#might do some good if the actual intendent recipient would receive this

[consult-sherlockholmes]

John, please go and kiss Sherlock right now. He doesn't think you love him, posted on his blog. Besides, he's arguing with everyone, again. You have the best way to shut him up.

Wrong number. Try again.

[mllemaenad]

The Magnus Protocol: Taking Notes

Okay, well, it sounds very much as though "Freddy" is tattling on Sam. Might not be, of course: once you've assigned a personality to something you head straight down the path of attributing meaning and motive to all its actions. And in the case of Freddy, there might be no intelligence behind it, one intelligence with many voices behind it, or many intelligences with potentially competing motives behind it. Depending on which of those it is, you get a different picture of why it does what it does.

It alerts Alice that Sam has been poking around "The Magnus Protocol". It shouldn't have alerted Alice; it sounds as though Colin was the intended recipient, although it would make sense for it to go to Lena as well. It suggests that it did not want official action taken against him for looking – whatever that might mean – but that it did want someone to know what he was doing.

It's fairly easy to predict that Alice, upon receiving such an alert, will tell Sam to knock it off but not actually take any action against him. The recording Gwen hears at the end of the episode suggests (although does not confirm) that things can in fact go very, very wrong in this job – so this may constitute a protective gesture. On the other hand, if the greatest risk were to just be getting fired, well then that might be for the best.

It's a weird alert, though.

Alice I just received a security notification. Sam About me? Alice Someone was trying to access restricted files. And my money is on you. – The Magnus Protocol: Taking Notes

What do you mean, "someone" is trying to access restricted files? No user ID? Or username? Or even a device ID? What the hell sort of security alert is that? If you were a manager, and you received that, you'd have to go on a witch hunt. Depending on how you look at it, it's either a terrible alert tailored to produce a stressful working experience ... or a whisper that might be meaningful to Alice, and no one else.

The arrival of the third voice, "Augustus" is interesting because he is a complete unknown. To be clear, I'm aware that the prevailing theory is that this is Jonah Magnus. I'm not especially here to dispute that; not at the moment. The man's first name starts with a "J", which fits nicely with ".jmj error" and, well, the name Magnus is right there in the title, which suggests it's at least to some degree relevant. It's as good a theory as any, and while you can absolutely throw out other possible names there's not enough detail yet to prove anything.

But what is interesting is the implication if that is Jonah Magnus. If the voices originated in this world then they might be anybody, of course. No way to tell. But if they came from another world, it suggests that something more than just voices came through. Because, to my knowledge, that voice was never recorded.

It makes sense that you'd hear John's voice leaking between worlds – he's on virtually all the tapes. It makes reasonable sense that you'd hear Martin's: he was on quite a lot. You might also expect "Elias Bouchard", or Basira or Tim or even Gertrude – because if it's just voices then whether they're alive or dead or even confirmed still hanging about in another dimension shouldn't matter. But if it is Magnus, then something came through that wasn't recorded: the voice of an earlier body, or even his original one. Some internal sense of "this is how I sound" that differs from anything recorded on the tapes.

And if it isn't him? Well, all of the above still applies, with the added question of "Who is it, then?"

If it is him – and I will speak as such for now because there's not yet enough thread to follow if it isn't – then his story choice is interesting.

Alice Dear grandpa Augustus does always tell such lovely stories. – The Magnus Protocol: Taking Notes

Alice implies that Augustus's stories are somehow worse than Norris's and Chester's – she didn't remark on any of theirs in quite the same way, except to call Norris's first one "tame". I don't know what metric she's using: they all seem pretty ghoulish. But this story does address a different perspective.

It's a tale of resentment and entitlement. Of someone who was special, but not quite special enough for his own liking – and who fed his soul to something monstrous to increase his own standing. His father seems to have a seat in the House of Lords, and all the wealth and standing that would accompany that position. The letter writer, however, is a bastard: an acknowledged bastard, apparently, whose father has provided for him, but nevertheless a bastard set apart from the legitimate children of the household.

He's also very concerned that people aren't appreciating his talents.

Augustus/Violinist My violin tutor, one Oliver Bardwell by name, nursed a conviction that this honor was purely the fruit of his own skills as an instructor, rather than a product of my talent and endeavor. ... My course was set for Mannheim, a destination where I felt a youthful certainty that my brilliance would at last be acknowledged. – The Magnus Protocol: Taking Notes

This fits very well with Jonah Magnus, who very much played second fiddle, so to speak, in the story that had his name on it. On a meta level: he was the villain of the piece, the one who pretty well had to fall and fail in order for the narrative to reach its conclusion. But even in-universe it's highlighted that he's just ... not that special:

Archivist Right. When I said that I would ‘replace’ Jonah in there, that’s not– That place, the centre of The Eye, i-it’s… It wasn’t made for him. That’s why he’s like that, it’s too much, it’s overwhelmed him, his whole being, just destroyed. Martin Oh yeah? But let me guess, it was made for you? Archivist Yes. – The Magnus Archives: Parting

It's got to be galling: Magnus built an institute and served his god for literal centuries, and eventually remade the world under its power. But does the Eye want him? No, no it does not. It wants the grumpy archivist who does not want to be here at all, and who is in fact actively plotting to kill it. Jonah Magnus is the Eye's acknowledged, but displaced, bastard son.

It's also implied that a sense of ... hm ... aristocratic entitlement, let's say, played a part in the selection of his hosts:

Archivist Elias’ stomach tightened at the memory, the fierce judgement in his father’s eyes. Even laid out in a casket, it was as if he had looked at Elias with disdain. What should he say? That he had no idea why he wanted this job? That he was all alone in the world, no friends, no family, nothing but the deep certainty that he deserved better. That he was destined to be important. That it was in his blood. – The Magnus Archives: A Stern Look

And it is hard not to notice, at this point, that Augustus picked Gwen to hear this tale.

The violinist is "gifted" an instrument by a dubious merchant type reminiscent of Mikaele Salesa (the man was right – the peddler of magical artefacts is indeed a folktale staple), and it did make him a bit more special ... but never, ever quite special enough:

Augustus/Violinist And yet, while admiration rained down upon me, never was I elevated beyond the confines of my origins. The rarefied world of my noble patrons was closed to me. Modest riches adorned me, some small fame clung to my name, but never was I truly allowed to escape the position of my birth. – The Magnus Protocol: Taking Notes

It is also very much the story of a man who learned how to hurt other people for his own gain:

Augustus/Violinist It was not simple philanthropy that led to my taking on positions of tutelage in those bustling cities where I plied my trade, providing a musical education to the poor and the easily forgotten, asking nothing in return. Nothing except the occasional student who would not be missed. – The Magnus Protocol: Taking Notes

That's almost exactly how Magnus operated: employing people who would not be missed and then using them up to serve his own ends. Like Magnus, the violinist feeds people to his malevolent god.

And, not least, there are the sinister implications of the letter itself. The recipient is a "nephew", meaning he is almost certainly the child of one of the violinist's legitimate half-siblings: people he dismisses as "useless". He was not close with the nephew, so his inheritance may be something of a surprise.

Which leads to this:

Augustus/Violinist There has been a great deal of rain here this last fortnight, which has been strangely pleasing to my maudlin mood, and has brought with it some nostalgia for that dreary summer you took residence with me. I flatter myself to think that I might have imprinted upon you some part of myself in that time together, and perhaps in this way I seek to keep hold of my prized violin still. – The Magnus Protocol: Taking Notes

Right. So, yeah, the kid is definitely screwed. For all we know, the violinist lives still.

If Norris's stories are of loss and regret, and Chester's could be called a warning, Augustus's is both an enticement and a trap.

Go on. Play the cursed violin. Feed it blood. What could possibly go wrong?

But you have to wonder, then: why would Magnus tell a story that so neatly reflects what an awful person he was?

We also establish, outside the main story, that Gwen is definitely the kind of person to open weird attachments in her work email. When the OIAR gets hit with a ransomware attack, we'll all know who to blame.

It's hard to state anything definitive about what she heard. I mean – yes, it sounds bad, but, well, Gertrude Robinson once dismembered a man and threw him down a cursed pit. I'm not going to sit here and try to claim Gertrude was nice, but she was very much on the side of the world not ending. What any of this means all hinges on who the guy Lena was talking to was.

And, of course, this one is littered with world-building notes to put aside for later: "Starkwall", "The San Pedro Square Massacre", "The Protocol". Little you can do with any of them immediately.

But ... just for a thought exercise, say it is Jonah Magnus talking.

A protocol can be a lot of things. It may be rules to be followed in a formal occasion. It may be instructions in the event of an emergency. And there are also network protocols, which are about the transfer of information. I suspect in this case it has a double meaning, as Archives did. So it is something practical ... and also something else.

The word is then uttered for the first time in the episode where Magnus first speaks. It is immediately followed by a tale in which a man transfers an instrument – and I think more importantly the music that instrument produced – to someone new, and in doing so hopes to transfer some or all of himself.

The thing is. I'm not going to call Magnus's master plan "bloody stupid" but ... well, let's just say it had some obvious holes. I mean, really. He spent literal years specifically torturing this one guy, then used him very much against his will to end the world, and then just ... let him wander around, being annoyed about that. Obviously John had some moral qualms about the whole apocalypse situation, but even had he not – pretty well anybody would probably put "ruin Jonah's day" quite near the top of their to do list, under the circumstances.

It would hardly take a genius to foresee some retaliation. And self preservation is Magnus's whole deal. It's the reason he gives for destroying the world:

Archivist/Jonah Magnus I began to worry that if one of them successfully attempted their ritual, then I would be as much a victim as any, trapped in the nightmare landscape of a twisted world. At first, I attempted prevention, but the cause seemed hopeless. The only way to ensure I did not suffer the tribulations of what I believed to be an inevitable transformation was to bring it about myself. So what began as an experiment soon became a race. Beyond that, I was getting older, and mortality began to weigh more heavily on my mind. How much in this world is done because we fear death, the last and greatest terror? – The Magnus Archives: The Eye Opens

The apocalypse is just him getting everyone else before they could get him. And I have wondered, a bit, about Magnus's attitude in Last Words:

Archivist It’s over. Jonah/Elias Is it? [sigh] Yes. Yes, I suppose it must be. [TIRED EXHALATION] Where’s Martin? I rather thought he’d be the one to do the deed. … [METALLIC CLINK] Ah, I see. Going it alone, are we? Probably for the best. Empathy only holds you back in the end. Archivist You’ve failed. Jonah/Elias Have I? Archivist Immortality. It’s impossible. Even without me, nothing escapes entropy. Not forever. Not even fear. Jonah/Elias Yes… Pity. I suppose I always knew that, deep down. But it was wonderful while it lasted. I’ve seen more than I could have lived in a thousand lifetimes, and every moment was so – – The Magnus Archives: Last Words

That's all very odd, really. He thought Martin would kill him? In fact, he once bet quite heavily that Martin would not kill him. Of course, he hadn't ruined the whole world at that point, which is a thing that might well adjust a man's attitude to murder. So he thought Martin would come here, and kill him?

He was not especially surprised to see John standing over him with a knife. He seemed mostly bemused at the idea that he had failed, although he did agree that this thing, in which he bathed in the misery of others, was indeed over. There was some begging and screaming, of course, but he put up very little resistance – even though this was a straightforward physical assault. None of John's overwhelming psychic powers here, just a man who never showed much inclination toward violence taking his very first stab, so to speak, at knifing someone to death.

It seems peculiar, that a man who would do literally anything to stay alive – who betrayed his friends, who stole the lives of others, who doomed the whole world – would not have a plan in place to escape the very obvious enemy who was almost certainly going to come after him.

Unless, of course, he did have a plan. And we're listening to it.

[lizseyi]

How Can You Prep Now For The Perfect Christmas Hampers - Shredded-Paper

Yes, we know what some of you are likely thinking: isn’t it still slightly early for us to be providing homemade festive-season hamper advice? That may seem the case, but with the cost-of-living crisis having reportedly led many Britons to spread out their Christmas spending over a longer period than they might have once done, we don’t think it’s too early at all. 

In any case, it can be good to prepare as early as possible for certain things – especially if you are interested in assembling your own Christmas hampers, and therefore need to gather a lot of essential materials together. You won’t want to risk finding yourself short of certain crucial items at the last minute. 

Below, we have outlined some of the steps that the Shredded-Paper.co.uk team would advise you to take now, in order to ensure your homemade hampers make the right impression on 25th December. 

Decide on themes for your Christmas hampers 

We’ve included this tip first, for the simple reason that the theme you choose for a hamper will inform and guide you with the rest of your hamper shopping and preparation. Plus, a big part of the point of putting together your own Christmas hampers is surely the opportunity to personalise them in special ways for the intended recipient. 

The actual theme that you choose for a given hamper doesn’t have to be something overly complicated. If you’re assembling a hamper for someone who loves their four-legged furry friend, for instance, a dog or cat-themed hamper could do the job nicely. Or if the intended recipient is on the green-fingered side, a gardening-themed hamper is sure to be well-received. 

Start getting together the items to include in the hamper 

Even if you’re merely grabbing a few products for now rather than trying to purchase everything that will go into a given hamper, doing so at a relatively early stage will enable you to have some fun with it. As part of this, you will be able to be opportunistic in grabbing some quirky items or bargains from places like the local Sunday market. 

And as we touched on above, the theme that you decided on for each hamper will guide you. A hamper for a garden lover, for example, could contain the likes of a hand tools gift set, some garden gloves, and some seeds and bulbs. Or a hamper intended for someone who adores their cat could feature a catnip toy and some well-chosen cat treats, among other feline-related offerings. 

Stock up on the materials that will protect the contained items 

So much of skilful Christmas hamper assembly is about knowing how to get the protective packaging elements right. You might choose to put each item into a small cellophane bag, for instance, and tie it up with jute twine. Other products that are to be included in the hamper, you may arrange to have wrapped in brown paper, with a colourful bow added. There are just so many fun possibilities. 

And of course, our own shredded paper can play a big role, too. In fact, our Yuletide store at Shredded-Paper.co.uk is already open. This means you have the chance right now to replenish your supplies of Christmas hamper kraft filling paper in more-or-less any colour or cut you like. 

The shredded paper in our range looks great – adding to the presentational quality of your hamper when the recipient opens it – and is an excellent all-round protective packaging material. It is tougher than tissue paper, for example, but also an environmentally friendlier option than bubble wrap. 

So, when you are on the lookout for the optimal Christmas hamper kraft filling paper over the coming weeks and months, why look further than our own online store? It’s worth remembering, too, the free delivery that we offer to most UK mainland postcodes. 

[blessedarethebinarybreakers]

I have a theodicy-adjacent question if that's alright. How can I offer prayers of thanksgiving without implying that God "likes me better" than They like other people? For example, I often want to thank God for keeping my loved ones safe through this pandemic, but it feels weird when so many have lost dear ones. I've learned a lot about how to wrestle with God through your ministry, but how to bring your positive feelings to God without toeing the line of a prosperity gospel-esque mindset?

Anon, I feel you! Some point a few years ago I had a similar unsettling realization. I knew that gratitude is important not only for our relationship with God, but for our psychological wellbeing — yet I felt so guilty for thanking God for things i knew others didn’t have. Did attributing the good things in my life to God imply that God wasn’t with those who lacked those good things? 

I brought that guilt and discomfort to God (and still do, whenever it arises anew). asked Them to help me sit with it, accept it, and then transform it into something more fruitful.

guilt transformed to motivation. discomfort transformed to commitment. what i was left with was an understanding that i did not need to stop my prayers of thanksgiving, but to expand them.

i take time to really feel and express my gratitude for the abundance i experience. and then i ask God to help my gratitude move me to a desire for others to experience that abundance too. I ask for guidance in how i can help make that abundance happen in the the lives of those around me and far from me. 

___

i also make time for lament. many of us are taught how to ask God for things and how to thank God for things, but grief and lament are not taught. however, thanksgiving and lament are not opposites, but work together. they enrich one another. we need to take time for both.

a book that helped me embrace lament was Barbara Brown Taylor’s Learning to Walk in the Dark. You can read quotes and whole passages from it in my tag over here.

one of my favorite songs/psalms to sing/pray in lament is this one. The psalmist empowers us to question God, to ask why and how and when? and then the psalmist leads us to praise God anyway — to praise in spite of and with our doubts and our questions. 

when we look at all the pain in the world — in our own lives, the lives of loved ones, the lives of those we don’t even know, and in the struggling pulse of all Creation — we feel all sorts of things. Distress, despair, anger, grief. But some of us are afraid to bring those feelings to God. We’d rather avoid the feelings in general, repress them, not sit inside them for a while. (And certainly, we should not wallow in the bad all the time.) Bt when we dare to assign intentional time to sit in those feelings, God sits in them with us. 

And there is a strange thanksgiving in there, too — that we aren’t alone in the lament. We come to see that it is true that God does not will suffering upon any one of us — that the fact that sometimes i experience blessing while you struggle, or you find success while i go without, is not because God is choosing which happy few to bless that day. God really does will abundant life for all, and grieves when sin (individual, systemic, the rot that eats at this world) blocks that abundance for anyone. 

___

in continuing to make time to feel and express gratitude, and then to make time to lament and to both desire and participate in abundance for others, thanksgiving does not elevate me above others as “better” or “more blessed” than they are. instead, gratitude reminds me of how interconnected we are with one another. In the Body we all share, “If one member suffers, all the members suffer with it; if one member is honored, all the members rejoice with it�� (1 Cor 12:26).

___

When abundance wins out in spite of sin, we rejoice! When it is we who enjoy that abundance, our gratitude should not lead to smugness or self-congratulations, but to humility. it should shape us, move us to bring similar abundance to others.

A book that has really helped me understand that concept is Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass (which you can read online for free).

Christian texts have told me that the appropriate response to all God’s gifts is gratitude, but it’s Kimmerer’s book that helped me digest and embody just what that means. We acknowledge abundance, and we use that gratitude to connect us to the giver, and to others to whom that giver would also share Their gift.

Here’s one passage from her chapter “The Gift of Strawberries,” starting on page 33 of the webpage linked above:

Even  now,  after  more  than  fifty  Strawberry  Moons,  finding  a patch  of  wild strawberries  still  touches  me  with  a  sensation  of surprise, a feeling of unworthiness and gratitude for the generosity and kindness that comes with an unexpected gift all wrapped in red and green. “Really? For me? Oh, you shouldn’t have.” After fifty years  they  still  raise  the  question  of  how  to respond  to  their generosity.  Sometimes  it  feels  like  a  silly  question  with  a very simple answer: eat them. 

But I know that someone else has wondered these same things. In  our Creation stories  the  origin  of  strawberries  is  important. Skywoman’s  beautiful daughter,  whom  she  carried  in  her  womb from Skyworld, grew on the good green earth, loving and loved by all the other beings. But tragedy befell her when she died giving birth to her twins, Flint and Sapling. Heartbroken, Skywoman buried her beloved daughter in the earth. Her final gifts, our most revered plants, grew from her body. The strawberry arose from her heart.

In  Potawatomi,  the  strawberry  is ode  min, the  heart  berry.  We recognize them as the leaders of the berries, the first to bear fruit.

Strawberries first shaped my view of a world full of gifts simply scattered at your feet. A gift comes to you through no action of your own, free, having moved toward you without your beckoning. It is not a reward; you cannot earn it, or call it to you, or even deserve it.  And  yet  it  appears.  Your  only  role  is  to  be open-eyed  and present.  Gifts  exist  in  a  realm  of  humility  and  mystery—as with random acts of kindness, we do not know their source.

...Gifts  from  the  earth  or  from  each  other  establish  a  particular relationship,  an  obligation  of  sorts  to  give,  to  receive,  and  to reciprocate. The field gave to us, we gave to my dad, and we tried to give back to the strawberries. When the berry season was done, the plants would send out slender red runners to make new plants.

Because I was fascinated by the way they would travel over the ground looking for good places to take root, I would weed out little patches  of  bare  ground  where  the  runners  touched  down.  Sure enough, tiny little roots would emerge from the runner and by the end of the season there were even more plants, ready to bloom under  the  next  Strawberry  Moon.  No  person  taught us  this—the strawberries  showed  us.  Because  they  had  given  us  a  gift, an ongoing relationship opened between us.

...It’s funny how the nature of an object—let’s say a strawberry or a pair  of  socks—is  so  changed  by  the  way  it  has  come  into  your hands, as a gift or as a commodity. The pair of wool socks that I buy at the store, red and gray striped, are warm and cozy. I might feel grateful for the sheep that made the wool and the worker who ran  the  knitting  machine.  I  hope  so.  But  I  have no inherentobligation  to  those  socks  as  a  commodity,  as  private  property. There is no bond beyond the politely exchanged “thank yous” with the clerk. I have paid for them and our reciprocity ended the minute I handed her the money. The exchange ends once parity has been established, an equal exchange. They become my property. I don’t write a thank-you note to JCPenney.

But what if those very same socks, red and gray striped, were knitted  by  my grandmother  and  given  to  me  as  a  gift?  That changes everything. A gift creates ongoing relationship. I will write a thank-you note. I will take good care of them and if I am a very gracious grandchild I’ll wear them when she visits even if I don’t like them. When it’s her birthday, I will surely make her a gift in return. As  the  scholar  and  writer  Lewis  Hyde  notes,  “It  is  the  cardinal difference  between  gift  and  commodity  exchange  that  a  gift establishes a feeling-bond between two people.”

That  is  the  fundamental  nature  of  gifts:  they  move,  and  their value increases with their passage. The fields made a gift of berries to  us  and  we  made  a  gift  of  them  to  our  father.  The  more something is shared, the greater its value becomes. This is hard to grasp  for  societies  steeped  in notions  of  private  property,  where others are, by definition, excluded from sharing. Practices such as posting  land  against  trespass,  for  example,  are expected  and accepted  in  a  property  economy  but  are  unacceptable  in  an economy where land is seen as a gift to all.

Lewis  Hyde  wonderfully  illustrates  this  dissonance  in  his exploration of the “Indian giver.” This expression, used negatively today as a pejorative for someone who gives something and then wants to have it back,  actually  derives from  a  fascinating  cross- cultural misinterpretation between an indigenous culture operating in a gift economy and a colonial culture predicated on the concept of private property. When gifts were given to the settlers by the Native  inhabitants,  the  recipients  understood  that  they  were valuable and were intended to be retained. Giving them away would have been an affront. But the indigenous people understood the value of the gift to be based in reciprocity and would be affronted if the  gifts  did  not  circulate  back  to  them.  

Many  of  our  ancient teachings counsel that whatever we have been given is supposed to be given away again. From the viewpoint of a private property economy, the “gift” is deemed  to  be  “free”  because  we  obtain  it  free  of  charge,  at  no cost. But in the gift economy, gifts are not free. The essence of the gift is that it creates a set of relationships. The currency of a gift economy is, at its root, reciprocity. In Western thinking, private land is understood to be a “bundle of rights,” whereas in a gift economy property has a “bundle of responsibilities” attached.

...

In  material  fact,  Strawberries  belong  only  to  themselves.  The exchange relationships  we  choose  determine  whether  we  share them  as  a  common gift  or  sell  them  as  a  private  commodity. A great  deal  rests  on  that choice.

For  the  greater  part  of  human history, and in places in the world today, common resources were the rule. But some invented a different story, a social construct in which everything is a commodity to be bought and sold. The market economy  story  has  spread  like  wildfire,  with  uneven  results  for human well-being and devastation for the natural world. But it is just a story we have told ourselves and we are free to tell another, to reclaim the old one.

One  of  these  stories  sustains  the  living  systems  on  which  we depend. One of these stories opens the way to living in gratitude and amazement at the richness and generosity of the world. One of these stories asks us to bestow our own gifts in kind, to celebrate our  kinship  with  the  world.  We  can  choose.  If all  the  world  is  a commodity,  how  poor  we  grow.  When  all  the  world  is  a gift  in motion, how wealthy we become.

[robin-josephette-biden]

A Statement Through Horror: BDG and YouTube

In his video announcing his departure from Polygon Bryan David Gilbert [BDG] stated, “I want to make things that one day people will make a show like unraveled about.” [Paraphrasing here]. Since that announcement he has made some of the most interesting and engaging comedy videos on the platform. On Bryan’s channel, there is a section called “bdg’s scaries” that contains three videos. The first how to make jorts was released April 27, 2019 and will not be part of this analysis, as we are focused on the other two videos. These two videos are Earn $20K EVERY MONTH by being your own boss which was released on October 25, 2020 (two months before his final Unraveled video and departure from Polygon) and Teaching Jake about the Camcorder, Jan '97 which was posted March 3, 2021. If you have not seen these videos yet you should stop reading immediately and go watch them both (honestly everything on his channel is amazing, especially the surprisingly compelling and personal Dances Moving! series) before continuing to read this as I will be spoiling both of them. The position of YouTube celebrity has been the source of a good bit of commentary as short form online media has become more and more central in our culture. Bryan has created two videos that I feel do an excellent job of exploring the relationship between youtuber and audience. I should also point out that this is merely my interpretation of these videos and is in no way BDG’s intended message. I’ll start by going over the first video. Earn $20K EVERY MONTH by being your own boss opens with BDG outside an apartment building, standing in front of a black car. BDG points up at one of the windows and says, “Three years ago I was living in that apartment right there. Third floor, leaky windows, cockroaches, the worst.” I do not know if the real life BDG actually lived in that building, but the 3 years timeframe does line up neatly with his beginning to work at Polygon. BDG continues to bad mouth his old apartment and mentions how he has turned it all around stating, “But just last week I paid off my very first Subaru Impreza. And I own my own house in Nebraska.” This radical change in life-style he credits to, “. . . [working] from home, [making] my own hours, and [being] my own boss. And you can do it too.” I think that it is interesting that BDG’s career up to that point mirrors that of his character, going from newly graduated content creator making small videos in his apartment to one of the most popular creators on Polygon. And all that being accomplished through work that many (rightly or wrongly) would not see as fitting into the mold of the traditional 9 to 5. The idea of making millions working from home, at your own pace, and with no boss is intrinsically tied to the mystique of the YouTube celebrity. Moving into BDG’s office he explains that he makes $20k a month working on spreadsheets. A massive spreadsheet appears behind him that is dated, 01.12.88 (nothing of note happened on January 12, 1988 and the only thing that happened on December 1, 1988 is a large cyclone that struck Bangladesh, January 12, 1888 is the day of the Schoolhouse Blizzard which struck the midwestern US and killed 235 people (remember this for later)) and is filled, seemingly randomly, with garbled nonsense symbols. Many of the cells are the same as other cells and there are empty cells scattered haphazardly throughout the spreadsheet. BDG explains that he got this strategy from Dorian Smiles. In exchange for working on these spreadsheets BDG receives $10k - $20k a month (an amount that lines up pretty damn well with the amount he should be getting through his Patreon page currently, I don’t know if this was true when the video was made though) from Dorian. Wanting to know where the money is coming from BDG asks his bank and they explain that he is wiring the money to himself from another account he has. He grows confused as to the nature of this work and the disproportionately large amount of money it brings in, explicitly mentioning his confusion as to how the money is coming from someone with, “. . . my name and my voice.” and sets about to find and confront Dorian Smiles. BDG sets off for Center Nebraska, which is close to where Dorian lives (a small town in the northeast corner of Nebraska). He states that Dorian’s address hasn’t existed since 1888 (that’s a familiar year isn’t it?) when it was supposedly condemned during an enormous blizzard and is, “. . . just woods now.” The video then transitions to BDG walking through dark woods while his narration talking up the Dorian Smiles program continues becoming increasingly broken. He comes across a figure sitting in the woods that is convulsing strangely, when he calls out to it the figure turns and is him (heretofore named Dorian). Dorian slowly puts his hands over his nose and mouth while staring at BDG at which point the narration cuts out. BDG copies Dorian and when Dorian removes his hands in a flourish, BDG does the same to reveal that he no longer has a mouth. The video quickly cuts back to BDG in his office talking about the program, he asks the viewer, “Why don’t you join me?” and then sits back and smiles while that line repeats without him moving his mouth. The most pressing mystery is who Dorian Smiles is. I think the most likely answer (and one I know I am not the progenitor of) is that Dorian is a reference to The Picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde, the story of a young man that has a portrait that ages and takes on the ravages of the debauched life its subject lives while Dorian himself does not. BDG would therefore be the unwitting recipient of that blessing, reaping massive rewards while his double, Dorian, lives in poverty and solitude. I like this explanation for Dorian, but I find it to be far more mechanical than thematic. On a metatextual level you could read that Dorian represents the character of BDG. The person that is in all of BDG’s videos, and the one with whom so much of the audience forms a parasocial relationship. In this lens the parallels with BDG’s own life make more sense. By this point in BDG’s career it is not difficult to imagine him feeling stifled creatively at work (I feel comfortable saying this given how soon after this video came out that he departed Polygon). His character had grown too large, potentially becoming alien to him, no longer reflecting the art he wanted to make and so he made a video about a distorted version of himself stealing his voice. In this way the video becomes a statement on his artistic integrity and his desire to test new boundaries and go in different directions. In hindsight, with the knowledge of his departure and then success after leaving Polygon, the video becomes almost heartwarming (if it weren’t terrifying) in the same way that a before and after picture of someone improving themselves can be. We will return to the Dorian Smiles system, but now we must move to the second video, Teaching Jake about the Camcorder, Jan '97. I’ll save you the blow by blow breakdown and aim for a quick summary instead. This video is a simple stationary shot of an old CRT tv. A VHS tape is inserted and a video of a man teaching his, evidently young, son how to use a camcorder plays. It is relatively wholesome and corny in that way that all home movies are and when it ends the tape rewinds and the segment plays again, this time with a few deviations. Over replays the father becomes aware of what is happening and begins trying to reason with Jake through the camcorder begging him to stop watching the tape and move on. The father is menaced by a large shadowy figure that does not speak or move when confronted. Eventually the father resorts to simply taking the camera and recording his own screams of pain. On the final rewind the father simply says, “Attaboy.” before calmly walking out the room and into the dark hallway, a doorway opens at the other end, filled with orange light, and the father walks through and down stairs. The final shot of the video is of the television, showing the hallway, as orange light begins to flicker in the background of the left side of the TV. The sound of the father descending the stairs transitions from the TV to diegetic and a shadow appears briefly in the light. On one level the video is clearly a statement about loss and about trauma. Jake is losing himself by watching these videos on repeat, trying in vain to relive a happier time. In that desperate desire to regain what was lost he is distorting it, making it into something it isn’t, hurting it. At the beginning the father says, “Never ever press the rewind button, otherwise you might record over a precious memory. We always keep the recording going forward . . .“ I think there is an additional, and more personal for BDG, reading however. The father is the modern character of BDG, and we, the audience, are Jake. He is pleading with us to leave the past behind and move on. This was only his 3rd video that he posted after leaving Polygon. It is a plea from him to leave the old character behind and stop trying to make one into the other. To stop obsessively comparing the new videos to the old. To let the future be the future and let the past be the past. He is telling us that his new work will not be like the old, that he has progressed past that and that now his viewers need to as well. The detachment and confusion of Earn $20K EVERY MONTH by being your own boss has transformed into a desire to move forward. But he needed to ensure that his audience was ready to come with him, and so he made a video about loss and the dangers of sinking too far into it. I know that there are some of you that feel I am reading too much of what I assume to be BDG’s thoughts and emotions into these interpretations, and I am the first to admit that I might be. In no way am I trying to say these are the only interpretations of these videos or even that they are correct. I think there is so much more of an artist that they put into their work than they realise. I do not know the mind of BDG, only he does, but these videos made me feel that I had a glimpse into the feelings of a man whose work I admire. These videos are either longer or a drastically different tone to the material he has put on his own channel and as such they stood out to me. They felt different, and they seemed to ask for a different level of scrutiny. On some level maybe BDGs videos can not be divorced from the story of BDG as a content creator, the same as any modern internet semi-celebrity, or indeed any artist. I guess there was also a part of me that wanted to answer the call to action I heard when BDG left Polygon, to unravel his work. I hope in some small way I’ve been able to do that.

[juniorgman187]

The Bones (Reid Series) Part 1

Summary: Almost a year after Maeve’s death, Spencer reaches out to the recipients of Maeve’s donated organs to reconnect with his lost love. However, when the receiver of her heart, Reader, doesn’t write back, Spencer goes on a poorly-motivated mission to find her. 

Playlist: “The Bones” by Maren Morris & Hozier   (BONUS: song includes major foreshadowing)

A/N: There is an OC in this story because to me, writing “(y/n)” over and over again cheapens the story and doesn’t flow well. It was a personal decision, and to anyone it sincerely bothers, I’m sure there’s a way you can insert your own name instead. This fic is also inspired by “Things We Know By Heart” by Jessi Kirby. Category: Series, Soft Angst, Eventual Smut + NSFW content* Pairing: Spencer Reid POV x Fem!OC Content Warning: allusions to death, mourning, loss, recovery, arrhythmia (this is an intro chapter, so it’ll get more interesting from here I promise) Word Count: 2.2k

This will be a multi-part series.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

It all started that first autumn after Maeve’s death - just five weeks past a year since I parted with her. I was absentmindedly reading when, rather out of the blue, Mary Donovan called to inform me about a Mrs. Rachel Larsen. 

Although we didn’t learn her actual name until later, she was first known to us as the recipient of Maeve’s liver. Not a single one of the three of us - Maeve’s parents and me - had expected a recipient to be in contact with us. That inability to predict such an event was caused by my neglect to remember Maeve was an organ donor. It wasn’t particularly relevant in the grand scheme of things, and for that forgetfulness, I was truly ashamed, but after reading Rachel Larsen’s letter together with the Donovans, it all came back to me. 

Every single thing. 

You see, despite the anonymity of the person writing to us, it was as if I could actually feel Maeve’s soul coming alive again, as strange as that sounds. 

She was still here with me ... in some form. 

Later that night, when I would return to an empty apartment, I would wonder why I hadn’t thought of reaching out to the recipients before. Even though I’d already started writing a thank you letter back to Rachel, the thirst for more of Maeve became increasingly insatiable. 

While I did have fond memories of her to live by, I couldn’t thrive off of them in the way that I did with that letter. Our only moments together worth reliving were those spent over the phone, a time when I didn’t even know what she looked like. But that letter from Rachel Larsen ... it was somehow more wholesome and pure than any memory of the living Maeve that I could cultivate.

You could say I was doing this to ease my mourning, meaning it should’ve made me feel better, but that didn’t stop the guilt from eating away at me piece by piece as I wrote letters to the rest of the recipients. 

The Donovans had no idea I was doing this, but I reasoned to myself that they would appreciate the surprise. Though they were still undeniably riddled with grief, smiles embellished their sullen faces when they read about Rachel’s quality of life now with a new liver. So maybe, just maybe, hearing from the rest of the receivers would be good for us all. At least, that’s what I told myself.

In one of those rare moments when inspiration strikes and it courses through your veins at the speed of lightning, I found myself being more productive than I had been in nearly a year. By midnight, I’d successfully composed five letters, each dedicated to the receiver of one of Maeve’s major organs - none of which, though, included my identity.

Given the fragile process of contacting the transplant coordinators, getting consent forms, and premeeting counseling, it would be months, if not years, before I would be able to really speak with these faceless people. Nothing against Donor Family Services - I’m sure they do the best they can - but for me, their best wasn’t good enough. So instead, I enlisted the help of someone I knew could never let me down. 

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” Penelope peered up at me from her seat, her pinky finger hesitantly hovering over the ‘enter’ button. 

“Yes.” 

With just one click, she discovered the addresses of each one of those faceless people. This singular operation, albeit somewhat unethical, was the final piece to my puzzle. All there was left to do now was send the letters to them, with the tenuous hope they might send one back. 

Luckily for me, not a single recipient questioned how I managed to find them or why this process wasn’t being handled by Donor Family Services, but I suppose if they did wonder those things, they didn’t feel comfortable asking me. Especially not after they learned who I was in relation to their donor. I didn’t intend to guilt-trip anyone with what I wrote in my letters nor did I want to take advantage of anyone’s empathy, but how could you possibly make a foe out of your organ donor’s grieving boyfriend? Exactly - you can’t. So you don’t. Instead, you send an inviting letter back, telling me you’d love to meet. Which is what four of them did.

Only one person didn’t reply, and while an 80% success rate was great, I simply couldn’t let this one go. Trust me, I would have ... had it been any other organ. 

For quite some time, I was the one with Maeve’s heart. 

I just needed to see where it was now.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The heart has several definitions and corresponding connotations. 

Scientifically speaking, the heart is a hollow muscular organ that pumps the blood through the circulatory system by rhythmic contraction and dilation. However, figuratively, the heart can be seen as the central or innermost part of something. The heart of a city, for example. But in literature, the heart is symbolic of love. It is often regarded as the source of all knowledge, which is where the comparison between the head and the heart comes from. The head operates logically, whereas the heart functions emotionally, but despite the rationality the head holds, the heart is what people advise you to listen to because it holds the ultimate truth. 

The heart, because it is equipped with your truest feelings, supersedes any logic and reason the head might hold. 

But you see, I only ever knew Maeve’s mind. I could understand the inner workings of it - I’d probably be able to navigate through her consciousness if I entered it given the fact that our intellect matched one another’s - and I shared nearly identical thought processes with her, but that was all that I ever knew. 

And if that was how much knowledge she held in her head alone, then, undoubtedly, her heart held so much more.

Science defines the heart as an organ. Figurative language uses the heart to establish a focal point. Literature likens the heart to love. But I compare her heart to the ocean. Like the sea, Maeve’s heart was 80% undiscovered, and exploration was simply calling my name. 

For that reason, and that reason alone, I couldn’t abandon my pursuit of it. 

That’s not to say I wasn’t ashamed of this mission, though. If anything, shame for the man I had become in the face of Maeve’s death was the only feeling I was truly capable of anymore. Any other emotions were fleeting or insincere. 

Unfortunately, that slimy, disgusting feeling was only amplified times ten when I found myself driving two hours and forty-five minutes to get to Virginia Beach. 

No sane man would drive this far on a weekday for even their most prized possession, and yet here I was, exactly 180 miles away from home, seeking out someone who hadn’t had the courtesy to even write me back, let alone agree to meet with me. Who knows if she’d even give me the time of day. 

She being Valerie. 

“Valerie Elise Bishop was born on August 5th, 1988 in Henderson, Nevada, to parents Andrew and Sara, but when Valerie turned seventeen, she was diagnosed with arrhythmia,” Garcia explained to me over the phone on the car ride here. “It’s when-”

“When the electrical impulses that coordinate your heartbeats don't work properly, causing your heart to beat too fast, too slow or irregularly,” I accidentally cut in. Realizing I interrupted Garcia, I brought her back into the conversation by asking, “I know there are more than 3 million cases per year in the U.S, but isn’t it usually common for ages 60 or older?” 

“You are most certainly correct, Boy Wonder. It is more common in ages 60 and older, however, her maternal grandmother passed away from arrhythmia, so the family history increased the likelihood.” 

At the sound of this news, I had to pull the car over and physically stop just so I could grasp the weight of what I was really doing. 

“In Henderson, Nevada ... maternal grandmother passed away ... family history increased the likelihood …” Garcia’s voice rang in my head. 

It was then that I came face to face with the gravity of reality. 

Valerie wasn’t just a faceless name or a recipient of Maeve’s heart, she was a person. And her humanity only became more apparent to me the more Penelope spoke. 

For god’s sake, she and I grew up in the same state. She and I saw the same sunsets from the same little corner of the earth. She drove down the same highways and byways - we might’ve even crossed paths at one point or another! Not to mention that she lost her grandmother to the same disease that she was suffering from, and if there was one thing consistent about arrhythmia, it was very likely she’d been living with it for decades, if not her entire lifetime. It’s a long term disease that takes years to improve but only seconds to kill. All it would take is just one irregular beat, and she’d be dead. How can you possibly live with that constant fear looming over your head? 

She is a person. I had to remind myself. Not just a means to explore more of Maeve. 

“Hey, Garcia,” I turned the car back on. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” 

“What do you mean?” I could just feel panic begin to rise in Garcia. 

“No, I’m not talking about life, I’m talking about this.” Though she couldn’t see, I grandly gestured to the location, the car, and the passenger seat that was cluttered with files on Valerie. “I don’t feel right invading her privacy like this. It’s just selfish.” 

I wasn’t the only one mourning something here. 

“Are you sure?” Penelope clarified. Which was ironic considering she was the one who was unsure of doing any of this, to begin with. What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have dragged Garcia into this. Something as immoral as this was totally against her character, but she did it anyway because her loyalty to her friends conquers all. 

Like I said, my shame multiplied times ten. If not for Valerie, then certainly for Penelope. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m heading home.” 

“Okay,” She softly returned. “Be safe.” 

“Oh, and Garcia?” I asked before ending the call. “Thanks.” 

“Of course. Anything for you, Dr. Reid.” 

By the time I ended the call, the sun was already setting - that’s how long I’d been on the road for. The nearly-three-hour drive I would have to make for the second time today meant I wouldn’t be home in time to beat the pitch-black sky, so considering I was already in for a long night, I made a little detour for the one thing I couldn’t go home without.

A piping hot cup of coffee. 

I felt something as rewarding as caffeine was well deserved for the self-restraint I demonstrated minutes ago. And maybe it was my exhaustion, both mental and physical, that brought me to the near conclusion that I would truly let this go, but I was honestly feeling like I could accept this. An 80% acceptance rate. Not bad, right? 

Though I was basically half-asleep while waiting for my coffee, I could not miss the barista when she said, “Valerie! Your order’s ready!”

What are the chances?

A jolt of energy surged through my body and brought me back to life, causing me to whip my head around at the slightest semblance of movement. On instinct, my gaze gravitated to the woman walking towards the front counter. My pull to her was so strong that even if I hadn’t studied file upon file on her that included pictures of what she looked like, I still would’ve recognized her in a heartbeat.

I just knew. That’s her. 

I had no plan whatsoever for how I should approach this, and yet I still rose from my seat, motivated by nothing more than the single belief that I needed to.

Was this the universe telling me that I was meant to run into her after all? That I needed to meet the woman with an oceanic heart?

But when I finally got to where she was, she glided effortlessly past me, not paying any mind to my presence. Why would she though? To her, I was no one. To her, I was the faceless person. 

“Excuse me!” I bolted to the front counter after realizing I might’ve just missed my opportunity. The barista, stunned and concerned, furrowed her brows while she waited for my question. “Is that girl a regular here?”

“Valerie?” She pointed in her direction, to which I nodded rapidly. “Oh, yeah. She comes in here all the time. She works just across the street.” 

When I came to this coffee shop, it was simply by chance. It wasn’t even the closest cafe, but it was the one I chose to go to for some inexplicable reason. 

I’d like to think it was fate. I was meant to be here after all. Because right behind me stood the storefront of a building I had only briefly read about in Valerie’s file.

The Bones,  Art Gallery & Studio

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

PART 2 HERE!

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[nordleuchten]

La Fayette in Prison - Part 2 - Magdeburg

After Wesel, off we go to Magdeburg. Here La Fayette and his fellow prisoners stayed from January 4, 1793 until January 4, 1794.  Just like Wesel, Magdeburg was and still is a prominent city in modern-day Germany (back then in Prussia). And just like Wesel, Magdeburg lies near a river, the Elbe to be precise. And again, the prison laid inside the city’s fortress. Large parts of the fortress are still intact and are the sites of numerous activities throughout the years, such as re-enactments, historic festivals, historic guided tour ... visitors are also free to request an individual guided tour, unrelated to any other activity. La Fayette is once more named as a noteworthy inmate by the Homepage of the organisation charged with taking care of the fortress. But he was far from the most prominent inmate – Germans at least will recognise the names of Fritz Reuter and Werner von Siemens (the guy who founded the company “Siemens”). Whoever created the Homepage either did not do their research or disliked La Fayette. It is stated that La Fayette attempted an coup d’état that failed and that he initiated the Champ the Mars massacre ... both statements are grossly oversimplified at best and utter nonsense at worst. During La Fayette’s stay Ludwig Karl von Kalkstein (then a Lieutenant-General) was the Governor of the prison and Otto Kasimir von Meerschneidt (then a Major-General) was its Commander.

La Fayette and is fellow Frenchmen were brought to Magdeburg by means of an open cart. What was in all likelihood intended to degrade them further, was actually a blessing for the prisoners. They now had fresh air and the open, blue sky in abundance, something that had been denied to them all those months prior. Something else happened as well. People recognized these august men and apparently also cheered for them. Where the Prussian and Austrian authorities had a keen dislike for La Fayette, the population was in large parts in favour of him (more on that in a bit). Though he may have been touched by the cheering, such outpours of affection did not help La Fayette endear himself to his jailers – not at all. Nevertheless, conditions at Magdeburg were better ... far from good, but better.

La Fayette was allowed to obtain some books. Among other things he read mostly about agriculture and this knowledge would later come in handy when he ventured into the farming business after his return to France in 1799. He was furthermore allowed to write and receive letter ... but there was a twist. You see, when a letter for La Fayette arrived, the authorities in Magdeburg would open it, read it and decide if La Fayette was allowed to receive this letter. If so, they would go into his cell and read the letter aloud to him exactly once. If he was allowed to reply, his letters were checked and if there was something in them that did not please his jailors, well, the letter then moved directly into the bin. Lovely!

Nevertheless, things were looking up for La Fayette and he started writing letters to the full extent of his possibilities. Although he ached to let his wife Adrienne know that he was more or less okay, he did nor dare to write her. She was still imprisoned in France and La Fayette feared that somebody there might recognise his handwriting and subsequently destroy the letter. Instead he tried to reach his English and American friends (both in America and as envoys in Europe).

La Fayette described his cell in a letter to an unknown friend in England:

“Imagine an opening made under the rampart of the citadel, and surrounded with a strong, high palisade; through this, after opening four doors, each armed with chains, bars, and padlocks, they come, not without some difficulty and noise, to my cell, three paces wide five and a half long. The wall is mouldy on the side towards the ditch, and the front one admits light, but not sunshine, through a little grated window. Add to this two sentinels, -- whose eyes penetrate into this lower region, but who are kept outside the palisade, lest they should speak other watchers not belonging to the guard, and all the walls ramparts, ditches, guards, within and without the citadel of Magdeburg, and you will think that the foreign powers neglect nothing to keep us within their dominions. The noisy opening of the four doors is repeated every morning to admit my servant; at dinner, that I may eat in presence of the commandant of the citadel and of the guard; and at night, to take my servant to his prison. After having shut upon me all the doors, the commandant carries off the keys to the room where, since our arrival, the king has ordered him to sleep. I have books, the white leaves of which are taken out, but no news, no newspapers no communications, -- neither pen, ink, paper, nor pencil. It is a wonder that I possess this sheet, and I am writing with a toothpick. My health fails daily (…).”

(I am a bit irked by the fact, that I can neither associated an recipient nor an exact date with the letter. The letter otherwise seems authentic and the content is similar to other letters by La Fayette that we have more information on – that being said, I gave the letter a pass although its provenance is not what I would like it to be.)

I have seen some people argue that La Fayette mostly managed to keep his spirits up, because he did not complained an awful lot in his letters – but when assessing such a statement, you have to keep in mind that La Fayette really could not complain a lot in his letters, otherwise they would never be posted. It is true though, that there were small betterments. I already mentioned the letters and books, but he and the other prisoners were also allowed to take regular walks in the yard of the prison. They walked separated from each other and were heavily guarded. But La Fayette fell ill again, this time with a fever. His illness was not as serious though as it had been at Wesel.

La Fayette also received some money from his friends in America. Some of his friends, such like Washington, privately send money for La Fayette to use. Thomas Jefferson, then Secretary of State, found a way for the Government to pay La Fayette some money. He argued that La Fayette had offered to serve in the Continental Army without pay but that there was no official document of the Continental Congress accepting this offer. It follows that the Treasury owned La Fayette six years of pay and furthermore ten years worth of interests since they had “forgotten” to pay him the money since the end of the war ten years prior. Jefferson wrote a letter to Washington on December 30, 1793:

“Soon after his captivity and imprisonment, and before the ministers had received our instructions to endeavor to obtain his liberation, they were apprised that his personal restraint, and the peculiar situation of his fortune disabled him from drawing resources from that, and would leave him liable to suffer for subsistence, and the common necessaries of life. After a consultation by letter, therefore, between our ministers at Paris, London, and the Hague, they concurred in opinion that they ought not in such a case to wait for instructions from hence, but that his necessities should be provided for until they could receive such instructions. Different sums have been therefore either placed at his disposal, or answered on his draughts, amounting, as far as we hitherto know to about twelve or thirteen hundred Guineas. This has been taken from a fund not applicable by law to this purpose nor able to spare it: and the question is whether, and how it is to be made good? To do this, nothing more is requisite than that the United States should not avail themselves of the Liberalities of M. de la Fayette, yielded at a moment when neither he nor we could foresee the time when they would become his only resource for subsistence. It appears by a statement from the war office, hereto annexed, that his pay and commutation as a major General in the service of the United States to the 3rd of nov. 1783 amounted to 24,100 dollrs thirteen Cents exclusive of ten years interest elapsed since that time, to the payment of which the following obstacle has occurred. at the foot of the original engagement by Mr Deane, a copy of which is hereto annexed, that a certain roll of officers there named, and of which M. de la Fayette was one, should be taken into the american service in the grades there specified, M. de la Fayette alone has subjoined for himself a declaration that he would serve without any particular allowance or pension. It may be doubted whether the words in the original French do strictly include the general allowance of pay and commutation. and if they do, there is no evidence of any act of acceptance by Congress. Yet, under all the circumstances of the case, it is thought that the legislature alone is competent to decide it. If they decline availing the United States of the declaration of M. de la Fayette, it leaves a fund which not only covers the advances which have been made, but will enable you take measures for his future relief. It does it too, in a way which can give offence to nobody, since none have a right to complain of the payment of a debt, that being a moral duty, from which we cannot be discharged by any relation in which the creditor may be placed as to them.”

Washington forwarded the letter to the Congress and on March 27, 1794 Congress passed a bill to pay La Fayette the money he had not accepted as a General during the Revolutionary War. To nobody’s surprise, neither Congress nor President Washington had any objections and the bill was approved swiftly.

Prisons in the 18th century (as well as today) often development into some sort of parallel society. Money and especially bribery could get you far in prison and La Fayette experienced that first hand. On November 18, 1809 La Fayette enclosed an account of his financial situation in a letter to Thomas Jefferson. It seems as if this lengthy report had been written by one of La Fayette’s secretaries. Here is a short excerpt of the English translation of the report:

“The expenses caused by his captivity were enormous; the prisoners had to pay their own way as long as their money lasted, and as General Lafayette was the only one with some money, he had to take responsibility for his fellow prisoners. But this was a small matter in comparison with all that his European friends did financially to save his life, to correspond with him, and to facilitate his escape. Some of them made great personal sacrifices, and the sums generously sent by the American government were swallowed up. General Lafayette’s family provided for its own expenses while living in Olmutz. So that on arriving at Hamburg after an imprisonment of five years he found nothing of what had been intended for him and only an increased debt to Mr. Gouverneur Morris up to the time when he was paid 68000.₶; to Mr. Parish former United States consul, forty three thousand Livres; to Mr. Bollman a contract reduced to 30000.₶”

(You see, a great deal of the financial troubles and transactions came after his stay in Magdeburg but since everything started in Magdeburg, I thought it convenient to discuss the monetary issue here in full.)

We see the United States taking actions to the best of their abilities and we see also more letters discussing La Fayette’s fate. News travelled slowly in the 18th century and it took the three months that La Fayette stayed in Wesel for the world to find out that he even had been arrested. But after the knowledge was out there, we see an increase in letters and also in newspaper coverage. So much so that Adrienne could read in the French newspapers that La Fayette was presently alive and in Magdeburg. We can further observe that people all other he world started petitioning the Prussian King for La Fayette’s relief. His friends, English Members of Parliament (although it would take a couple more years before the House of Commons would discuss the topic in full), Washington and his friends in America, Americas envoys in Europe, the list goes on. Some of La Fayette’s fellow prisoners, mostly unassuming secretaries and aids, had been released almost immediately and were now also trying to secure La Fayette’s freedom – some even returned to France to do so. We also see Prussians citizen petition their King. Most of these petitions were simple letters, but some petitioners had the money to spare and printed their petitions as pamphlets – many of them can today be found online.

Although the instructions for the guard were not less strict then they had been in Wesel, the guards in Magdeburg appeared to love to gossip. During his stay La Fayette was kept more or less up to date on the newest developments in France and the war. Eight months into his stay in Magdeburg he was also given some news about his wife Adrienne. La Fayette wrote Charles Pinckney in London on July 4, 1793:

My dear Sir,

Whilst on this anniversary my American fellow citizens are having their joy, I join in a solitary bumper with the happy remembrances, the patriotic wishes which are crowding upon us (...) Owning to your kind interference, my dear Sir, the crowned gaolers have consented after eight months to let me know that my wife and children were alive – be pleased to acquaint them that my health is tolerably good (...).

(Can we please acknowledge the fact that La Fayette took the time out of his day and remembered that it was the anniversary of American Independence?)

There is another letter that I want to give the spotlight. La Fayette wrote on March 15, 1793 to his friend, the Princess d’Hénin. In this letter he wrote that:

“I know not what disposition has been made of my plantation at Cayenne; but I hope Madame de Lafayette will take care that the negroes, who cultivated it, shall preserve their liberty.”

La Fayette had bought a plantation in the French colony of Cayenne and implemented a system of gradual emancipation. The plantation was later sold by French authorities and the people there re-enslaved. Although his endeavour ultimately failed I found it interesting to see that La Fayette, even during such a dark hour, thought about others as well.

Before we move on to the next prison, this time in Neisse, on last titbit. The Baron von Steuben, the absolutely legendary legend, was born in Magdeburg and as a man of military background probably spend some time in the fortress as well.

[curiouslylazy]

On Law and the Immortality Surgery

[there are mild spoilers in this post for anime only viewers so read at your discretion]

Am I the only person who thinks that Law won’t be using the immortality surgery? On twitter and youtube any time I see Law dying brought up, almost everyone is quick to jump on the idea that he’ll be using the immortality surgery and lose his life in a sacrifice. They keep hammering in that Oda wouldn’t introduce this power if he didn’t intend to use it. While that is a route Oda can choose to go, I’m not ready to put all my money on it yet. For this theory to deserve the level of support it seems to have I think we need to gain more information and clear up some misconceptions first.

First we need to establish exactly what the immortality surgery does:

Does it give the recipient the remaining life force of the user and thus only elongate their life for X amount of years?

Does it give them an infinite lifespan so long as they are not killed by an outside force?

Does it give true immortality where the recipient will never age or die from any circumstances?

Is it a oneshot deal where the user can heal a mortal wound/cure an incurable illness/revive a recently deceased person at the expense of their life?

We honestly don’t have enough information to conclusively answer any of those questions yet.

Law says the ability grants eternal life at the expense of the surgeon’s own life. But as this is a translation we can’t determine the full accuracy of that statement. Furthermore Oda can change or add abilities at his pleasure. The implication at this moment however is that this isn’t just a oneshot deal. Dofflamingo probably wouldn’t waste time and resources on one day maybe needing a quick fix for an injury/illness. And nothing in Law’s explanation makes it seem like it’s a one time only get out of death card. Yet a lot of theories on Law using the immortality surgery seem to imply that it’ll work as a one time fix for some big injury. And if the people aren’t working off that assumption, they seem to think that immortality is the appropriate response to a deadly injury. That the recipient will have to contend with eternity just to turn the tides in one battle. Unless the recipient can later end their life at their will, I don’t see that happening.

Now let’s get into the potential beneficiaries for the immortality surgery. The most popular option is of course Luffy. The basic setup is Luffy will become mortally injured and Law will give up his life to save Luffy because Law owes Luffy for taking down Dofflamingo. I honestly don’t see this happening for many reasons.

Luffy states quite clearly that he is the only one who will decide where he dies. Law doesn’t get to make that choice. Furthermore Law doesn’t owe Luffy any debts. Law saved Luffy at Marineford first. Luffy is the one who cleared his balance at Dressrosa.

Luffy becoming immortal would be horrible for the story. From a plot standpoint it would decrease the tension severely for Luffy fights—and being a shounen protagonist already does that quite a bit, no need to double down. From a character standpoint, that would be the worst thing you could ever do to Luffy. Do you really want the person who said it’s worse to be alone than to get hurt to live forever as he watches all of his friends die?

As for other possible recipients of the immortality surgery, I don’t see any other “good guy” receiving it for the same reasons as Luffy. Law has even less of a connection or supposed debt to them than he would have to Luffy. I certainly don’t see him using it on a villain. Even under threat of lives close to him. He would not only be giving up his own life but also creating too much of a threat for his friends to deal with later—negating the whole purpose of a sacrificial move.

Next let’s discuss Law. A common sentiment I see thrown around is that he doesn’t have a purpose or drive anymore after Doflamingo’s defeat so his character is in a prime spot for dying. This is completely false.

Law wants to learn about the Will of D. He is actively searching for Poneglyphs for that purpose. Of course this doesn’t mean he’s safe from dying. A character dying before they meet their goal is excellent setup for a tragedy. And Law certainly has many death flags. He may in fact die saving Luffy, but even that doesn’t have to involve the immortality surgery necessarily.

Finally let’s talk about the narrative purpose of this ability existing. People keep saying that Oda wouldn’t bring up this ability if he didn’t intend for Law to use it. That Oda always callbacks to things he’s established before. While Oda is indeed the king of callbacks and payoff, I don’t think that has to be the case here. The immortality surgery existing has an established purpose in the story. It serves as the catalyst for Rosinante’s death and Law hating Dofflamingo. Yes the role of it is contained, but it set off the entire Dressrosa arc. I don’t think it needs to do more than that. It’s not wasted potential or a plot hole if Oda doesn’t bring it up again.

The one route of the immortality surgery being used that I find actually plausible is if it can do the reverse and take away immortality. I’ve seen it suggested for both Kaido and Imu that Law might need to take away their “immortality”/“invulnerability” so Luffy can finally defeat them. If that is something that can be done at all, I think that way of using the ability is the one that makes the most sense. I don’t think it’ll be needed for Kaido considering current events, but Imu is set up to be much more of a threat I think. But even then I don’t personally find the idea appealing. It would take away from the impact of Luffy’s victory if he only achieved it because Law needed to take away the character’s immortality. Luffy is meant to win against impossible odds. He doesn’t need his enemies brought down to his level. Luffy doesn’t need to kill his enemies anyway so there’s no need to take away their ability to not die.

Of course I can be completely wrong and the immortality surgery can be very important later on. I trust Oda to tell a satisfying story so I’m sure whichever route he picks will make sense and be enjoyable. These are just my thoughts on why I feel it’s a bit premature to think the surgery will definitely play a role. I’d love to hear from others and get their takes! Let me know if I’m not alone in my opinions or let me know if you disagree completely!!

[invisibleinorange]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Bridgerton Rating: T Warnings: Presumed Character Death Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington,  Eloise Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington(besties),  Bridgerton Family Dynamics, Simon Hastings/Daphne Bridgerton Characters: Colin Bridgerton,  Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton, Anthony Featherington,  Benedict Bridgerton,  Daphne Featherington, Simon Hastings, Portia Featherington Additional Tags:  Bridgerton, Polin Summary:  Unexpected bad news arrives for the Bridgerton Family (and friends) regarding Colin's travels. This will be a series that is set after "The Duke and I" or season one of the show. It is a companion piece to "Goodbyes". (#I’mHereToKillYouAllWithFeels)

While Anthony was absorbed in ensuring the women in their family were saw after, he’d asked Benedict to see to it that Penelope Featherington was returned safely home.

Penelope could scarcely speak much less utter how absolutely wrecked she was about the loss of their brother when she was left at her door step.  If they had allowed her, she probably wouldn’t have left. She was far better off useless there than alone with her own thoughts.

Her mother was waiting like the viper she was. Penelope wasn’t certain she had the strength to fight her off either.

“Since when do you get escorted home by Bridgertons?” her mother asked. There was something implied there like it would have been perfectly acceptable had it been one of her sisters.  “You could at least attempt to look happy about it.”

“Their brother just died,” Penelope found herself snapping.

“Not Anthony!  He would have been perfect for your sister,”  Portia dared to say, which only served to magnify the hurt and anger building up in Penelope. Penelope was used to bottling things up, taking everything on the chin but tonight wasn’t the night.

“No,” she argued, biting her lip enough to where it was close to drawing blood.  She didn’t want to be insolent but this was hardly a time to care about the next social season or making matches in the time between.

“Oh thank Heavens,” Portia said clearly not picking up on the fact that Penelope was actually quite distressed.

“It was Colin,” she said, voice shaking with force at the words.  She was one mere seconds from collapsing in on herself.

“Oh the one you have that silly little crush on. The fool who almost married Miss Thompson,” Portia said as if the first part was public information.  Penelope was in such shock that her mother had even  noticed such a thing that mouth hung open slightly.  She wasn’t prepared for the hurtful words that would come next. “You need not worry, Penelope darling.   He would have never married you anyways. Those books really have rotted your mind.”

It was an absolute slap in the face.  Her veins filled with ice and the slight from her own family. She was painfully aware that she wasn’t as pretty as the other eligible women of the Ton.  It was one thing to know and another to have it spelled out in front of her quite so ineloquently.  The fact that her mother could see her heart breaking and not even try to offer some sympathy was unacceptable.  She was almost grateful for the fact she’d never marry or have children, just so she didn’t have to worry about being as unfeeling as her own mother.

“You need not worry,” she uttered, storming away.

--

There was one thing that Benedict and Anthony agreed upon: the letter could never see the light of day. They couldn’t bring themselves to destroy it though so it was hide it away in a desk with other important paperwork.

The only real question that kept them up in the night was what they were to do about the problem reading it presented.

Colin was young and perhaps not as direct with his wishes as he might have been had he been a few years older but they could read between the lines.  The very wishes Colin expressed toward Penelope would never come to pass unless they saw it fit to carry them out.

They could not agree upon who would be the one to take it upon themselves to ensure she was protected, loved.  Neither fully desired to marry and certainly not a Featherington.  Neither particularly saw the things that their brother did in the girl but there was no denying she had a good heart.  As often as she had been at their home through the years, she might as well have been their sister.

When Daphne and Simon forced their way into the drawing room, the brothers were still arguing amongst themselves over who must do it when the proper mourning period was over.

“What exactly are you not going to allow him to do?” she couldn’t help but ask as she approached, her pregnant belly scarcely hidden by her dress.  She looked well even if it was clear that she hadn’t slept in order to hasten the journey home.  From the look on the Duke’s face, he hadn’t been on board but had been forced.

“Nothing,” the two brothers said almost in unison, greeting their sister with hugs.

“I don’t buy that.”

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” Anthony said, protective act in full force as he gazed over her before looking at the Duke as if to accuse him of not having a better grip on his own wife.

“Don’t look at me. You know Daphne is of her own mind,” he said with a shrug.

“I only obey when the order makes sense and I’m pregnant not an invalid. I insisted we come as soon as we received word.”

She seemed to have it together far better than anyone else in the family which was almost remarkable, considering she and Colin were close in age and had always been the best of friends.

Perhaps it was all an act though because the Duke had threatened to lock her up should even the slightest hint of distress appear after a lengthy meltdown demanding he order up the carriages ended in his compliance.

“We’re grateful to have you closer to home,” Anthony finally said. “I’m not sure that mother will be able to properly handle planning his rites. I contacted Francesca and she should be home soon as well. ”

There was not body to properly put on display but a coffin would be order and filled to brim with flowers.  It would sit in the drawing room where they might welcome mourners. Someone must be with it day and night though and that was a job fit for a woman.

With their mother crushed and Daphne’s delicate condition, it was likely Eloise and Francesca would be left with most of the watch. She knew there would be no stopping Daphne from taking up the watch some of the time though or helping to ensure Colin had a fitting wake.  Then there was the small matter of tokens for funeral goers.  All would have be completed.

There would be an actual funeral but it wouldn’t be acceptable for any of the women to attend.  That would fall on Anthony, Benedict and Gregory.  They would get through it though somehow.

“I’ll make a list,”  Daphne uttered, throwing herself head first into the work of it.  This was how she was going to survive this moment. She moved toward the desk, going into find unused parchment.  Without sleep Anthony wasn’t thinking properly enough to know that was where they’d hidden the ghastly letter.

It was only once she was in there and Benedict elbowed him hard that he saw fit to remember and he knew it was too late.

“What’s this?” she asked as she spotted the handwriting under the blank paper pulling it up.  Her brown eyes narrowed as she began to read it. She gazed up from the words, feeling she’d violated her deceased brother’s privacy for having even read them. She wanted to ask if the others had seen it but one look told her that she had two brothers who knew full well about this.  

The last time she’d spoken one on one with her brother, he’d been so besotted by Marina Thompson that she wasn’t sure that he would ever get over her betrayal.  Clearly, she had not known her brother as well as she thought that she had.  The words on the paper broke her heart.  Her brother had died not fully knowing just how deserving of love he was.

“What did they do?” the Duke couldn’t help but ask, reaching to grab the paper from his wife and glancing it over.   He could pick up on the distress on his wife’s face and he was fully prepared to give Anthony a black eye over it.  This was already an unacceptable situation but if they’d done anything to add to the situation, he was going to be furious. At the moment, he wasn’t quite connecting the dots though.

“How could you?” their sister berated. It was clear the distress they’d hoped to avoid had arrived.  “I sincerely hope that I am wrong about the fact you have hidden this letter from its intended recipient.”

“It would crush her,” Benedict argued.

“It’s not your place,” Daphne argued right back.

“It is our place. Her well-being is our problem now and we won’t have this on our conscious. What good would it do her?” Anthony argued right on back, knowing full-well Daphne would win this argument. She always did.

“She deserves to know,” she told them, fury clearly written on her face.

The Duke was pretty clear from looking at her that he wouldn’t have to be the one throwing the punches. Daphne would be the one doing it, if he didn’t stop her.  He moved a little closer just in case he had needed to hold her back.

“Tell who, what?” a voice asked from the door.

All eyes turned to the tired, somber face of Eloise who had heard the arguing and decided to see what exactly was going on.

Anthony and Benedict gave pleading looks to Daphne to not tell their younger sister.  They might be able to bury this letter with her knowing but not Eloise.

Daphne clearly didn’t heed the warning. She narrowed their eyes at them before grabbing the letter back from her husband, crossing the room and extending it to her younger sister.

“I’ll leave the massacre of our idiotic brothers to you,” Daphne uttered before moving out of the room just as quickly as she’d arrived.  The Duke offered a sympathetic look to Anthony and Benedict before following after his wife.

[luckystarchild]

I was discussing this with my writing group earlier and decided that I wanted to collect some more opinions on this, so what're your thoughts on reviews that start out with "I don't really like oc-driven/centric stories, but―" or reviews worded to a similar effect/to the same tune? Personally I just don't find them to be as much of a compliment as the reviewer thinks it is, and wish people wouldn't preface a review with such info.

Soooooo there’s a lot to unpack here. I’ll do it in stages. Sorry if this is more than you wanted... I take asks too seriously sometimes. XD

Why do these types of reviews feel insulting?

The reason these kinds of reviews might not feel so great to the recipient is because they pair a compliment with a qualifier. And combining a compliment with a qualifier is how you structure a backhanded compliment.

Example of pairing a compliment with a qualifier, AKA a backhanded compliment: “Your old haircut was terrible, but your new one is much better.”

The “but” is key here. The compliment-giver said something nice about your appearance, yes, but now you’re walking around feeling badly about the last ten years of your old hairstyle, wondering if everyone who looked at you while you had that old haircut was calling you ugly behind your back.

When someone says, “Normally I hate stories like yours, BUT...” they’re using the structure of a backhanded compliment to pay you a (hopefully legit) compliment. They’re calling you an exception. You’re writing something that’s normally terrible, but you managed to squeak by with something acceptable (against all odds).

Even though you’re an exception, you’re left wondering if other people hate your story because of its sheer concept just like the reviewer initially did. And because they used the structure of a backhanded compliment to express their feelings, you’re left feeling like you did indeed receive a backhanded compliment, even if that wasn’t the reviewer’s intention.

After all, the recipient of a review can’t read a reviewer’s tone. All they can see is how the review was structured, and when the reviewer used the structure of a backhanded compliment, that’s what the recipient feels like they were given.

By pairing the positive with a negative, the reviewer has potentially cancelled out the good, leaving the recipient to focus on the bad. And since humans are hardwired for negative bias, it’s no wonder many people come away from a compliment + qualifier feeling like they’ve been insulted instead of complimented. They can’t help but focus on the bad more than the good, the insult more than the compliment.

What are reviewers REALLY trying to say?

Next we should discuss what reviewers are actually trying to say when they leave reviews of this kind. There are two possible scenarios to consider.

Possibility #1: They’re legitimately trying to pay you a compliment, but they aren’t thinking about how you’ll receive it or what they might be inadvertently implying by using the structure of a backhanded compliment. They actually, truly believe that you would want to know that you are an exception to their reading rules, and that this fact is a high honor. You’ve done something so well, they don’t even care what genre your story is! Your work is great, and the fact that they’d normally hate it due to its genre is AMAZING. You’ve changed their minds about a genre! You defied expectations! They were determined to not like your story, but it’s too good! You broke through their preconceived notions of what they like and MADE THEM LIKE SOMETHING with your writing skill. It’s not a feat all stories can achieve, so the reviewer thinks you should wear that as a badge of honor.

Possibility #2: They’re actually paying you a backhanded compliment and are hoping you’ll get upset. They want you to know they liked your work... but they secretly still think it’s silly, or stupid, or cringe. I won’t elaborate on this opinion because I think we’ll all fill in the blanks with our own worst fears, so there’s no need for me to do the heavy lifting when it comes to this kind of horror.

Which of these things do reviewers actually intend? I can’t say. This is obviously up to the receiver of a particular review to decide. I personally remind myself of Hanlon’s Razor whenever possible: “In misunderstandings, never assume malice where thoughtlessness will do.” It doesn’t necessarily amend the hurt I might feel, depending on how the review is worded and how severe the backhanded compliment structure is... but it does help me make peace with it.

What’s my personal opinion on the matter?

I’m of two minds.

Mind the First: It’s awesome to convert someone to a genre of story they previously hated. OC fics get a (frankly undeserved) bad rap, so I understand that an inevitable portion of readers will come into OC stories predisposed to disliking them. Knowing someone clicked on my story thinking they’d hate it, only to come to love it, is pretty great. It’s like you’ve given other OC fics a chance by being a good representative of that fanfic genre.

Mind the Second: In general, using the structure of a backhanded compliment to pay someone a genuine compliment is confusing and can be an example of poor communication if it’s not worded with enough clarity. Additionally, “I thought I’d hate your story” might be true for a reader, but it probably isn’t a necessary thing to tell an author. Just because you CAN say something doesn’t mean you SHOULD.

Personal Anecdote: A reviewer once told me of my main work, Lucky Child: “I clicked on this story to laugh at it and mock the concept, because it’s sooooo cringey, buuuut... it’s actually pretty great and I grudgingly respect the work you’ve done on it.”

The rest of the review was lovely and very complimentary, but knowing they came to my story intending to make fun of it, being told I wrote for a cringe concept, that they only “grudgingly” respected me... wasn’t the best. Largely because I am secretly afraid that people feel that way, so their review was confirming something I secretly dread. “How many other people are think my concept is cringey?” I found myself worrying. And the word “grudging” made me feel like they resented me for converting them to OC stories, which made me feel... not the best.

I genuinely believe they were trying to be nice and pay me a compliment NOW, but I will admit that I was somewhat unsettled by the comment when it first came in. There were better ways they could have communicated with me, for sure. Again, Hanlon’s Razor came in handy in this instance, and now I look at that review (and reviews like it) positively. But it did take me a while to put aside the negative implications. It helps that Lucky Child gets a comment like this every few weeks, LOL. At some point I’ve gotten used to them. Now I wear them as badges of honor and love receiving them. AGAIN, THOUGH: I’ve had practice. Authors less used to that kind of comment would likely respond the way I did at the beginning.

In conclusion?

In the end, I think using the structure of a backhanded compliment is confusing as heck when what a reviewer INTENDS to do is pay a genuine compliment.

So to reviewers who want to leave remarks like these? I’d say try to structure your comment in a clear way, avoid structuring a compliment like an insult, and be sure you’re not leaving room for miscommunication. Writers are notoriously sensitive creatures (myself included), and their command of language means they’ll read VERY DEEPLY into things if you’re at all ambiguous. Clarity, in all things, is key.

Honestly? Times like these are why I wish we taught more rhetoric in schools. The MANNER in which you communicate a thought can completely negate the CONTENT of your thought if you don’t use the right rhetorical device to communicate it, and using the rhetoric of insults to convey compliments is bad use of language. Mind your rhetorical devices, people! They’re important, especially if you consider yourself a writer.

To writers who receive these comments? I’d say to write down a version of Hanlon’s Razor and to repeat it to yourself often: “In misunderstandings, never assume malice where thoughtlessness will do.” I’m not saying all reviewers who leave this kind of comment are thoughtless, of course. But I AM saying that most of the time during misunderstandings (especially ones that take place on the internet, where you can’t read tone, body language and facial expression), people just don’t realize that their words can be misconstrued for anything other than what they intended. Most of the time, they have the best intentions. But since outcome is more important than intention, that can be cold comfort for those on the receiving end of a badly communicated review.

TL;DR for Reviewers: Don’t leave comments like these if you don’t want to be misunderstood.

TL;DR for Writers: Don’t take comments like these personally, because most reviewers don’t mean them maliciously.

I hope this helps, OP. Sorry if it’s too much!!

[lakelewisia]

A Lewisian Year

Presented in partnership with the Lewisia Communications Board and Lewisia Public Library

Sponsored by The Historical Society

Hello, readers, listeners, and psychic osmosizers! Welcome to A Lewisian Year, a monthly showcase celebrating the rich culture here in the Lake Lewisia district. Each month, we'll highlight some seasonal events, local celebrations and interpretations of national and world holidays, and historical tidbits.

SEPTEMBER

The Final Sunset

It's approaching seven in the evening when you walk outside and turn to the west. The sun sinks down to the horizon slowly, reluctantly, and paints the sky with fire as it goes. While the nights and early mornings have started to take on a chill--or at least, what feels like a chill to those now acclimated to the heat of summer--the days are still baked hot enough to carry over into evening. So you find a shady spot to sit, keeping the western sky in view.

Up and down the street, you can see your neighbors doing the same. Some have brought their meals out with them, but this is not one of the raucous barbecue events of the last three months. The groups are small and quiet, acknowledging each other from one front step to another with a nod at most. All attention is saved for that sinking sun. It's September twenty-first, and the Autumnal Equinox takes place tomorrow just after noon. This will be the last sunset of summer.

Of course, it won't be the actual final sunset of the year*, but just as we marked the return of the sun's strength in spring and its blazing zenith in summer, we will mark its waning into the growing dark and chill of oncoming winter. Much like the Window Opening Festival and Spring Equinox seed exchange that are the counterparts on the wheel of the year, the Final Sunset is something mainly celebrated at home, rather than in the public square. It is a moment of quiet reflection between the bright excitement of summer and the gleeful mischief of Halloween.

Legend has it, any creature that flies by during this time is an omen of the fall to come for the one who spots it. Crows for prosperity, owls for secrets revealed. Bats for visitors, gryphons for travel. So you keep your eyes on the sky until the sun is out of sight, the light has died to a banked ember glow, and the night chorus has started up in the planters next to the front steps. Did you spot something good, I hope?

When you head back inside, you pick up the bonfire-warmed stone you have from midsummer and hold it close to your heart. Its time has come to see you through the long nights and cold days ahead. Summer now is only a memory. Autumn sweeps in behind it and settles over Lewisia like a shroud.

*Historical note: it was, however, the final sunset of 1938, during which the winter was marked by a succession of astrological anomalies. Catastrophe on account of the lack of light was averted by the immediate arrival of a temporary and localized second moon, which provided enough illumination to keep life going.

Labor Day

Labor Day is observed in Lewisia as elsewhere, but it is the day (and even week) before that sees the most difference from the outside world. It is traditional to bring gifts to workers who have been of particular service to you in the past year. These days, the gifts generally take the form of large cash tips offered on the worker's last shift before the holiday. In the past, it was more common to offer food or durable goods of your own making as a way of repaying labor with labor.

Lewisian culture has always been one of fair dealings and decency, and as such has not been the direct site of significant labor protests historically. But many Lewisians work outside of the region and still others move to make their way in the wider world. So the town's ideals--and methods--have come into play in the fight for pay and protection for workers.

Several prominent anarchists involved in pro-labor demonstrations, riots, and bombings of the 19th century were Lake Lewisia natives now living elsewhere. At least three factory fires, at the time attributed to improvised incendiary devices lobbed through the first story windows, were later proven to be the result of several combustible newts set loose in the night. Exactly who released the newts, whose native habitat is well known to be coal mines and not textile factories, was never discovered. Suspects included Lewisian activist Milka Salonen, though, who upon her death in 1962, at age 101, donated an extensive private menagerie of incendiary vertebrates to the Knellen Family Trust's preservation program.

Lost Mail Day

Continuing with the month's historical leanings, Lost Mail Day comes September 2nd with its long-delayed tidings. Part swap meet, part matchmaking event, part historical exhibition, this day is one last concerted effort to get the mail to its destination, however far off-track it may have strayed. The backrooms and storage bins of the postal service are opened up and their contents spread out for one more try at delivery.

Here is a letter sent from the European front in 1941 to a wife who had, unbeknownst at the time to her husband, disguised herself as a man and made her way to find and fight beside him. Here is an order form and enclosed payment for a correspondence course in the nearly-forgotten art of sentient paint breeding. Here is the last letter sent by a portal explorer to her parents before her disappearance into a time anomaly in the scented candle aisle of a DORSHOP megastore.

The public is encouraged to look through the collection for their own mail or that of their acquaintances. More so, the public is asked to volunteer to track down recipients not immediately identified. Every year, there is a core collection of these volunteers, who range from history teachers to private investigators to genealogy hobbyists, who turn their particular skills to finding someone, living, dead, or descended, who might wish to receive such a long-lost letter or package.

If, at the end of the day, a piece of mail remains unclaimed by either the original sender, the intended recipient or suitable proxy, or one of the volunteer investigators, it is given over to the care of the Historical Society for long-term preservation. While there have been a few rare cases where a letter was identified and delivered even after this stage, most will enter into the Society's extensive archive of historical documents and primary sources. These are available for researchers outside of the Society by special arrangement, with the arrangement generally being a Society member informing you via cryptic messenger that you have been selected for their purposes.

This Month in History

We turn our attention this month to a much more recent anniversary than our usual selections. Two years ago, on September 20th, 2019, the store at First and Lilac first opened as an otherwise unnamed organization in the business of time retrievals. Well, we say "opened," but of course the shop is rarely open in the conventional sense of hours in which the doors are unlocked and customers can come inside.

Those who have partaken of the shop's services report that it is possible to go inside to pick up items when they arrive from their prior timeline locations. No one could recall going inside the shop, meeting with employees, or providing payment in advance when placing an order. I did identify two people who work at the shop, but their answers regarding their employment proved less than enlightening. It is, if nothing else, reported to be a comfortable and satisfactory way to make a living.

Those who have been willing to admit to what they purchased listed everything from stuffed toys from childhood to disappeared pets to heirloom watches. One person very proudly presented to me an oak tree of stunning height and fullness, complete with an endearingly rickety treehouse nestled within its branches. I never entirely cleared up if it was the tree or the treehouse (or perhaps both) that was rescued from the depths of time. Many, even those who would not admit exactly what they received, spoke movingly of a loss at a younger age that had haunted them ever after.

If you will allow your host a brief aside, I know this month has leaned more heavily than usual on the subject of history, the past, and the passage of time. Call it my own Final Sunset-inspired rumination. From ancient days of early people observing the changing seasons to our own very recent, very personal pasts, we are always in conversation with time, however modern we like our daily lives to feel. What we call "history" is a fiction, an ordering of the chaos of our lives. It is all, always happening, each moment and memory ready to be plucked from the stream if we wish to keep it. We forever have another chance to change the flow of time around us.

That's a taste of what September has to offer us. See you next month, when October brings Halloween (and yes, maybe a few other things as well).

[gingerpeachtae]

Concentric [22]

masterlist

Words: 18k

Genres: fantasy!AU, angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, eventual smut

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence and death

Summary: You had been ready for the end of the semester. You had been ready to spend time away from your best friend, Jimin, and finally move on from the feelings you harbored. Yet, after your friend was forced to reveal a secret, you found yourself in a new world that was chock full of magic, war, and wonder. So, here you were, basically thrown into your own fantasy novel, with your best friend on one side, and six male warriors on the other.

A/N: thank you everyone for being so kind and patient with me! i hope this extra long chapter helps make up for the wait 💙

*2 weeks later*

The burning orange glow of the afternoon sunlight filtered through the bunches of leaves above your head. Rays of the golden light cut through the patches of shade all around you, creating beams and pockets of warmth that you and Tae relished in as you both quietly jogged through the trees. Weaving around shrubs, bounding over logs, avoiding sharp thorns.

Making your way further into the forest, you winced every time your feet hit the ground just a little too hard or your weight snapped a slight, skinny twig. The rune on the back of your neck might’ve give you some enhanced senses and reflexes, but it couldn’t override the fact you were human, and humans had a tendency to make noise.

Which was exactly what you didn’t need at the moment; not when you were doing recon on the enemy.

You and the grey-haired Saeni at your side were in charge of monitoring the northwest faction of the draikensu forces today. Taking note of their patrol routes, where they were positioned, how they received orders from higher ups, what weapons they carried, and any other intel that may be deemed useful. It was tricky business, though. You had to stealthily avoid the approximate fifteen-thousand dark Saeni that wouldn’t hesitate to slice your guts open, but you still had to get close enough to actually get the information needed. Not to mention also being extremely cautious of any traps or alarms that could be set by draikensu magic users.

Truly a phenomenal way to get your blood pumping chock full of adrenaline, to be honest.

Not having a glamour to hide your body from sight and voice from ears did nothing to ease the hard, erratic thumping going on in your chest either. Yoongi had wanted to place the concealing magic over your bodies, but you and the rest of the group heavily protested. He needed to save the energy in his grumpy ass body for whenever the clash with the draikensu finally came to fruition. The only magic Namjoon was “allowing” him to conjure was a shield to cover camp and maintaining communication with the palace magic users. Neither were very tasking for him physically. It was simple, easy magic.

Though you would see Yoongi roll his petal pink eyes every day when a new leaf fluttered in on the morning wind, holding the same message as always.

Where are you located? Any updates or intel? We are __ days away.

Grumbling, he would mutter something along the lines of “No, you fucking acorn, we haven’t changed our location because, as I have said every day for the past six days, we wouldn’t until you arrived,” before plucking a leaf from a nearby tree and whispering an incantation that “etched” a message containing your ever-the-same whereabouts as well as any new information you’d discovered onto the green fiber. Then, he let the wind gently lift the leaf from his palm and carry it away to its receiver.

It was fascinating to watch, but also made you wonder why the mint-haired Saeni hadn’t used the nifty technique to alert his brothers they were about to walk into a trap while he was injured all that time ago. You know, instead of panicking and having you run around yelling in English. When you voiced the question, Yoongi just huffed and informed you that it only worked if the recipient was also a magic user.

That had made you feel a little bit better at your decision to scream and run around the forest as your alternative form of communication with the boys. Not great, but better.

Speaking of communication, you thought as you ducked below a broken tree limb, I still can’t believe that was the way Illai chose to guide Jimin…

You leapt over a small ditch, lightly landing on the balls on your feet, as the memory washed over you.

It was still dark outside, the sun not yet peeking over the horizon and saying good morning to the world. But it didn’t matter. All of you were awake, packed, and ready to go.

Taehyung sat on the ground across from you as you taught him how to play the classic hand clapping game ‘Slide’ while Jimin and Jiae finished their teary goodbyes to each other. Originally, you had been playing with Jungkook, but he kept messing up and was smacking your hands so hard in retaliation that you decided to kick him out. Now he was pouting a few feet away, sending you tiny glares while leaning against a sycamore tree and kicking at the dirt.

A few trees down, Yoongi was curled into a ball where the roots dived into the earth and Hobi quietly sat next to him with his arms wrapped around knees. Beside them, the last two members of the kiela were double-checking their things as they carried a hushed conversation with one another. Mingi and Chungha stood off the side, speaking lowly in the dark and gesturing toward the lilac-haired princess as she let out a sob and hugged your best friend tightly.

Eventually, Jimin pulled back from Jiae and gently wiped at her tears with the pads of his thumbs while murmuring sweet nothings. You smiled at the duo, causing yourself to falter and lose the rhythm you and Tae set with your hands. The blue-eyed Saeni let out a whine but you didn’t pay it any mind, too caught up watching the cute couple. You felt nothing but happiness as you watched Jimin give the young female a soft kiss on her forehead.

After another minute, the two finally separated and Jiae hugged herself as tears continue to trail down her cheeks. Jimin ran a hand through his hair and took several steps back, almost as if he needed the physical distance to keep himself from latching on to her again. As he moved away, a strong breeze picked up and disturbed the leaves and near quietness of the early morning. The greenery shook all around you, and Chungha reached out to clasp Mingi’s forearm briefly before she pivoted and strode over to Jiae. The female guard placed a gentle hand on Jiae’s shaking shoulder, which caused your eyebrows to raise slightly since it was an act of kindness you hadn’t seen from her before.

After taking a deep breath, the princess squared her shoulders and addressed everyone in a strong tone. “I will get you help. I promise. Just… be careful. Please.”

You all nodded, well, everyone except for Yoongi since he was still resting and oblivious to the conversation.

Jimin flashed Jiae a big grin, but you could tell he was forcing it. His eyes didn’t squish.

“Don’t you worry about us. You just focus on getting back to the palace safely.”

The princess’ chin trembled but she narrowed her pale blue eyes at the half Saeni before pointing a finger at his chest. “And you better be careful when closing that rift or I swear to-”

“He’ll be fine, princess.” Mingi draped an arm around Jimin’s shoulders and warmly smiled. “I gave you my word I would watch over him so that’s what I intend to do.”

Jiae dipped her head slightly in appreciation then looked down at the ground, taking deep breaths. Taking that as their cue to leave, Chungha nudged Jiae to pick up her things, and the rest of you watched silently as she did so.

It was weird having them leave. While you weren’t particularly close to either, they were still a part of the journey and you had grown used to seeing them every day. You didn’t want them to go… but you knew they had to.

As they stood before the group, you saw Jiae’s chin quiver again and you sent her what you hoped was a reassuring look.

“Goodbye everyone,” she called out lightly while squeezing her eyes shut for a few heartbeats before focusing her somber gaze on Jimin. “…Bye Chim.”

Then, she abruptly swiveled around and walked into the expanse of the forest, her lilac hair fluttering in the wind behind her. Chungha stayed for only a half-second longer, just to give you all a curt nod, before she too disappeared into the darkness of the trees.

Once they were gone, Hobi began to gently rouse Yoongi from his sleep, and you heaved yourself to your feet. Quickly shuffling over to your best friend, you heard him sniffle as he stared at the spot Jiae had just stood. Mingi patted his shoulder twice understandingly then turned to give your hair a ruffle as you arrived, making you roll your eyes in false annoyance. While the guard left to grab his stuff, you carefully wrapped your arms around Jimin’s torso and murmured a “come on” while guiding him to his kiela.

“Chungha is with her and you know how seriously she takes her job,” you whispered.

“I know. I know. Fuck, it just kinda sucks that I might die, and she won’t know I think I love her.”

Your feet tripped over themselves as you whipped your eyes to Jimin’s face. His brown orbs bugged out and met yours in shock while his mouth opened and closed several times. Blood rushed to his cheeks as he stammered and stumbled over his words while trying to explain himself.

Giggling, you gave his tummy a pat. “I’m really, really, happy for you, Slim Jim.”

“You’re not… you’re not hurt, right?” Although he was still blushing, he looked at you with apprehension and worry clouding his features.

You bit your lip and quickly glanced toward the burgundy head still leaning against the tree before shaking your head and smiling to yourself. “No. I’m not.”

Then you frowned and jabbed a finger into his stomach. “And shut up, you’re not going to die.”

While Jimin groaned and rubbed the spot you had aggressively poked, Tae skipped over to you. Looking at the male, you noticed the playful and excited glimmer in his blue eyes and hastily detached yourself from your best friend just moments before Tae tackled him into a hug.

“Congrats Chim! You’re in love!” The grey-haired Saeni pinched Jimin’s cheek lovingly before letting him go.

Jimin flushed once more as the rest of the kiela chuckled and offered their congratulations as well, but they were fast to also tell him to hurry up and get moving so you could all leave. As the apricot head ducked his head and did just that, you sent Tae a flying kiss and made you way over to your boyfriend.

“Still pouting?”

“…No.”

“So that’s a yes.” You released a stream of laughter and gave his arm a teasing pat. “I don’t blame you, TaeTae did much better than you.”

Jungkook crossed his arms over his chest and let out a strong puff of air while looking away, making you laugh even harder.

“What, why should we go south?” You heard Jimin call out, but you figured it was addressed to Namjoon, so you didn’t bother replying.

It was odd, though, because you thought Namjoon had said you were going to travel west.

“Y/N? Why south?”

Your brows furrowed and Jungkook met your confused stare before you both slowly turned your heads toward Jimin. As did everyone else.

It was silent save for the rustling trees, chirping birds, and clicking bugs.

“Uh… I didn’t say anything Slim Jim.”

At your statement, his face copied your own bewilderment. The kiela and Mingi looked back and forth between you two, trying to understand what was going on.

“But you… you said we needed to go south…”

“No?” Tilting your head to the side, you pursed your lips. “I said TaeTae did better at Slide than Kookie.”

“Literally nobody said ‘south,’” Yoongi piped up from the side.

“Oh… I could have sworn…”

Jin offered that he could have just misheard someone speaking or maybe it had been the wind in his ears, and the others voiced their agreement. Jimin peered at his older brother unconvinced, but he let out a defeated sigh and hung his head. Shifting the strap of his bag, he went to take a step forward when his head suddenly lifted so fast you thought his neck would snap. His brown eyes focused on your once more and you were shocked at how wide they were.

“Y/N, you just said it again!”

Um, I what now? Your mouth dropped open, unsure how to respond when you clearly had not said anything.

“Chim, you’re just hearing things,” Hobi said while shaking his head and checking over the blades attached to his body.

“No, I’m not!” Jimin ran a hand through his hair stressfully. “A feminine voice said we need to go south and, Y/N, you’re the only girl here now!”

Your best friend gripped his hair as you all looked on, not sure what to do or say.

“You’re positive you heard that Chim?” Tae hesitantly asked in a soft tone.

“Yes!”

Tae nodded but didn’t say anything else, just as lost and dumbfounded as the rest of you.

Letting his hands fall from his head, Jimin let out a strangled sound and began breathing erratically as he whispered that he just heard it again. In response, Yoongi narrowed his pink eyes and studied his younger brother. Nobody moved, nobody made a sound.

Then, Yoongi started laughing. Bracing himself on his knees, the magic user let himself go and almost no sound came out because of how hard the laughter racked his body. Confusion now doubled, you shifted your attention to him, wondering what in Exia’s name was happening.

Did they get bit by a lillaf? Are they high?

Finally, after what seemed like a solid minute of everyone awkwardly glancing at each other, the mint-haired male quieted down and caught his breath. The magic user wiped at his eyes, gummy smile not fading away, and explained what he found oh so funny,

Apparently, your best friend once again found himself as a fleshy GPS, but this time it came with sound navigation in the form of the mother goddess herself… speaking directly into Jimin’s head.

Lost in the memory, you weren’t paying as much attention to your surroundings as you should have been, meaning you weren’t as focused on what was in front of you. Meaning you didn’t see the large rock in your path. Meaning you tripped right over that fucker and stumbled forward several steps with a gasping curse.

As you managed to catch yourself from face planting, Tae skidded to a stop and looked back at you with a slight wince.

You grimaced as you took in his expression. Shit, that was probably loud…

Letting out a small, shaky breath, you straightened and went to start moving again but stopped as Tae’s bright blue eyes expanded in alarm. You froze and he went still, the only movements coming from either of you being the sway of his feather earring and your hair in the breeze.

Then you heard them.

“I’m telling you, I heard something over here.”

“It was probably just a fucking animal.”

Your eyes instantly mirrored Tae’s and you darted your gaze over the mass of pine and maple trees around you to try to figure out what you to do. There was no doubt in your mind that you and Tae could take on a few driakensu, but it could go wrong too easily. It was too risky. You didn’t know how many draikensu there actually were or if there was a magic user with them or if there was another patrol nearby. There were simply too many factors that were unknown, and that could get you killed.

But… you didn’t know what else to do. They were too close to run. They would hear your human footfalls and know it was indeed not an animal they had heard. Biting your lip, you clenched your hands into fists before reaching for your bow. Just as you touched it, Tae’s hand covered yours and hurriedly began pulling you over to a small bundle of pine trees with low needled branches that were close to the ground.

Quickly and quietly, he shoved you beneath the sharp, green needles and you had to set your jaw to keep from yelping at the scratches. Tae soon followed you under the cover of the pines and you both crawled through the dirt and brown needles to the trunk. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest and you did your best to breath slowly and calm down as you laid flat on your tummy and made yourself as small as physically possible.

The blue-eyed Saeni shifted to grasp your hand in his just before the shoes of a patrol of two draikensu came into view, one pair black and the other brown.

“Sounded like it came from around here.”

You held your breath as they tread over the earth, their faces obscured from view. All you could do was wait and pray they couldn’t hear your pounding heartbeat or smell you in the air. You watched their boots walk around the area for a while, then one of the draikensu turned their feet in your direction, making your heart drop. Footsteps approached and stopped not even ten feet away, so close you could count the number of eyelets they had laced on their boots. Tightly squeezing Tae’s hand as the black boots stared into your soul, you waited… and waited… and waited…

Until they finally stepped away. Black Boots marched over to the other pair and you heard some rustling before Brown Boots faltered back a few steps, most likely being pushed by their partner.

“See? Nothing here you dipshit.”

You didn’t dare move.

“But I-”

You didn’t dare breathe.

“But nothing. It was probably a kwaulta or a damn deer.” Black Boots swiveled on their heels and began strolling back the way they came. “Let’s go.”

Tae gave your hand a slight pump as the other draikensu lingered for just a moment before dragging his feet after their partner. You dropped your forehead to the dry needles on the ground, feeling your tense muscles deflate in relief at their exit. You heard Tae let out a long exhale beside you and he also sagged against the forest floor. The two of you stayed that way for several minutes, giving the draikensu ample time to put some distance between you.

Finally, once Tae was certain it was clear, you both crawled out from the pine cover and back into the open. After wiping the dirt from your palms off on your thighs, you checked to make sure none of your arrows had gotten loose as Tae let out a noise of reprieve.

“Come on, we need to finish this sweep,” he whispered, “Let’s get this over with so we can get back to camp.”

Nodding, you cracked your neck and took a deep breath, then the two of you began jogging through the trees again.

The sun was beginning to dip in the horizon as you sat with your back against a tree watching Jin stir the soup over the fire. Jimin was laying down on you, his head resting on your shins, and playing with a leaf in his hands. Mingi and Tae sat close by, playing Slide and giggling amongst themselves, while Namjoon and Yoongi contemplated the location of the rift on the other side of the fire.

Curtesy of Illai speaking to Jimin, you knew the general vicinity it was in, but since the area was currently swarming with draikensu, you didn’t know the exact location. All you knew was that it was smack dab in the middle of Uzjuk’s forces, hence one of the reasons why you had been doing recon; to see if there was any weak spot in their defenses where you could slip in.

Not that any had been found.

A soft tickle to your wrist made your arm jerk and you lightly glared at Jimin who was grinning innocently up at you as he pulled the leaf away from your skin. Snorting and shaking your head at his squished eyes, you turned your attention to the forest that was growing darker by the minute.

Watching. Waiting.

“They’ll be back any minute now, stop worrying.”

You reached over to poke Jimin’s cheek and scoffed. “I’m not worried, I’m just… just…”

“Worried.”

“Alright fine but hush, I’m allowed to be a tiny wee bit worried about my boyfriend, thank you very much.”

“Wow, not even concerned about Hobi? That’s heartless.” Jin butted into the conversation as he threw some herb into the pot.

“Wha-No!”

“Illai said she agrees with hyung. Heartless,” Jimin sang while splitting his leaf down the middle.

“Oh shut up, no she did not.”

Your best friend just shrugged and giggled into your legs, making you roll your eyes while the bugs clicked and chattered loudly all around you.

“Has the mother goddess actually said anything today?” Mingi called over while still deeply immersed in the hand clap game.

You swear you even saw a sheen of sweat coating the male’s forehead.

Jimin just let out a light groan, saying she had but it was just the usual spiel about needing to hurry and close the rift before the world fell into chaos and slowly withered away.

Geez, she sure knows how to give a quality pep talk.

You blew out a raspberry and picked up a twig by your side. “It’s almost like she doesn’t realize it’s eight against thousands at the moment.”

Yoongi barked out a laugh. “You better watch the sarcasm there, little scorja. Wouldn’t want her taking offense.”

“I’m not trying to be rude, just freaking realistic.” You held your hands up in surrender then leveled the twig at Jimin. “But just to be safe, tell the lovely mother goddess not to smite your best friend, yeah?”

“My girl is going to get smote? Before she can show me what that ‘Ablatar’ thing is? Damn.” A familiar voice came from the trees.

Your head shot up just as the burgundy head strolled into camp, Hobi and his glistening blades only a step behind him.

“Kookie!” You shoved Jimin’s head off you, making him release a complaint, and pushed yourself to your feet.

As the rest of the kiela and Mingi welcomed the duo back, you ran over to your smiling boyfriend and launched yourself at him, hooking your legs around his waist and burying your face into the crook of his neck.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Jungkook let out a airy chuckle and wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. “Miss me?”

Yes.

“Of course not. Who would miss you?” You hid your grin in his shoulder, breathing in his scent of steel and florets as you tapped your fingertips against the handles of his short swords.

Jungkook carried you over to the fire, being sure to avoid the plume of smoke caused by the steady wind, and plopped down on the ground with you in his lap. “Mhmm. Sure.”

You pulled away from his neck as he brushed some of your hair out of your face and gave you a quick peck on the lips, making your body go warm and tingly.

“Ew,” Yoongi muttered but his look of mock disgust was soon replaced with something much brighter as Hobi enveloped his frame in a backwards hug.

Giving Jungkook’s firm chest a pat, you climbed off his lap and sat beside him, your thighs still touching, as he and Hobi started recapping what they saw while scouting the west side of the enemy’s forces. Overall, nothing had really changed since your dear asshat and Tae had checked that area a couple days ago. The same patrol rotations, same camp locations, same array of weapons.

While Jin began to ladle out soup for everyone, Tae seated himself next to you and rested his grey head on your shoulder, asking how much longer it would be until the palace troops arrived. The remainder of the group gathered around the fire and settled down to eat together, and Yoongi grumbled out that Jooheon, the magic user he was corresponding with, said by tomorrow evening or the following morning.

Almost here… which means there’s a high chance I might die soon… and not get to see the upcoming season of Stranger Things. Great. You sighed and took your cup from Jin’s outstretched hand, thanking the male quietly.

But I really don’t want to die. You trailed your gaze over the Saeni with you. And there’s no way I could bear it if any of them died.

“Everything okay, little scorja?” Tae whispered just as Jungkook put a hand on your knee and asked the same question silently with his peridot eyes.

“Yeah, just thinking,” you replied and flashed them both tiny smiles as the sky grew even darker and the sounds of the crackling fire filled your ears.

As long as I’m with you both and the others, we’ll be okay. We have to be.

Repositioning your body for the umpteenth time, you let out a sigh and threw an arm over your eyes to block the blinding brightness of the moon through the treetops. You couldn’t sleep. Your mind simply refused to turn off no matter how many times you mentally scolded it. Releasing another defeated sigh, you pushed yourself up to a sitting position while being careful not to disturb a snoozing Tae beside you. Holding your head in your hands for a few seconds, you cursed your dumb brain for not being able to stop thinking before sliding your blanket off your legs and looking around.

Trees. Darkness. Trees. Darkness. Trees. Jungkook. Darkn-wait.

Backtracking your eyes, you saw Jungkook watching you with an amused expression as he leaned against a tree. Sending him a pout, you shivered as the breeze made you feel the full coolness of the night before standing up and tiptoeing around the jumble of sleeping Saeni.

“It was kind of funny to watch you huff and flop around,” Jungkook whispered as you made your way over.

You gave him a light shove as you settled your shoulder on the trunk beside him. “It’s kinda creepy to watch someone sleep.”

“Try to sleep,” he corrected you with a teasing smirk, eyes glittering in the moonlight.

“Same difference. Still creepy.” You rested your head on the bark and let your eyes graze over his face, noticing that despite how utterly handsome he looked, the bags under his eyes revealed how tired he was. “How are you? How long until you can say your watch has ended?”

“I’ve been fine,” Jungkook shifted closer and reached out to grab your hand and toy with your fingers. “Better now that you’re here with me.”

Letting out a fake gag, you couldn’t help but giggle. “Oof, that was… wow. That was cheesy.”

His nose scrunched as he laughed, agreeing with you, and then he suddenly dropped to the ground and sat with his back to the tree. With the grip he still had on your hand, he tugged you down on top of him, so you were straddling his thighs. The burgundy-haired male placed his other hand on your nape, guiding you toward his lips for a long kiss. Slipping his hand to the front of your neck, he lightly trailed his fingers over the silver chain at your throat, making you whimper into his mouth. You went to pull him even closer to you, craving more, but he pushed you back slightly instead. With a lazy grin on his face, he whispered that it wasn’t the time for making out. He had a duty to be on watch and you were simply too loud and would wake up Yoongi if you continued.

Says the guy who started it. You rolled your eyes, determined not to give him the satisfaction of being whiny.

Meanwhile, he moved both hands to your waist and held you tenderly.

“Come on, you can lean into me and try to sleep.” His peridot eyes were soft as he murmured. “I know my scent calms you so just focus on that.”

Your eyes bulged and you felt heat rise to your face. A bit flustered, you shifted on top of his thighs and asked him how he knew that.

Chuckling, he gave your hips a gentle squeeze. “You always nuzzle into my neck and breathe deeply. Nothing to be embarrassed about sweetheart, just c’mere and get some rest.”

Although you could still feel your face flushing, you nodded in tiny and laid against him.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he whispered into your ear, “I’m just as addicted to your scent. So damn sweet and spicy… just like you and it drives me fucking crazy.”

Oh.

Settling his strong arms around you, he inhaled and placed a kiss to the top of your head, making you smile and feel fuzzy.

And he was right, you did feel more relaxed than you had been on your sleeping mat. This was definitely a softer, warmer, comfier, and all-around better way to sleep. You could finally feel your brain start to wind down.

“You know,” you mumbled into his chest, “this position isn’t very ideal if a draikensu shows up out of the blue.”

Jungkook snorted. “Sure it is. You’re my shield.”

“Hey!” You pinched his torso in retaliation, causing him to flinch and yelp.

Snickering, you could feel your eyes begin to grow heavy and you murmured out a goodnight and thank you to the male holding you. Yet, right as you were about to finally doze off, Jungkook abruptly stiffened.

Cracking your eyes open again, you listened to the forest, but only heard the usual bugs and wind through leaves. Jungkook, though, whispered for you to get up and get behind him.

“Huh?” You leaned back to peer at him, but his eyes were focused on the trees to the left. “What happened to being your shield?”

His peridot gaze flickered back to you briefly, his body alert. “I’m serious, get behind me. Now.”

When you didn’t move, he gripped your waist and stood up, pulling you both to your feet. Once you were balanced on the ground, he reached over his shoulders and wrapped his hands around the hilts of his swords.

You cocked a brow as he yanked the blades from their sheaths. “I’m not going to cower behind you like some stupid damsel, so tell me what’s going on.”

The other Saeni began to stir and you heard one of them sleepily call out the same demand.

“Someone’s coming,” he said through gritted teeth, his jaw set as he stared into the dark forest.

“Alright, cool. Let’s kick their ass.”

Jungkook released a strangled, frustrated groan. “You don’t have your bow, dumbass, and no time to get it. Just get behind me, will you?”

“And you have two swords Coco! Gimme one!”

“For Exia’s sake, could you just lis-”

He cut off his own words as his head jerked to the side. While the kiela and Mingi stumbled to their feet and brandished their own weapons, Jungkook stepped in front of you. His body was on full defense mode as he blocked you from view and lifted his swords. Sighing loudly to announce your annoyance, you were barely able to see around his sturdy frame. Lightly touching his shoulder, you peeked past him and waited for whomever it was to appear. But all you saw was trees and darkness.

Trees and darkness. Trees and darkness. Trees and darkness. Trees and there.

A silhouette formed between the trunks as they jogged through the forest. Though once the person saw Jungkook and his threatening demeanor, as well as the rest of the Saeni ready to fight, they instantly came to a halt and held their hands up in peace.

“Whoa, settle down guys. It’s just me.”

Who?

The male in front of you cocked his head to the side and lowered his arms while taking in the newcomer, as did the rest of the kiela.

“Yugyeom?” Jungkook asked in an incredulous tone.

Again, WHO?

The Saeni, apparently named Yugyeom, waved one of his hands that were still held high, a smile breaking out on his face. “The one and only. How’s it going Kook?”

A funky looking creature that seemed to be a mix between a spider and a scorpion crawled its way across the dirt in front of your knee, though instead of a stinger at the tip of the scorpion-esque appendage, a bright orange feather fluttered in the breeze. Truthfully, you would have been utterly freaked out by the little guy if not for how funny the vibrant feather made him look.

“Viilko,” Tae said beside you.

“Hmm?”

The grey-haired Saeni pointed at the feathered creature with his bow as it scurried beneath some low-hanging shrub leaves. “Viilko.”

You hummed again in acknowledgment before cursing under your breath. The damn viilko made you lose what number you were on. Again.

Sighing, you set about counting your arrows once more, making Tae snort as he sharpened the blades at the end of his bow.

A deep grunt made you glance up from your task and you saw Jungkook with his back to you, his shoulders heaving as he stood over a groaning Yugyeom on the ground.

Yugyeom, as it had been explained to you shortly after he’d arrived last night, had trained with the kiela and they considered him a good friend. He was also one of the few people Jungkook trusted outside of his brothers. The male had been sent ahead of the palace troops with a message that the general wanted to attempt a negotiation with the draikensu and they would be there by nightfall today.

Like that crazy psycho of a god would agree to any terms. You shook your head.

You hadn’t had much of an opportunity to talk to the new male besides a brief introduction last night before he essentially passed out from exhaustion. You had finally fallen asleep not long after him, once again wrapped up in your boyfriend’s arms, and by the time you woke up in the morning, both Yugyeom and Jungkook were gone, having left on one last recon mission that lasted most of the day. As they ran around the forest, you filled the hours by practicing with your bow, doing some light sparring with Yoongi and Hobi, and lounging around in some sun patches with Tae and Jimin. You had been about to doze off in the warmth of the sunlight when Tae jostled you awake and advised you to organize your arrows and tighten your bowstring.

And then these yahoos had to come and interrupt our peace and quiet. You tilted your head as you refocused on the view before you.

Both males were sans shirt for their sparring match, showcasing their sweaty, muscular bodies, and as Jungkook helped his friend to his feet, you found yourself admiring the draeva mark between your boyfriend’s shoulder blades.

Your mouth went dry and a finger twitched, wanting to trace the circles.

Tae cleared his throat, not even looking up from his task but just knowing you were distracted yet again.

You ignored him, though. Too engrossed in the sight of tanned skin and bulging muscles.

As the male with red hair so dark it reminded you of merlot rotated his wrist with a slight grimace, you smiled and cupped your hands in front of your mouth to yell, “Yeah, Coco! Kick his ass!”

Jungkook peered over his shoulder, sending you a cocky smirk and a wink that made you grasp the arrow in your hand just a little harder.

“Ya! Would you stop distracting your girl, Kook!?” Tae leveled the sharpening stone at his brother threateningly.

“Distracting? Distracting?” Your boyfriend asked with a fake scoff while turning around to face you, placing his glistening pecs and abs in full view. “How in Exia’s name am I being distracting?”

Oh Sweet Neptune… You trailed your eyes down his body, drinking in the specimen that was Jeon Jungkook in all his sexy, sweaty glory.

Blatantly ogling him, you felt your body grow warm as you raised your gaze and met his eyes that seemed to darken. His jaw ticked as he stared you down and you swear you felt your core pathetically clench around nothing.

Fuck, please pin me against a tree. Biting your lip, you dropped your eyes to roam over his sinful body one more time before returning to his face. Please please please.

So caught up in the overwhelming sight of him, you didn’t even see Yugyeom’s leg flying toward Jungkook’s side until it was almost too late. But Jungkook just winked at you again then quickly pivoted and danced out of the way before it made contact. Just in the nick of time. The burgundy head laughed as his friend whined and they began to spar once more.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Tae stood up and positioned himself behind you before picking up your still-sitting form and rotating you so the two fighting Saeni were out of your immediate line of sight. “You need to finish this, little scorja. The troops will be here in a few hours and I know your ass won’t do it once they get here.”

Sending a small glare to the blue-eyed male, you huffed and did your best to filter out the sounds of grunting and fists hitting flesh as you began counting once more since he was completely correct. There was no way you would do this later. But you told yourself if you finished fast enough, you could return to a patch of yellow-orange warmth before the sun set and if you were lucky, Jungkook would join you… and if you were even luckier, he would still be shirtless.

Alright, Y/N, let’s get your counting on. Sun patches and hot, shirtless boyfriend await! Chop Chop!

…

Shit… that made me lose count again.

You sighed and vowed it would be the last time.

Okay, NOW it’s time to get my counting on. Let’s do this.

Sitting out of the way with your back against a wide oak tree, you watched the palace troops bustle around as they yelled, enacted more tents, started more fires, and threw up additional magic shields. They’d arrived right around nightfall, just as Yugyeom had said they would, marching in and waking you and Jungkook up from your nap, and it was… a lot.

Suddenly being around so many people was not doing much to settle your nerves about the impending battle. Not being able to speak with Jimin, Jungkook or Tae, or any of the kiela, or even Mingi wasn’t helping either. Within mere minutes of the troops’ arrival, General Son Seungdeuk had called for a meeting with Mingi and the kiela, and your non-Saeni ass was not invited to join. Namjoon had tried though, saying you had collected intel too, but General Son wouldn’t have it since you weren’t a BTS Saeni. He knew you had shared the information with the others, so you didn’t need to be included. So you weren’t. The boys felt bad, but you’d assured them it was fine. Giving them a salute and a smile, you urged them to hurry up and go then watched them follow the general into his freshly set up tent.

That had been over two hours ago.

Whatever, it’s probably a boring and stuffy meeting anyway. Crossing your arms, you peered into a nearby fire.

The flames spat and flickered, burning away at the wood. One of the logs collapsed, sending a puff of smoke and a collection of sparks into the air.

As you watched the smoke lazily rise, you heard your name being called and turned to see Yugyeom strutting through the mass of trees and troops, his merlot hair glowing almost purple in the firelight.

Lifting your hand to wiggle your fingers a bit, you greeted the male and tilted your head curiously as he sat down next to you.

Noticing your perplexed look, Yugyeom quickly asked, “Oh, it’s okay if I sit with you, right?”

“Yeah… I’m just sort of surprised you want to, I guess,” you replied honestly with a shrug.

“I would have come to keep you company sooner, but I had to report to my officer and drop off some maps at the meeting and-wait. Why are you surprised?”

Pursing your lips, you looked back to the fire as you explained how although he was the kiela’s friend, you hadn’t even known him for more than a day. You’d figured that meant he wouldn’t want to talk to you after the palace forces arrived. Plus, you weren’t blind to the stares you got from the Saeni troops. Specifically at your ears. They would point and whisper among themselves as they walked past, making you roll their eyes at their adolescent gossip. But it also made you consider that nobody except for Mingi and the kiela would want to be around you since you were different.

Sheepishly, you glanced at the male after you finished to gauge his reaction, but he only flicked your arm.

“Sure, we barely know each other, but you seem cool. Saeni or not.” Yugyeom smiled before gently nudging you with his forearm. “And I want to get to know you better because you’re obviously vey important to my friends… especially Kook.”

His smile turned sly and he sent you a wink.

You felt your cheeks heat up and you gave the male a tiny shove, causing him to burst out into laughter.

Yugyeom tipped his head back and rested it against the oak tree as he quieted back down. “It was a little shocking, not going to lie. He doesn’t let many people in, but, fuck, wouldn’t shut up about you when we went scouting this morning.”

Not letting yourself linger on the fact Jungkook talked about you to his friend, you snorted as you recalled how rocky your relationship started out with the peridot-eyed male. “Trust me, he couldn’t stand me for a hot minute. He had a few issues with me, and I didn’t like his attitude. We bickered a lot. Like a lot.”

“You didn’t take his shit even when you first met? Damn…” The male whistled approvingly. “You’ve got some gojcha girl.”

“So I’ve been told.” You gave him a crooked grin. “Hobi said the same thing after I called Kook out for choking me and not doing it, uh… properly, if you know what I mean.”

The merlot head clapped his hands together while erupting into more boisterous laughter, making some Saeni turn their heads. “Shit, I wish I could have witnessed that! The poor sprout probably didn’t know whether he wanted to stab you or fuck you after that.”

You couldn’t help but giggle too, feeling much more at ease now that you had someone to converse with. For the first time since the Saeni troops had come, you weren’t dwelling on the draikensu or what the boys were talking about or how you were going to reach the rift. You felt relaxed and somewhat normal.

Thank you Yugyeom… You looked at him gratefully.

“Wai-Wait…” The male struggled to get the words out while turning to face you and clutching at your arm for attention. “Why was he choking you!?”

“Ah, yeah, that probably needs some context.” You chuckled while picking up a stick by your side and twirling it in your fingers.

After a thoughtful moment, you began telling the story of how you met the kiela.

“Alright, so Jimin’s punk ass lied to me….”

“And-And this one time-” Yugyeom slapped his thigh repeatedly while throwing his head back. “Kook disarmed the instructor during a lesson and proceeded to give him advice!”

“I remember that!” Taehyung chimed in, giggling at the memory. “Instructor Hyun was practically spitting and threw him out of the lesson!”

“Not my fault he didn’t know what he was doing,” Jungkook grumbled beside you, causing everyone to erupt into more laughter around the crackling fire.

As your shoulders shook, you gave the male a sympathetic pat on the arm. “I know, Coco, I know. How dare such peasants be in your vicinity?”

Peridot eyes glared at you, and you responded by sticking your tongue out at him.

The boys were released from their meeting with General Son about two and a half hours ago and had found you and Yugyeom soon after. Joining you on the ground, they told you the general dispatched a messenger to the draikensu lines to see if they would be willing to meet for negotiations despite them warning the general no good would come of it. The only thing Uzjuk would accept would be Jimin’s head on a spike… and that was not happening. Besides, even if he wasn’t someone you all cared for, killing Jimin would bring absolutely no benefit to your side. Literally all it would do is destroy the only thing capable of stopping the dark god. Yet, regardless of the boys repeating that fact over and over, the general still wanted to attempt a deal.

Dumbass.

After they explained the General Son’s decision, Yoongi and Tae had begun complaining about being cold under the night sky, so you all had scooted over to the closest fire and claimed it as yours. While waiting for the messenger to return, you and the males passed the time by telling stories. You started by sharing the tale of an adolescent Jimin pissing himself in the airport the first time he had to take a flight to a dance competition. To retort, he detailed the instance where your leggings had a hole in the crotch during an entire performance, giving the judges and audience full view of your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles panties. Jin followed by describing how Yoongi once fucked up the glamour spell and changed all their armor to a shining neon purple. Hobi then told of the time Namjoon accidentally called a high-ranking officer ‘motherfucker’ instead of ‘ma’am’ because of his nerves.

Basically, you were all trying to embarrass the fuck out of each other.

Shifting closer to Jungkook, you moved the hand on his arm to his thigh to steady yourself as you leaned in to whisper in his ear. “It’s actually pretty hot you were showing up the instructors.”

He looked down at you and sent a wolfish grin. “Is it now?”

“Mhmm…” You trailed your hand just a little higher on his strong thigh, making the male stiffen and narrow his eyes.

“Careful sweetheart.”

“Ugh, there they go again. Nasty.” You heard Yoongi say under his breath, which made you turn to address the magic user.

Peering over the flames, you pointedly stared at how close he and the kiela’s spy were sitting, their hands just a hair away from touching, as you raised a brow. “What was that? Is there something you would like to share with the class?”

His pink eyes widened in alarm and he quickly looked away while mumbling that there wasn’t. Hobi’s face downturned into a concerned frown as he gently rubbed the mint-haired Saeni’s back and asked what was wrong, but that only caused the tips of Yoongi’s ears to burn red.

For fuck’s sake, can they please just get together already?

Sighing at the duo, you leaned into Jungkook’s side and gazed upwards for a moment to look at the swaying treetops through the moonlight and smoke. It reminded you of that one night a couple years back, when you and Jimin were bright-eyed freshmen drinking on your dorm’s rooftop.

“Yo, Slim Jim, remember that time whe-”

A loud curse succeeded by yelling cut you off.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you exchanged confused glances with the males before rising from the ground and following after the sounds. The boys trailed behind you as you jogged and weaved through the gathering Saeni, curious as to what was going on. You hopped over a series of tree roots and slipped past a collection of shoulders, then you stopped in your tracks as you caught sight of what caused the outbursts.

A female covered in blood, barely holding herself up on her hands and knees. Slashes and cuts on her torso, bite marks on her forearms, and bruises blooming all across her skin. Her body shook as she coughed up blood, painting the ground a dark red beneath her. Whimpers and groans escaped past her lips as she trembled.

You could sense the boys arrive at your back.

“Oh my goddess, she was the messenger,” Jimin whispered in shock.

Covering your mouth, you watched as she clutched at the pebbles and twigs and tried to crawl forward.

“H-He said we l-leave by morning…” The crimson-coated female struggled to raise her head. “Or we…”

She hacked up more blood.

“Or we all die.”

Then, she fully collapsed to the ground.

You swallowed hard as Yoongi and a few other Saeni swore and pushed through the mass of people, some hands flaring up with magic as they rushed toward the female.

Jimin shakily reached for your hand.

You met Jungkook’s hardened gaze.

And panic broke out around you.

You were silent yet alert as Namjoon went over General Son’s new plan. It had been a little over an hour since the messenger came back nearly on her deathbed - bloody, beaten, and bitten. Thankfully, she would be fine. The magic users had healed her, not completely to reserve their energy, but enough that she was stable for now.

In the wake of her return, while Yugyeom left to meet with his commanding officer, you could almost see the fear begin to ripple through some of the troops. Most had only heard stories of draikensu savagery, but not many had seen it with their own eyes. Now that they had, they were appalled. Horrified. Scared.

You couldn’t blame them. But you also knew there was nothing else you could do except face them. You had to.

Because Jimin had to close the rift. And you and everyone else were going to be the distraction that allowed him to slip behind enemy lines and do just that.

General Son had pinpointed an area about two miles northeast that dropped to open field but had high ground overlooking the south and eastern sides, which would provide you with a major advantage for archers. Hence why he decided that would be the place where you would engage the draikensu.

“Archers leave in twenty to secure the cliffs,” The yellow-eyed Saeni turned his attention to you and paused for a moment before saying, “That includes you, little scorja.”

Your eyes widened even though you shouldn’t have been surprised. You were an archer, after all. It made sense. But the sudden knowledge of being separated from the boys you had grown so attached to had you breathing faster.

Twenty minutes… twenty minutes is all I might have left with them. With the kiela… with Jimin… TaeTae… Kookie…

Tears began to well up in your eyes, but you blinked rapidly, deeply inhaled, and nodded in understanding to the leader of the kiela, who gave you a weak half-smile before continuing.

“The ground forces will head out in a few hours, right before sunrise. Remember our mission is to keep the draikensu busy to allow Chim and Mingi to get to the rift undetected. If we fail, everything fails.”

No one spoke as Namjoon finished, but millions of thoughts sprinted through your mind. It was so loud… but silent. The only actual noises coming from the snapping of burning wood, the rustling of leaves, and other hushed conversations occurring throughout the forest.

In a quiet voice, Namjoon urged you to get your things together.

Sniffling, you forced yourself to raise your chin and nod again.

This won’t be goodbye. This won’t be goodbye. This won’t be goodbye.

Mingi, Namjoon, Jin, Yoongi, and Tae all looked at you somberly, as if they knew what was going on in your head. Hobi grinned and threw up what you supposed was meant to be a reassuring thumbs up. You couldn’t get yourself to muster an enthusiastic response, but it did make you crack a tiny smile. Though when you shifted your gaze to Jungkook, the smile vanished and you felt your stomach drop. He wasn’t even looking at you. Just staring at the orange flames with a clenched jaw and fisted hands. You started to breathe laboriously again. You needed him to just look at you. Send you a cocky smirk and tell you everything would be fine.

But he didn’t.

So, you made yourself tear your eyes away to focus on your best friend… but the sight of his chin trembling and tears glistening in his amber eyes made a lump lodge itself in your throat.

This won’t be goodbye. This won’t be goodbye. This won’t be goodbye!

Sucking in a shaky inhale, you looked up at the night sky and tried to get a grip on yourself.

This won’t be goodbye. This can’t be goodbye.

As if sensing you were about to lose it, Tae quickly made his way over and gently took your hand. “Let’s get your things.”

You allowed him to lead you away, face blank and empty as you did your best to hold yourself together. But, once the rest of the boys were out of sight, you let out a choked sob and finally let your tears roll down your face.

“It’s okay, little scorja, let it out. Let it all out so you can be strong.” Tae rubbed his thumb soothingly across the back of your hand as he guided you past the fires, Saeni, and trees.

Your chest shuddered as you tried to suck in air. You knew the Saeni around you were staring, but you couldn’t bring yourself to give a damn. All you could think of was that you had to leave, and you were terrified.

Holding a thin branch so it didn’t whip back into your face, Tae’s pained eyes met yours and you whimpered. Neither of you said anything, though. Just let the sadness float over you both as you made it to the partially hidden spot behind a shrub where you had left your backpack, quiver, and bow. Not letting go of Tae’s hand, you bent to grab a backpack strap.

But as soon as you reached for it, another sob raked your body and you folded over. “I don’t wanna-”

You fell to your knees and wrapped an arm around your stomach.

“I don’t wanna lose you. Any of you. I don’t want to be alone.”

Dropping to his own knees, Tae pulled you into him and squeezed you tight while letting you cry into his shoulder. You clutched at him, needing something to anchor you as emotions poured out of your eyes and past your lips. After a minute of his comfort and your tears, you pulled back, wiped at your cheeks, and whispered a thank you. He gave you small smile and asked if you were ready. Taking a deep breath, you shivered at the breeze and grabbed your backpack while standing back up. After slinging a strap over your shoulder, you did the same with your quiver, then bent once last time to pick up your bow. Finally, you squared your shoulders, which made Tae’s blue eyes brighten, and marched back to the boys with your head held high.

This WON’T be goodbye.

You power walked through the milling Saeni, many of them embracing or clasping the arms of their fellow troops. Others were settling down to get what little sleep they could.

You walked past the fires, feeling their heat come and go.

You walked around fully-grown trees and tiny saplings.

You walked beneath the moonlight and leaves.

You walked over sticks and twigs and rocks.

You walked, determined to be strong and to believe that this wouldn’t be the last time you saw them.

You walked until you made it made it back to the boys.

Letting your backpack fall from your shoulder with a thump, which caused most of their eyes to swivel to you, you then eased your quiver and bow down on top of it.

There was no doubt they could smell the saltiness of your dried tears, see the puffiness of your red eyes. But you didn’t care.

As you stared at the males scattered around the fire, Jungkook only spared you a quick glance before returning his gaze to the blazing flames.

It caused a twinge in your heart but you chose to ignore it for now.

Instead, you strode over to Namjoon and wrapped your arms around him, hugging him close and telling him to be safe and watch his back. And if he forgot, then you would do it for him.

“Thank you. Make sure you take care of yourself, yeah?” He smiled and his dimples seemed even deeper in the glowing light of the fire.

You both stepped away, and you moved on to Jin, murmuring a fond ‘Papa’ as you wound your arms around his torso.

“I’m looking forward to trying more of your cooking after this… and hearing more of your dumb jokes.”

“Ya, you tyrant! They’re not dumb! They’re impeccable jokes, thank you very much.” He shook you in his arms playfully before turning more serious. “But, of course, little scorja. I’ll make you anything you want. Be safe.”

The raven-haired male flicked a finger under your chin once then wandered over to stand with Namjoon.

Next was Mingi, who’s hazel eyes were round and glossy as he embraced you. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep him safe. I’ll protect him. I promise.”

You patted his back while tightly shutting your eyes. “I know you will, but I want you to promise you’ll protect yourself too.”

The guard leaned away and rested both his hands on your shoulders, making you open your eyes to meet his gaze. “I promise.”

Satisfied, you slid your hands to rest on his arms for a heartbeat before removing yourself and walking to Hobi, feeling both warm and cold at the same time.

As soon as you were close enough, the white-haired male yanked you into a hug and hummed while rocking you back and forth. You felt the multitudes of straps crisscrossing his body and the coolness of his blades under your fingers as you let out a sad laugh.

“I don’t know for sure if everything will be okay, but… everything will be okay, little scorja,” he whispered into your ear, “Just have faith in yourself and in us and be brave.”

“I’ll try my best. Don’t run out of knives.” You smiled softly while giving him one last squeeze and letting go.

Shuffling to Yoongi, he surprised you by grabbing your wrist and tugging you against his chest.

He held you lightly and murmured, “I may act indifferent most of the time, but I really care about you. Remember what I’ve taught you and kick some fucking ass, alright?”

You pressed your lips together and slowly inhaled as he smoothed a hand over your hair.

“I’ll remember,” you whispered back, “and I’ll be on the lookout for your blue sparkles so I can watch you destroy some draikensu fuckers in style.”

“I’ll try to make it entertaining, just for you.”

You both pulled away and sent each other easy grins, and yours grew when you saw his endearing gumline make an appearance.

You went to turn and was suddenly tackled by a body with apricot hair. His breathing was heavy and uneven, and you felt droplets hit your shoulder as he clung to you.

“No no no no no. Don’t cry, please don’t cry because you’re gonna make me cry again.” Your voice went higher in pitch as you placed your arms around your best friend’s neck and rested your face on his front.

“You don’t have to go.” His words were slightly muffled from talking against your skin. “You can stay here and be safe. You don’t have to go.”

You took a long, deep breath and willed yourself to keep it together and not give in to the rising urge to join your best friend’s tears.

Gently detaching yourself from him, you reached up to cradle his cheek and used your thumb to clear some of his tears. “I’m gonna go. I can’t just sit around here and wait.”

Jimin’s lower lip wavered and he tried to say something, but no sound came out.

You gave him the best smile you could, but it faltered a bit. “I’m your best friend, Slim Jim. You can’t get rid of me easily. We’ll see each other again.”

Leaning his face into your palm, he closed his amber eyes and covered your hand with his. “I love you, Y/N. You know that, right?”

“Of course I do, you big doofus. I love you too.”

You pulled him in for one, last hug, then stepped away before you could change your mind. With a sniffle, Jimin hastily moved around you and into Hobi’s arms, who held him as more tears cascaded down his face.

You looked down at the ground and fisted your hands on your thighs as you felt a lone tear make its way down your cheek. As it dripped off your chin, you made yourself pivot and start walking toward Tae. Though as you did, he shook his head and gestured to his younger brother, who was still staring into the fire as if it was his lilfeline.

You paused, taking in the male.

“Kookie…?” You gingerly called out to him.

There was no response beyond a tick in his jaw which made your chest tighten painfully.

Hearing the others move back a little to give you two some sense of privacy, you hesitated for just a moment before treading over to Jungkook.

You stopped right beside him and placed a hand on his bicep, trying to coax him into looking, saying, doing something. “Jungkook?”

No response.

“Kookie, please… please… I-I need you right now.”

Your resolve started to break again as the person you cared for so much refused to acknowledge you.

“I really really fucking need you. Please, just… something. Anything. I…” You trailed off as a gasping sob came from your lips and you dug your fingers into his arm.

As if a switch had been turned, Jungkook whined and yanked you close so he could hug you desperately. Strong arms surrounded you and he buried his face into your neck.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeated over and over like a mantra, his voice strained. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I’m just- I’m scared.”

“Me too,” you admitted quietly, hands starting to shake.

“I don’t… I can’t lose you.”

You breathed in the familiar scent of steel and florets, trying to calm down. For once, it actually made things worse. All you wanted to do was stay by his side, but you couldn’t. Being with him would only slow him down, make him lose focus. You would distract him. You would get him hurt.

You shook your head at the thought and nuzzled further into him. “I’ll be okay, I won’t be in the mess of things. I’m more worried about you.”

“I’m the best, sweetheart, nothing will happen to me.” He traced a light fingertip against the rune on your nape, making you tremble even more. “No need to worry.”

You let out a pathetic snort as the wind picked up and made the trees groan. “Cocky as always.”

“Just the truth.” He smirked against your skin.

In your peripherals, you could see Saeni holding bows start to gather a little ways away.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself just a few more seconds of Jungkook before unwinding your arms from his middle. Though before you could move away entirely, he used the hand behind your neck to hold you still while crashing his mouth against yours. He kissed you with all he had, searing the feeling of his lips against yours into memory.

Then he released you and placed a final, tender kiss to your forehead. “Time for you to go sweetheart. Hyung will take you to the archers.”

You flickered your gaze to the side to see Tae waiting for you, blue eyes swimming with emotion. Biting your lip, you removed yourself from Jungkook’s arms but stared into the beautiful peridot eyes that always captivated you.

“I… um, I think I…” You struggled, trying to find a way to say what you wanted.

I think I love you.

Jungkook just softly smiled and tucked some of your hair behind an ear. “You can tell me later, go on.” He gave you a tiny nudge toward his brother.

This isn’t goodbye. You reminded yourself, and let your body be pushed away. I can tell him later.

Not looking back at Jungkook or the other boys, you jogged away from the warmth of Jungkook and the fire and over to your things.

“Ready, little scorja?” Tae asked in a small voice.

You picked up your backpack, quiver, and bow. “As I’ll ever be.”

Taking your hand, he tugged you toward the other archers. Past the fires, around fully-grown trees and tiny saplings, beneath the moonlight and leaves, over sticks and twigs and rocks. Away from your new family.

Slowing down when you reached the group, he gave your hand a pump and went to say something but was interrupted by a voice shouting for you.

Looking over your shoulder, you saw Jungkook running over. Skidding to a stop a few feet away, he thrust something at you. It took you a couple seconds to register what it was, and your eyes bugged out when you did.

“Are… are you sure?” You looked up at his face, uncertainty coursing through you as the ruby gemstone of Jungkook’s dagger winked at you in the low light. “It’s so important to you.”

“You’re more important.” He placed the weapon and its belt into your hand then enclosed your fingers around it. “If you drop or lose your bow, use this okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered.

“Okay.” Jungkook smiled. “I lo-… I’ll see you soon sweetheart.”

With that, he turned and ran back to his brothers. Tightening your hold on the ruby-hilted dagger, you held it against your chest and watched him disappear into the dark. Once he was gone, Tae muttered something under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch, making you tilt your head at him curiously. Waving you off, he pulled you into a hug.

“I wish I could go with you bu-”

“I know, you’re a special, one of a kind, kickass archer who fights better in close proximity.”

“Your words, not mine.”

You chuckled and gave his but a tiny poke as someone gave the order to start heading out.

Tae pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Bye, little scorja. Be safe. Love you.”

“Love you too, TaeTae.” You returned with a cheek smooch of your own. “You better come back safe and sound or else I’m gonna whoop your ass.”

“Well, I have to come back safe and sound now. I don’t wanna get my butt whooped.” He laughed and showcased his boxy smile before taking a step back.

And another.

And another.

And another.

You felt yourself growing colder with each one.

His smile fell slightly as he waved. Then he pivoted and left.

Leaving you alone.

This isn’t goodbye.

You copied his actions, turning on your heel and joining the departing Saeni while you tightly gripped your bow and Jungkook’s dagger.

This isn’t goodbye.

Crouching at the edge of the cliff, you felt the dirt and rocks dig into your knee. One hand grasped the bow at your side as you peered over into the dark expanse below. The field was mostly barren, only a few lone trees scattered throughout the grass. It was an eerie open blankness that seemed emptier under the moonlight.

But in several hours, it would be different.

It would be stained red with blood. Littered with bodies. Filled with the screams of the dying and yells of the defiant. Soon, this peaceful, quiet land would turn into a battlefield.

You wouldn’t be down in the chaos, but you would be taking your part in it. Sending arrow after arrow into unexpecting bodies. Making them fall and bleed out onto the earth.

And you would do it without a second thought.

Because people you cared for, people you loved would be down there fighting for there lives and you would do everything you could to protect them. To give them one less enemy to go up against. So you wouldn’t hesitate to draw your bowstring and shoot an arrowhead into draikensu flesh.

Anything to help your family.

You released a long exhale, admiring the field for another minute as you traced a finger against the gemstone on the dagger now strapped to your side. After a final glance to the glowing moon, you crept back to your sleeping mat and threw your blanket over your legs.

If you wanted to protect them, you needed to get as much rest as you could before sunrise, even if it was only a couple hours. Most of the other archers were doing the same. There were some Saeni who were too restless for sleep, though, and had volunteered to stay up and keep watch. You could see a few of them leaning back against trees nearby, softly talking among themselves.

With a sigh, you laid back and curled onto your side while folding an arm behind your head. You forced yourself to ignore the emptiness beside you. The lack of warmth. It was the first time you were sleeping alone in weeks and it felt so foreign, so… wrong.

Don’t think about it, Y/N. You slept alone all the time before this whole thing, you can do it again.

Tugging your blanket higher, you made yourself concentrate on the darkness behind your closed eyes and counting your long breaths backwards from five hundred.

Five hundred ninety-five… five hundred ninety-four… five hundred ninety-three…

…

You finally fell asleep somewhere around thirteen.

The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon as the Saeni troops stood in formation on the field below. You were positioned far down the eastern side, close to where the rocky ground finally ended and dropped off, and you had near perfect view of the field and soldiers below. Your fingers anxiously tapped against your thigh as you knelt at the cliff’s edge and continuously looked between them and the trees on the other side of the clearing. The draikensu hadn’t yet revealed themselves, but you knew they had to be coming.

It was sunrise.

It was only a matter of time.

Shifting on the rock, you squinted and tried to search through the hazy dawn to find a shimmer of burgundy hair, a flash of blue light, or a glinting metallic body, but everything muddled together. You couldn’t see them.

Maybe it’s for the best.

The archer to your left, the one with the long pastel pink hair, fidgeted and mumbled to himself again. He had been doing that for the past forty minutes or so.

Flexing your fingers, you observed the thousands of Saeni standing together. You weren’t sure how they were segmented, if at all. If kielas stuck together or if they were grouped by weapon or some other factor. You didn’t even know how battles worked for Exia’s sake. Would they stand across from each other and slowly march forward while letting the magic users exchange blows like some 17th century battle reenactment? Would both sides immediately sprint toward each other and begin fighting like they so often do on Vikings? Would the draikensu use guerilla tactics and have traps planted throughout the forest? Or would the enemy resort to a defensive strategy and stay back to protect the rift with all their forces?

You prayed to the gods it wasn’t the last one, because then General Son’s plan would instantly fall to shit, and the battle would be over before it ever started.

You didn’t think it would be the last one, though. If there was one thing you’d learned about Uzjuk and his posse of dark Saeni, it was that they never passed over a chance to kill and destroy.

And this was a very large opportunity for them to do just that.

Rays of morning light began to shine across the sky, making everything a bit brighter and coloring the world a radiant gold. Though, for now, most of the field was still covered in shade.

You made yourself breath slowly as you lightly touched the feather charm on your choker and listened to the forest. To the birds and the bugs, the creaking of trees, and the scuttling of small creatures in the underbrush.

To the sound of thousands of feet hitting the ground.

Your eyes widened and the pastel-haired Saeni interrupted his muttering to yelp out a curse.

“They’re coming,” someone down the line warned in a low voice.

Okay… okay okay okay. Here we go. Everything is going to be fine. You’re a scorja, you’re strong, you can do this.

You pulled an arrow out of your quiver and loosely notched it while the troops below drew their weapons, the ringing of metal reverberating in your ears.

On the field, one Saeni strode out before them all, holding his spear high in the air. General Son.

“On this day, with the sun shining down upon us, we will look darkness in its face. We may tremble, our bodies may bleed, and our swords may break… but we will not let the darkness prevail any longer!

“As one, we will stand together! As one, we will fight together and die together!”

General Son slammed the butt of his spear into the earth and roared.

The soldiers echoed, pounding their weapons against the ground or their chests.

“Do not fear death, my brothers and sisters… for our mother goddess will embrace you with open arms and Exia shall raise her cup in salute to your bravery!”

He brought his spear down again as he tilted his head back and yelled into the morning sky.

You and the other soldiers followed, screaming with all you had as the draikensu drew closer.

“STAND TALL SOLDIERS OF ILLAIN! STAND TALL AND FIGHT FOR YOUR FAMILIES, YOUR FRIENDS, YOUR KING, YOUR GODDESS. STAND TALL WITH ME, WITH EACH OTHER! STAND TALL IN THE MORNING LIGHT OF ILLAI!”

General Son let his voice sing across the clearing as he turned to face the opposite side of the field while you and the Saeni shouted into the open air once more.

Your heart beat wildly, and you breathed heavily. The sun was warm on your back, but you shivered from the adrenaline now rampaging through your veins.

The draikensu answered your screams with their own, whooping and hollering tauntingly as they ran through the trees.

Your hands began to shake, and you squeezed your eyes shut. Alright, death registration. You know the drill. Let’s do this one last time.

Releasing an unstable exhale, you reopened your eyes and stared into the trees. Waiting.

“Remember, if they move to attack right away, we go loose,” the female beside you reminded the archers close by.

You didn’t forget, but you nodded to yourself.

If they attack, we go loose. If they attack, we go loose. If they attack, we go loose.

The crazed shrieks of the draikensu were so loud now, they had to almost be upon you. The sounds echoed off the trees, filled your ears. Their footsteps seemed to vibrate the earth.

And then they broke through the tree line.

Scourges of draikensu sprinted out of the forest. So many it seemed like they were overflowing and spilling out. And they gave no signs of stopping. They were heading straight toward the Saeni front line.

In the distance, an archer called out the order to take aim while General Son yelled for shields.

It took a second for the order to register because you were so taken back by the draikensu pouring out of the trees, but then you quickly inhaled, raised your bow, and drew back. As you searched for your first target, glowing light began to flare up throughout the Saeni ranks.

You hurriedly shifted your eyes over the multitudes of colors, picking out several areas that lit up blue, but only one stood out as Yoongi’s magic. It was far away, toward the other side of the field, but the mint hue was unmistakable.

All of the sudden, a semi-translucent rainbow wall flashed to life in the middle of the field between the Saeni and the charging draikensu. The enemy slammed into the barrier; most being stopped in their tracks but some managing to slip through.

It was just like the shield Yoongi had enacted around Juufa’s temple. Only much bigger.

The few who were able to push through were immediately downed by archers from the south side of the cliffs.

“Loose!” A Saeni screamed somewhere down the line to the left.

Shit, right.

You narrowed your eyes and peered down your arrow, picking out a draikensu and slowly exhaling. Then, as the mass of archers around you let of their bowstrings and sent a round of arrows into the enemy, you did the same.

You couldn’t tell if it was your arrow or someone else’s, but the person you had been targeting was hit in the chest and the impact caused them to clutch at the shaft now embedded in their body before falling to their knees.

You hastily snatched another arrow from your quiver, aimed, and sent it flying.

You did it again and again and again.

Yells of pain soared into the air, but you didn’t stop.

Volley after volley of arrows were sent into the enemy line where they were held up by the magical shield, and any that were able to get through the colorful barrier made it no more than thirty feet before they were shot down.

The bodies piled up. But more continued to emerge from the forest.

You reached a hand over your shoulder for a new arrow as a gust of wind disturbed your hair and conjured goosebumps along your skin, but all your actions stilled as a mix of maroon, purple, and yellow light erupted from the trees.

With your heart pounding in your chest, you watched three draikensu stroll out from the greenery, their hands pulsating with the glow of magic.

Oh, shit. Oh, FUCK.

“Take them down!” And archer yelled as the dark magic users raised their hands. “Take them down now!”

You grabbed an arrow, notched, and aimed while shadows gathered at a singular spot on the shield’s surface, causing it to ripple.

Their magic.

“Alright, you fuckers, let’s stop right there,” you hissed.

As if she heard you over the distance, wind, and wails, the magic user closest to you lowered her amethyst-glowing hand and peered at the cliff. Your eyes went wide and you cursed under your breath as she seemed to stare directly at you.

You released the bowstring, sending your arrow screaming toward her chest, as did the other archers.

Not a single one thumped into their bodies, though. They all bounced off a dark purple shield fabricated by the magic user just moments before the arrows landed home. It encased both her and her two buddies, making it impossible for you to hit them.

The other two were still attacking the barrier in the middle of the field, the shadows they created causing that spot to warp and distort even more. Whatever their magical counter was, it allowed more draikensu to slip through the increasingly darkening spot. Not all at once, but enough that the southern archers weren’t able to kill them all. Some were reaching the Saeni front line.

Your breath caught in your throat as they engaged with each other, the ringing of clashing metal resonating across the sky.

Returning your eyes to the middle of the field, you saw the shield’s colors were growing muddy. It was growing darker and darker as the shadows penetrated its surface. It almost looked like veins of darkness were spreading out from where the shadows drilled into the magic.

The shield cracked.

And a moment later part of it shattered, leaving a large, gaping hole that caused the draikensu forces to shriek in delight and rush through.

The rest of the shield held itself together for one… two… three… four… five more seconds.

Then it flickered and disappeared entirely.

Slashing diagonally, Jungkook cut into a male’s chest. Blood spattered onto his upper leg as the draikensu fell. Before his previous target even hit the ground, the burgundy head spun and thrust one of his blades deep into the belly of a female while parrying the strike of a curved sword with the other.

Grunts and screams were all around him. The clanging of metal against metal filled his ears. Crimson coated his fingers and the smell of iron permeated his nostrils.

Yanking his blade from the female’s gut, he kicked her away before stabbing his now freed short sword into the thigh of the draikensu who’s attack he blocked. As the male’s leg gave out underneath him, Jungkook dislodged the blade, adjusted his grip on the handle, and quickly cut the male’s throat. The action caused the draikensu to drop his sword and clutch at his neck. Blood poured over his hands and he gargled while collapsing into the dirt, the life in his eyes dissipating as the blood from his body spilled onto the earth.

Breathing hard, the Saeni caught movement out of the corner of his eye and sidestepped the swing of an axe. The blade so close he could feel the disturbance it caused to the air. Blood and sweat dripped down Jungkook’s face as he leveled his gaze on the new opponent. The draikensu sneered, peeling her lip back from her teeth while pointing her axe in his direction.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Jungkook rushed the female. Ducking below her next attack, he continued forward and dragged the edge of sword along her calf, which caused her knee to buckle. At the same time, he rotated his torso and brought his other blade upwards to slice at the flesh on her side. She gasped and faltered a step while Jungkook dug his heel into the ground and narrowed his eyes. Hissing in pain, the female swung her axe wide, but the burgundy head jumped backwards to avoid the weapon.

Placing a hand over her bleeding side, the draikensu bared her teeth and snarled, “I’m going to cut off that pretty head of yours.”

Jungkook tightened his fingers around his short swords but didn’t bother replying. With a growl, the draikensu brought her hand back to the axe’s shaft and heaved the weapon toward him. Dodging the axe bit, Jungkook swiftly pivoted and dashed forward, carving into the female’s torso. Using the momentum of his movements, he then slipped behind her and thrust both swords into the junctions of her neck and shoulders. Wrenching the blades out, she toppled to the ground.

Blood dripped off the tips of his swords as Jungkook allowed himself a second to glance up at the eastern cliff again, desperately searching for a glimpse of you.

There, still in the same spot as last time. Relief flooded his heart as he caught sight of you still raining down arrows into enemy lines while surrounded by soft, golden sunlight.

Knowing you were alright gave him the resolve to refocus on the chaos around him. On the male that was running toward him, longsword brandished and ready to be swung.

Gritting his teeth, the peridot-eyed male charged and met him head on.

Letting out a loud yell, Namjoon rammed his shoulder into the draikensu, knocking his opponent back a step and giving the yellow-eyed male space to clobber her with his hammer. The blunt, heavy head of his weapon hit the draikensu’s chest, shattering her sternum and sending her now broken body backwards.

Straight into Jin’s side.

The impact of an unexpected body flung into him caused the eldest member of the kiela to stumble and slip on the dewy, blood-slicked grass and trip over the dirt clods. With a curse, the raven-haired male lost his footing entirely and fell, the limp body of the female pinning down his sword arm. A nearby draiknesu noticed him struggling to get his arm out from under the body, his sword caught on a strap or something. With a gleeful squeal, the draikensu bounded over the corpses strewn on the ground and raised his spear. Ready to impale the partially immobilized raven-haired male.

Jin tried to yank his sword out, to no avail. “Fuck. Shit. Fuckin-fuck it.”

In a last second decision, Jin let go of the sword’s handle and tugged his arm out from underneath the heavy, limp body. Heart pounding in his chest, he rolled to the side just as the spearhead was thrust into the earth right where his head had been. The draikensu yelled and went to retract his weapon but Jin braced his hands against the ground and kicked the male’s legs out from underneath him. The action caused the draikensu to land hard on his back, which forced the air out of his lungs. Before the male could regain his wits, Jin pushed himself up to his knees and crawled on top of the draikensu so he could deliver a punch to the male’s temple. The hit left the male in a daze, allowing Jin to wrap his hands around his opponent’s head. One palm at the chin and the other at the back of the head. Then, the raven-haired Saeni grunted and abruptly pulled the male’s head up and to the side, snapping the neck with a loud pop.

Releasing the draikensu with a sigh, Jin let the male lifelessly flop back to the earth while moving off the body. Focusing his attention on the dead female still on top of his sword, he went to shove her over when a crunching sound came from just behind him. Spinning on his knees, he saw Namjoon following through on a swing that had crumpled a draikensu Jin hadn’t noticed sneaking up on him.

The older Saeni blinked as his leader wiped sweat from his brow.

“Shit, thanks Joon.”

“Sure thing hyung. And sorry about that.” The yellow-eyed Saeni gestured to the dead female.

Shrugging, Jin finally rolled over her body and began started to detangle the hilt of his sword from where it was caught in the straps and loops of her armor. Meanwhile Namjoon covered his back, demolishing any draikensu that dared to come near with precise swings of his destructive hammer.

The seven Saeni could hear the battle as they weaved through the trees, the sick melody of cries and wails piercing their ears. None of them commented on it, though. They had their own job to focus on and entertaining the possibilities of how their comrades were faring would only serve as a distraction.

So, they remained mostly silent as they continued moving in formation, listening to the distant screams and staying alert for potential threats.

Jimin was in the middle of the small pack, escorted by Mingi and a tall, golden-haired female named Ipsa at the front. To his right was a short male who had introduced himself as ‘Geodin,’ and to his left was the archer who requested to be called ‘Stem.’ Bringing up the rear was the whip wielding Koliifa and his sister, Opikal, who had eyes so dark they appeared obsidian.

As the seven looped around the draiknesu’s forces, a light, beautiful voice occasionally floated into Jimin’s head, making tweaks and adjustments to their route. The apricot head would quickly relay the message to the others, but the Saeni didn’t talk much beyond that.

There was too much at stake for casual banter.

They had been moving for about forty-five minutes, heading out just before the sun began to rise, and so far, the plan to go around the enemy was working. Not a single dark Saeni had crossed their path. But that could easily change at any moment, so the group never relaxed.

After they each vaulted over a fallen tree, Ipsa briefly glanced over her shoulder and interrupted their silence. “By any chance, does the mother goddess know if this rift will be out in the open or…?”

“Or if there will be any draikensu guarding it?” Stem added while dipping his head to avoid a branch to the face.

Jimin winced and dug his nails into his palms while his legs rustled the leaves of several plump shrubs. “No and… no.”

One of the Saeni breathed out a curse and the apricot head held back a frustrated groan at how much of a disadvantage they truly had before explaining that Illai could only see the world through his eyes while she was leasing out space in his head. However, she was able to feel the dark energy pulsating from the rift like a beacon, and that was how she was guiding them.

As the terrain started to grow more inclined, Mingi gruffed out, “Each of you were selected for this mission for a reason. Whatever is waiting for us, we can handle it.”

“You know, General Son said we’d be going in with little information,” Opikal piped up from the back in an incredulous tone, “but I didn’t think it would be this little.”

Koliifa snorted beside her while skirting around a thin tree. “Aw, cheer up, sis! It’ll be fun.”

“It’ll be something, alright,” Geodin muttered in response.

Using a collection of tree roots as steps to climb further up the steady slope, Mingi offered how even if there were indeed draikensu guarding the rift, they were probably so pissed they weren’t allowed to join the battle that they won’t be as attentive to their surroundings as they should be.

“And that makes for easy pickings,” Koliifa said as he sent his dark-eyed sister an easy grin.

Opikal just grumbled in return, skepticism swimming in her eyes.

Then, the conversation faded, and the faraway screams once again filled the void of their voices.

His feather earring swung heavily in the air, weighed down by the blood soaked into the fluff. It continuously hit the blue-eyed Saeni’s neck as he fought, which stained the delicate skin a dark crimson.

Tae released his bowstring, sending an arrow flying into the middle of a male’s chest, then lunged to the side while tilting his bow to gouge the razor edge of his weapon into the lower belly of a draikensu. As the male dropped his axe, clutched at his gutted abdomen, and bellowed in pain, Tae retrieved a new arrow from his quiver as his body came to a stop. Quickly scanning over the people fighting around him, he picked a target and embedded the arrow just below their clavicle before he turned and quieted the screaming draikensu by efficiently slicing his throat open.

Following the momentum of his bow, he pivoted on his heel while pulling out another arrow. Tae spotted a female running in his direction and nocked the arrow, but as he went to draw, he caught a flash of metal in his peripheral vision. Diving, he evaded the arcing blade and rolled to a crouch on the dirtied grass. Re-notching the arrow, he allowed the silky fletching to sift through his fingers for just a moment as he hastily relocated the draikensu female.

As soon as he let the arrow fly, Tae found himself dodging another strike of a sword by lurching forward into another roll. The sword wielding female growled at her second miss and geared up for another attack while the grey-haired Saeni rose to his feet. With an aggravated yell, she heaved her large blade toward Tae’s body, but he ducked and spun behind her in one, fluid motion. The sun glared in his eyes and Tae dragged the sharpened edge of his bow up the female’s entire spine, making her stiffen then collapse.

Sucking oxygen into his lungs, Tae slumped for just a moment to catch his breath. Long gone was the natural scent of the forest, rather the stench of iron and death was rich in the air. The once smooth, undisturbed grass of the field was torn up and ravaged. Blood slowly trailed along the curves of the weapon, covering more of it in liquid red until it collected and dripped off toward the ruined earth.

It was a messy, brutal battle.

And it was far from over.

Pressing his lips together, Tae lifted his chin, narrowed his bright blue eyes, and found his next target.

Dropping to the ground, the arrow barely missed your head.

Not many draikensu carried bows since most of them wanted weapons that allowed them to directly carve into flesh, but the handful that did had begun shooting at you and the other archers not too long ago. Which was just great. Fantastic. Splendid.

Your cheek pressed into the sun-heated rock as you contemplated if you should lay low for a minute or get right back up. You blew out a puff of air, disturbing some of the dust beside your face, before pulling your body forward a bit so you could peek over the cliff’s edge.

You raised your head just a smidge and CLINK!

An arrow hit and bounced off the rock just a few feet from your face, making you immediately duck back down to safety.

You breathed in through your nose. Alright, well… this fucking sucks.

As you exhaled, you glanced up just in time to see a Saeni further down the line get hit in the shoulder, blood immediately blossoming around the shaft now buried in her body. A tiny whine escaped past your lips and you squeezed your eyes shut… but all your saw were the corpses littering the field behind your eyelids. Their broken and mangled bodies.

Please don’t be one of them. You sent out a silent prayer to the boys below as your chest rose and fell heavily. Please.

The sound of another arrow sinking into flesh made you clench your fingers around your bow, and you shifted to better lay against the ground and make yourself smaller. But the movement caused the dagger now strapped to your waist to dig into your side and the sensation made you go still with a jolt.

Jungkook…

Fuck, if Jungkook saw you right now… he’d be so disappointed. You were cowering, you were hiding. This wasn’t you.

What am I doing?

You shook your head against the ground, feeling some pebbles grind into your skin, before muttering, “Fuck. This. I need to woman the fuck up.”

Adjusting your body, you bent one leg up toward your head and winced as a decently sized stone scraped against your ankle. Okay, so what if I get shot with an arrow? You forced yourself to scoff while sliding your hands upward along the rock. That’s nothing. That’s just a slightly more painful bee sting.

“I’m a scorja, dammit. I fucking got this.”

One… two… three!

You pushed yourself back up to your knee and snatched an arrow from your quiver. Picking out a draikensu, you aimed. The breeze danced across your face and the sun warmed your back as you squinted and sent the arrow loose. It thumped into the draikensu’s thigh, making you smirk, but as you went to finish her off you heard commotion coming from your right. Furrowing your brows, you spared a glance over but immediately had to double take and stare as your mouth dropped.

Draikensu were pulling themselves up and over the edge of the cliff. The bloody bastards had actually climbed up the vertical rock face.

“For fucks sake…”

They engaged with the archers, working their way down the line. Coming closer and closer to you as more of them crawled into view. They were maybe only forty yards away. Shifting, you repositioned yourself to face north, and as a male began to sprint toward you, you raised your bow.

He was thirty yards out.

You shot, but he managed to evade it.

Twenty yards.

Cursing under your breath, you reached for another arrow.

Ten yards.

Your eyes widened and you tried to move out of the way, but the male rammed straight into you and tackled you to the ground.

You let out a pained grunt as you were slammed down, bow flying out of your grasp, and your heart pounded as the male straddled your torso and held one of your shoulders down with a large hand. His other raised a knife that shined in the sunlight. He aimed it at your chest, and with a wicked smile, plunged the blade down. Throwing your arm up beneath his, you blocked his arm’s descent and stilled the tip of the knife just mere inches from your body. Your trembled as the male sneered and pressed down harder, trying to force the metal into your flesh.

His thighs fully encased your waist, making it impossible to grab the ruby-hilted dagger at your side. Slowly, the knife lowered closer to your heart as his superior strength began to overtake you which made you release a gasping whimper. Desperately, you stretched out your other arm and blindly felt around the ground.

“Why struggle when you’ll just die like the bitch you are anyway?” The male mused, eyes flashing with cruel amusement as you wrapped your hand around what you hand been searching for. “Just let it happe-”

You smashed the fist-sized rock into his skull with a powerful yell.

The strike caused the male’s body to slacken and you used that moment to flip your positions. The movement of the switch, paired with his limpness, made him involuntarily drop the knife. As you righted yourself on top of his thighs, you snatched it from the rocky ground and thrust it hilt deep into his side.

The male wheezed as you wrenched the blade from his flesh, eyes struggling to stay open as he stared up at the sky. His blood began to gush from the wound and pool beneath him while you adjusted your grip on the handle and brought it down again, this time right underneath his sternum.

You were breathing heavily as the male’s gasps turned raspy and more blood leaked from his body.

Then the draikensu released a strangely contented sigh. “My sacrifice is worth it. The key will die while you pathetically fight. The key will die and Uzjuk will reign.”

Your hands tightened around the handle of the blade while the rest of your body froze. “What did you just say?”

A final, rough exhale came from the male’s lips, then his eyes became completely empty and unfocused. You didn’t bother trying to get him to say more. He was dead.

Shit. Okay, he said ‘the key will die,’ but they couldn’t possibly know where Jimin is, unless… fuck, what if they do have people waiting for him at the rift?

Your hands began to tremble as you considered the possibilities. The one that rang loudest in your head was that Jimin was about to blindly run into a death trap. Your best friend was going to die. You pressed the back of your hand to your mouth as you tried to calm yourself, but the thought kept pounding through your mind like a migraine.

Jimin is going to die.

Jimin is going to die.

Jimin is going to die.

I don’t even know where he is and he’s going to die.

You darted your eyes around in panic, noting the other draikensu who had climbed up the cliff face were also death… though they had unfortunately taken some of the Saeni along with them. The remaining archers were back to sniping down at the enemy, not having a slightest clue as to the hysteric dread rampaging in your mind. Pressing both hands to your head, you held back a scream.

I don’t know where he is, but I have to try. I have to try to help him.

Taking deep breaths, you crawled off the dead male and over to your bow. With it secured in your grasp, you pushed yourself to your feet. Then you ran into the trees without looking back.

I don’t know where the fuck you are, Slim Jim, but I’m coming.

The coolness of the shaded forest slid over your skin and you mentally planned your route around the draikensu.

I’m coming.

An angry growl vibrated in Yoongi’s throat as he flung his magic out toward the female, creating a rope of mint blue energy that fastened around your neck. He yanked, forcing her body to fly over the bodies and blood-soaked grass to be impaled on the dagger held in his other hand. The draikensu let out a choked sob before her head lolled due to him dragging the blade up and to the side, spilling more crimson over his hand and killing her with precision. A blur of movement to his left made Yoongi fling the now dead female in that direction, right into the draikensu that was brandishing a short sword.

The draikensu was pummeled by the body, causing him to hit the ground with a cry. He struggled to drag himself out from the weight now laying on top of him, but after about five seconds he too was laying limp on the dirt and grass.

A tiny throwing knife buried between his neck and shoulder.

Hobi pivoted after his throw and slid beneath the large hammer swinging for his gut.

“You were pretty slow on that one!” Yoongi called over to the spy, who was still dancing around the draikensu’s heavy weapon.

Hobi’s chest heaved and he shouted back without looking. “Give me a break hyung! I’m running low on blades so I’m making sure every throw counts!”

The mint-haired Saeni grit his teeth and raised both hands toward a draikensu that had made the mistake of setting his sights on the Saeni’s partner. Blue light encased the draikensu’s head and Yoongi harshly grunted before ripping one of his hands to the side.

The draikensu’s head followed, separated from its body in a spray of blood.

“Why didn’t you say something earlier, idiot? Get over here,” Yoongi ordered as the headless body slumped first to its knees then crumpled to the ground, the neck pumping out red.

The disturbing image distracted Hobi’s opponent for a split second, giving him the opening to dart forward and sink both of his knives into either side of her neck. He pulled the blood-covered blades out and punched the female in the jaw, forcing her to fall and bleed out onto the earth. Then the white-haired male trekked backwards to Yoongi’s side, his eyes alert and aware of his surroundings.

When he was near enough, Yoongi reached out and grasped one of Hobi’s straps to tug the Saeni fully against him. Shutting his petal pink eyes, Yoongi held Hobi close while inhaling deeply. The magic emitting from his hands flared even brighter and suddenly a circle of mint-colored energy pulsed outward, throwing every draikensu around them roughly fifty feet back.

Now that he had time and space, tendrils of blue light crept out from Yoongi’s hands and Hobi watched in amazement as they leeched onto the dead Saeni on the ground. The light searched the corpses, locating and withdrawing the blades Hobi had flung into them. With a low murmur from Yoongi, the light came zipping back toward the male beside him and they softly returned the blades to their sheaths across Hobi’s body. Then the light retreated to Yoongi’s glowing hands, leaving the kiela’s spy astonished.

“I… hyung… that was-I didn’t know you could do that!”

Even though the draikensu were starting to regroup from his buffer attack, Yoongi felt pride well up inside him and he smiled. “It’s just something I’ve been working on for you. Finally worked out the kinks a few days ago.”

Tilting his head to softly take in Hobi’s flushed cheeks while he stammered out a shocked thanks, Yoongi noticed the draikensu were now charging the duo and he reluctantly pushed the Saeni away. Instantly, Hobi realized as well and hardened his gaze before throwing one of the blades in his hands. It sunk into its mark’s flesh and Hobi ran to meet a new opponent.

Gripping his dagger, Yoongi was about to follow but paused and narrowed his eyes as bursts of maroon, amethyst, and yellow light flashed in the air close by.

The seven Saeni were breathing hard from their nonstop running as they suddenly came to a halt because of Mingi’s order.

The hazel-eyed guard slowly lowered his fist from where it had been raised beside his head and the Saeni all listened intently to the world around them, trying to pinpoint the noise that had caused the guard to stop them.

“I don’t hear anything,” Geodin whispered, and the others agreed.

Mingi swore and shook his head. “I swear I heard something running in our dire-”

A singular, loud howl echoed through the forest… then the sound of large paws running over the earth.

Coming straight toward them.

The male panted as he blocked the draikensu’s attack with one of his blades and cleaved into the male’s collarbone with the other. More blood splattered across Jungkook’s face and chest, the warm liquid causing him to flinch slightly, and the male fell with a gargled scream.

Pivoting, Jungkook sharply inhaled and quickly leaned back to dodge the point of a spear that was jabbed toward his head. The female growled and lunged again, this time aiming for his chest, but the burgundy head jumped aside before surging forward to get beyond the reach of the long weapon. His sudden switch to the offensive made the draikensu stumble back in surprise, and her heel tripped on the arm of a fallen Saeni. She gasped as her body lost balance and Jungkook aided her descent by sending his foot into her stomach. As she fell, Jungkook followed, plunging both of his swords deep into her chest just as she hit the ground. The draikensu weakly coughed and blood bubbled up past her lips. Then Jungkook yanked the blades out, causing the light in her eyes to wither away.

Hanging his head for a couple heartbeats, still panting as exhaustion settled over him, Jungkook gulped in air and looked over to the eastern cliff.

And felt his heart stop when he didn’t see you.

He shook his head and rescanned the archers. You had to be there. You had to be. But he felt dread bloom inside him as he realized there were fewer Saeni kneeling on the edge than before and you weren’t there.

You weren’t there.

You weren’t there.

His chest tightened painfully as his exertive breaths shifted to panicked ones.

“Fuck, where are you, sweetheart?” Jungkook whispered in a scared voice.

Gripping the hilts of his swords so hard his knuckles turned white, his body grew cold and he began to shake as he raked his eyes over the archers again and again and again. Desperate for any sign of you.

But there were none.

The world seemed to blur around him and all he could see was the empty spot where you. Should. Have. Been. He couldn’t even hear the screams or clashing of metal around him anymore. It all just collected and faded until it was a high-pitched ringing in his ears.

His peridot eyes glistened, and a lump formed in his throat as he choked out a small, fragile “no…”

And he was so focused on the absence of you… so distracted from the battle around him… that he didn’t notice the blade being thrust toward his exposed side.

previous [21] — next [23]

taglist: @cookied-dreams @apurpledheart @james-herondale023 @lorengarcia-yut @kittycuptea @toddsgirl27 @a-feeling-of-euphoria @treatpeoplewithkindnesshoe @kthdior @taigaajin​ @lylanie12​ @kassandravictoria​ @namjoonsslutakakoreanmanswhore​ @xionysus​ @jihoonspout @loverliketwilight​ @palomaxaxaxa​ @keeleybeaver​ @i-like-puppy-mg​

[lizseyi]

How Can You Prep Now For The Perfect Christmas Hampers - Shredded-Paper

Yes, we know what some of you are likely thinking: isn’t it still slightly early for us to be providing homemade festive-season hamper advice? That may seem the case, but with the cost-of-living crisis having reportedly led many Britons to spread out their Christmas spending over a longer period than they might have once done, we don’t think it’s too early at all. 

In any case, it can be good to prepare as early as possible for certain things – especially if you are interested in assembling your own Christmas hampers, and therefore need to gather a lot of essential materials together. You won’t want to risk finding yourself short of certain crucial items at the last minute. 

Below, we have outlined some of the steps that the Shredded-Paper.co.uk team would advise you to take now, in order to ensure your homemade hampers make the right impression on 25th December. 

Decide on themes for your Christmas hampers 

We’ve included this tip first, for the simple reason that the theme you choose for a hamper will inform and guide you with the rest of your hamper shopping and preparation. Plus, a big part of the point of putting together your own Christmas hampers is surely the opportunity to personalise them in special ways for the intended recipient. 

The actual theme that you choose for a given hamper doesn’t have to be something overly complicated. If you’re assembling a hamper for someone who loves their four-legged furry friend, for instance, a dog or cat-themed hamper could do the job nicely. Or if the intended recipient is on the green-fingered side, a gardening-themed hamper is sure to be well-received. 

Start getting together the items to include in the hamper 

Even if you’re merely grabbing a few products for now rather than trying to purchase everything that will go into a given hamper, doing so at a relatively early stage will enable you to have some fun with it. As part of this, you will be able to be opportunistic in grabbing some quirky items or bargains from places like the local Sunday market. 

And as we touched on above, the theme that you decided on for each hamper will guide you. A hamper for a garden lover, for example, could contain the likes of a hand tools gift set, some garden gloves, and some seeds and bulbs. Or a hamper intended for someone who adores their cat could feature a catnip toy and some well-chosen cat treats, among other feline-related offerings. 

Stock up on the materials that will protect the contained items 

So much of skilful Christmas hamper assembly is about knowing how to get the protective packaging elements right. You might choose to put each item into a small cellophane bag, for instance, and tie it up with jute twine. Other products that are to be included in the hamper, you may arrange to have wrapped in brown paper, with a colourful bow added. There are just so many fun possibilities. 

And of course, our own shredded paper can play a big role, too. In fact, our Yuletide store at Shredded-Paper.co.uk is already open. This means you have the chance right now to replenish your supplies of Christmas hamper kraft filling paper in more-or-less any colour or cut you like. 

The shredded paper in our range looks great – adding to the presentational quality of your hamper when the recipient opens it – and is an excellent all-round protective packaging material. It is tougher than tissue paper, for example, but also an environmentally friendlier option than bubble wrap. 

So, when you are on the lookout for the optimal Christmas hamper kraft filling paper over the coming weeks and months, why look further than our own online store? It’s worth remembering, too, the free delivery that we offer to most UK mainland postcodes. 

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #28: Humiliations Galore

Prompt: irenic | Master Post | On AO3

This fill is partially in response to @ahlis-xiv‘s fill for ultracrepidarian, which you can read HERE! (And it goes without saying you should read her other fills and assorted writing, too!) The Ahlis mentioned herein, of course, belongs to her. \o/

--

Synnove felt her face twist into something foul and ugly and absolutely capable of curdling milk as she stared down at the letter on her desk. Halulu took one look at her and immediately fled back to the relative safety of her own office one floor down.

The envelope was fine vellum, waxed to protect its contents, tied with twine and the tie further sealed with wax. It was unremarkable, really, and appeared no different from any other important missive that Mealvaan’s Gate might receive from near and far.

Save for the seal of the University of Radz-at-Han pressed into the wax.

Synnove’s lip curled up in a sneer.

Mama, just open it, Galette sighed from her usual perch draped around her shoulders.

Synnove grimaced, but reached for the envelope and slid it closer to herself on the desk. She wedged her thumbnail beneath the wax seal and wiggled back and forth until it popped off, then slid the vellum from the twine and opened the flap. Reaching in, she pulled out two letters, folded over and individually sealed with different wax and stamps, at which she frowned.

And then raised her eyebrows as she noticed the thicker letter of the two, the one closed by deep red wax with a plain stamp, had writing in a very familiar hand on the outside.

READ THE OTHER ONE FIRST.

Now, what in the six hells was Thaisie Valeroyant up to?

Synnove stared with narrow, suspicious eyes at the letter from the Chair of the Department of Arcanima from the University of Radz-at-Han’s College of Mathematics, drumming her fingers on her desk for long moments as she mentally flicked through a list of possibilities. Finally, she let out a heavy sigh and scowled, snatching up the other letter, popping the wax seal, and unfolding it.

My dearest Mistress Greywolfe—

Synnove dropped the parchment, recoiling with a disgusted shriek. Galette HISSED, rising to a crouch as she bared her teeth and bristled her fur, tails lashing.

She knew that handwriting, knew that deep blue ink, knew that absolutely repulsive cologne that wafted into her face.

The first letter was in her hand in an instant, wax seal ripped off and parchment unfolded.

I promise, Synnove, the other letter is worth soiling your fingers and eyes.

Synnove ground her teeth, rage roiling through her, but she took a deep breath through her nose for a five count. Held it for another five count. Let it out with a final five count.

“Thaisie, you are going to owe me so much alcohol,” she muttered under her breath. She set down Thaisie’s letter and reached up to pet Galette, soothing them both for a few moments. Then, she picked up one of the half-sticks of graphite from the pile in the corner of her desk, and used it to poke the other letter flat, sneering as she did. Once that was done, she threw the graphite into her trash bin.

Finally, with a grimace, she leaned over her desk to read the letter from Bahram Zarir.

Synnove sat back after the first flowery paragraph and exchanged a confused look with Galette. “Did he actually…?”

I think so? Galette chittered, ears flat against her head.

They leaned forward again to read the next paragraph.

“…Ah. Never mind. He still, in fact, has his head shoved up his ass so far that the apple on his throat is actually his nose. Good gods, how as he gone this long without developing critical thinking skills, or the ability to remember what he wrote in a previous paragraph?”

She continued reading, occasionally muttering comments such as, “My gods, you absolutely disgusting piece of worm-ridden filth,” to which Galette snickered. Finally, she reached the end of the letter, and slid back into her chair.

And started giggling.

It evolved into a full body guffaw, rising from deep in her belly, and Synnove bent over as she howled with laughter, for so hard and so long it became silent heaving that shook her whole body. Galette sighed and rolled her eyes, holding on as her perch pitched to and fro. As Synnove finally calmed again, she brushed tears from her eyes.

“Oh, my gods, that was hilarious,” she wheezed. “Gods, I only hope I’m there on the day his hubris gets his sorry plagiarizing ass killed so I can laugh him all the way to the Hell of Water. What a cunt.”

Still chortling and catching her breath, Synnove carefully picked up Bahram Zarir’s letter with the very tip of her thumb and forefinger, and dumped it in the trash.

“Please remind me to get Ivar to burn that later,” she said, wiping her hand on her pants.

Yes, Mama!

Then, finally, she picked up Thaisie’s letter to read.

He really is such a prick, isn’t he? It’s a wonder he hasn’t become a victim of Thavnairian politics, but then he’s probably too thick to be a credible threat to any of his relatives or their myriad enemies. Just a shame we got stuck with him. I’m fairly certain the dean was dreaming about defenestrating him and a few other of the legacy children during the last open thesis read.

In any event, I thought you might enjoy the attached to make up for the toad’s sorry attempt at civility: a copy of the abstract for Master Zarir’s latest article. It’s still technically in peer review, but you’re a peer, as dirty as that no doubt makes you feel. Do what you will with this.

Also, yes, I know, I owe you alcohol. I already have a nice bottle of arak picked out for the next time Thubyrgeim allows you off your leash, or I’m able to attend a Lominsan conference.

Kisses!

Thaisie

“You’re such an asshole, Thaisie,” Synnove said fondly, shuffling the parchment to the second page. Zarir’s greatest weakness as a researcher was that frequently, he did have original ideas…but was frankly terrible at the execution and he outright stole others’ work in bits and pieces and tried to make a whole from it that fell apart if one breathed on it too hard. So, what trash was he on about now?

She read the abstract once. Blinked. Read it again, slower this time, than gave it a third pass.

Synnove set the parchment down flat on her desk, mind racing.

Zarir’s article was in peer review, and therefore it wasn’t public knowledge or in open circulation; the only individuals with copies would be Zarir, the reviewers, and Thaisie. He wouldn’t be able to add anything, with how the University handled its legacies’ attempts at academia, the peer review was mostly for show and the article would be published in the latest issue of their mathematics journal. There would be no turnaround time for Zarir.

And there was no way for anyone else to possibly know what he was publishing. Further, it was incredibly common for academics to hit on similar ideas and develop them in parallel without knowing until the other was published.

Zarir’s idea was similar to that of someone else’s here at the Gate. Oh, not hugely similar, but enough for the mainstays in the field to have a solid guess of which articles either had been reading and drawing inspiration from. But Ahlis had gone off in a completely different direction and what was more, her math was sound, the research actually done rather than theorized, and with a high chance of her succeeding and creating a new breakthrough in arcanima. And Ahlis’s work was ready for presentation at the upcoming research symposium. At which a few of the Hannish—not Zarir, if only because the dean didn’t want to deal with the political fallout of letting him set foot in Limsa Lominsa and the resulting murder—from the University would be attending.

Synnove smiled, slow and deliberate and sharklike, a dark chuckle rising in her throat, as she reached for a piece of fresh parchment and a graphite stick. She was quite thankful now that she hadn’t replied to Ahlis’s note just yet.

Ahlis,

I think you are more than ready! You’ve done your due diligence, even surpassed it, in laying your foundation. I still cannot find flaws in the theorems and equations you’ve laid out—your mathematics might need the occasional proofing, but your grasp of the principles is superb, and we’ve all needed a second set of eyes on our work when we’ve looked at the numbers for too long.

You are an excellent arcanist, Ahlis. As intimidating as it is to present research, the symposium presents a wonderful opportunity to receive feedback and collaborate on further avenues to explore your hypothesis. And, if word on the grapevine is true, I have no doubt your work will be leaving certain members of our community absolutely green with envy.

Give ‘em hell!

-Synnove

She signed with a flourish and folded the letter into neat thirds, wrote Ahlis’s name on it, and bound it with some of the leftover twine from Thaisie’s packet. “Amandina, Roksana,” she called out as she tied off the string, “would you like to run an errand for me?”

The twins poked their heads over the edge of their basket, the picture book they had been carefully pawing through forgotten. Their ears stood straight up, noses twitching in excitement—and then they were tumbling out of the basket and darting right for Synnove’s desk. Oh oh oh yes yes yes! they peeped excitedly. Errand errand errand we can do it!

The carbunclets skidded to a halt at their mama’s feet and looked up at her with huge eyes, their mass of tails shaking with excitement. Galette huffed, exasperated as always with their endless amounts of energy, but didn’t otherwise say anything as Synnove leaned over with the letter in hand.

“Do you remember where the Gate’s mailroom is?” she said, solemn.

Yeah!

The arcanist held out the letter, and Amandina very carefully accepted it, clamping down with her teeth to hold it firmly.

“Bring this down to the mailroom,” Synnove said, “and give it to Coster, and only Coster. He’ll make sure it’s delivered to its intended recipient! And then, once you’re done, come right back here, all right?”

Okay, Mommy! warbled Amandina, a determined set to her face.

We’ll be right back! said Roksana with a peppy chirp.

Then, rather than turn and trundle towards the door to her office, as Synnove thought they would, Roksana took one of Amandina’s ears into her mouth, and with a pop! of displaced air they were…gone.

Dead silence, as arcanist and carbuncle both stared, jaws hanging open, at the space the twins had been in just a few moments before.

“When did they learn to do that?” Synnove said, faint and bewildered.

I dunno. Galette tilted her head. Can I learn how to do that?

“Absolutely not, you’ll use it to break into the coldbox for my pies.”

Galette slumped into a full body sulk.

[deathlikesdeep-dish]

The Razr (Zoro AU Scenario)

Hi guys!

I’m so flattered that I’ve had some people join me here on this fun writing journey!! I truly truly do a little happy dance every time I get a follow. :D 

I keep meaning to just sit down and write a quick lil somethin somethin, but it always ends up longer than I intend 😅

This is a headcanon I came up with about Zoro having a crazy outdated flip phone that he refused to get rid of and his friends finally forced him to get a smartphone so he could use GPS. 

It turned out a little more serious and emotional than I originally intended, but I’m pretty pleased with it!! Would love to get y’alls feedback. 

xx

Warnings: obscene amounts of fluff, language 

Word Count: 1862

“Zoro, where the fuck are you??” Nami yelled on the other end of the phone. He could hear the irritation in her voice.

He groaned and rubbed his hand over his face in frustration. “I really don’t know, Nami. I think I made a wrong turn,” He paused and sighed. “Or two? Shit, I don’t know.”

Zoro could hear Nami yelling on the other end of the line, and he placed his phone in the cup holder, knowing that this might be a while. He hit his head a few times on the steering wheel of his car, closing his eyes as he waited for her to finish screeching. He was used to this. He knew that he wasn’t the most directionally adept member of his friend group, but he got by….when others were around.

What made matters worse is that Zoro absolutely refused to get rid of his ancient, bulky flip phone, a fact that Nami never failed to bring up in situations just like this. He didn’t see a point in getting a new phone when his old one worked just fine. He thought back to a conversation he’d had about it just the other day with his friends.

-

“Bro, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Their newest friend Franky said upon seeing Zoro pull his phone out of his pocket. “A fucking Motorola Razr? That thing has gotta be 10 years old!”

“It’s actually 12 years old,” Luffy chimed in with a laugh. “It was Kuina’s before it was Zoro’s.”

“Kuina? Who’s Kuina?” Franky asked. Zoro tensed up at the mention of her name, and the room went silent. Even Luffy noticed that he’d made a mistake in bringing her up. Zoro squeezed the phone tightly in his pocket.

Kuina was Zoro’s older sister. Five years his senior, Kuina had used the phone as her own for several years before she upgraded and passed it to Zoro. At first, he resented that she always got the newest stuff, and that he got the hand-me-downs. Now, he wouldn’t dream of letting it go. Kuina had died in a tragic accident just a couple years back. She was only 25. This phone was one of the only things that she had ever given him that was hers, along with the family katana that had been passed down for generations.

“Sorry, Zoro,” Luffy murmured, stuffing a bite of food into his mouth uncomfortably. Zoro simply grumbled in response with a shrug.

“Still,” Nami ventured tentatively. “Maybe it would be helpful for you to get a smartphone sometime soon. They all come with GPS systems built in.”

“And what’s wrong with a map?” Zoro snapped back.

“Well, nothing…” Nami said.

“Unless you can’t actually read it!” Luffy shouted out, not able to help himself. He cackled. Zoro shot him a glare, and he laughed even more. He crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“Yeah, well whatever. Next time I get lost, I’ll get a fucking smartphone. Deal?” Zoro said, to get them off his back more than anything.

Nami’s eyes lit up conspiratorially. “Don’t say stuff like that unless you mean it, Zoro.”

Zoro waved her off. They all knew that he certainly wasn’t going to purchase his own phone, so it was a moot point. It worked perfectly fine. Plus, it was hers. He’d keep it as long as it worked.

-

He was pulled from his reverie by Nami yelling his name.

“ZORO,” She yelled. He picked his phone back up and placed it at his ear.

“Goddamn it, Nami. I fucking know I suck at directions, please stop bitching at me,” He growled.

She started to say something, but stopped herself with a sigh. “Ugh. You exhaust me.” She replied.

“What else is new?” He snapped back.

“Whatever, Zoro. I just can’t believe you got lost on the way to your own birthday party.”

“Like I even care about this shit anyway,” He said. “It’s you and Luffy that always insist on throwing a party in the first place.”

“Hey man, don’t pretend like you don’t like eating food and getting shit-faced.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything. He knew he didn’t have an argument there.

“Can you see a street sign anywhere?” Nami finally asked after a few moments when there was no reply.

Zoro looked up towards the streetlight and squinted at a sign in the distance. “Yeah, it looks like I’m at the corner of Alabasta and Logue Town drive.”

“Thank Christ,” Nami sighed. “You’re not that far. I’ll send Franky and Sanji to go get you.”

Zoro groaned. “Why does Sanji have to come? Doesn’t he have a fucking cake to bake or something?”

“They need to go out and get a few things from the store,” Nami said. “Listen, you’re the one that’s lost. Suck it up.”

“Ugh. Fine. See you soon.” He hung up, not wanting to hear anything else.

It took Franky and Sanji about 10 minutes to get to him.Thankfully, they just decided to have Zoro follow behind them in his car rather than ride together. Zoro wasn’t sure he could stop himself from punching that jackass directly in the face if he said anything to him.

They finally got back to Robin’s house where they were having the party. Robin was for sure the most adult out of any of them. She’d already bought this crazy historic home and had a job at an archeology firm while everybody else was living in shitty, thrown-together apartment complexes, eating pizza rolls and beer for every meal.

Sanji had looked like he was going to start some shit when they got out of the car, but decided against it when Zoro gave him a look. Plus, Sanji thought, it’s the guy’s birthday. Probably should lay off for one night.

Everyone was pleased to see him, and only gave him a moderately hard time about getting lost on the way to his own party. And despite himself, Zoro gave in to the jovial atmosphere. A few beers certainly helped. By the time he and Luffy had teamed up to play beer pong against Law and Usopp (“Sniper-king, my ass,” Zoro had thought to himself on Usopp’s third consecutive loss), Zoro was feeling pretty damn good. These were his people. They’d been the ones that were there for him. Even when new friends were added to the group, they’d always fit in. Luffy was the usual recruiter, and he somehow managed to find some cool-ass people.

The best time to give Zoro any gifts, Nami had discovered, was when he was sufficiently plastered enough to not object to them. Zoro was always more affectionate and willing to be the recipient of attention when he was drunk.

“Alright!” Nami announced over the blare of the music. “It’s present time, you degenerates! Sit your asses down!”

Franky turned the music down from his smartwatch, lowering it to a dull roar. Zoro was feeling warm and smiley, so he didn’t object when Robin lead him to the couch in the middle of the living room to receive his gift.

“What did y’all fuckers get me this time?” Zoro laughed, slurring a bit as he talked.

Nami rolled her eyes and Luffy just bounced excitedly from the armchair across the room. No matter how much he had to drink, it would seem, Luffy was always one big ball of energy.

“Remember,” Nami said, handing him a small, delicately wrapped box. “You promised.”

Zoro furrowed his brow, confusedly. “I promised?” He started to open the box, a bit nervous all of a sudden about what he would find under the shiny paper.

When he finally finished unwrapping the box, he froze. In his hand, he found a brand new iPhone. He looked up at his friends, knowing how much something like this cost.

“Guys, this is ridiculous,” He said, not knowing exactly how he felt.

“Stop,” Nami said, holding a hand up.

“Yeah, we all pitched in! Even Sanji!” Luffy grinned from his chair. “So no take backsies!”

He looked up at the room full of expectant faces, flushed from the alcohol and the good company. There was a pit in his stomach. On the one hand, he was angry. They knew how he felt about his phone. They knew what it meant to him. It wasn’t just a stupid phone. On the other hand, he was touched. Touched that his friends had come together to help him out. He found himself putting his hand in his pocket, thumbing over the ancient flip-phone that had once been hers.

“Guys, my phone works perfectly well,” He managed after swallowing. “This is completely unnecessary.”

“C’mon man,” Usopp clapped his hand on his shoulder. “You know it isn’t unnecessary. Do you need a reminder that you got lost on the way to your own party tonight?” He laughed.

Zoro remained silent, one hand gripping the new phone, and the other deep in the pocket of his pants.

“So, of course, we figured that you’d feel this way,” Robin chimed in. “So, that’s only one part of the gift.”

Zoro snapped his head towards Robin, the crease in his brow deepening. She pulled out another box from behind her back and handed it to him. This one was slightly larger, and a bit heavier. He peeled back the wrapping paper.

“It’s a shadow box,” Franky said. “So you can still keep your old phone, too.”

“Just on display on the shelf,” Nami said. “Instead of in your pocket.”

“We know how much it means to you, mosshead,” Sanji grumbled from the doorway. “You don’t have to get rid of the old phone. So, just accept the gift already.”

Zoro felt himself get teary-eyed. He told himself it was the alcohol as he wiped his hand over his eyes before tears could fall down his cheeks. “Thanks guys,” Was all he could manage.

Knowing that he needed the attention off of him, his friends just laughed and cheered, turning the music up to get back to the party. Franky spent the rest of the evening helping set up Zoro’s phone and showing him all of the functions that he would have access to. Zoro was still so overwhelmed, but he tried to make himself pay attention. Finally, and most importantly, Franky downloaded Google Maps and showed him how to use it. Zoro pocketed the phone with a slight smile and a ‘thank you.’ It felt heavy and big in the back pocket of his jeans. His heart felt heavy too. He couldn’t help but feel like this was the end of something. But somewhere, he knew that Kuina would be looking down on him, so happy that he had found such thoughtful friends.

Luffy raised his glass for a toast. “To Zoro! And never getting lost again!”

The rest of them raised their glasses, looking over to Zoro expectantly as they waited for him to raise his glass too. He reached for his beer and raised it slightly with a smirk.

“You motherfuckers are gonna regret this,” He grinned finally. “Getting lost was my only character defect. Now I’ll be unstoppable.”

[ihaveatheoryonthat]

Been on a Ghost Trick kick lately, and went over some of my old work (which translates into “stuff from about two years ago”). It’s mostly a series of interconnected oneshots, none of which are actually complete, but there are a couple of decently coherent chunks that I thought I’d put out there.

If you’re someone who follows me for any other fandom (or just happens across this post) and you aren’t familiar with Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective, please don’t read this. It’s set firmly post-game and hinges on The One Big Spoiler.

Sometimes, Sissel wondered how Lynne had managed to stay alive long enough to meet him in the first place. It was a question he mulled over in a previous reality and, unfortunately, one he has to ask in their current one.

He’d been having a relatively nice day prior to phone call. The house had been empty, leaving him to his own devices; that meant he could go wherever he felt like without having to worry that someone would see his empty body and think the worst.

He spent this particular day poking around in the attic, playing with anything that caught his attention.

Then the phone rang, and rang and rang. It was persistent, but muffled—enough to be annoying if nothing else.

He didn’t think much of it until it finally gave up, only to start again seconds later. By the time it finished, Sissel had perched himself in a nearby vase, wondering whether or not he should unseat the handset and take a peek on the opposite side of the line.

The answering machine clicked on, and he hesitated just shy of hopping to the receiver.

Jowd’s voice rang out in the kitchen, and, immediately, Sissel was intrigued. Alma and Jowd would call home, but only when they expected someone to be there. The detective was well aware that it was a school day, and that Alma was still at work, which left…

“Sissel, I need you to come here.”

Oh.

He might have called it a pleasant surprise, had it not been for the tone Jowd was using. Sissel hadn’t been the intended recipient of a phone call since the Yonoa; he didn’t particularly mind, but an occasional ‘Hello, how are you? Good day to be dead?’ would still be nice.

“Please tell me you’re listening.”

There was a sigh on the other end of the line. “You’d better not be playing in the street again.”

Within half a second, he’d leapt across the phone line and reached out to Jowd, incorporeal tail bristling. “What was that?”

“Oh, you weren’t. Good.” There was something odd under the dry humor—and given that Jowd had called him out at all, there had to be something worse coming—but, for the time being, Sissel ignored it.

“Dogs play in the street. I was investigating.”

“Yes, investigating an eighteen wheeler as I recall.”

“So I got hit by a truck. I’ll have you know I also stopped a three-car pileup. What did you do with your day?”

“I stop criminals for a living.”

Sissel stopped to consider the point, then licked a shoulder dismissively. “I help victims for a living.”

“You don’t make a living. You’re dead.”

“And I don’t get paid.”

Jowd finally cracked a smile—though it was nothing compared to his usual fare. For the first time, Sissel realized that the heaviness he’d felt through the world of the dead was a tightly-wound fury, and, though it wasn’t directed at him, he was worried for what that meant.

He stretched and then sat up properly, eyes fixed on the detective in silent invitation. He was already dreading what he was about to hear when the single syllable rang through their gap in reality:

“Lynne.”

Sissel couldn’t bring himself to be surprised. When he first met her, she was seconds away from dying; if she had done nothing else that night, Lynne had set a precedent for herself.

He offered a brisk, “Take me to her” before severing their connection and moving to perch in the notepad Jowd had waiting.

The crime scene wasn’t far, but Jowd managed to pack a staggering amount of information into the walk, muttering under his breath so Sissel could get caught up. Sissel appreciated the gesture, but… didn’t feel that it really mattered. He was about to see what happened. Terms like ‘GSR’ only served to complicate something that was really quite simple.

He waited long enough for Jowd to finish his thought before leaping from the notebook to Cabanela’s conveniently angled bicycle, then toward its pedals and further down a road only he could see, picking a careful path towards his destination. Jowd tracked his progress, but didn’t move an inch from where he stood.

Cabanela was there too. That was the second non-surprise of the day.

He looked up at Jowd’s approach and something seemed to pass between the pair of them. Cabanela’s carefully blank expression didn’t so much as flicker, but something in his posture seemed to relax.

Sissel jostled a spring-powered umbrella that had somehow found itself in a tree and braced himself as it hurtled to the ground. He hadn’t thought to loosen the strap holding it shut, which was proving to be a mistake, as it bounced further from Lynne’s body than he’d planned for. When he tuned back into reality, Cabanela was gauging the distance between his starting point and landing position. Jowd looked like he might have been on the verge of laughter, had the circumstances been different.

The latter flipped through his empty pad of paper and made a move to join Cabanela, refusing to acknowledge the umbrella even as he ‘accidentally’ knocked it closer to Sissel’s destination.

Point, Jowd. He was, as Sissel had learned over the years, annoyingly good at helping.

And no, he hadn’t needed help.

Lynne wasn’t awake when he jumped to meet her core, and Sissel found himself disappointed. He’d missed her over the years and, even though death was supposed to be a serious thing, there was a fraction of a second where he’d thought ‘finally’—he could finally talk to her again. If she didn’t wake up at some point, the wait would resume.

He would just have to trust that she’d collect herself by the time he’d sorted everything out. So he went about his work.

It was a gunshot; Sissel couldn’t help but think, “At least she’s starting small”.

He was eying his new friend the umbrella when Lynne regained herself.

“You’re Jowd’s cat.” She said, eyes narrowed as her memories gradually returned. For several seconds, she squinted into nothingness. “And this is…”

“Oh. Oh. Poor kitty, did you get shot too?”

Sissel felt his whiskers twitch, but he refrained from saying anything.

Lynne wrinkled her nose. “Jerk. Who shoots a cat?”

Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything. Do not. Say. A thing.

Oblivious to this internal crisis—even though the feeling was being broadcast directly into the world of the dead—Lynne jammed her hands onto her hips. “Well, it’ll be okay, little guy. If we’re in the ghost world, then that means that Si—“

And there it was.

“Wait a second.”

He’d only dealt with this phenomena once before, so Sissel had been wondering how this would play out.

Lynne was looking at him wide-eyed, like one of the rats he would play with, but refused to actively hunt. Finally, she found the words. Or, rather, word.

“CAT.”

“Yes.”

“You’re a cat?”

“Yes.”

“Holy cow! You’re a cat.”

“I am a cat. I have a scratching post and everything.” He gave his tail a dainty flick and reminded himself that it was untoward to sass the recently departed.

…oh to hell with it. Lynne didn’t count as ‘recently departed’.

“Do you want to reaffirm that I’m a cat a few more times, or can I get on with this?”

“How—how are you the cat?”

“Reaffirmation it is.”

“Can you give me a second to process this? I just found out I was crushing on a cat.”

Sissel tilted his head, uncomprehending. “It was a chicken. And it crushed you.”

Lynne buried her face in her hands.

While she was distracted, Sissel shook a tree branch, jostling the umbrella loose as his query passed beneath it. This time, he rode down with it, stuck the landing-- shoved haphazardly in the assailant’s bag-- and waited. When the man moved to draw his pistol, the umbrella’s spring-locked handle shot upwards and knocked it out of his grip. Past-Lynne started and whirled around.

The would-be murderer panicked and tried to grab something in his bag, but only came up with the wayward umbrella. Said umbrella promptly exploded to its full size, giving Lynne enough time to snatch the gun up and train it on him.

Current-day Lynne gave a low whistle, having long-since emerged from her hiding spot to watch the show. “What was that, a tree branch and an umbrella? Either you’re getting better at this or I need to step up my game.”

“I don’t think I can handle you at the top of your game.”