean

[saruma-aki]

Well, I would like to say I thought this through before dragging this post back up after having posted it way back when ST2 was new and fresh out of the proverbial womb, but, the harsh truth is, I did not. Honestly, I have been ignoring the existence of this post since its conception because the amount of popularity it garnered was mainly negative (no shock there; this is, after all, tumblr) and I had more important things to stress over than what someone interpreted from a line in a show that will fade into obscurity in a couple of years. However, the most recent reblog caught my eye because someone actually wrote something under it—and not just under someone else’s words, but the original post, which I had not seen in a while.

Obviously, what they said did not make me very happy. Otherwise, what is the actual point of making this post?

Here is the thing, the “tea” or however you want to call it—everything they said is way out of line.

I will be the first, the very first (no one is beating me to that spot) to admit that the original post was just a little bit tone deaf. It did not really discuss the topic or why it is that I felt like I did or Dacre’s own opinion. It was just a couple of screenshots from an article that made me feel better about where I stood on the whole debate—and I wanted to share it. I don’t know why. Maybe to just not feel crazy in the midst of that drama? Who can say? However, I will be the first to say that the post is wholly inadequate in explaining anything of note.

I was not exactly surprised when people took to it with raised hackles, even if I really never conceived it would reach close to five hundred notes by the time I got the guts to address it again (and I know that five hundred, 5-0-0, doesn’t really seem like a lot, but considering that I thought maybe one person would pay attention to it, it’s basically the equivalent of a million in my eyes).

But, you know what? I’m tired. I’m stressed. I’m slowly dying. Let’s finally addres this. Because this reblog, this most recent reblog, really bothered me. And I know, trust me when I say I know, that it seems simple and of no need for concern, and I’m sure the few people who are actually bothering to read through this are thinking, “Why on earth did they not just talk to this person instead of making a long post?” But, here’s the thing with this whole shebang: I’m tired, and this person isn’t alone in their opinion. What made this one stand out is how they phrased their belief.

I’ve had to listen to people gripe about how this post “proves there’s no such thing as POC solidarity”, and they’re absolutely right because Native American woman are being slaughtered and raped and abused every day, and Native Americans are represented less that one percent of the time (<1%) ) in film and media (and the few, very rare, times they are it is with an abundance of racism and stereotypes piled onto them), and yet I don’t see black people, with their sixteen percent (16%) representation score raising much of a fuss. (This is not a call out or something. I get it. Get your own representation and rights before helping out anyone else. It makes sense, in a way—I’m not judging. But maybe don’t come at people with that when you’re part of the issue.) I have had to listen to people assume my race, ethnicity, political leaning because of this post, and, honestly, I’m just a wee bit tired of it.

I have four things I really want to say with this post, in response to everyone, but especially in response to this one reblog:

1) I am a proud person of color. I am a proud descendant of African slaves. I am a proud descendant of Taino natives. I am a proud member of the Latino community. I am a proud non-white individual who experiences racism on a daily basis.

I experience racism meant for black people. I experience racism meant for Latinos. I experience xenophobia meant for Middle Easterners and Asians. I experience racism meant for Middle Easterners. I experience racism meant for Indians. I experience Islamophobia meant for Muslims. I have been told they should “build a wall” to keep me out. I have been told that the KKK should pay me a visit. I have been called a terrorist. I have had people dance in crude imitations of Indian traditional dance to my face while laughing. I have experienced all of this and more.

I have been a victim of racism, classism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, etc., from both POCs and white people, straight and gays, natives and immigrants.

Do not presume to know my race and my experiences just because my opinion does not coincide with yours. Quite frankly, don’t do that to anyone. You do not know anyone’s life story, especially over the Internet. Do not assume otherwise. Do not delude yourself into a false confidence and assurance of your own moral superiority when you know nothing of the people you are attacking. It is easy to hide behind a screen, and I am not here to tell you to not talk about what you wish and what you can and cannot talk about and direct at people. I merely suggest you stick to the information readily accessible, not mere assumptions based on your own prejudices. It reveals more about you than the person you are belittling.

2) Billy never saw Max and Dustin together like he did Max and Lucas. Billy never saw Dustin upsetting Max like he did Lucas. Billy never sees Max and Dustin in any capacity like he does Max and Lucas.

This is not a justification. This is not an excuse. This is a mere statement of fact. Whether or not you believe Billy is racist or abusive or whatever, the bottom line is the same. Billy doesn’t witness Max with Dustin like he does Lucas. Honestly, I’m fairly certain Billy never even sees Dustin and Max together at all. Think Billy is racist or don’t, but it doesn’t change this very basic fact. It’s not a situation of “why didn’t he” when every iteration can be debunked by simply understanding that this wasn’t information he was privy to ever. “Why didn’t he?” Because he didn’t know.

3) I don’t take the word of the Duffers on anything. Let’s make that perfectly clear. And this is not some personal dislike or something. This is born from experience. I have sat in the writer’s chair; I have sat in the director’s chair; I have sat in the actor’s chair. You know what I have learned? The writer provides the skeleton, the director gives it movement, the actor gives it life. The job of an actor is solely to understand the character. That, ladies and gentlemen and the general populace, is the secret of acting.

What the writers provide is just the guidelines for the actor. The understanding the actor develops can evolve into a different interpretation than the writer or director had, and it has the potential to be more profound.

The other two reasons I don’t take the word of the Duffers on this is: A) had it not been for Dacre, the Duffers would have been subject to critique on lazy writing moreso than they are already because Billy’s depth and complexity, especially the jarring scene we all remember, came from Dacre��Dacre wanted a villain with a reason if he was going to play Billy and he pushed for it (which says a lot about him and how skilled of an actor he is—understanding that experience and trauma shapes us and forms us into what we are and that we are not static beings, so there should be no such thing as a static character) and that makes Dacre’s opinion a lot heftier than the Duffers’ already——B) Dacre originally did think Billy was racist. Isn’t that a kicker? Dacre remarks in interviews that when he read the script at first, he thought, “Oh, no, gosh, he’s racist on top of all of this?” And he stayed with that mentality for a bit. It was only as he delved deeper into the character and understood Billy more as a person instead of the two dimensional villain he’s set up as that he changed his mind and came to the conclusion that he doesn’t think Billy’s racist.

He put in the work.

The Duffers went in with a throwaway line and labeled the character as racist. They wanted a human villain, someone for people to hate, someone to pit against our heroes, against Steve. They wanted to make him awful and static and to have him do what Steve’s character couldn’t and stay the asshole the audience could hate.

Dacre didn’t fall prey to that mentality. He searched for the human in the label “human villain” that the Duffers wanted and found a much more complex character than the Duffers even considered. Because of this, Dacre’s opinion carries far more weight than the Duffer Brothers’.

And, ultimately, most importantly—the main reason I wanted to make this post, to defend the original post this is born from even though I’ve stated my stance on this issue in a separate post in much clearer terms—the real reason I made the original post to begin with even if I never talked about it:

4) People who immediately assume racism instead of ignorance, racist instead of ignorant, are part of the problem, not the solution.

This really bears no explanation. You cannot change what you believe is irreversible. You cannot educate what you believe is closed off. You cannot help that which you’ve condemned.

I do my utmost to live my life by this. Ignorance before condemnation, always, always, always. The majority of the time it is a lack of education on the subject and a lack of personal experience that leads to such grave misunderstandings. Give a person the chance to learn and to be taught and to redeem themselves, and most of them will. It takes time and patience and a boatload of energy and perseverance, but you get there through understanding and the willingness to help out—by giving them the chance everyone else is denying them.

You cannot help those which you’ve condemned. In life and in fiction, until proven repeatedly over and over again when intervention is applied, I like to adopt the philosophy that people are ignorant before they are racist, before they are a sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, etc., etc.

I’m not saying it’s a popular philosophy (because it’s not), and I’m not saying it’s right (because maybe it isn’t), but it’s my philosophy. And knowing where Billy comes from, what he’s been through, who his father is, what his home life is like, I elect to believe in my philosophy and in my understanding of the human mind, and I don’t think he’s racist. I can definitely see how he might be construed as such, and I don’t belittle those who see it that way, but I stand by my original observation (however ineloquently stated) that I, in my own personal opinion, don’t believe Billy is racist.

And, ultimately, I just want people to accept that. I’m not denying the possibility. I’m not uninformed. I’m not some white, cisgender, hesterosexual man sitting behind his computer screen agreeing with a white actor because it makes me feel more comfortable in myself and my own experiences. I am a proud POC, a proud member of the LGBTQ+ community, a writer, an actor, a director, and a human being. I see where you all are coming from—I hear you; I read what you write. I get it. But can you get me? Can you understand where I am coming from? Can you stop with the misinformation and the moral superiority complex? Life is too short to live like this. I know that it’s Tumblr. I know being superior is the bread and butter of this site. But, honestly, guys, let me get cheesy for a second, let me get real, because you guys clearly need to hear this:

Be willing to understand and to learn. You will get so much further in life. You cannot help that which you’ve condemned, guys. And you really can’t. You can’t change what you believe is irreversible. You can’t teach that which you believe is unwilling to learn. Give people a chance, and they might just surprise you.

Gosh, I hope this cleared some things. I doubt many of you made it to the end if you even got past the beginning, but I sure feel better after writing this. Take care. Bless. I’ll see you on the other side of the war.

[ellawritesficssometimes]

Introduction:

I’ll open things with a quick reminder that the practice of judging characters because they don’t live up to the perfectionist and fictional [unrealistic] standard that we hold them up to is hypocritical. Real life interactions and relationships are full of flaws, blemishes of the character, mistakes, and regrets.

Instead of holding up characters to this impossible pedestal, I believe that we should devote our efforts to appreciating how their life experiences reflect that of our own. Cliché as this saying may be, it’s something that’s always held to be true: no one is perfect. This includes fictional characters.

The fact that America and Canada’s relationship consists of several moments of jealousy, selfishness, and resentment is what makes their characters so developed. To get from point A to point B, a required component of character development is to overcome some sort of personal, emotional, spiritual, and physical struggle.

The scenarios in which these characters attempt to negotiate through these hurdles can be messy. Mistakes are inevitable and they will say things that they don’t truly mean. It’s important to recognize this rather than singling out a panel as evidence to prove that a character is “rude.” That’s a very simplistic way of looking at things. Not only that but context and motivation are needed if you’re to understand the true reasoning behind these outbursts, which are far more complex than merely painting the picture of a character lashing out for no particular reason.

That said, I’ve organized the breadth of America and Canada’s relationship into three main themes: Identity, jealousy, and autonomy. Let’s explore them.

 Theme: Identity (or the lack thereof) 

The most prevalent theme coursing through America and Canada’s relationship is identity. Canada’s struggle to overcome his invisibility primarily rests on his inability to form a stable and memorable self-concept, something distinct that he can use to formulate his own unique identity.

The problem is that he lives in the much larger shadows of England and America, albeit mostly the latter’s.

Ex: America is described as the source of all of Canada’s woes [x].

Ex: Kumajiro advises Canada to find something that shows who he is.

Ex: He’s often mistaken by other nations for America and has to deal with repercussions and hatred that isn’t even intended to be directed at him. In this case, Cuba assaults Canada, thinking that he’s America.

Another problem that Canada has by virtue of his invisibility is that he lacks an assertive presence. Remember that this is an old trope in the manga, so the humour will be a bit more exaggerated than something you would see in recent strips.

Ex: He has trouble “getting in a word” to America. Here, he had hoped to tell America to quit acting so “domineering” to other nations, as he ends up on the receiving end of other nations’ hatred.

Ex: Canada reflects on how, even as a child, he wasn’t that memorable.

Ex: Canada’s sat on by Russia during a meeting due to lacking a certain presence and charisma.

Ex: France and England both don’t remember Canada right away, as there is nothing distinctly remarkable about him. Again, I’ll repeat that the manga is based on stereotypes. Canada’s invisibility reflects how he’s still negotiating his national identity—what he’s known for. 

Note: Canada’s anger here is justifiable. I want you to remember that when we look at other examples where he snaps and becomes angry. The emotions don’t simply emerge in a vacuum (i.e., out of nowhere). It’s pent-up emotions that he’s suppressed, having been pushed down, taken for granted, and ignored for most of his life.

One scene that I’ve noticed has been grossly misrepresented in the past is this baseball scene. The gist of it involves America throwing a baseball too fast and hard for Canada to keep up with. It’s not meant to be abusive on America’s part.

If you look at the panels it’s meant to represent how symbolically, America pushes Canada too hard, operates at a much faster pace, and expects a lot from the latter. In particular, the differences in their paces will be important, as it’s something that Himaruya brings up again in World Stars.

Notice how it’s only after Canada has been pushed enough that he strikes back at America. The two get into a heated argument and both call each other names. It begins with America expecting Canada to do a favor for him and Canada responding that he’s not America’s “handyman,” as in he’s not someone who can be taken advantage of to do the latter’s dirty work.

America’s criticisms fall short when Canada loses his temper and criticizes America’s flaws for three hours straight. It’s enough to make America cry.

While America may take advantage of Canada, he also acts as Canada’s greatest support. On several occasions, he encourages Canada to form his own unique identity.

Ex: He advises Canada to be more receptive to welcoming immigrants to his country. Canada later becomes known for his multiculturalism.

Ex: After Seychelles remembers that Canada’s a member of the G8, Canada overcompensates in his gratitude by dressing up as his stereotype. America tells Canada that he’s fine the way that he is, amusedly remarking how Canada went out of his way to stand out [x] [x].

As mentioned, it’s not just America that causes Canada’s identity (or lack thereof) to be obscured and insignificant. England too overrides Canada’s sense of self.

Ex: Canada at one point once used England as a mouthpiece to negotiate treaties with America [x].

Ex: Post–American Revolution: America attempts to visit England, who fell ill following the conflict. Canada gets angry at America for one; barging in, and two; only worrying about England and ignoring how Canada was also implicated in the war [x].

“I’m Canada! This is Canada!

Can’t you see anything else besides England?!”

Canada refuses America entry, which ignites another argument. America criticizes Canada’s will and his inability to separate himself from England. In this case, America touches on how Canada eats marmalade instead of maple syrup to appease England.

Once again, it’s only after Canada is pushed far enough that he returns America’s insults. This scene is especially important because it culminates in Canada asserting himself by forcefully shutting the door on America.

Theme: (Mutual) Jealousy 

In light of being ignored, Canada unhealthily compares himself to America. This hopeless endeavor is a major contributing factor to his poor self-esteem.

Ex: Canada thinks that he’s plain and not good-looking. This conclusion stems from comparing himself to America, who’s well-known and described as a good public speaker [x].

Ex: Canada being overshadowed by America is crudely portrayed when America sticks his own flag on Canada’s forehead [x].

Ex: Canada takes an interest in American pop culture and media entertainment. America doesn’t reciprocate [x]. Keep in mind that Canadian media is a more recent phenomenon, as Canadians used to consume a lot of American content before things like CBC.

It’s symbolic of how Canadian content is often mistaken as something produced in Hollywood. This is seen in the Hetalia of the Dead strips, where New Zealand mistakes a Canadian film as American.

Ex: After realizing that America doesn’t know anything about his pop culture, Canada wonders if America has no interest in him and reflects on their childhoods [x].

Take note of the fact that they play in a field of flowers, as it will turn up as a metaphor in later chapters. Similarly, the idea of America aging quickly is reflected in the fast pace in which he makes decisions and excels versus that of Canada, whose growth and path to independence is hesitant and slow. 

This is a brilliant and covert connection made by Himaruya, as it links back to the baseball strip [Fly Canada-san, fly!] where America pushes Canada too hard.

Lastly, it’s crucial to mention that the jealousy is mutual between Canada and America. Canada is jealous of America’s large impression and status in the world, whereas America is jealous of Canada possessing a personality that allows him to get along with people [x].

Theme: Autonomy (or the lack thereof)

The final theme I would like to touch on is autonomy. The premise of this layer of characterization is twofold. On one hand, it involves America self-interestedly expecting too much of Canada and pushing him too hard until they both explode and feed each other a piece of their minds. On the other hand, it involves the two of them unequivocally supporting each other, regardless of where their political interests lie.

As mentioned, America is Canada’s biggest supporter. He’s the one who encourages Canada to fight for his independence.

Ex: America urges Canada to gain his independence from England and gets angry when he perceives Canada’s wish not to pick a side as being indecisive [x].

Ex: They speak to each other, despite technically being enemies in the aftermath of the Revolution [x].

Canada’s sheltered life as a subordinate to England is revealed in his naïve perspective of world politics. He has trouble wrapping his head around how England and America are able to keep trading with each other while in the midst of a fight. Having never been in control over his own affairs, Canada doesn’t recognize that practicality comes above personal issues in politics.

Ex: After improving his relationship with England, America attempts to establish a treaty with Canada. The way he does so is abrupt and rubs Canada the wrong way. He’s both spoken for and spoken over [x].

Another link is made with older strips. America “drags” Canada at his own pace without realizing that Canada operates and does things differently.

America’s opinion that he never voices out loud after Canada reprimands him is particularly important. He knows that Canada is slow and won’t make any moves on his own. It’s because he recognizes that Canada’s grown accustomed to living in England’s shadow.

Ex: The second time America asks Canada about his independence, he gets a response…more or less [x].

What disgruntles America is that Canada expects to gain his independence by being on good terms with England. As someone who had to fight for his autonomy and has experienced the harshness of the ‘real world’, America can’t control this next outburst. It’s out of concern for Canada’s naïve, childish, and softened perspective of the world.

Remember that childhood metaphor I mentioned earlier? This is it.

“Is your head a field of flowers?!”

Ex: To get Canada a more immersed understanding of the world, America encourages him to do some travelling instead of simply focusing on domestic issues [x].

In the same strip, he pushes Canada to become independent again. His rationale is that without England in the mix, the two can be closer. What doesn’t sit well with Canada is America’s self-interest; what he has to gain by improving their relations.

Regardless of how much he wants to deny it, America’s influence on Canada is profound. Canada even recognizes this as he declares his independence [x].

Ex: It’s no secret that America “underestimated” Canada and believed that the latter wouldn’t be able to support himself [x].

On the other hand, when he does visit Canada to congratulate him on his independence, the progress they achieved in their relationship is unmistakably present.

Rather than shout and get into a fight, as illustrated in a sequence depicting what they would have liked to say to each other, the two accept their differences in opinion, enjoy the congratulatory moment, and remain civil. They were always best friends in their hearts. This reconciliation confirms the sentiment [x].

Conclusion:

In sum, even though Canada may still struggle over his identity in modern times due to America’s overbearing influence and frequently get into arguments with America, it doesn’t do their relationship any justice to characterize them as hating each other. America cares very deeply about Canada and acted as his biggest support, regardless of his egotism. Canada too cares very deeply about America despite getting frustrated with the latter when his boundaries are pushed too far. Siblings are siblings, and while they may fight and get on each other’s nerves, the two are still very close.

Why else would they host a cooking show together? [x].

[royal-writer]

The Adoption

I’m not crying YOU’RE crying....

The heat of the fire crackled warm, but the best part was where she sat; scrunched up and nestled into the familiar scent of oak trees and amber hues. Warmth surrounded her in the huddled blankets. Hugged to her, with an arm around her and the other situated in the folds of one of her lover’s cloaks as he held a hand to hers. Their fingertips gradually warmed, and his breath soft to her nape as they nuzzled lazily against each other. Limbs and bodies folding closer; unable to mold together beneath all the layers of furs and fabrics but the outline of him was still a heaven she knew well.

With his whiskers grown thicker, they felt rougher and wiry in the early brisk of winter. Essätha tried not to snicker at the way her beloved Lord burrowed himself against her upturned collar to inhale the scent of perfume dabbed to her skin. His lips were soft; tracing against the side of her throat.

Sighing, she held her gaze upon the twists and curls of the flames. A thought that had been nagging her brain tugged relentlessly. It had been a seed of a thought; sprouting and soon becoming a destructive weed ensnaring her mind.

They hadn’t had a discussion in baring children in months. Too equally nervous of their ages; Amon more openly concerned for her carrying. The commitment would cut into their travel schedules, their workload, their social requirements. The time it took to raise a child would be monumental at that.

Nobles did this sort of stuff all the time. Amon had done it once before. But it abolished routine, and it came with too much risk. The more time went by, the more danger the physicians warned it would present. The young and beautiful bore their children straight away usually. The old were left to fate and luck if an aging body could handle the strain. Especially for a first child; not used to the imbalance it would cause.

With a faint laugh at the teasing barely-there brush of his beard, Essie turned her face to kiss his forehead. His sigh was magical. Filled with content and joy as he lifted his face for her to lightly peck his charmingly shaped lips. Her eyes grinning with her smile as she looked into his darkened eyes through a collection of small, grazing kisses of sweetness.

“My handsome husband,” she breathed softly.

With a broadening grin, Amon spoke against her mouth as he murmured in reply: “My wonderful wife.”

She hummed a pleasant note at the sound of such endearing words on such a husky voice. Her body shifted; worming through the trap of comforting cloth to release her hand not held from the heat of her layers. Her fingers carded through his coal black locks, slipping around to hold the side of his face as she circled her fingers over the rise of his cheekbone as he smiled. Only the most pure and wholesome version of love in his gaze. Only the gentlest touch to her scaled hand as he slipped his fingers between her spaces to press his palm to hers.

Her nerves tried clamping down upon her mouth. She pushed past the weariness, finding safety and understanding in the searching light of his gaze. Specks of light from the hearth like starlight glistening and moving over his vision as Caesar yawned and stretched upon the floor; curling himself tighter into a ball after flopping closer to the fireplace.

“What do you think about adoption, my love?”

A peculiar lop-sided grin stretched crookedly into place. His features strained, as though trying to hold the position in place rather than frown.

“It’s… always an available option,” he cautioned.

Though the words did not rise up in his throat, she could swear she felt a small twinge of pain strike her form his heartstrings.

“It would eliminate the worry of me carrying,” Essätha reminded him quietly. “We wouldn’t need to get a child very young, either. There are plenty of children looking for loving homes.”

Watching how Amon’s face grew flat, she pressed a kiss to his cheek as she whispered, “You don’t have to hold back your opinion, m’lord Amon. If it makes you unhappy-”

His hand squeezed hers reassuringly beneath her blankets and coats.

“I think it’s worth looking into,” he agreed softly. “But we should not be rash in jumping into parenthood.”

Relief swam through her in the form of a sigh and wide-eyed look of hope. It was better than a ‘no’. It gave her something to aspire for.

Between the creases in his brow with thoughtful worry and the half-smile in place, his eyes were an endless field of thought. Some she came to understand swiftly; a sorrow like so many you could never fully shake. It sat dormant, usually, but it came and went like tides at sea. Some days the memory of his dear Marie were too hard to bear. Some days when the mention of children came up, it clouded his eyes and hung over him like a dreary storm for days.

But there was equally layers of anticipation. A yearning not quite grasped. It burdened her heart, not knowing what it was for. If he held to the idea of children in any way she did; longing and loving and wanting to hold and protect someone so small and innocent. Raise another, where they could lead a life knowing they were loved. They would always have a sense of family; always someone to protect their back, to look after them, to nurture them and be proud to watch them grow and become what they wished.

She did not wish for him to spare his feelings and happiness for her desires. She prayed he would not give in to her, simply because it was something she had always wanted.

“Let’s discuss it tomorrow, when there’s no wine still on our breathes or hazing our decisions,” Amon teased her, releasing her hand to sneak his own out and gather the one against his face. He placed a kiss to the back of her hand, before taking her chilled hand back beneath the huddle of blankets to warm them once more with tender caresses.

Essätha nodded, too overjoyed; and too anxious, for words. Her smile eager all the while, as her beloved leaned in to seal his promise with a kiss so dreamy and gentle it left her breathless for what felt like the entire night.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In the coming months, they discussed the idea on and off with serious debate. The effects it would hold, both good and bad. How the adoption process played out; what sort of age ranges they might look into.

With still questions to be had, they turned to the church of Pelor for answers.

The priests, priestess, clerics and other training figures under the name of the God of Light were all warmly gracious to their approach, and sought to their inquires with dignity and clear-cut answers like a well-sharpened blade. They were shown the foundling wheel, where sometimes babies and very young were left by parents who left their infants without the repercussion of needing to answer as to why. They met a few adopted children in the town, to speak of their experiences and with their parents.

They were asked their own questions. A few insecure eyes darted over Lord Amon’s locked jaw, chiseled features, and tight eyes. Sometimes standing too stiffly and erect; trying to mask the stench of hurt and sadness that washed over him from time to time.

Unfortunately, Briarton’s residents were all too familiar with the young lady Marie, and of her loss. They stared with pity, or a mix of that and confusion as the word spread throughout the town that they were considering taking in a child.

Some people had their viewpoints, of course. Essie was grateful most of them were offered to her, rather than Amon. Fearing his reaction, no doubt.

She listened with as much grace as she could. Sometimes it was polite; encouraging, understanding. Sometimes it was not so. Judgmental and crude; spitting on race, her values, her stature. Some called her ‘careless’, others said they were too old for such things.

Essätha held on to her faith, but not too strongly. After all, though many years of her life had been spent fondly loving the idea of having kids, she had never thought she’d truly have the chance.

This could very well be that chance.

But she watched, ever loving and always worried, to her Lord Amon. Listening for the cues in his voice that would shape the beginning or end of this journey.

What would come next, she would accept with love and empathy. It was all she could do.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Winter was mostly though when they visited the temple again for another meeting with the high-priest. There was frost bleeding into water and snowdrift melting in the streets. Amon held an arm around her; puffy swirls of white smoke like dragons ready to employ their greatest weapon ushering from their mingled breathes interlocked so closely.

Before they came upon the heavy set of doors, a priestess cleaning the steps greeted them. She ushered them inside warmly, offering coffee which they denied.

“Let me go fetch the minister; my Lord and Lady, he’ll be pleased to see you both again.”

“Thank you,” Amon murmured softly, his face appearing tired and worn.

Feeling a clinging sense of agony for him, Essätha held firmly to his hand. She didn’t relax until the pressure was returned to her, with a small smile and affection eyes.

As a robed gentleman greeted them, they were brought into a private wing of the shrine. A cleric and some devote followers were tending to some sickly patients, offering their healing words and last rites to some. Among the assistants were some older teenagers Essie recognized from previous visits. Young but not lost. Some abandoned once; others from family’s who were gone too soon, but they had found sanctuary and teachings in the place of the church.

Amon was engrossed in conversational greetings and tense discussion of their visit, when Essätha slipped away from his side. She greeted the people within the room with politeness. Held the hand of a man losing his final breath as he praised her good work in the town- mumbling something about strange it was for his failing eyes to lay upon an angel one last time (that had been enough to cause her eyes to weep, though she withheld until the widowed man had passed and was offered plenty of handkerchiefs for her runny nose). She passed treats unto the young and those hard at work and god a bit of scolding for doing so by an older priestess (she swore that woman hated her).

Stepping around a draped curtain, Essätha beamed upon the youthful woman’s backside with which she saw. They turned their head to her approach.

“Lady Essätha! Back again I see. May Pelor Light your path, my Lady.”

“Essie or Essätha works just fine, Margret,” she reminded the pale complexion of the woman with a laugh, stepping curious closer.

“Oh,” the woman murmured, turning to show what she had cradled in her arms. “She’s a new arrival. Dropped off at the founding wheel a few days ago.”

Essie stared, mystified. Before she could utter a word, however, a sharp cry jolted her from the right.

“Must be the twins at it again,” Margret sighed, offering the swaddled figure to her. “Would you mind, for just a moment, my Lady?”

“I- I- o-o-of course-”

The baby settled into her awaiting arms couldn’t be more than a few years old. Her skin was dark; much darker than her own, and she had hair black as a raven’s wing. She was large enough to fight against the blanket wrapped around her; grumbling and babbling nonsense as her dark eyes peered up beneath dark lashes.

She had pointy little ears protruding from beneath the depths of her curls. A hand reached up as she fought for her freedom, patting to Essie’s face.

She didn’t even hear the woman leave. There was something about the elf-child; or at least partial elf-child, that felt too deep.

The baby sneezed. She froze, her eyes starting to water as though frightened by the loudness of her own body.

“Oooh no no tears,” Essätha soothed, wiping at her eyes before the wailing could begin as she bounced the tiny figure up and down in her arms. “No tears now, little one. It was only a sneeze.”

“Maaa mamama,” the child mouthed, her wobbly lip disappearing as she went back to patting her face.

Oh no. Oh no oh no, she loved her. Loved the dark little freckles speckling over her nose and cheeks, loved the mostly-toothless smile and gurgling giggles.

“Essätha, my darling,” Amon’s voice carried; a hand parting aside the curtains. “The priest wanted us to…. To…”

He stared down at what was in her arms instantly as she looked up to him. Defensively as the sheet had been parted, she held the youngster tighter to her chest as though fearing someone would snatch it from her.

She studied his blank expression as her arms grew lax to let the child be seen. Her little feet kicked wildly; squirming in her arms.

“Maaama. Mamamama… Maaaa…”

Essätha snorted back laughter as the child grabbed at her mouth and nose. Curiously working her way up as she tried to scale her; prodding at the scales on her face.

Amon stepped closer. The swish of his cloak moving against the floor.

Realizing that a shadow had befallen them, the little girl craned her head back to look up at his face. Essie held her smile; a sense of worry eating at her insides. She looked between the babe’s wondering face, and the lack of expression on her beloved’s.

Tentatively, the elf reached out. Her hand managed to grab a fistful of Amon’s beard, and she yanked.

Amon grunted, teasing the tiny hand free so that it held to his finger instead.

“Strong grip,” he observed; a rasp in his voice and twinkle in his gaze.

“Daaaaa,” the babe responded with passionate excitement; holding to his finger with a white-grip. “Daaaddaaa daaa…”

The smile that stretched across his face held so many countless memories in Essätha’s mind. It softened his eyes, and drew away all signs of aging and agony from his features. Smoothed over into a sense of calm, of joy. So much happiness, that he seemed to forget about the world, forget about everything but the moment.

He moved his hand slowly, grinning wider as the little girl squealed with delight.

With an adoring smile on her face, Essie looked between her husband and the child. His arm moved behind her to the small of her back as they huddled closer, staring down at the curious umber eyes looking back at them. Her quiet babble growing louder; more boisterous as she switched her attention from Amon’s finger that curled against hers and the unique texture of Essätha’s face as she pawed at her.

She was perfect.

And she would be their first.

[just-come-baek]

Love Game 2

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader (Hanbyeol) ft. mentions of Sehun x Irene

Genre: romcom | fluff | enemies to lovers!au | cheating!au | smut (later on)

Word count: 4.5k

Summary: Byun Baekhyun founded a company that aids people cheat on their partners, while Park Hanbyeol runs a firm that helps find evidence of infidelity. However, they both face real difficulties when they help their common friends. Regardless of the effort, they are bound to fail. Miserably, I may add.

Masterlist | 01 | 02 | ...

"Hi, Irene," Byeol greeted her friend as soon as she spotted her in the cafe. Along with Wendy and Jiwoo, they ought to meet for a weekly exchange of spicy gossip and a bomb of calories in a form of a delicious piece of cake with a ridiculous amount of whipped cream and caramel. "Where are the girls?" She asked when she plopped into her seat with a loud sigh that gave off her fatigue.

"I told them we're meeting at two," Irene announced with a shy smile, looking down at her laps, as if embarrassed that she suspected Sehun of cheating. Their marriage wasn't perfect, yet the slightest hint that he might be unfaithful upset her greatly, and although it wasn't love yet, she really hoped that Byeol didn't catch him with another woman. The disappointment would be definitely too much to handle. "I didn't want to discuss that in front of them," she added vaguely, yet they both knew what she was referring to; Sehun drama was still an unconfirmed matter, and she preferred to keep it private.

For now, at least.

"Yeah, I understand," Byeol replied and looked at her friend, cracking up a smile. "And you shouldn't worry that much about Sehun. Apparently, he spent the weekend with Baekhyun, you know... that annoying fucker who almost ruined your wedding."

"Baekhyun was there?" Irene asked in surprise, her eyebrows cocked upwards. "I'm sorry, I wouldn't ask you of that if I knew he would be there. How did you survive his presence? I have never met two people who hated each other with so much passion," she continued, genuinely interested in the rest of the story. After the ruckus at their wedding, Baekhyun and Byeol had become sworn enemies. The animosity was so strong that no one would agree to spend an hour with them in one room, even when paid a million dollars in cash.

"It wasn't that bad, actually," Byeol started, and Irene couldn't wait to hear the rest. "I mean, of course, I wanted to scratch his eyes off every time he opened his mouth, but we both acted like civilized people. But back to Sehun, if you really think he cheats on you, he must be really good at it. When he eventually showed up, he didn't even glance at other women. If it wasn't for the evidence that you found in your house, I'd think he's crazy in love with you."

"Was it silly of me to ever suspect him?" Irene inquired, the disappointment in her behavior evident in her tone. Everyone has doubts, Irene should have one in particular given that her marriage wasn't a choice of love. At their wedding, at least in Byeol's eyes, it was obvious that Sehun wasn't crazy about her, although he should be, we're talking about Irene and she's fucking gorgeous and unbelievingly kind. One could even mistake her for an angel incarnation. "Maybe he has finally fallen in love with me," Irene added dreamily, and Byeol kindly smiled, not wanting to burst her bubble.

"Maybe," Byeol whispered on an exhaust, staring at the hopeful expression Irene sported.

Perhaps, Sehun could fool Irene, but it would take much more to convince Byeol in his innocent act. Sehun couldn't be the salt of the earth, he was friends with Baekhyun, and that ultimately made him a bad person. Sehun wasn't like Irene's impression of him, she was whipped and her opinion was biased. Byeol, on the other hand, could smell that something was fishy. The evidence didn't lie, and if Sehun's was guiltless, he wouldn't return home reeking of another woman.

"Irene, listen," Byeol cleared her throat, making sure her friend was listening, "it was just one event, we can't draw a conclusion based solely on that. I don't try to turn him against you or anything, but if you really want to be sure that he's not fucking other chicks, I suggest we keep watching him," she stated, and Irene blushed at the crude word.

"Yeah, you're right," Irene admitted, and smiled at Byeol, although she was still bitter about the whole mystification. Spying on Sehun didn't sit right with her, yet right now, it was the only action she could take. She couldn't just ask him if he was seeing anyone, even if he did, he must've been really stupid to concede.

"Of course, I'm right," Byeol spoke with a cheerful smile, "and don't worry, everything will be fine."

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Baekhyun asked, as Sehun barged into his office, ignoring the secretary repetitive protests, and plopped down onto the sofa, across from Baekhyun's desk. "I believe you're not appointed," he added, as he finally looked up at his friend.

"I'm your friend, I have a VIP pass here," Sehun snickered, as he sat more comfortably, one leg over another, his arms lying on the backrest.

"If you came here to me for a friendly advice, I'll gladly give you one, but if you just want me to cover your cheating ass, you better get in a line," Baekhyun deadpanned with an artificial smile upon his face. Even before he took Sehun's case, he didn't have any time to rest. Daily, Baekhyun ran from one client to another, yet Sehun didn't understand that. Whatever Sehun wanted, he got it, and right now, when Baekhyun wasn't easily complying with his wishes, he was growing more and more irritated.

"Come on, Baek, I'm paying you triple," Sehun reminded, and Baekhyun rolled his eyes. Yes, the pay was quite handsome, yet Baekhyun regretted his decision. The meeting with Hanbyeol cost him a lot of effort which was so ridiculously high one just couldn't measure it with money. "You can do me a little favor."

Baekhyun wanted to say no. Helping strangers get away with cheating was one thing, but helping Sehun to cheat on Irene was just wrong. They had invited him to their wedding for fuck's sake! Sehun didn't love her, but Baekhyun couldn't say the same about Irene; he had seen the way she looked at him during the ceremony, she wasn't indifferent about him. Normally, he didn't get to know the person his clients cheated on. He knew Irene, and actively helping Sehun to hurt her, didn't sit right with him. Irene didn't deserve such a treatment.

"Okay, what is it?" Baekhyun asked, as he rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to focus on whatever Sehun was going to announce.

"I told Irene I meet with potential investors on the weekend; a brunch, a round of golf, a small trip to a winery, you know... the usual." Sehun started, and Baekhyun nodded his head, collecting the information in his head. "Anyway, I think I'll have signed all the contracts by Friday, and the rest of the weekend, I'll stay in a fancy hotel with my lady."

"Ugh, fine." Baekhyun agreed unwillingly, swallowing hard. "When you'll finalise the contracts, we'll switch places, and then, I'll be pretending to be you, and you won't have to worry about your time alone with whoever you're fucking."

"Sounds splendid," Sehun remarked, smirking at his friend, "why haven't I asked for your assistance sooner? My life would be way easier."

"Don't push it," Baekhyun warned, but Sehun ignored him, shrugging. It was no big deal; his marriage with Irene lacked love and Sehun intended on keeping it that way; she might be gorgeous but he didn't feel the tiniest bit attracted to her. If anything, he saw her as a sister, or maybe even a sister's friend. "And don't forget that I'm still waiting for that remittance. You may barge in here reminding me that you're paying the triple, but I didn't see a single penny yet."

"Geez, I'll text my secretary to transfer it to you." Sehun replied with a roll of his eyes, "they will be on your account first thing in the morning."

"They better be," Baekhyun added, yet Sehun couldn't hear him, as he already closed the doors behind him. His lady was waiting for him in his expensive car, and he would not spend another minute on bickering with Baekhyun when he could have her blowing him.

It was a tough week for Byeol. Normally, she was busy, working her ass off from the moment she got up until when she eventually fell asleep in front of her computer. Not only a lot of clients requested for her assistance, but also she had to take care of the formalities for the accountant. The worst part so far, though had to be a phone call from her brother who she didn't have a particular good contact with.

Irene just couldn't have a better timing—giving Byeol an invitation to an exquisite hotel for the weekend. Sehun was about to go there with his investors, and it was the only logical option that Byeol had to tag along as well.

The resort was breathtakingly beautiful, and she was going to appreciate the luxury probably the most among the other visitors when all the cost was covered by Irene. Byeol would never be able to pay for it with her money, or at least not until her business becomes more profitable. Hopefully, it'd happen soon, she was sick and tired of money problems, and exhausted from all the effort she was putting every day.

Heaving a sigh, Byeol entered the hotel, her small purple suitcase rolling behind her. Today, she had a rough schedule, but hopefully, she would get some rest in the evening. With her accumulated stress, she'd kill for a glass of Mojito and a Thai massage.

"I hope you have a pleasant stay," the receptionist spoke with a trained smile, as he gave her the keys.

"Thank you."

According to Irene, Sehun was going to meet with the investors for the wine tasting in the winery nearby. Unfortunately, when Byeol got there, Sehun was nowhere to be found. His friend was there, though. The one and only Byeol hated with pure passion.

Baekhyun.

"What a small world!" He spoke with a mischievous smirk upon his face as he approached her. "What are you doing here, Park?"

"I was meaning to ask you the same question, Byun." She replied, and Baekhyun raised his eyebrow.

"Sehun invited me, actually." He started, observing her features, trying to detect the slightest change in her expression. Slowly, Baekhyun was becoming suspicious toward Byeol. He hadn't seen her since the wedding, but once he began working for Sehun, he bumped into her twice in a span of a week. It was far too coincidental for his liking, she was definitely up to something. "He has a meeting with investors and he was hoping for my support; both, mental and intellectual."

"He's here, too? Wow, I seem to run across him a lot lately. If I didn't know him, I'd think he's stalking me." Byeol jested, and Baekhyun flashed her a smile out of courtesy. "But where is he exactly? The last time I didn't get to say hello. Actually, I really want to scold him right now. Why would he take you with him when he has Irene? She'd love to spend some time with him."

"Yeah, I don't doubt that." Baekhyun spoke dismissively, hoping that Byeol wouldn't mention Irene again. He already felt like a scumbag doing this to her, he didn't have to be reminded of it every step of the way. "Also, I don't think you'll see Sehun anytime soon. Yesterday, we had sushi and the poor guy is suffering from a food poisoning. He should've listened to me, I told him that uramaki looked strange to me."

"Seriously, that sucks, but I guess he deserves it for ditching Irene at home." Byeol answered, and Baekhyun nodded his head in agreement. The story was a complete bullshit, but Byeol was right, Sehun deserved it and many more. Not only he left her behind, but also he was fucking another woman.

"Yeah, definitely," Baekhyun added matter-of-factly, surprising Byeol. Wasn't Baekhyun Sehun's best friend? Shouldn't he stick up for him in every case? "And what exactly are you doing here?"

"I'm taking a weekend off. I seriously don't remember when was the last time I had a chance to rest." Byeol replied, not really lying. Her response was vague yet indeed genuine. "My parents gave me the voucher for my birthday last year, and it's due this weekend, and I just couldn't let it waste. Seeing how fancy that resort is, it must be ridiculously expensive."

For the rest of the wine tasting, Byeol and Baekhyun didn't talk to each other. Despite the small talk about Sehun and Irene's relationship, they didn't have a reason to maintain the conversation. In normal circumstances, they wouldn't even bother to glance at each other.

In silence, they listened to the sommelier's instructions and facts about different types of wine. Byeol, who didn't particularly fancy white wine, followed the guidance, whereas Baekhyun, on the other hand, didn't give a fuck about it, as just drank the alcohol as he pleased.

Irene would be proud of them, it has been like thirty minutes since Byeol spotted Baekhyun, and not even once, they yelled at each other. However, they didn't tolerate each other's presence yet, they simply learned to ignore the existence of the other party, pretending they didn't stand close to one another.

"That was fun," Baekhyun spoke casually when the sommelier finished the presentation of the very last wine of the evening. "I may end up buying one, which one did you like the best?" He inquired, a whole more chatty than before, probably because of all the alcohol he had drunk. Admittedly, Baekhyun wasn't wasted, not even tipsy; he was just friendlier and nicer. However, Byeol was not; she hated him as passionately as an hour ago.

"I actually prefer red wine," she answered with a nonchalant shrug, hoping that Baekhyun would walk away and leave her alone. "And you're not supposed to drink it, you know. You just taste it on your tongue and spit."

"Oh, I know that." Baekhyun admitted quickly, flashing her one of his mischievous smirks. "However, I looked up how expensive these wines actually are, the last one we tasted costs like my monthly salary per bottle. How crazy is that?"

"But it was the worst one! The second the smell of the herbs hit my nose, I thought I was going to throw up."

"It wasn't that bad, back in college, I drank worse." Baekhyun confessed, and Byeol laughed, wondering what kind of poison he must've drunk as an adolescent that it was actually worse than the wine which taste still lingered in her mouth. "And a question a bit off the topic, do you think you can give me a ride back to the resort? From my thorough observation, I can say that I've been ditched. I came here with Sehun's investors, and I believe they left me behind."

"Sorry, Baekhyun, it's nothing personal, but I don't give free rides to my enemies," Byeol answered wittily and spun on her heels, wanting to retreat to her vehicle. She barely managed through the wine tasting, she wouldn't survive the long ass ride to the resort with him.

"How is that not personal?" Baekhyun asked, as he grabbed her by the wrist, so she wouldn't walk away from him. "I admit, I made out with that girl at the wedding just right after we hit it off, but if it's the only thing you hate me for, get fucking over it. Don't blow the whole thing out of proportion, we weren't in a relationship or anything for fuck's sake."

Abruptly yanking her hand out of his grasp, she looked him into his eyes, "don't flatter yourself, Baekhyun. I am a reasonable woman, I got over it as soon as I walked away from you, but it doesn't automatically think I like you, okay? You may be attractive in my eyes, but I know what kind of an asshole you are. And sorry for not wanting to be associated with you in any form, so if you excuse me, I'd like to return to the resort."

"You can't leave me here!"

"Oh really? Watch me."

Heaving a sign, Baekhyun bit his lip, trying to come up a way to convince her.

"Come on, let's just bury the hatchet! You'll give me a ride, and I'll treat you to a round of drinks," Baekhyun yelled, but Byeol didn't even turn her head, not even the slightest tempted by his proposition.

A woman completely ignoring him like that? It's a first. Normally, he was the one who pushed women away, and right now, when roles were reversed, he hated the feeling.

"Come on, don't be like this, it's just a ride." Baekhyun continued, yet Byeol just got into her car, not sparing him a single glance.

Her key was in the ignition, her seat belt fastened. If Baekhyun thought that she was just teasing him, pushing his limits to see how far he was going to try, it no longer was the case. He had to do something before she actually leaves him behind.

Maybe it was pathetic for him to stand in front of the car, refusing to move aside, yet he couldn't come up with anything smarter. With his hands pressed against the car's hood, he smiled at her, wishing for her mercy.

"Move!" Byeol shouted, waving her hands from side to side, whereas Baekhyun smiled at her like a fool. Having rolled down the window, Byeol yelled, "move aside or I'll run you over." Baekhyun, however, didn't move an inch, his smile only growing wider. "I'm serious."

"Byeol, think it through, you can't leave me here." Baekhyun replied, but Byeol only pressed her lips in a thin line, sighing.

Baekhyun was wrong; she could leave him there in a heartbeat. If that was what Byeol wanted, she could be a bitch, and frankly, Baekhyun had never given her a reason not to. She didn't owe him anything, and her abandoning him would be fully justified. However, on the other hand, she'd lower herself to his level, and she didn't want to be like him, to be like the person she despised so passionately.

"Ugh, fine," she stated, and Baekhyun clapped his hands in victory; no one, even the she-devil herself, couldn't resist his charm. Perhaps, his technique was a bit rusty, but it worked, so he didn't have to worry about that. Not that he cared, but he still could have any girl he wished.

Not even ten minutes into the ride, he couldn't stand the silence. Naturally, Baekhyun was pretty chatty, and even if it was Byeol sitting beside him, he felt an urge to maintain a conversation.

"Do you think we should swap numbers? Lately, we bump into each other quite often, don't we?"

"I don't think it's necessary, Byun." Byeol quickly said, her gaze focused on the road. "We do happen to bump into each other, but I think we've already used the lifespan limit of it."

"We surely have if you keep driving like that." Baekhyun snickered, and Byeol tried her best to remain her composed expression. She had got her driving license not even a month ago, and she hated being criticized. Everyone had been inexperienced at some point, and Byeol genuinely doubted that Baekhyun had been on a professional driver level since the very beginning. "You'll get the both of us killed."

"Well... excuse you," she roared, her hands clutching the steering wheel, as she tried to tame her anger. "If you're really going to complain about my driving, you can remove your ass out of my car. I won't mind, I promise."

"As a matter of fact, I'm quite comfy here," Baekhyun replied, lying back in the seat. Sighing, he looked through the window, as he wondered how long he had to spend with her. "Thank you so much for your concern."

"No problem, Baekhyun." Byeol said in a kind, artificial tone, "but if you happen to change your mind, don't hesitate to tell me."

"I actually doubt it, but okay, I will," Baekhyun stated, even though when he knew he wasn't going to use it; it was obvious that Byeol was an inexperienced driver, but he didn't think she could drive worse than she already had.

"Really, Baekhyun, I'll gladly pull over if you want," Byeol added with a smirk upon her face, a part of her still hoped that he'll comply with her proposition.

"There's no need, really," Baekhyun assured her, grinning at her, his smile looking so artificial that it might as well be pinned to his mouth. However, it was quite short-lived, his smile bit by bit fading away, as the vehicle began slowing down until it completely stopped.

"No, not again," Byeol whined, and clenched her fists, hitting the steering wheel in irritation.

"What's going on?" Baekhyun asked in worry, although he was more concerned about himself than he was about her. Who knew how long they could manage without biting each other's heads off? Byeol's forehead was pressed against the steering wheel, as she almost cried in annoyance.

Stupid!

How could she forget about it!

Again!

"We won't drive anywhere further." Byeol announced in a quiet voice, already psyching up for the long delay with Baekhyun. Hopefully, if they ignored each other, they would manage to wait for the road assistance.

"Do you know how to fix it?"

"Of course," Byeol answered with a wide smile, "you need to put more gas in it," she finished, and Baekhyun almost facepalmed himself at her stupidity.

"You got to be kidding me," he yelled, shaking his head in disbelief, how could she forget to refuel her car? How was it even possible? "Fuck," he groaned, as he undid his seat belt and got out of the car, as sitting beside her became too suffocating to handle.

"Don't overreact, it could be worse," Byeol replied, as she exited the vehicle and leaned against the car's hood next to Baekhyun. "It could be raining, or we could have no service, or have our phones dead. Look at the bright side, the road service is gonna get us in no time."

"Yeah, right," having crossed his arms over his chest, Baekhyun heaved a sigh, as he looked at Byeol. "I'm so lucky," Baekhyun gritted through clenched teeth.

"Just help me a little, let's not make it longer than necessary, okay?"

Baekhyun had to agree with her, he was losing his patience with her, and he'd be so much grateful if he could get rid of her. Quickly, Baekhyun tracked their location on his phone, and Byeol called for a tow truck. Hopefully, the rescue would come soon.

"The first date didn't go as planned, I assume," the man who came to pick them up spoke, as he glanced at Baekhyun, and then at Byeol. Both of them had their arms crossed over their chests, their noses up, their backs turned backwards to each other. They really looked like a couple who refused to talk out their problem regardless of what was the root of it.

"No," Byeol and Baekhyun growled in unison, and the man, who didn't want to get between the two of them, just let out a sigh, shaking his head. It was none of his business what had happened to the pair, and frankly, he wasn't even curious. For his own peace of mind, he'd just shut up and never let another comment leave his mouth.

"Not even if he was the last man on this planet," Byeol commented, and Baekhyun turned his head to look at her. How dared she? True, he had flaws, but how, on Earth, could she say that? She was no better. Baekhyun had made out with another woman when he had tried to score Byeol, but she wasn't innocent, either. She had embarrassed him in front of the guests!

"Excuse you?" Baekhyun asked, trying not to sound offended. However, he was offended, and Byeol could see it without looking. His tone was drenched with irritation. "Trust me, this last man," he pointed his forefinger at himself, "would never choose you, either."

"Okay, we're ready to go," the man said with a sheepish smile, hoping he wouldn't have to listen to their quarrel any longer. He suspected he heard maybe a one fifth of their argument, and still, he had enough of it.

Wordlessly, Baekhyun and Byeol glanced at each other, as they got into the vehicle, praying that they would be towed back to the resort in a record time.

"You know, if you apologised to me and got over the fact I made out with that girl, we could be friends." Baekhyun started casually, as he stared through the window.

"What?" Byeol snapped, immediately turning her face to look at him. He couldn't be in his right mind to say that! If anything, it should be the other way around! She would never apologise to him, everything was his fault. If he hadn't behaved like a complete idiot, she wouldn't have poured her drink on his head. His asshole behavior had made her do it, and she didn't regret it. He deserved it.

"What what? I'm speaking the truth here," Baekhyun carried on with a nonchalant shrug.

"It's not gonna happen," Byeol stated stubbornly, as she looked away. His face was good-looking, but the more she stared at him, the more it annoyed her. "Not now, not ever. Besides, it should be you apologising."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. So go ahead and do it. Just like you said, we could be friends."

"I've never pegged you to be so funny." Baekhyun retorted, and Byeol fought the urge to punch him. Masterfully, he was getting under her skin, and she seriously was sick and tired of him. "You're full of surprises, Byeol."

"Wish I could the same about you, Baekhyun."

"Something tells me that I'll have multiple chances to prove you wrong."

"Hopefully not," Byeol replied bitterly, hating the prospect of seeing him again.

"Anyway, I'm definitely down for a round of drinks once we get back. Feel free to join me, I still owe you, don't I?" Baekhyun reminded, and Byeol wondered whether she should agree. She seriously needed alcohol in her system, yet it was beyond obvious that Baekhyun wasn't the best candidate to get drunk with.

"No thanks, I'll pass," she rejected his offer with a polite smile. "And forget about the ride, you don't owe me anything."

[junker-town]

The funniest video game I have ever played

In 2014, Jon purchased a video game and played it for 26 brutal, terrifying minutes. They have stuck with him ever since.

In August of 2014, I downloaded a computer game called Rust and played it for 26 minutes. That would be the first and only time I ever played it. It is the funniest video game I have ever played in my life.

I’m happy they tracked this. Steam is sort of the traveling bard of my gaming career, faithfully wandering from computer to computer since 2004. It lived within them all, including the desktop PC so hideous that multiple burglars, in the process of lifting whatever they could grab from my apartment, clearly took one glance and correctly identified it as trash. The tower was permanently missing its cover, because every time I had to restart the machine, I first had to dig into the motherboard to remove the little plastic CMOS jumper for a moment and stick it back in. This sounds like a lie but isn’t: upon pulling out the jumper, I had to wait and listen for the motherboard to make a little squeak before replacing it. Otherwise, the computer wouldn’t start. Steam was there for that, and Steam is there today on my work computer, patiently enduring uninstallations and reinstallations whenever I frantically clear hard drive space to make space for an exporting video project.

It’s logged the hundreds upon hundreds of hours I’ve buried into games like Civilization and RimWorld. But most importantly, it noted the 26 minutes I spent in the world of Rust.

This isn’t a review of Rust. I have no idea whether this game is good or bad. I wholeheartedly agree with every opinion of it that anyone has ever had, even if those opinions directly conflict with one another. Continuing.

Conceptually, the game certainly seemed fun enough to try. It’s a first-person, open-world, massively-multiplayer survival game that drops you in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a rock and a torch. From there, to hear others tell it, you can build structures, craft advanced tools, form alliances, and generally make something of yourself. I wouldn’t know.

My experience with this game was a special one, because at the time, Rust was branded as “early access” or something similar. The developers clearly spelled out on their Steam page that, look, this was not yet a finished product. Bugs may happen, gameplay imbalances will abound, and you should know what you’re in for.

I paid $20, and in the subsequent 26 minutes, I played three times. I will recollect them here to the best of my ability. It’s been six years, so if you’re familiar with this game and something strikes you as inaccurate or impossible, my mistake.

The first time, I find myself in the woods somewhere, apparently naked. I take stock of the only wealth I have to my name: the torch, which seems useless in broad daylight, and a big rock. I have to hold the rock with both hands. I can only hoist it over my head and violently swing it forward.

I wander around in the woods for a couple minutes, completely unsure of what I want to do, or whether there’s any sort of objective I’m expected to complete. This early-access version of Rust offers nothing in the way of explanation or context, which in retrospect I will come to appreciate as a masterstroke.

So I’m just bumbling around in the woods like that, a probably-naked guy marching to nowhere while heaving a giant rock forward over and over, carrying on as God’s own fool. Heave-ho! Having the time of my life!

I am encountered by a wolf, who attacks me. I try to swing my rock in self-defense to no avail and I am brutally mauled. Since the game is in first person, I can’t know that I’m torn limb from limb, but I remember seeing fountains of blood and it certainly feels that way. I am dead.

The second time, I’m dropped into more or less the same situation. This time I run around brandishing the rock, but not swinging it, instead dutifully holding it aloft like I’m trying to show it the world. I’ve resolved that this time will be different. I am now aware of the dangers of this realm.

This rock is surely more than a weapon. It’s a tool. I can probably use it to chop down a tree, or at least break down a fallen log or something. To what end, I’m not sure. But I might die soon, and I’d love to leave something more for this world to remember me by than my sun-bleached bones.

I can’t remember whether I actually chop down a tree. At any rate, I am very quickly visited by another wolf.

This time, I try to run away, still ineffectually swinging my rock forward as I do. I don’t know why I do that.

There’s a wordless, deranged comedy to video games. They produce sights that are so clumsy, thoughtless, and bizarre that no one alive could ever tell a joke so funny, like this one: a terrified man deliriously flinging a rock over his head, dick whipping sideways like the Wheel of Fortune needle as he gallops away from certain doom. I’m afraid I’m unable to sufficiently describe how funny this is. I am once again devoured alive.

I’ve probably played for 18 to 20 minutes by this point. I’m not so sure I want to play this anymore. A learning curve is to be expected, but how much more of this will I have to endure before I can count a single accomplishment? So far, I can claim ownership of absolutely none of this experience. The game has been the player. I’m only the food.

I find that buying games I don’t enjoy is just the cost of doing business. If I buy three games, barely play two of them, but have a great time with the third, all three were worth it. This was a worthwhile experiment. I should count the $20 I spent on this game as a sunk cost and move on with my life.

What the hell. One more try.

The third time, I wander around some more, but this time in a straight line. I need to get somewhere. Miraculously, there are no more wolves. I guess I fed them already.

After some marching, I pass through the tree line and enter a clearing. I see a wooden fence, the first evidence of civilization I’ve come across. Beyond it, to my delight, is a log cabin.

Again, this is a massively-multiplayer online game. It’s a shared world. It seems likely that another player actually built this. As I run closer, I notice that it seems pretty well-constructed. Maybe I could build something like this myself! Maybe I could find an ax somewhere, or use this rock to sharpen a tool of my own. Maybe if I get good enough, and put in enough time, I can enjoy the satisfaction of maintaining a little home in this world.

Out back, behind the cabin, there is a man. He’s an old man with a beard, shirtless and sinewy, wearing only a crude loincloth. I know enough to know that this man is not a game-generated AI. He’s a real person somewhere out there.

And for whatever reason, at this moment I find him bashing the shit out of a tree stump with a rock that looks a lot like my rock. Maybe we can be pals and talk about rocks! I wish I could remember whether he’s splitting a piece of wood, or if this is simply his idea of a good time. In either case, he’s just goin’ to town, man, as though he was born to do it.

He doesn’t notice me at first. I decide to come closer. Hell, I don’t know. How do people communicate in this game? Maybe if I walk up to him, a chat box will open and I can actually type something? Or do you make buddies in this game by kinda wordlessly pantomiming that you’re a friend, that you want what’s best for you and for him? Either way, it could be interesting. More importantly, I need a friend. I need a bit of light in this world. It’s been terrible for me.

As I walk closer, he spots me, and I’ll tell you, there’s a lot of “sir, you’re not supposed to be here” body language you can communicate by simply moving forward a few steps and menacing someone with a large stone. He swings it forward, as crudely and robotically as I do when I swing my rock. I am not welcome here.

I glance at him, then the log cabin, then back at him, and I believe I have identified a crime. One would expect that a cabin built with such skill and care was the work of a true craftsman. A veteran player of this game, a player who knew how to fashion some sort of axe, chop some trees, and cut them just so. Perhaps this game doesn’t work like that, and you can simply manifest a nice little log cabin once you reach Level 19 or something. At any rate, he’s a shirtless, stupid, rock-hucking dirtbag just like me. I definitely could not have built this house.

This is not his house.

Someone else built this house and died at his hand. This man is a fraud and a murderer. But where else am I supposed to go? Back in the woods to be eaten again? At least this is a human being at the end of the line. His name is Josh, I bet. He’s in Wisconsin and he’s wearing a polo shirt and this prehistoric thug isn’t who he truly is. He’ll be receptive if I can just communicate to him that I’m approaching in peace.

I step forward again, his warning expires, and he charges me. My last remaining idea is to hold still and keep my rock still. If I don’t attack or resist, he’ll have to kill me in cold blood.

Polo Josh bludgeons me, over and over, as I imagine Cain slew Abel. He kills me seven or eight times’ worth. I exit the game and never return.

This game set forth no objectives for me. It wanted only to eat me. It asked of me what I ask of my breakfast. In this sense, it wasn’t much of a game at all. And even when I met another human being, that person was every bit as brutal.

I paid 20 dollars for the most bewildering 26 minutes a video game has ever given me, and I wouldn’t ask for a minute more or a penny back. It was perfect. I will never play it again.

[dachi-chan25]

Game of Thrones Season 7 Episode 6 Recap Pt. 1

Oh boy… I need to vent again, I’m sorry, but thanks to everyone reading this, it’s a cathartic experience if anything.

WARNINGS: SPOILERS; Not a D@€ny fan, but if you follow me you already know that and if you don’t no problem that’s why I always warn you about it; Jonsa shipper and still growing strong ( I always loved the Tyrell OK???)

Before diving into the recap:

1.- The toughts, tinfoily wishy washy stuff, analysis, random stuff that I write are my own only, and in no form or way am I trying to convince you that I am right and every body else is wrong, I have been wrong about fandom stuff a LOT, and really it’s just fun for me to do this, anyway I am open to debate if you want just be respectful. Feel free to correct me if you notice I have some facts I present wrong, I will never get mad about it and will even thank you for your insight.

2.- The analysis/opinions I express of certain ships/characters are just my opinion as an audience, if you like the ship/characters good! That’s what makes the fandom experience such a diverse thing, and I have nothing against you. Keep on loving the thing you love!

3.- The Salt Throne and I are one entity of pure undiluted Salt and bitterness,if you don’t wish to subject yourself to reading my salty fangirl rants I completely understand.

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1.- We start on that table-map, helI feel I condemned myself saying I didn’t wanted no more close-ups of the thing, anyway so it’s just a pretty shot to get to where the story (plot? What plot?) really pick’s up: Eastwatch by the sea.

We are with the suicide squad on this show’s dumbest mission, but then again this season a lot of dumb things happened so I am resigned. Yeah so Jon and Tormund are talking about how dumb this mission is (got is breaking the fourth wall now???) while Gendry is freezing, Tormund is happy to be back North of the Wall cuz the air in the south is shit, Jon is like bih you never went south but really is agreeing actually Jon seems much more himself now that he is in the North again. Tormund and Jon tease Gendry about making do with him cuz there are no ladies here (ahaha joking about experiencing homosexual sex but no homo bro it’s just because we have no ladies amirite? Am I watching got or the big b4ng th€or¥?) and you know what else they don’t have?? Horses, and food, and those pesky dragonglass weapons, and a raven to send for help should anything happen… But no ladies are the priority. (*sigh* this show is so painfully obviously written by man) Gendry apparently believes them and goes away, Tormund comments he isn’t very bright, he needn’t be says Jon cuz they need the brawn and not the brains right? No this stupid ass mission could have seriously used some brains.

Anyway this next convo of conversations was very intresting to hear, not because they add anything to the plot (if such a thing exists anymore in this show) but I think they are important in understanding the theme they have in common and the relevance I think they have in the final scenes of the episode.

First we have a Tormund/Jon convo, our funny redhead asks about the Dragon Queen, and I expected they would use this chance to make some crude remark about her beauty or her body (dude not a second ago they were joking about bedding Gendry!!) but no, the conversation never goes in the direction that could further the idea of Jon’s attraction to D, Jon trusts Tormund and it would be normal for bros to discuss this stuff (remember how Jon giggled about Tormund mentioning Brienne last episode), instead a very weary and frustrated Jon states she (D) wouldn’t help unless he bends the knee, Tormund says that won’t happen cuz Jon spent so much time with the Wildings to be a kneeler again, but then he moves on to talk about Mance Ryder (dude this Jon/Mance parallels are hitting me in the face like a cold fish, I know D&D I noticed! You haven’t been subtle about this!!! You used the same FUCKING dialogue) and how the dude could have saved a lot of lives if he just had let go of his pride and knelt (so Tormund is our Jon in this parallel ain’t he?) it just made me laugh that Tormund, a wildling cuz they are still Free Folk and rule themselves even if they have an alliance with the KitN, is the one to suggests kneeling, but then I realized how big of a fucken deal that is, Mance could have saved those lives yes (and that’s mere speculation honestly cuz Stannis and his army could have also died at Hardhome #just saying) but he decided keeping his people’s will was more important, Jon respected that to the point he defyied Stannis (they needed his help and dude had just saved them) openly by killing Mance, and now Tormund who is kind of the new Free Folk king/leader is saying it would have been OK if he knelt to save everyone’s lives in front of Jon whom is in a very similar situation.

Then we get a Jorah/Jon convo, again perfect oportunity to show them as D’s love interests and rivals, or for Jorah to wax poetic about Khaliiisi and Jon being jealous or some shit. Some serious talk, if we had time in this compact season for Jon to threaten (or pardon) every man who ever crossed paths with Sansa, why Gendry or the Hound haven’t mentioned Arya at all, if logic states that she is someone this people have in common and should talk about? (like Theon asking about Sansa, or Tyrion) Why Jorah doesn’t talk about D if Jon is her new love interest and it would be a nice and neat contrast between the two of them? Instead they disscus another people they have in common, ex-Lord Commander Jeor Mormont and Ned Stark, oh yes they talk about their dads, Jon says how wonderful was Jorah’s dad and how awful was his death, while Jorah said it must have been heartbreaking for his dad whose entire life was the NW and Jon talks about Ned “the goodest most honorable man ever” dying like a traitor for his honor and pride (like I sense a pattern, can you tell? Gods D&D are too subtle guys) and goes as far as to say he is glad his dad didn’t kill Jorah (you know making him pay for his crime in a just honorable way). Honestly what was the point of this conversation if not that survival is most important than honor? The writers (through Jon) are celebrating that Jorah survived even if he has done sketchy awful things (among them he conspired to have D and her baby killed so he would be allowed to go back to Westeros).

Right we get an intresting end to this convo, Jon offers Jorah Longclaw (why would he give him the sword if he is gonna need it right now in the stupid ass Wight hunt? Why didn’t he gave it to Lady Lyanna Mormont, she has presumably begun training cuz she said to Lord Glover she wasn’t gonna sit by the fire while the man defended the North??? Why would he give it to someone if Jeor gave it to him cuz he didn’t wanted Jorah to have it???) but the point of the conversation it’s not the sword, because Jorah rejects it, it’s about planting the possibility of children in Jon’s future. people have been screaming Targ baby to the heavens and back, and if that is what you chose to belive alright, but I think not, if that was the case wouldn’t it be appropiate to have the Targ theme or the J/D song in the background and transition to DS where D talks about children with Tyrion like she does in a future scene? I would have believed it then. But instead we have the Stark theme and the scene transitioning to Arya and SANSA, call me delusional if you want but for me this is another check in the ‘targcest is building up tarbowl’ column.

Summarizing this we get the very bright neón message of Honor=Death. Which I’ll bring back later.

2.- Y'all remember those good times when the WF storyline was the only thing getting me through all the bullshit I was being fed by D&D? Well they’re over. As I said in point 1 we get a transition of Arya and Sansa looking down at the courtyard while Arya talks about how Ned watched the boys training and tries to diminish Sansa’s connection to her family by stating she was surely too busy sewing to know that (have fun freezing your limbs off darling!!! Sewing and Knitting and all those “delicate female” activities you sniff at are the reason you have clothes miss, really I can’t with this where is the Arya that thought woman to be of equal importance than man?) Sansa is having none of that and says she remembers, we get a cute memory of Arya practicing archery in secret and Ned approving (we get again nods to the patriarchy is wrong! But this is sloppy as fuck if D&D make Arya feel superior to non-warrior inclined girls, like that is also misogynistic) Sansa is smiling fondly (she at this point is more of a feminist icon than any other girl in this show, make no mistake she is not upset or resentful of warrior girls, she approved with a smile when Lyanna said girls on Bear Island were going to be trained too, and she smiles at the memory Arya is sharing with her of defying the rules and practicing archery cuz that made her happy) but then things take a turn for worse when Arya said that Ned is dead cuz Sansa helped the Lannisters. I never asked for this bullshit!!! Not even Ned blamed Sansa for anything, even if Sansa hadn’t alerted her Cersei was gonna kill Robert to protect herself and her children, Ned died for Joffrey’s cruelty (he wasn’t even supposed to die, he was to be sent to the Wall) and yes Sansa had a role to play in the chain of events that led to that, but Sansa had no way of knowing that, she only tried to save her family! The smile gets wiped from my girl’s face she is completely at loss. Arya takes out the letter and starts reading it out, even when Sansa asks her to stop cuz she already knows what does the letter say (wow I can’t belive D&D keep on triggering Sansa through her siblings, FUCKING disgusting) Arya is being unnecessary cruel, blaming Sansa for being powerless to stop their father’s death when she herself was equally powerless, like????? D&D are pushing this Starkbowl bs cuz this is got and nothing can be nice for 2 sec. But really this shit has no basis, you have Wight Hunt Team people who have literally killed each other or tried to working together and joking and then have two sisters who went through hell and back fighting cuz one of them thinks the other survived KL by being a princess in a tower??? Like how is this logical? Even if this is a cleverly crafted Arya plot (I think there is some logic to this) to kill LF is not fair for Sansa, god can’t she have good things on her life? D&D took away the safety of her home by marrying her off to Ramsey and have him rape her in her HOME, and now they make her family treat her one like a stranger and the other like shit???? I’m not asking for Arya to thank Sansa on her knees like she suggested (if anything Sansa was super brave standing her ground and defending her possition and everything she did to retake their home) I don’t want everyone to worship her as they do certain someone all I am asking for is respect and safety for someone who deserves it! Really and Arya suggesting Lyanna Mormont would go for Sansa’s throat why yes she is a child, one that has lost a lot with all this fucking wars but still a child that lacks the knowledge of the true game of thrones and what it takes to survive it, like you Arya (doesn’t she remembers she was cupbearer to Tywin who literally was responsible for the murder of her brother and mother? This is actually what leads me to think this is a ploy cuz Arya is not a hypocrite as far as we’ve seen) still this was painful to watch if you love the Starks.

Anyway leaving my frustration with this cheap drama aside, did anyone notice the parallels between the Arya and Sansa confrontation and the Jon/Tormund and Jon/Jorah conversations? The Wight Hunt Team was talking about great honorable man whose honor and moral code brought their downfall and in the Sansa and Arya, the youngest sister was blaming the eldest for having no honor and surviving (she goes as far as to say she would have rather died than betray her family) while Sansa defends what she did and shows how far she has come from paying the game.

Again this thing is not subtle at all.

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This is too long so Part 2 is coming!