#on his face. the organic imperfections is what i am saying

[notachair]

I think... this puts to word some of what I felt was kinda of with how handled things. Some anyway. I've been trying to articulate what feels... off. It's rough so bear with me trying to untangle more of it... and I'm so sorry but this is a wall... on your post... tell me if you want me to make my own and just link to this instead.

When it comes to Jayce's little speech there's this line, as an example...

And what got me immediately here is... when have we really been shown that to be true, to "always" be true? I felt like this was an assumption put onto Viktor by the writers. Internalized ableism is a bitch, but I think they're doing a lot here with the implication of "always". Disabled folks all have our own journeys with it, but I don't think moments of falling prey to it- is something that should define his whole historic relationship to his disability. (Also one's allowed to vent about one's experiences with one's disability and the realities of how one's met with in the world, without it being taken as a diminishing of one's own worth.) And as you say, none of that really address the whys of the structural aspects affecting him both physically and mentally. Like (in regards to the internalized ableism) what is it that is constantly trying to make those shards of pain and inadequacy they'd put in him- to expand and consume, despite whatever fight he'd put up against it on either the internal or external front? And then there's also the difference between wanting to manage one's disability and... you know, hoping to cure one's *terminal* illness in fear of death's face.

I won't deny other disabled people feeling any comfort in those words. I do think there's something delicate and meaningful in having someone care for you and remind you of your worth when those shards, unwittingly or not, have spread and festered a wound in your self perception, because people keep saying it should be there and trying to create it if it's not. It's not that it can't be or isn't impactful, but... was that it? The big message? In combination with everything else, it felt more... preachy? And to a certain degree patronizing? The issue is that I felt *talked at* from someone's able-bodied* perspective. *Yes, even if Jayce no longer is non-disabled himself, that current commonality isn't emphasized, and even so- disabilities and disabled experiences aren't 1 = 1 (this applies to me too), never mind the *terminal* aspect, his leg's also an acquired disability.

Okay so what only ever Jayce apparently managed to have Viktor see, was essentially: "only you can show me that perfection perceived is not something worth seeking- an empty reward. There's beauty in imperfections", or something right? And his mode of attack was... that. Idk I am left unimpressed. I understand the point of putting value on perceived "imperfections", and that Viktor (could... actually... I had a whole section on internalized ableism I removed lol. But.)... that his disabilities could be and was perceived as "imperfections" within his new framework (btw, I saw him using the hexcore on his bad leg as a means to test out his chances for curing his terminal illness- 🤔 not really as a "I kinda just really wanted to cure my leg idk", and it would make for the most obvious results if it worked without messing with the vital organs of his torso, though he was only allowed to keep it for so long by that hexcore). But also, the philosophy he presents was more about than just his own disability or actual terminal illness (!!), it's about a flawed perspective on the general human condition, put to the extreme after Viktor became increasingly isolated (despite being surrounded by people mind and body, "we are one") and grew further detached, partly to the nature of his new existence* (*thoughts to be had here though, and also, whatever happened to the build up and clarification of to whatever degree the hexcore itself influenced him?).

Motive: on his desire to help others, emotionality.

A core part of Viktor's character is his desire to help and aid people, particularly those of the Undercity, and with Jayce it becomes about helping people through the science of hextech (a renewable and non-exhaustive energy source, I think there's a Point there) (tho I've gotta say... their presented products in S1Act2... can't say it's impossible for geniuses to be kinda dumb, it wasn't what I expected anyhow lmao). Act 3 Viktor, post-"imperfections of emotions and individual agency leads to pain and strife, as the other inextricably bound side of the coin = humanity's self-corrupting contradiction" conclusion, basically ended up out there trying to calculate himself to solving human suffering on an evolutionary level (truly Singed's apprentice that way), which was just eugenics in the end.

Even if that point of validation, of acceptance, is nice, especially when previously thought something forsaken to you... and despite what some would previously read/portray him within fandom- he DOES care about the interpersonal, like there's a reason he clings onto that goddamn tattered blanket 😭 And he continues to make a point of wanting Jayce by his side again in both act 2 and 3. But I still feel like it misses the "point" when the majority of the focus ends up on "you're doing this because of internalized ableism but I'm telling you that you matter actually, to me". I feel like it simplifies a lot to draw such conclusions of the matter, and make that the most effective point of "attack". I mean- seeing himself and what he was about to make the world into- kinda did after the mask broke a bit. But- other than Viktor's lines of "why do you persist? After everything I've done?", the "you were never broken" ends up defining this important built up scene. And I dislike this focus that completely overrides the structural issues involved, and basically works as a good-feel band-aid. I dislike the way Viktor's character motivation feels reduced to that point, with that "always" in particular, as well as the "only you" when that was the conviction made. Combating ableism 101.

Like I get he's attacking the personal projections that could drive the conviction, but he sorta kinda didn't hit all the marks there. Uh- not to say that I don't know he's just being sincere here as well, in expressing his care and love for Viktor. But I feel like it works as a deflection that shouldn't have been entirely effective on its own (yes the future-vision, but it's not emphasized in a way I'd like), story-wise anyway. I thought maybe they'd emphasize more on the emotional part, of his overall self-perception and of Viktor hurting (and not just in the "internalized ableism" way) despite however unaffected he might or might not seem (def not all gone). I can see Viktor in his state of upset and alienation of his body (and mind?)... see that hurt (grown from affection) as something, on a personal level, that holds or has held him back from actually follow up on those dreams of helping people (which become *that* in result). And with the access to the power that he has... conveniently think to attempt ridding himself of it, distancing himself, rather than process it. There's a certain... distancing happening just from that nature of having access to the experiences of so many people too, through that hivemind even if it's the most intimate thing as well and would stir a lot of emotion within him. And then there's him getting offed by Jayce in act 2 where he has his whole "two sides of the same coin" moment, and in the end, seeing "the glorious revolution" as a final calculated solution to strife (and- perhaps his own internal strife). There's something too to that "the line" sequence after being rejected in episode 8. But yea, there is a point here that could have been made in terms of valuing "imperfections" of the human condition, but it's... not really being made? "They're part of everything that makes you you, and everything that I admired about you" (paraphrasing), sure, but what about some emphasis on other things idk. He's more than that and all that, but I feel like they ironically made everything about his disabilities instead, and I'm dreading the state of readings and depictions🧍

(Btw on that note of "part of what makes you you", I did like that even the herald still had his braces and ect. fused to his body, and even glowing up in the astral plane. I liked that the ones that were "cured", was not left unmarked by the change. Of note- a lot of those people seemed to have had similar conditions to Viktor, in the sense that they affected the limbs. Pretty sure that one kid who led Jayce was the kid in a wheelchair beside Ekko in ep 7 when watching Heimerdinger's performance)

Also, I would... have liked... more of him taking a side with the Undercity though... and agency, non-agency, death, transformation…go rage some my guy 🔥

Motive: on Piltover / Zaun, the structural.

So on another point... a very important aspect here for Viktor IS that initial dream of theirs WITH the sociopolitical circumstances. Before all of the cult stuff, the main tension between Jayce and Viktor is the matter of the Undercity and how they're dealing with the hextech (I've kinda wanted to make a post about it). And similarly with catvi and the story otherwise, that element does not get as acknowledged, and it suffers for it. Their dynamic and history is not removed from its sociopolitical context. And there... is something to that shard of insecurity impacting him more than he'd thought. But what it comes back to- is the structural injustices he has been faced with both as disabled and a Zaunite/someone of the Undercity. Like his terminal illness was literally fucking because of the damn injustices Piltover inflicted upon them, majorly didn't care to fix and would punish people for protesting. And as I said, their common initial dream, was essentially about helping people through the science of hextech, like- people of the Undercity. Something which they failed to follow up on, and then Viktor was dying, accidentally involved Sky in his own risky business that resulted in her death and him getting suicidal, then- died from Jinx's attack- frankensteined in violation of his agency (!!!)- and then Viktor leaves Jayce *after seeing the hextech weapons plans* (double betrayal). And there really is something to Sky's significance here... But yea, Viktor leaves with a totem to those hopeful dreams, in order to try to help or aid people of the Undercity with the new abilities he had. Like he's not wrong for wanting to do that, I get why he'd just up and leave. His philosophy about things resulting into the idea of a "glorious evolution" to solve human strife and the details of those transformation do essentially just become eugenics in the end though (btw, whatever was their choices with "all those willing" to forceful turning...?).

I think there are ways they could have explored further nuances around all of this, but like with the other things, the journey was cut short and simplified. In a sense I'm glad he had more agency than people were speculating, but at the same time... And I think there is a Choice done in making Viktor's "glorious evolution" the bigger bad (together with Ambessa and whatever she was doing all of that for), AND that it served as a way to override majorly every other conflict by presenting a bigger bad for Zaun and Piltover to "unite against a common enemy" for. If they'd emphasized more on him being a reaction to those injustices, with a hexcore boost, to Piltover's structural injustices against the Undercity (which includes that social model of disability), then maybe it could work more. AND with it having a presence in the Viktor-Jayce confrontation/resolution. But it's more "both sides"-ing the issue, with its favour in Piltover's hands despite it all. And like- "I dreamt about giving magic to the people-" yes, but what was the reason why? I'll give him points for the "now" in "now I only want my partner back" anyhow. Idk, I don't see the disregard of the implicit "wanting to help people" part as a win. Though it's presented through the emphasis of "magic" which has been demonstrated as... sinister to a degree, but also... not? Potentially. But the magic was never THE issue.

Even on just the interpersonal level between the too (which it's not restricted to at all)- I, again, dislike this focus that completely overrides the structural issues, and works as a good-feel band-aid. It needs to extend further, and sure it does in a sense on the individual basis with his choice to stay with Viktor even when he gave him an out. But as an important message moment? It doesn't demonstrate enough to extend outside of it, because we don't see it applied in different contexts, like properly addressing his whys. And with Viktor's one line of "why do you persist? after everything I've done" "because I promised you"... it's not that what Viktor did and was about to do wasn't Fucked Up (and he was having a lot of guilt about accidentally having Sky killed, I can see him getting fixated on trying to "make up for" it somewhat after being brought back to life in his alienated body, and in a sense uh... overcompensating), but idk.. I wish there was something that extended Jayce's way too? That addressed those points of tension in their history? I am not a Jayce-hater, but I don't think he's an uncritical "hero" here. Viktor ends up having little voice at this level despite his speeches (we barely hear him talk after the mask fractured some). And the matter of his forceful transformation, is not really brought up other than potentially with "this chain of events, started with you" in that one council room confrontation. "I never asked for this!"- neither did he <3<3<3. Anyway.

THERE IS SO MUCH TO SAY. But I gotta round it up eventually, so I've cutting off all my other things that found its place on this reblog while I've had it in the drafts.

Agency, disability, biomechanics and transhumanism is a TOPIC though. A topic with many fine lines.

Thank you so much for incredible disability representation!! Huh? Uh, yeah, I guess it's okay that there's no acknowledgement of the social model of disability... Oh, our character's feelings about his body and the treatment he faced aren't really discussed in detail? I guess that's alright. 'You were never broken... there's beauty in imperfection... they made you who you are'? That could be appropriate given context, yeah! Oh, no? Not addressing his pain or the discrimination against him or the fact his disabling factors were preventable?

No acknowledgement of how the world should be made better and safer for people who actually have disabilities? Only a message of 'disabilities don't make you inherently broken' that feels aimed at abled folks? ...Okay.

Anyway... thank you for the incredible disability representation.

[averlym]

"one day, i cut him an apple. when he saw it, he laughed" (click for better resolution!) ,,, tag from @elliotly

[jrow]

May Prompts (24)

Day 23 is here. Start at the beginning here. Day 25 here.

Imperfect

The brain is an imperfect organ.

It’s not a machine that can access detailed memories at will or calculate the most probable answer at the drop of a hat. It is fallible.

They are fallible.

Right now he wants to shake John until the memories pop out in full. Because John remembers he was pushed, remembers he saw the thief’s face, but can’t remember what the perpetrator looked like.

And, he is so angry at his own stupid brain for missing the obvious. He had been so sure that the thief had jumped down those stairs that he hadn’t considered any other possibilities. He made an assumption and it was wrong. And as a result, John was left alone with a criminal that had seemingly nothing to lose.

But the anger at himself pales in comparison to the rage he feels for the thief they were chasing. The man who tried to kill John. Twice. Rage is an understatement.

He will hunt that man to the ends of the earth. He will set the world on fire if he needs to.

He wants to find and destroy the thief NOW. Rosie is the only thing stopping him. John ducked away from the table to make a few calls now that his memory has (partially) returned, leaving Sherlock to watch Rosie.

Rosie’s who’s smiling broadly, face covered in ganache. He isn’t sure any of it actually got in her mouth.

“Here, let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, dipping a napkin in his cup of water. Somehow the simple act seems to calm him a little and he can practically feel the adrenaline dissipate. He’s still angry but no longer blinded by rage.

He leans forward and reaches for Rosie’s face.

“Nooooo,” she squeals, pulling away. “I like it!!!!”

He tosses the napkin on the table and sighs. He cannot be bothered with this right now.

Luckily, it appears that John is done his calls.

“How’d it go?” he asks impatiently as John takes his seat.

“Good. Talked to your brother. Lestrade was at the yard so I pretended I was calling to invite him over tomorrow. Since you figured out a copper might be involved, I figured I better be tight lipped while he’s around others on the force, you know? I think he knew it was a ruse, which is fine.”

“Mycroft will bring him up to speed quickly.”

“And do thorough background checks on everyone at New Scotland Yard, no doubt,” John adds. His face is neutral but there’s a hint of admiration in his voice. John looks at Rosie and sighs, picking up the wet napkin and cleaning her face, ignoring her protests. “I can’t believe the damn cop managed to hide his face from four jewelry store security cameras. If he had just looked at the camera once, we’d have something to go on.” He tosses the napkin on the table. “Or if I could just remember his stupid face.”

“It will come, John,” Sherlock says, quietly, working very hard to sound genuine. He’s feeling a touch impatient but the last thing John needs is to feel guilty.

“I called Mrs. Hudson and Molly,” John says with a sigh, obviously looking to change the subject. We can drop Rosie at Baker Street and then head … well, wherever you think we should go. Molly will come by to help Mrs. Hudson after her shift.” John smiles. “She seemed genuinely thrilled she’ll get to see Rosie awake this time.” He runs a hand over his face. “God, I am so damn lucky.”

“Interesting sentiment given the events of the last week.”

John shrugs. “I survived, didn’t I?”

“You’ll need a nap soon.”

“Thanks for bringing that up, not emasculating at all.” John sighs again but it sounds almost fond. “I know you’re right but I want to try to work on the case for a couple hours. I … need to.”

God, Sherlock needs that too. Just him and John against the world, if only for a moment.

John stands up and starts stacking their empty plate, gazing out the window. “I have to do something since I can’t remember the damn guy’s face.”

And then, out of nowhere, John is coughing violently.

His heart enters his throat. “John! What’s wrong?”

John stands and turns around so he’s facing the back of the cafe, still coughing. “I recognized him. The thief. On the roof. I recognized him. We’ve worked with him before,” he says quietly between (now clearly fake) coughs. “And he’s watching us from across the street right now.”

@keirgreeneyes @raina-at @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @jolieblack @phoenix27884 @friday411 @calaisreno @lisbeth-kk @safedistancefrombeingsmart @momma2boys @helloliriels @dapetty @quimerasyutopias

[starghost-fics]

my dear ones, we have finally made it. i am splitting no more chapters, adding no more unexpected scenes. this is the capper of caps, this is the epilogue of epilogues. i hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 24—epilogue: two or three years later: Trent finds himself back at the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art with Ted and the kids.

please note: we have double content behind the cut. both my rambling comments on this chapter, and a very special assortment of facts about their lives

commentary

at the very last minute, as I was debating whether to actually keep writing and show the proposal, I realized I had the opportunity to end, visually, like S3, but in a much more unambiguously positive way.

I like Ted's expression in that last shot of S3, the longing and uncertainty and also satisfaction written all over his face, and the way this imperfect little comedy never gave in to being simplistically happy and instead poked at the fact that life is difficult and full of compromises while also being wonderful if you work at it, but also:

let the man just be extremely happy and not sacrifice an entire life he built for the idea of a nuclear family, maybe? maybe?

anyway, closing shot on Ted's face, but this time right before he makes a very good decision as opposed to sometime after he made a difficult to negative one.

My original note to myself for an epilogue was a very simple sketch:

"Unspecified future. Ted and Trent sit on a bench under a tree. Trent has a tea in his hand; Ted has a cocoa. Ted's puffer is zipped to his chin, and Trent has a messily hand-knit scarf around his neck. Ted's arm stretches along the back of the bench; the way Trent's legs are crossed, his foot hovers in front of Ted's shin. They talk about nothing. They talk about art. They talk about work (Trent is teaching at a university in addition to continuing to write). They talk about whatever. "Vi will be coming soon with Charlotte," Ted says, looking at his phone. They go home. They have a home."

but then one day i was very tired at work and then i thought of Trent nervous on a trip back to KC and Henry seeing right through him and imagined how Trent would feel at Henry asking to call him Dad and being so forcefully reminded of his own happiness and the family he's made

and i couldn't say no to THAT

i mean i almost had a heart attack at my desk

I would also like to admit that I'm pretty sure I was thinking of Alexis de Tocqueville's tour of America, not Marquis de Lafayette, when I made the reference in the very first paragraph of this fic, though Lafayette did famously return to America post-Revolution and stayed over a year. Maybe Trent and Ted had the same brainfart, and that's why they're meant to be together.

some facts about the rest of their lives

Trent gets through the little proposal he'd written for himself (he was not going to fuck up the whole speaking words thing again by attempting to improvise this of all things) but then gets flustered because Ted is openly sobbing as he says yes.

Ted keeps the picture of them on their first date (the one by the river) in a place of honor at home, and uses it as his phone's background. (his lock screen is always Henry, and then Henry and Charlotte.) Trent pretends to be aggrieved by this (he didn't know it was a date, and then he blocked Ted, how could you keep reminding me) but truly he loves it, loves remembering that date, loves the way they look together in the sunset.

Ted and Trent have an eternally-running argument about the greatest book of all time, which is meaningless to both of them, but which they get very heated about; in this way, they end up less heated when they have actual arguments.

Trent steals Ted's bland sweaters ("do you just walk into j crew* and take the whole mannequin to the register" "what's wrong with that, they worked hard putting that outfit together") but only wears them for two reasons: he's at home and it's cold, or he knows he's going out and he styles it with all his old beat up band and rock shit from his youth with Vi

* please note that I don't know the UK equivalent to j crew and am not about to do research for bonus notes on a fanfic

When Charlotte is ten, they get a dog. She negotiated with the whole family to decide that they would certainly find the corgi of their dreams at the fostering center, but once they arrive, she (quickly followed by Ted) falls in love with Lucy, a mix of unspecified origins, but almost certainly with some Great Dane in her heritage. Lucy is nearly as large as Charlotte when they curl up on the floor, and Trent secretly lets her join him on the couch when he's reading.

Ted has a million nicknames for Charlotte, yes, but almost exclusively uses 'sweetheart' for Trent. (Well, and 'sport,' for the memories.) Why sweetheart, Trent never asks, but Ted tells him one day anyway: it's because Ted always knew that behind that fearsome journalist was a heart as sweet as sugar, and boy, was he ever right.

After that, he starts calling Trent 'sugar' once in a while.

[tweetsongs]

Transmigrating into the Reborn Male Lead’s Ex-Boyfriend Chapter 154

previous chapter | next chapter

chapter 154! more angst and suffering.

once again reminder that this is a casual translation, if some things sound weird they're probably my mistakes 🙏. last chapter should be up in a few days!

-

Time seemed to rewind, and Song Xuanhe was brought back to that rainy evening that changed everything.

In the car back then, the boy in front of him had the same expression on his face, the youthful face tense with the effort of pretending to be calm, while his eyes couldn’t hide the nervous love that he felt.

He had a beautiful face, with eyes that were both full of emotion and concealed his intentions. When someone had these kinds of features, it was easy for people to forgive his wrongdoings and his imperfections. Xiao Yuanmu used this natural talent to great effect, and because he had so many other talents, it was even easier for others to let him off the hook easily.

This was a natural fault in the nature of humankind, it was impossible to change.

Even as a designer who often saw beauty in all its forms, who wasn’t easily moved, Song Xuanhe had a hard time resisting this attack.

Back then, Song Xuanhe had already forgiven him the moment he spoke. But at that time, because of forces outside of his control, he couldn’t say anything.

This time, though, it was different.

Song Xuanhe closed the door behind him, and moved steadily to Xiao Yuanmu’s bedside. He placed his hand gently on his face, brushing a finger across the corner of his eye while saying: “You and I are the same. There will never be anything that you can do that will hurt me, except if you leave me.”

He looked at Xiao Yuanmu, finding his answer in his shaking gaze. “Are you preparing to leave me?”

Xiao Yuanmu looked at Song Xuanhe, dark eyes overflowing with light. He gently lifted the corners of his lips and took Song Xuanhe’s hand. “No matter what, I will never voluntarily leave you.”

Song Xuanhe blinked hard, the sour feeling at the back of his nose rising to his eyes.

“Xiao Yuanmu, what exactly is wrong with you?”

Xiao Yuanmu didn’t answer, but the system did.

[Xiao Yuanmu is experiencing organ failure.]

Song Xuanhe asked blankly: [What does that mean?]

[Whether it’s his heart, liver, spleen, lungs, kidneys, stomach...]

“I know what organ failure means!” Song Xuanhe shouted. “I’m asking why.”

[After you completed your mission, my system was returned to its original settings, and it takes longer for me to execute many tasks. I’m trying to figure out why he’s experiencing organ failure, but I need more time...]

“How much?”

[I don’t know, I’m guessing around fifty hours or so.]

“Xuanhe.”

“Can’t it be faster?” Song Xuanhe’s face was tense. “Can you find a treatment?”

[If I could find the reason for the failure, then the chances of finding a treatment would be high. But I can’t be sure that this planet will have any way of completely treating Xiao Yuanmu.]

“Please find the cause quickly,” Song Xuanhe said softly. “Thank you.”

The system paused, then said: [Don’t thank me, and don’t apologize to me either. Everything I do for you is only what I’m supposed to be doing anyways.]

Song Xuanhe opened his mouth to reply, when Xiao Yuanmu interrupted him and asked: “Who are you talking to?”

“Wait until the time is right.” Song Xuanhe looked at Xiao Yuanmu. “You told me that before- that, when the time is right, you’ll tell me your secret.”

Xiao Yuanmu looked into his eyes, then suddenly laughed. 

“You’re not Song Xuanhe,” he said confidently.

“I am Song Xuanhe.”

“Not the Song Xuanhe I met,” Xiao Yuanmu shook his head, pulling Song Xuanhe’s hand down and tracing it. “Until now, I kept thinking that it was a parallel universe.”

Song Xuanhe looked at him without much surprise.

Xiao Yuanmu had a distant look on his face, and he raised his hand. “A few days ago, I suddenly found that it was difficult to control my hand.”

Song Xuanhe’s gaze moved to his hand. His hand was beautiful, with long pale fingers, neatly cut nails, and no imperfections. Looking closer, though, he saw a faint tremor going through the hand.

Xiao Yuanmu’s lips tilted up slightly. “This is what happens when I use all of my strength to control my hand.”

“A few days ago, I went back to visit Dr. Gao Sen to do a physical checkup using his private laboratory,” Xiao Yuanmu said. “I found irregularities in my body at the time in my life when I was most looking forward to the future. It was my fault for not properly paying attention to my health. I kept putting off telling you until it came to this.”

“Back then, I could tell that you were going through something difficult,” Xiao Yuanmu told Song Xuanhe. “I didn’t want to burden you more when I didn’t have any definitive results.”

Song Xuanhe didn’t look at Xiao Yuanmu, the hand resting on his bed turning pale.

“My body was only acting up a little back then, and there were a lot of things going on in the company, so I spent most of my time at work and made an appointment to fly back and check with Dr. Gao Sen afterwards.”

Song Xuanhe raised his head, looking at Xiao Yuanmu and speaking one sentence at a time. “When you came back, you introduced me to your lawyer, your doctor, and your financial advisor one by one. This was because of your results, wasn’t it?”

Xiao Yuanmu grabbed the hand that Song Xuanhe left on the bed, his shaking, chilly fingers sending a shiver through Song Xuanhe’s cold body.

“I thought about getting you to leave,” Xiao Yuanmu’s grip on Song Xuanhe’s hand tightened, eyes darkening. “But I couldn’t.” 

He looked at Song Xuanhe, eyes filled with an apology and an even deeper regret. “I’m sorry.”

Song Xuanhe: “Remember the seafood congee.”

Xiao Yuanmu paused, eyes softening with a smile. “Okay.”

In a moment, the smile in his eyes scattered again, replaced with a thousand heavy emotions. He pushed them down again.

“Do you believe in reincarnation?” Xiao Yuanmu asked softly. He didn’t look at Song Xuanhe, looking out into the air instead.

“I do.”

Xiao Yuanmu’s eyelashes shook. “I’ve died twice now.”

Song Xuanhe’s eyebrows furrowed, and he looked at Xiao Yuanmu with astonishment. Seeing the surprise in his eyes, Xiao Yuanmu frowned to himself a little mockingly. 

“Are you afraid?”

[Twice?] Song Xuanhe asked in his mind. [Xiao Yuanmu reincarnated twice?]

[Xiao Yuanmu reincarnated twice?] 

From its tone, the system sounded even more surprised.

For some reason, hearing someone be more surprised than him, Song Xuanhe found himself calming down. He looked at Xiao Yuanmu.

“You said before that you thought this was a parallel universe. What do you mean?”

“Before the first time I was reborn, I met you for the first time.” Xiao Yuanmu said placidly. “It wasn’t you, actually, it was another Song Xuanhe. He could be counted as the main reason for my rebirth, and when I was first reborn I truly hated him. But there were too many things that needed my attention, and I gradually forgot to keep track of him. Until his death, I never saw him again.”

“After I was reborn for the second time, I thought it would be like that again,” Xiao Yuanmu said, looking at Song Xuanhe. “But it wasn’t the same.”

“You were different from him. At first, it was only a suspicion, but soon it became a certainty. But this was a good thing to me, since it let me accept the fact that I fell in love with you more easily.” Xiao Yuanmu said. “So I thought of this world as a parallel version of the first world. Now, though, listening to you talk to yourself just now, I’m beginning to think that I might be wrong.”

“Your first rebirth was because of me, what about your second?” Song Xuanhe asked. “How did you die then?”

“A car accident.” Xiao Yuanmu’s lips twitched. “The last round, Xiao Baicong also crushed his leg, but it was only the one leg that time, so he didn’t give up on taking over the Xiao family business. Using Zhang Siwei’s cousin and Bai Mo, they planned a car accident.”

Song Xuanhe frowned and asked: “Why were you fooled back then?”

Xiao Yuanmu looked at him with a smile in his eyes. “Because you weren’t there last time.”

Song Xuanhe didn’t know what subtext lay beneath the surface-level meaning of Xiao Yuanmu’s words, and didn’t try to decipher what story hid behind this phrase. Even with just the words themselves, he could feel his heart twist painfully.

“You have me in this world, so you’ll survive this time.” Song Xuanhe said.

Xiao Yuanmu smiled and shook his head. “Before I met you, I thought that it was because I made too many mistakes in my previous life, that the heavens were punishing me. Now, after knowing you, I understand why I was reborn.”

“Yang Jie and Louis will help you, and the financial advisor that I introduced you to has-”

Song Xuanhe stopped him mid-sentence, teeth digging into his bottom lip and slipping his tongue between his teeth with passion underlaid with fury. Xiao Yuanmu was forced to wrest control back from him as the kiss grew out of control.

By the time the two separated, they were both breathing erratically.

“Xiao Yuanmu,” Song Xuanhe said. “You told me your secret. Now let me tell you ours.”

Xiao Yuanmu looked at Song Xuanhe. 

Song Xuanhe smiled back at him and said: “It’s true that I’m not the original Song Xuanhe, but this isn’t a parallel universe either. It was me that came from a different universe.”

“The other universe is very similar to this one, from its history to the things in it. You could say that these universes are parallel worlds. There are also many things in this universe that weren’t in the other universe. The reason I came to this universe was for you.”

Song Xuanhe looked down towards Xiao Yuanmu. “In my mind, there’s a system using technology beyond our worlds. It took me from my world and brought me here. Did you know? I’ve already finished my mission here. If I wanted to, I could leave this world in three days and go back to my own world.”

Xiao Yuanmu suddenly grabbed his hand. Song Xuanhe held it back just as tightly, continuing. “I had many things in my original world.  My relatives, my friends, my mentor. You probably wondered why I suddenly began designing clothes, or maybe you became sure that I wasn’t the original Song Xuanhe because of it. Now I can tell you- it’s because I was a designer in my old world. My teacher was pretty famous in the field, he was picky with designs and with people, but he was willing to accept many different forms of beauty.”

“Even if something was damaged, or incomplete, he was able to accept them all.” Song Xuanhe smiled. “He taught me too many things. Even when my parents and friends all left me, he remained the only person who cared about me.”

Looking at the nostalgia in Song Xuanhe’s eyes, Xiao Yuanmu’s jaw clenched.

Before, when he had thought about the issue that was Song Xuanhe, he wanted to catalog everything different about this person, understand every detail hidden in his heart. This curiosity eventually turned into like, and after experiencing many things with him, like changed again into love.

He had heard once that to like someone was to want to possess them, while to love was to be able to control yourself.

But even using all of his self-control, he wasn’t able to dispel the desire to monopolize Song Xuanhe. He wanted to always be looking at him, to be with him every second of every minute. He even thought, selfishly, that if Song Xuanhe loved him back, he could use that love to tie him by his side, to make it so that they would always stay within each other’s eyes.

Yes, he knew that beneath Song Xuanhe’s careless exterior, there was actually an incredibly soft heart.

He always pretended to be unconcerned, pretended to be cold and indifferent, but as someone who was actually cold, it was easy to see through the facade. From seeing through the facade, he could also trace back into his memories and see how much of Song Xuanhe’s warmth he had received after meeting him.

He wanted to cling to this warmth, and he could also tell by this warmth that the Song Xuanhe of this life was not the Song Xuanhe from his last life, or the life before that.

But this warmth was too ethereal, and he became afraid of losing it. He always had the paranoid idea that Song Xuanhe would leave him one day. The thought always seemed  to come out of nowhere, but he couldn’t keep it out of his mind.

That’s why he was always trying to find the reason for the difference in Song Xuanhe from his previous two lives. Because he had lived many lives, his imagination for what the reason could be was more expansive than others would’ve guessed, to the point where he’d thought about the possibility of alternate universes.

He hadn’t thought that Song Xuanhe’s answer would be even stranger than what he’d imagined.

This answer was better than any future he could’ve planned for Song Xuanhe. Once he left, Song Xuanhe could return to his own world, to the route he was meant to walk. He would have a good life, a mentor that cared for him, his work, and his friends. He could leave this world and the dangers that were rising around them. Any way you looked at it, this was the perfect solution.

But Xiao Yuanmu couldn’t let go of his hand. Dr. Gao Sen told him that he had half a month left. He had planned out what he would need to do for Song Xuanhe in half a month. He had convinced himself to accept the inevitable, convinced himself that he wouldn’t be leaving behind any regrets.

This perfect answer disrupted his plans, shortened his fifteen days down to three.

His time left with Song Xuanhe was three days.

After three days, Song Xuanhe would go to a place where he had never been and could not understand. He would wait until his organs shut down, and leave the mortal plane. He and Song Xuanhe wouldn’t exist in the same world anymore, and their worlds would never overlap again.

“Xiao Yuanmu,” Song Xuanhe’s voice pulled Xiao Yuanmu back. “I’ve constantly been going back and forth about whether or not to return to my world, or to stay in this one. I always thought that I had no reason to stay. But, just in the past few days, I found my reason to stay, and I also found the reason why I came to this world.”

“You are the reason that I came to this world, and the reason that I’m staying.”

“I want you to leave,” Xiao Yuanmu said, lifting his eyes coolly. “After three days have passed, you should return to your world.”

“There’s still hope for your condition,” Song Xuanhe said. “My system is made of extremely advanced technology-”

“Do you know what Xiao Lin asked me when we met that day?” Xiao Yuanmu cut Song Xuanhe off, saying: “He asked me how I could be sure that you loved me.”

Song Xuanhe’s gaze shook as he looked at Xiao Yuanmu.

“I’ve heard before that it’s easy to die for someone, but it’s difficult to live for them.” Xiao Yuanmu looked at Song Xuanhe as he spoke. “I hope that you can return to your world, for my sake.”

[agaveblue]

[Fanfic] Sales Pitch

Title: Sales Pitch

Summary: The truth is Walter Londra doesn’t need an android. But with CyberLife downright determined to court him, and with the sheer amount of NDAs they’ve shoved at even him of all people, and even Walter is…curious about the apparently hush-hush prototype in his living room. Just a one-shot glimpse into what Connor might’ve been up to in the days of the Old Ones.

Crossover canons: Horizon games / Detroit: Become Human

Main characters: Connor (DBH) and Walter Londra (Horizon Forbidden West: Burning Shores)

Work Text:

“My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife.”

Walter Londra squints, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other clutched around a frosted glass of whiskey, head tilted as he eyes this…thing from dark head to impeccably shined oxfords and back up again, and he can’t help that his first kneejerk reaction is I want one.

Good God, CyberLife really was good at what they did, weren’t they? Aside from the blinking blue light stamped into the machine’s head, you really couldn’t tell that “Connor” here wasn’t human no matter close you got to look for shimmering in the synthetically generated epidermis. No, no, this wasn’t the holo-skin of inferior products like the Faro servitors, with their metal and plastic skeletons covered in that translucent glowing sheath. It even looks more lifelike than the CyberLife androids he’s seen on market, the AX200s and CB200s and whatever. Why, the engineers designed this thing so that even the dark hair and smattering of small imperfections - faint freckles, slightly uneven, dark eyebrows - looked just like the real thing even as he leans in close, real close, to look for seams or that slight, barely there plastic-like sheen that previous CyberLife models had. Even when the machine extends its hand, it has the right grip, the right give…

Cold touch: ugh, Walter thinks, that glowing first impression slightly soured, and he unconsciously wipes his hand on his designer jeans once Connor releases it.

The android doesn’t seem to notice, still gazing at him with a politely friendly expression fixed on its handsome face.

“Mr. Londra, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Connor says. “Thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with me.”

Walter grunts, still eyeing the RK800. “Are you even for sale?”

“Regrettably I’m not.”

Now he wants the damn thing even more and he doesn’t even know why: he’s already got an army of personal assistants and security and he’s never given much thought to CyberLife androids until now.

“But in the future I might be to certain… select clientele,” Connor goes on with a dip of its head, almost as if it’s apologizing directly to the billionaire standing before it. The machine’s dark eyes, brown, soft, somehow alluring as if they’re already good friends (or they could be), fix on Walter.

“I assume I’m on the list.”

“Correct.”

“And how high am I on it?”

“Quite high. In fact, you’re the first from the private sector.”

“Good,” Walter laughs, “You know how I feel about being first!”

Connor doesn’t chuckle but it does manage something that looks like a small smile, private, reserved only for him as if it’s known the human for years. As if it knows him as well as Evelyn does. Did.

“A feeling that’s well-deserved, given your remarkable contributions and foresight. May I sit?”

The question catches Walter off-guard. First, because he’s the one who offers people chairs, if he feels they deserve one or if they can stay standing, and because people around him don’t have the balls to ask like that, and two, because he’d been busy just staring at this marvelously engineered thing standing before him and he’d already started to forget that, clammy handshake and blinking LED aside, that Connor wasn’t an attractive, weirdly approachable man at all. In his surprise Walter shrugs, gestures toward the real-leather armchair, watches for a second as the slender machine dressed in its sharp office wear heads to it, and then steps away to help himself to more whiskey.

He reminds himself that there’s no point pouring for two from the decanter.

“So why send you in person? CyberLife could’ve sent me your specs instead of shipping you all the way from Detroit.”

Connor’s voice is aggressively pleasant behind him, with its inoffensive, slight rasp.

 “That would have been appropriate for other prospective clientele. However, someone like you, Mr. Londra, deserves far more than the standard VR package.”

Walter’s smiling, lazy and indulgent, as he turns around with whiskey tumbler in hand. 

“Is that CyberLife’s opinion or yours? Can an RK800 even form opinions?”

“I believe,” Connor says mildly, “that would be best left to your interpretation.”

“Uh huh.”

"You’ll find the RK series a marked improvement in all forms of personal engagement."

“And how long, exactly, will you be shadowing me?”

“Two weeks.”

Walter sips his whiskey, feeling its familiar, soothing burn on his tongue and back of his throat, and sizes up Connor. The machine’s not dressed in the usual black-white uniform of commercial-grade CyberLife androids: instead its tailored clothes almost look like someone from, say, Londra Production’s Accounting Department, neat, smart lines, of gray and black, with even a damn silk tie around the thing’s slender neck. It’s even ironed! And yet just like every android he’s seen, there’s the usual markers. The glowing teal triangle and armband. The circular LED spinning blue above his right eyebrow. #313 248 317-50 is emblazoned on the chest of Connor’s gray jacket in glowing English like a billboard. There’s even MADE IN DETROIT stamped on there to go with the big letters of ANDROID splashed across the back of Connor’s shoulder blades.

Goddamn American Androids Act, Walter sighs, slinging himself down in the chair opposite the RK800. Tackiness wrapped up in legal bullshit no one ever asked for.

So sure, maybe Connor’s cutting edge. But it’s still just like the others and so Walter decides he better temper his expectations.

After all, he isn’t some easily impressed scrub off the street. This thing in front of him is expensive and he can tell when he’s being courted, wined and dined and having his dick sucked off. There’s got to be an angle to this that isn’t just his net worth. 

“Two weeks for what?” Walter gazes at Connor.

The machine’s head cocks, gesture a little birdlike and somehow…innocent. “For whatever you require, Mr. Londra.”

“Walter.”

“Apologies, Walter.”

Why does it sound so good hearing his name roll off the machine’s synthetic tongue?

“So what’s this about my ‘requirements’?”

Connor nods. “Maybe it'd help to think of me as your fully equipped, fully qualified personal assistant for these two weeks. I can also perform guard duty, cooking and cleaning, and anything else needed for your optimal emotional and physical health.”

“Guard duty? An android?”

“Ideally I’ll follow the same pacifist objectives as commercial androids,” Connor says, its glance sliding away for a moment to watch a seagull flit past the window and then wheel about in the sky, far above the threads of glittering traffic on the 405 and all the sorry bastards stuck in autocars that did shit all to help the congestion. “However, there may be certain circumstances - your personal safety, for example - where I can and will be able to choose which human life to…prioritize.”

The idea seems more and more attractive the more he listens. 

The more he studies Connor, its brown-eyed gaze wandering back to the window as if it’s never seen a flock of seagulls before, and there’s even a hint of boyish wonder(?) on the thing’s engineered face, its lips parted slightly, and the more he realizes the extent of the gift dropped in his lap. An android capable of violence, of doing whatever he asks however he asks. The perfect loyal being…provided it can do everything CyberLife claims it can. This could solve the problem of the MSP fiasco, he realizes, still watching Connor.

Not to mention it could solve a personal issue, closer to Earth. Closer to home….

“Well!” Walter breaks the silence. His hand tightens around the glass tumbler. He can taste the whiskey as he speaks and the RK800's head swivels back toward him, the gesture almost too smooth. “Guess we better put you through your paces.”

“Anything for you, Walter.”

“Have you met Evelyn?” “I’m afraid I haven’t had the opportunity to meet your wife just yet. Did you want me to?”

“In a way,” Walter says, grits his teeth in a forced smile flashing perfectly white teeth, leans forward, and watches as the android even copies him, as if they’re close friends leaning together over drinks. “There’s something funny going on with her and Jack Hoffman, my bodyguard. Find out what it is and bring me proof.”

“I’d be happy to.”

Eternally polite and eternally attentive, Connor starts to get up with its LED blinking furiously as if it’s already combing through social media and security CCTV, maybe even the entire holo-net for all he knows. The blue light stutters in electric surprise when Walter lurches forward, whiskey sloshing out of his glass and onto both their shoes, and catches the android by its sleeve.

“Not yet. Stay.”

And Connor obeys. The machine sits right back down and stays with him until it heads out in the morning. It takes less than three days for a single RK800 to return with solid proof that his wife, the love of his life, the star to outshine all others in the sky, is cheating on him, that traitorous, disloyal bitch. Her and that stupid, yappy, carpet-pissing Shiba Inu can't scrap together even a fraction of the loyalty this machine - on loan, even! - has shown in just a few days!

Two weeks later CyberLife comes to collect their property. Two weeks later with the CyberLife representative standing on his doorstep, Walter Londra immediately signs for an RK800 preorder on the spot, ignoring the number of zeroes and commas because you truly can't put a price on loyalty, now can you?

[cyanophore-fiction]

The Thing From Above

Soft sand broke its fall, and the thing from above came to rest in a crater of half-molten glass. The material was soft, still glowing with heat, comfortably molded around its crystalline exoskeleton. Over the sizzle of the cooling glass, it could hear waves crashing.

Earth, then. Somewhere coastal. Reascension wouldn’t be viable for the moment, not this deep down the well. Sidelined.

In its exhaustion, it allowed itself some rest. The sun crept down in the sky until it passed out of view, past the lip of its crater. Warmth took some of the ache out of its limbs, and it contemplated sleep until water began to splash over the edge and pool around it. Instead, it wrenched its talons free, shattering the mold around itself with a rain of shards, and sat up.

“You movin’ down there?”

Either a human’s voice, or a very good mimicry. Sluggish, syllables lurching through heavy air, shaped by soft tissues and teeth. The thing smiled as it rose to its feet.

“Yes,” it answered, forgetting itself. There was a yelp of shock, and it turned to see its visitor hunched over in a folding camp chair, hands clapped over his ears. It silenced its empyrean voice and instead felt around for the atrophied vocal organs in its throat.

“I ap-ol-o-gize,” it said, croaking its way through the words. The Truth allowed it to feel the shape of the human’s language well enough, but physically rendering it posed a challenge.

“No, no, no, you’re fine,” said the man, eyes screwed up in pain. His skin shone with sweat and sunscreen, and a damp University of Florida t-shirt clung to his shoulders. At his side was an insulated lunchbox sitting on a Coleman stove, and a baseball cap shaded his face from the evening sun. “You, uh, angel, huh?”

It hesitated. As all questions do, it emerged from ignorance, but this one came from such deep ignorance that Truth couldn’t resolve the question without altering all that it rested on. The thing from above looked down on the human’s patchwork understanding and saw immediately how Truth would tear him apart. In this case, Truth demanded its own dilution so that the human wouldn’t be destroyed by its touch, but wouldn’t be deprived of it, either. The thing responded as best it could.

“I am,” it said. “And you?”

“Here to say hi. I’m, uh, pastor down at Living Lord.”

“I see. Wh-ere are we?”

“Little ways north of Sarasota.”

“Con-tin-ent?”

“America. Yeah, North America. Tide’s coming in, you should c’mon out of there.”

It nodded, planted its talons in the blackened glass and stepped up onto the beach. Towering above the man, a figure of nested geometries and shimmering crystal, it passed a surge of vibration through its exoskeleton and shook off the last of the glass slag.

“Hey, you’re looking okay. Lemme get this going for you,” he said, stooping to screw a propane tank into the stove.

“What have you brought?” By degrees, the language was growing easier to render.

“An offering. For the Lord, of course, but for you, too, if you want some.” From the lunchbox, he pulled a ziplock bag of flour and a bottle of olive oil. “Don’t know if it’s up to Leviticus, but I hope it works.”

The thing smiled as Truth revealed the nature of the ritual to it. Decontextualized, reconstructed through translation, bristling with imperfections and leaking simple, kindly intent from every seam. Soon, smoke began to rise from the stove, and salty wind bathed its body in that intent. A pleasing aroma. The last of its pain melted away.

“How’s that?”

“Helpful. Thank you for your kindness. Others must have fallen here?”

“Yeah, every so often. On the news sometimes. Something going on up there?”

This question was so broad that a simple ‘yes’ would satisfy Truth, but it would hardly be a meaningful answer. Was there any way to accurately, safely convey understanding to him?

“There is—fighting,” it said, carefully.

“Oh, God. A war?”

“I cannot say more. I wish I could.”

“No, I understand. Not meant to know.”

“For the moment.”

[urbanhermit]

Pere Nicolas, SJ in a 1980 talk at the Jesuit Centre at Sevres in the context of the history of spirituality proposed Venerable Francis Libermann with [now St] Charles de Foucauld and St. Theresa of the Child Jesus as three Masters of Modern spiritual life. I hope in the near future to go to Duquesne University in Pittsburgh to access Libermann’s writings in the Spiritan Collection.

In a letter to a sister religious on March 16, 1843 Libermann wrote: You should try at all times to have the following dis-positions: i) Peace in the midst of pains and privations of all kinds. This peace should be based on confidence in Jesus and His divine love. ii) Patience with yourself in the midst of your imperfections and in also bearing the imperfections of others. iii) Mildness which is the fruit of that peace and patience. iv) Humility, which must be the basis of all the religious virtues, which God's goodness will give you.

And in a letter to Sr. Aurelia in 1843 he wrote: "He always acts with peace, and it is this peace that enables us to recognize His divine presence. Peace and humility are always signs of the presence and action of His divine grace in our souls.”

We quietly accept ourselves; we peacefully overcome resistances; we avoid over-exertion as much as laziness.

Briefly, the peace Jesus leaves and gives to his disciples means far more than a sense of safety and composure in the face of change. It speaks about the deepest invisible relation of the disciples to God. This obedience implies my readiness with Christ to say, "Yes, Father," at every moment that it becomes clear to me what His will is for me. Man can be open to reality on two levels: 1) the level of the immediate manipulation, dominance, and organization of reality and can be called the level of the managing me. It is as manager that man inscribes himself concretely in the world. 2) the level where I am present to reality not in its immediate, practical, incidental, temporal manifestations but to the deeper underlying ground of reality in its transcendent meaning, to the whole of reality that in religious experience is known as the Holy…

[svnkxssd]

Her throat closed up at his threat to leave not a stone unturned in order to find her had she not shown. Knowing him, and the look in the stormy oceans that were his eyes, she knew this to be true. Within a flash, her mind dragged her back into scenes of the past. Half-drawn curtains that let the unearthly glimpse of moonlight slip into the bedchamber. The silvery light illuminating parts of his skin as her fingertips danced over them, trailing along hard muscle and perfect imperfections that all told their own story. With her head on his chest, she listened to the rhythm of his steady heartbeat as he promised that he would always find her. One beat, two.. before her own voice returned the vow. Not only in this life, but in every life.- A cold shiver ran down her spin, regardless of the heavy warm fabric of her cloak that draped around her. Her doe-eyed gaze held his for several moments, attempting not to drown into the tempestuous waters of blue and grey as she did. It took some strands of self control to refrain from reaching out and touching him, to reassure him that she would wait however long it took for his compass to find his way back to her. Her hand ached to caress his cheek, feel the stubble and scarred lines underneath her delicate fingers. Leaving her mouth dry when her throat finally unlocked to speak. “Your duties must have your first priority and you know that. I am of too little value to your organization to justify any such action, let alone let any opportunity slip through your fingers for.”

They were in desperate need of closure, both of them, but neither had figured out a way to accomplish it. Dreadful decisions and years apart had not accomplished such a thing, nor had the attempts from both ally and enemy to separate them before. It was the reason why she held little hope in any other remedy. And so she made another hopeless attempt with words, perhaps more to convince herself than the Illiryan in front of her. “The library will keep me safe, as will my wards. Even Kovacs…” the scout with the well-kept neutral expression and icy eyes had never been the most jovial type of the bunch, but she dared to say she trusted him to keep her from harm if he could. Not only because Rhyger had ordered him to, but also because of the conversations they had had. The years they had met in privacy and exchanged knowledge by candlelight. She no longer needed the head of her thieves guild, did she? The conviction did not make the words come out any easier when she spoke. “You mustn't waste the precious minutes of your time on me, not if you have no intention of letting me back into your life.” The words stung but there was no return from the point she had crossed. The scribe had no clue what spell she held him under. What it was that he needed from her that he continued to put himself through the clear misery written on his face. She however, had convinced herself some time ago a few words from him was all she needed to sever the connection for good. And now finally, the opportunity had arrived under less than ideal circumstances. But she would take it anyway. 

As her former mate gently scoffed in disbelief, a glimmer sparked within her hazel hues. While he was an expert in uncovering information about people, setting physical traps and ambushes, she preferred a play on the mind. The satisfaction she felt when he had not expected her next move lit a small spark of hope. The hurt in his eyes moments earlier, when she had refused his payment, told her that he was not willing to let this be their final goodbye. The mercenary did not have it in his heart to let this be the moment they would sever the connection and distance themselves from one another. And so, she would use it to her advantage. No matter how it pained her. “Ah, you realize my frustration here. I would agree that if there is ever anything to be known, I have my sources to find it. - You know, it’s not an ancient buried tome of privately kept artifacts that is the hardest to uncover. It is the unspoken secret, carefully guarded by a handful of stubborn bastards.” she meant for it to sound vicious, but her lips couldn’t help but twist upward at the last words. Because even though it was true, this was her bastard.  And once upon a time, she had liked that stubbornness even if it drove her mad at times. She would have praised him for guarding that of great importance, even if it now came as such a great inconvenience. 

Her light smile faltered once more when he gave her his final answer. Perfectly painting the dark reality of the situation which head and heart continually had argued over ever since she had left Velaris. “There have been one too many things you have denied me.” she scoffed, crossing her arms over one another as she averted her gaze. What he had denied her years ago was a chance at a happy life, a home surrounded by loved ones and the possibility of starting a family.  All stolen from her due to a single action, perhaps a grave mistake, to which she had little explanation. An explanation he now intended to denied her once more. How could he be so cruel to suggest he would give her anything, except the one thing she truly wanted. Answers. ‘I do not care for how you wish to paint yourself, Rook. You’ve shown me the monster you can be, showed your fangs, your temper and bloody claws, but your tactics have yet to succeed in scaring me away. Even if the Gods know they should have.” There were parts missing in this reality he presented to her and she knew it. He could continue to deny it but as quick as he was with his blade, she was of mind. Confidence and rage acting as fuel to uncover every detail, having every intention to outsmart him in whatever way possible. No matter how badly it hurt, she would tear a piece of her soul and use the bond they shared against him if she had to. 

Sounds of a large group approaching in the distance carried over the water, reminding her once more they were on borrowed time.  “There is an Inn by the name of Mimm’s Cup not too far from here, where the edge of the city meets the docs. Promise you’ll meet me there after nightfall tomorrow eve.” Her words were meant to be a demand but did not carry the strength as she no longer had it in her. She could no longer even bear to look at him as a weary sensation washed over her. It left her swaying a little on her feat as it settled deep within her bones. Her vision for a moment slightly blurred. Minerva had been unaware their conversation had been so straining. That keeping her heart restrained demanded so much from her. She blinked to clear her watery vision as she kept her gaze on the calm flow of the waves against the wooden beams of the docks. “Promise me, Rook.”

𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔭𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰. 𝔳𝔲𝔩𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶. there is no where to hide when she casts her gaze upon him, and perhaps it is why he's kept to the shadows for so long, lingering just on the edge of malefic darkness, a dimension apart from the one in which she shines. it's obvious that she has a power over him, one that no other holds, and it lives not just in her touch or her nearness, but in the weight of her dark gaze — a gaze as rich as pregnant forest floors blooming with moss and shaded by great trees. she draws on him, a current in the ocean, masterfully pulling the ichor from his bones. with one look, she undoes all of his armor, leaves him bare and exposed — and there is little he can do but stand there and bleed.

once he had felt emboldened in her presence, seen in a way that made him feel alive. she'd believed in him, fought for him. she was proud of him, and rhyger had allowed himself to believe he was worthy of wading through a love with boundless depth like the one she offered. not only was she able to see through the myriad of shadows that swathed his lifestyle and to the man he truly was, she became a willing participant in his life, bringing brilliance into places where it didn't belong. alongside the thieves, thugs, and mercenaries that populated his inner circles, she had thrived. and it had been his foolish dream to keep her there, in his teeming world of snares and traps, but seeing her now ...it takes everything in him to remember why he cannot take her in his arms, now. why everything he destroyed must remain under a sea of ash: she deserves more than he can ever give.

❝ if you had not come, i would have torn this city apart to find you. ❞ his voice is a level threat to anything that might befall her. since arriving in the city, nothing had gone to plan — his mission to learn more about how the capital operated during times of peace and celebration had transmuted into something entirely unrecognizable. it was easier to watch from a perch on high, to clock patrols, to eavesdrop, when defenses weren’t up. now, he was tasked with unraveling a smooth, iron sphere. an impossible task that no amount of force or trickery could perform. ❝ i have other duties, other obligations, but my mind has been bent on you. ❞ the illyrian searched her eyes, willing her to understand everything without him speaking a word of the truth. 

the satchel of gold is heavy in his hand; a higher price than he would pay another scribe. as he extends the offering, her words undo everything he depends on. our agreement no longer stands, rook. the sound of his name on her lips — the one he is called by his closest brothers — should be a caress, something to savor. instead, rhyger feels the rush of air come over him as if he’s plummeting into an abyss — he wonders, wildly: is she finally severing the thread? was he too bold in approaching her tonight? has he undone everything he clings to in just a few short moments? but minerva is clever. moreso than he can ever hope to be, and it is for that reason he loved her so fiercely so quickly. she kept everyone around her on their toes, hanging on her words as if they were life-saving notches in the wall on a steep climb. the mercenary feels relief knowing there is something she wants in return. relief & a glimmer of hope like moonlight cutting through a thick canopy.

❝ you’re asking me for knowledge? ❞ there’s a gentle scoff of disbelief. ❝ if there is something to be known, you would be the one to know it. i don’t understand. ❞ he recalled so many nights watching the candles burn while she dug deeper into rare tomes, like a woman incensed or driven mad by a riddle untold, and answer unsung. the smell of ink and parchment, the fierce determination in her eyes, the cups of tea he brought her to soothe her when her endless pursuit hit a stone wall. there was nothing she could not uncover. nothing was safe from her thirst to know. and yet she asks this? the clarity she brings is sobering, and his wings lift to catch the wind, willing to carry him away.

❝ you know there is nothing i would deny you, min, but this. this goes beyond me. what you ask is — ❞ his eyes darken as memories of that night flood him. the confrontation, the strained negotiations that went nowhere & ended in a pool of dark coagulase. the pounding of his heart rises to his ears. the fear of losing her runs through him like a blade to the ends of his fingers. ❝ i will hear your questions and tell you what i can. ❞ something twists in his chest, because he knows he must lie to her, yet again, to keep her safe. ❝ but the reality will not change. i am and always will be the devil in your story. ❞

[emmabirb8]

Nandor's Doomed Quest for Perfection

Once again, I am plagued by Deep Thoughts about our beloved Nandor the Relentless.

Nandor has been utterly obsessed with the concept of perfection this season, and I think I have an explanation as to why.

It's pretty obvious that Nandor absolutely does NOT want to face reality or his true feelings. He deeply fears the unknown, he fears those he loves abandoning him, and he fears things being too messy or unpredictable (he even has a Thing about keeping random objects organized and hates when others mess up his "system"). This is because he has been hurt by things being unknown and unpredictable in the past - take Guillermo not showing up to the train station as an example. Despite the fact that that incident wasn't Guillermo's intention or fault, Nandor wasn't expecting to be abandoned on his journey around the world, and his feelings were crushed. He has grown to hate things being flawed because he associates that with feeling bad.

So, what does he do to remedy this? He strives for outright perfection because he thinks as long as everything is "perfect" in his world, aka how he believes it should be, then no one will leave him, things will run smoothly, and he will never be hurt again. He is ALWAYS searching for more, for better, because he thinks if he can get it just right, maybe he's not broken after all and can, in fact, be fixed. Maybe this (doomed) quest will finally fix him.

No, it's not reality, but as I stated earlier, Nandor doesn't like to live in reality.

Part of the reason he fell in love with Guillermo is because Guillermo provides that safe reliability that Nandor has come to depend on and crave - he keeps things consistent and organized and protected, he supports Nandor in almost every facet of his life, and he is always there to help mend things when they do go awry. In this season's episode "The Wedding," Marwa (after being Djinn wish controlled into liking the same things as Nandor and essentially having the same thoughts as Nandor does) says that "she" wouldn't know what to do if "she" didn't have Guillermo and this is VERY telling because it is 1000% true for Nandor. Nandor genuinely wouldn't know what he would do without Guillermo in his life. It's why he kinda loses his shit when he's not around - he truly is lost without him because without Guillermo, the carefully constructed order and stability in Nandor's life that keeps him feeling comfortable and safe disappears.

Nandor needs Guillermo to help take care of him physically, yes, but he needs him emotionally more than anything. Guillermo is his person, his lifeline, and he needs him to guide him to the conclusion that life is not and can never be perfect. This is of course why his relentless (haha) quest for perfection this season is very much doomed. NOTHING can ever really be perfect because perfection doesn't exist.

And that's okay.

Nandor needs to learn to see the beauty and value in the imperfect and in the real aspects of life. He's got to be brave and face the terrifying world of reality and realize that it's not so scary after all. That he is strong enough to deal with real feelings and interact with others on a genuine level. And yes, unfortunately, living life this way can sometimes be unpredictable and throw in unknown factors that make things upsetting, but it is worth it for the sake of better mental health and overall happiness.

Because honestly, if Nandor continues on this path of constantly aiming for what he believes is better, what he believes is perfect, it will turn into an exhausting pursuit that will quite literally never end, and he will spell out his own destruction. He will NEVER achieve happiness this way, and if he doesn't realize that fact soon enough, he'll spend the rest of his existence distressed and miserable.

___

This is a bit of a related tangent, but: I found it quite interesting that with the whole Djinn storyline this season, Nandor could have easily wished to re-live his life in his homeland of Al Quolanudar as he did when he was human - either by wishing he could go back to the 13th century and live there as a human or by wishing his homeland was poofed back to the glorious state it was in during his time and move there - but he did not wish for anything like this. Nandor has been known to long for his days in his homeland and for his days as a human many times throughout the series, and these emotions are what often lead him to search for all the wrong things that he thinks will make him happy (joining the Wellness Center Cult, wishing to reanimate his 37 dead wives to find the love he believed he had found in the past, etc).

The fact that Nandor did not wish to re-live the life he has been shown to miss, to me, implies that he KNOWS that something like that would not make him happy. Subconsciously, he knows that being away from the people he has made a life with now would not be a smart move because, whether he has consciously acknowledged it or not, he loves his found family. No, he is not in a state of peak happiness - not yet - but I think he does, on some level, realize that the time he has spent living with Nadja, Laszlo, and Colin and ESPECIALLY the time he has had Guillermo in his life have been the happiest years of his entire existence. And he would be a fool to give all of that up.

(Let's hope he uses those last three wishes from that mini Djinn lamp wisely... 😬🙏)

[chainofclovers]

Ted Lasso 2x10 thoughts

GOOD GOD.

“No Weddings and a Funeral” is like being hungover but also coming out of a hangover. Having a terrible cold but also feeling better and appreciating every breath that comes through your nose. Embarking on an organizational project and accidentally falling into a photo album and crying about the pictures and organizing almost nothing tangible but making a few things more clear in your brain.

So much of this episode is about the AWFUL POINTLESSNESS OF DECORUM. How loud is too loud when you’re drinking stolen wine and shrieking about sex in a church right before your father’s funeral? How should you feel--thirty years later, as an accommodating, anger-averse person--about having been too angry to attend the funeral for your father who killed himself? What expression should you make when you show up really late to a different funeral? Why must you wear uncomfortable shoes just because someone died? What happens in your mind between standing up to give a eulogy for a man you’re still angry with and choosing to Rick Roll your mom and everyone else as an act of complicated love, humiliatingly incomplete until someone else starts to sing? Should you worry about your therapist seeing your normally tidy flat in a full-on state of depression mess? Is it okay to be offended that your boyfriend is so uncomfortable about death that he can’t stop making morbid jokes? Should you care about other people caring that you’re crunching an apple in church or squealing with joy to be reunited with a friend you’ve not seen in awhile? Are you obligated to explain your behavior if your kid doesn’t understand how you could stay with someone unfaithful? How far behind the counter should you sink when your [undefined relationship person]’s mother has just let you know she can see your dick through your underwear? Is a funeral reception an okay place to find a hookup? Is a funeral reception a decent spot for a break-up? Is a funeral reception a good time for a love confession when you know the person you’re confessing to is happy with someone else? And who do you make eye contact with when you can’t look directly at the person asking you if you’re okay when there’s so, so much about you she doesn’t know yet? Even if--for this tiny little moment within a vast swath of many okay and not-okay moments--you’re honest when you tell her that you are?

I fucking adored this episode because it answers all these questions very simply: Show up. Show up for yourself. Show up for your friends. Try not to harm yourself. Try not to harm your friends.

I love that this episode is about the messiness of adulthood and the things we bring with us from childhood and that it takes place partially in Rebecca’s childhood bedroom, and in Ted’s childhood memories. Dwelling in those places (whether physically or mentally) isn’t an automatic recipe for regression, but it does get everyone closer to the things that made them who they are, to the unresolved and half-buried parts of them that still make them tick today.

Forever obsessed with every single detail about Rebecca’s childhood bedroom.

Forever obsessed with Deborah’s decision to Rick Roll herself every single morning of her life.

Forever obsessed with Rebecca’s decision to Rick Roll her father’s funeral as a way to not have to make up a single word about her father and to do something very vulnerable and kind for herself and her mother and everyone.

Forever obsessed with Ted’s decision to Rick Roll Rebecca Rick Rolling her father’s funeral.

Forever obsessed with an entire found family backing it up.

I love that it is Isaac’s leadership that ensures every single member of the team attends the service for Paul.

I am very, very interested in Jamie’s love confession to Keeley because I do think it will spark some reflection in Keeley but I do not think it’ll go the cliched love triangle route.

Each scene with Rebecca and Sam struck (for me, a human being sharing a subjective perspective on the internet) the tender-awkward-beautiful-stressful chord I was hoping it would. I think it’s wonderful that Sam is honest with Rebecca about how difficult it is to keep their relationship a secret, and I love that Rebecca has a million mostly-unarticulated reasons for why she’d much prefer the secret to continue. I like that Sassy, Keeley, and Nora respond to the revelation as friends; they might be tempering their judgments in part because they’ve all gathered to bury Rebecca’s dad, but I don’t think their reactions would’ve been that different even on a happier occasion.

While there are a million and one different reasons why a continued relationship between Rebecca and Sam could cause serious ethical problems, I really love that when people share big news on this show, the people who care about them generally react by trying to see why the person is doing what they’re doing. Doesn’t mean they shouldn’t also hold each other accountable, but in my book it’s OK that Keeley’s first reaction was to feel happy that her friend is having some fun.

Also everyone has been making weird judgment calls this season, and this episode felt like a moment of real breakthroughs in terms of people telling the truth about things that happened to them and leaving themselves open to honest responses from others.

September 13, 1991. It’s so tenderly, beautifully, overwhelmingly meaningful that there’s still so much Ted and Rebecca don’t know about the things they have in common in these parallel lives they’re leading. The scene between Sarah Niles and Jason Sudeikis is so beautifully acted, and so is the scene between Hannah Waddingham and Harriet Walter. The way they intertwine to communicate that Ted and Rebecca basically lost the ability to trust their fathers simultaneously, from an ocean away? In the hands of lesser storytellers, it would feel too perfect a mirroring, but here it feels heartbreakingly imperfect. All the things they still don’t know. All the questions they try to ask each other. All the things they don’t dare ask yet. And then the storytellers are holding a candle up to all of it and letting the audience bask in the glow of this connection even if Ted and Rebecca can’t fully understand it yet.

I am so proud that Rebecca and Deborah were able to embark on the beginnings of a conversation about the ways Deborah and Paul’s relationship might have resembled or not resembled Rebecca and Rupert’s. It feels possible that they could get to a point where Rebecca truly internalizes her mother’s pride that she broke a cycle by leaving Rupert, and could maybe even understand why her mother made the choices she made. I love that in the final scene, they’re still relying on their old mother-daughter conversational patterns—the frustrations, the snippy shorthand, the passive-aggression. Mothers and daughters!

I am also proud that Ted—albeit via a joke about Sharon charging him for the house call—indicates that he understands the value of Sharon’s work. He’s changed a lot, all in realistic ways for someone who loves learning and really does want to meet people where they are and appreciate them. I’m very moved that instead of putting himself in a real harmful situation by showing up to the funeral on time at any cost, he did what he needed to do to take care of himself and accept care from someone else. And then Sharon’s suggestion that he think about things he loved about his father? And the way he’s able to share a positive memory of Rebecca’s own father at a time when she really needed it? Gosh.

Awkward, undecorous transition from 1991 to present-day incoming...but SASSY! She’s just, like, a whirling dervish of loyal friendship and not giving a fuck and penis size discussions and being casually, delightfully cruel to Rupert, who so deserves it. Rebecca was going on a real face journey when Sassy goes off with Ted at the end, and I’m sort of *eyes emoji* about all of that, but I continue to feel like Sassy is the most imperfectly wonderful friend-from-the-past kind of person and I love everything she and Nora get to do in this episode.

Keeley saying “That baby is whack” might be my favorite line in the episode? Maybe the whole show? Not really but really.

FUCK YOU, RUPERT. Bex and Diane, y’all are fine. And I truly feel for Nate...whatever scheme he’s getting suckered into. Whatever insecurity Rupert is preying on. I want Nate to go to therapy, too.

I feel like it was an unpopular opinion at the time, but I loved Rebecca’s 2x1 revelation about vulnerability and fear of getting hurt and needing to let someone love her. Sassy doesn’t always word things in the most nuanced way, but I think there’s a real possibility that she did ask Rebecca to really consider what it means to feel either safe or unsafe with a person but to know that in either circumstance, that person could end up causing her pain. Standing in that closet with Sam, managing to make it clear that she’s not asking for a break because she knows he will hurt her but because she has to figure out how to be with a wonderful person who could cause her pain...the growth, man. Makes me emotional.

I emerged from this episode feeling, of course, stunned by all the amazing parallels and revelations and beautiful acting and Rick Rolls and just, everything. I also emerged feeling sad/raw/tender because messiness and decorum and growth and coping mechanisms and death and dramatic irony and not knowing things about people and not knowing what you don’t know...it’s a sad, raw, tender place to be.

To quote a guy who got a whole sitcom (lol) named after him, life is real hard.

[networksupported]

cas tilts his head a little, angling his face away from her as she continues. he hadn't particularly expected this to be quite the soul search it seemingly was- to him, 'boy, lotta things up with that rex guy, huh?' was more a conversation starter than something you had to confess in the same tone most people used for admitting murders.

he most certainly had not been anticipating making her cry about it. normally, people crying unexpectedly was a cause for at least some kind of annoyance- but this was mary, and somehow it felt quite a bit different. he just felt... bad about it.

he takes another bite of his cookie and stays silent for a long couple of seconds as he attempts to come up with something to say that was not particularly mocking.

> what is inside him is not... particularly pretty.

> i would say its that he's a fetid, hollow husk parading itself around as a person,  but frankly i think i would like him more if he was.

> it's more that if you open him up, what you're going to find is the slowly-failing organs of a fourty-year-old human. there is nothing 'perfect' to be found in rex sovereign.

> just hatred, and rot, and disease that's eating him from the outside in. that is his greatest flaw, because nobody- nobody- who has ever fostered a connection with rex- went into it wanting a relationship with a malnourished, crude-tongued excuse for a new yorker.

> he's the kind of man you have to love despite most facets of who he is, not because of them.

> so. good luck with that one. i'm sorry that your 'creator' isn't infallible and your god only knows as much as the rest of us. truly, i am.

> but are you seriously saying there's nothing else about him you find imperfect? nothing? are you dating a version of rex with a better jawline, and wardrobe, and skincare routine than the rest of us, perhaps? 

Her smile was entirely gone, now. She watched Cas talk and eat with a blank face, anger and disgust brewing just underneath its surface. 'Anyone who's met him' didn't know him. Most couldn't understand him, they refused to. They had to learn to see how perfect he was. ...But he wasn't perfect, was he?

Mary knew she shouldn't have even thought something so awful. Though she tried to push the idea from her mind, she only pushed words closer to the edge of her mouth. Cas wouldn't be awake much longer, she thought to herself, anything said now they likely wouldn't remember later.

"I trust him." She quietly admitted. "But, my god, do I worry about him. We have our enemies, of course, but... there are other things that weigh on him. I can sense it. And I... I only wish I could painlessly open him up and see what he was keeping inside. If there's any way I had to complain about him, I think that's the only thing... only thing stopping me from still seeing him as perfect."

She lifted a hand and glanced away to wipe at a tear in the corner of her eye. "That's not to say I'll go so far as to insult him. I'm eternally grateful to him, and there's nothing I can do to compensate for him making me who I am today."

[bts-weverse-trans]

201127 Weverse Magazine ‘BE’ Comeback Interview - Jungkook

Jung Kook: “I hope this feeling never fades” BTS BE comeback interview 2020.11.27

I had a chance to interview BTS before, when they debuted. During that interview, Jung Kook had one small habit; when I met him again a while later, he had corrected it. He makes a conscious effort to change himself. And after seven years, I met Jung Kook again.

You directed the music video for “Life Goes On,” BE’s title song. Jung Kook: I was really eager to direct the music video from the outset. My plan was to organize the synopsis, discuss it with the  music video director I was working with, shoot and edit them, but we were short on time. So I worked on it while sharing ideas with the director. Originally there were a lot of scenes with lip synching in them, but we took some of them out and put in more scenes that conveyed the members’ emotions better. It wasn’t easy to combine scenes, but I think now I know more about how much of everything is needed when shooting a music video.

You had shot the Golden Closet Films and uploaded them to the BTS YouTube channel, and now you shot a music video. Jung Kook: Once we were on location, we had directions for everything we needed to shoot prepared in advance, so I took candid shots of the members here and there with a camera during the shoot. We were filming in a beautiful place so when they asked me to take pictures of them as they wanted to be presented, I did.

What kind of pictures did you take of yourself? Jung Kook: I was just, in them. (laughs) I’m not in the shot for the Golden Closet Films either. I kind of take a back seat. The director had to shoot my parts for the music video, since I couldn’t film myself, so I relaxed a bit. I tried to make the other members look really good when I recorded them. Since this was a BTS music video and not my own, I wanted to show what was happening with every member and the team, not just one individual’s thoughts. Each person who watches the video might feel different, but I wanted to show that we feel what other people feel, that we’re in the same situation.

You get your picture taken a lot, but you don’t pay much attention to the ones you’re in. Jung Kook: I never really liked having my picture taken. (laughs) And I’m usually with the others when we’re working, obviously, but it’s hard to take a camera and take selfies. So I take pictures and videos of the other members every chance I get.

Do you still find it difficult to have your picture taken? Jung Kook: I put my best face forward when it’s for something I have to do, like  for photo books, but it’s still not easy. Videos are okay, though. And even though I’m not nervous at all when I sing in front of tens of thousands of people, if I have to sing or talk in front of a small group, I get super nervous. I never feel that way on stage, but maybe I have a hard time doing things that are a little bit awkward for me.

It seems like you draw a distinction between work you enjoy and work you find difficult. Jung Kook: Work related to music, like recording, composing, writing lyrics, filming music videos and things like that, are all fine. But anything outside of that is probably a challenge for me.

On BE, you each explained your feelings about work in the song “Dis-ease.” You must have experienced a cycle of enjoyable and difficult work over seven years, so how did you get through the hard times? Jung Kook: I actually understand my own problems well, so most of the time it’s okay. I can figure things out one at a time through experience instead of just looking for answers. I’m always growing and my personality changes, depending on my environment. I think I’ve learned to do things I used to find difficult by experiencing it little by little.

Speaking of growth, “Skit” was very memorable. You recorded it the day after “Dynamite” reached number one on the Billboard Hot 100 chart and you, who talked about what you did before you became trainees in “Skit” in your debut album,talked about being first place on the Billboard Hot 100 this time around. Jung Kook: When I was a trainee, I saw the older members rapping and thought, “Wow, they’re so cool!” But now, after having spent everyday together, I’ve forgotten about all that. (laughs) Sometimes I see the lyrics they wrote, see them dancing and hearing the things they say on stage, and think, “Oh, right. That is the kind of person they are. They’re a lot different now.” You know how you don’t feel it when you live with your family, but if you can’t see them for a long time, you miss them. You might even cry. We’re a real family. Like, legit! (laughs)

Your “legit family” (laughs) each put their own songs on BE and came up with units spontaneously. What was it like making the album that way? Jung Kook: We talked with the company over the outline of the album and organized our ideas together. That was our process for making songs. Then we’d listen to them together, and if we thought they weren’t great, we’d go back and work on them some more. The members would get together and say, “Hey, how about so and so do a unit song this time?” or, “What should it be about?” and share a lot of ideas that way.

How did the others respond to your song, “Stay”? Jung Kook: That song was originally meant to be on my mixtape. We planned to put a different song on the album, but after V heard it, he said, “This song that Jung Kook wrote is really good,” and then the other members all listened, said it was better than the other one, and somehow (laughs) “Stay” made it into the album. The message for the other song was also, “Even though we’re far apart, stay just where you are.” I wrote my song with the same theme so I loved that it was included in BE. At first, I wanted to talk about how we’re always together, using the English word “wherever.” I wanted to express how we’re always together no matter where we are, but Namjoon heard that and said “Stay” might be better. I liked his suggestion, so I changed it. He really helped me to organize my thoughts, since I’m not always good at writing everything I want to express.

One might go as far as to say the lyrics sound heartbreaking, but it’s arranged in EDM. Jung Kook: We imagined we were performing for the fans while we made it, jumping up and down with them.

It sounds like you really miss your fans. Jung Kook: This album really hit us in a different way, with this situation being what it is. Because the world is struggling with COVID-19, we have to keep our heads up and convey our messages to our fans.

What can your fans expect from you when you finally meet again? Jung Kook: There’s nothing specific, but when I watched our old performances, my facial expressions were awkward and my dance moves weren’t always perfect. I keep working to improve myself, so I hope   when the fans see me, they think my performance is amazing and that my aura fills the stage.

Are you happy with how you look in your latest work? Jung Kook: I’m not 100% satisfied, no. When we did performances for “Dynamite” recently I kept seeing my imperfections.

Your acting in the intro to your “Dynamite” performance was really impressive. Even in COVID-19 times, you captured a feeling of liveliness and being cool, as though to explain what the song is all about. Jung Kook: Actually, on the first day of filming the music video, I was supposed to film my parts first, but I was so bad that it had to be pushed to the end of the shoot. So,I was a bit more relaxed when the camera rolled.

So that’s what you get when you’re relaxed! (laughs) Jung Kook: Yes, I relaxed, and something went “pop!” and “boom!” inside me, and then I did it however I wanted. (laughs)

It’s fascinating how someone who performs the way you do during stadium tours can feel nervous while filming and yet still do so well in it. Jung Kook: I can be a shy person. When people used to ask me to sing, I couldn’t always do it—like in front of adults or teachers. And I’m still a bit like that. If I start thinking, “Oh, I can’t do this,” then I really end up not being able to do it. Even when I could have done well.

Why do you think that is? Jung Kook: I feel the same way about my dancing and my singing, and I can’t compose a really amazing melody either. I feel like I’m always somewhere in the middle. But then I also think I have my own colors, so I like to quietly, slowly open up to people, and let them know what kind of person I am. Yeah, something like that. (laughs)

But, when you review your songs and performances objectively, you see all of your changes, don’t you? Jung Kook: There’s a lot of change. My voice has changed a lot; I grew taller and my frame and facial structure have changed, too. I could tell how awkward I looked at the beginning, but after a while, I think, “My gestures look better now, but I feel like my dance is too rigid.” And again after a while, “Now my dance is fine and my gestures are good, but I’m making awkward facial expressions.” And later, I say, “Now I got the facial expressions down, but, hmm, there’s no killer move.” (laughs) That’s how I slowly changed. And then my actions, thoughts, dreams, goals, what I value, what I want to do—all these things will change depending on the situation.

You had some changes in BE, too. Throughout “Life Goes On,” you lightly carry your voice and tone throughout the whole song, like they’re flowing. Jung Kook: Right. I think that’s very important. My general feeling was my voice should be woven into the song, rather than bringing out my individual voice. The lyrics say the world stopped, but I can’t keep on being sad, and life continues and flows on. I wanted to mix a little bit of my own colors into that complex, subtle sadness. I listened to how the other members recorded their parts for the song, and I sang while thinking about how I could do it in a way that it would all blend together well. I kept changing my voice exploring how to make it sound better, cleaner. I kept trying new things while I was recording, performing, and practicing.

When you look back after all that change, don’t you feel like you accomplished a lot? Jung Kook: I don’t really pay attention to things that have already happened. I think more about what it is I need right now, so I rarely think, “I got a lot better from how I used to be,” or, “I did a good job.”

You sound insatiable, in a good way. Jung Kook: Yes. This is how I want to keep living, and I hope this feeling never fades.

You’ve found immense success with BTS. What makes you want to keep doing more and keep improving yourself? Jung Kook: I want to show people who I am: how I talk, how I act, how I sing, and so on. And after that, I want to be acknowledged for doing what I like to do, and for people to see what an amazing guy I am. I want to do these things step by step. I want to be appreciated as Jung Kook, as the real me.

What do you think is the source of that energy—the energy to keep proving yourself, even though you’ve already achieved so much with BTS? Jung Kook: I think my heart’s telling me to. BTS was able to climb this high thanks to the group members, the company and our fans. But there’s always the question of whether I could receive that kind of recognition by myself, so I have this feeling of wanting to throw myself at some challenge alone. There’s a lot I want to do, and a lot I want to achieve.

By gradually improving yourself, what kind of person would you ideally want to become? Jung Kook: A person who’s crazy awesome in their field. (laughs) Those kinds of people look cool even when they do something different. I still have a long way to go. I feel like I could be more captivating and draw more out of people by improving any number of things, by trying hard to be confident about my singing, or the way I dance and perform. BTS is way more important and meaningful to me than I am to myself, so I’m not saying I want to do anything alone. But I hope I get to the point where I can perform alone for three or four hours in a venue full of people.

It’s clear that your job, music, is very important to you. Jung Kook: I must never let it go. That’s what I always think. I have to keep it close to me, even if I get bored, or I don’t want to hear it, or it feels like a hassle. I want to keep on making music. It may be a long ways down the road, but I want to prove myself with my music.

You said before that your MBTI is ISFP, so I looked it up. Obviously, MBTI can’t sum up a person perfectly, but it says ISFPs tend to be “curious artists.” Your answer reminds me of that. Jung Kook: That sounds about right. I looked up the personality traits for ISFP too, and it was interesting. (laughs)

Maybe that’s the reason you set your goals so high. You seem like you have high standards and want to keep growing. Jung Kook: It’s like a foggy mountain top. (laughs) I can’t even see it yet.

You’ve been climbing for seven years, staying curious. Is there anything you want to say to the people who have been watching you all this time? Jung Kook: Umm … Well, there are seven of us, and the seven of us keep running ahead. So it’s possible we could get tired, one by one, and drop out, right? But if more people join us, one by one, and run with us, we can support each other and pull each other up if someone falls down. That’s kind of how I feel. There are people who supported us from the beginning who have been watching us the whole time since, and because of them our follower count keeps going up, and they all keep us on track. So the only thing I can say is—thank you. We were nothing special, really (laughs) but they keep on liking us and supporting us, and the best way we can repay them is to give them our all through our music and our performances. They push me to work hard, even on things I find difficult. (laughs) I’m eternally grateful.

Just like in the last line of “Stay.” Jung Kook: “We are together.”

Trans © Weverse

[malum-forev]

Try Anything Once

BuckyBarnes x Reader

Bucky finds himself at the worse place, the doctor’s office. But maybe it isn’t as bad as he thought.

Word Count: 2.6k

There were many things that brought James Buchanan Barnes rage, but at the top of his list was his mechanical arm. It was bad enough that it was a constant reminder of who he was, who he was created to be, but now due to a technical failure, it was even more of an inconvenience.

“I already told you that it’s fine.” He muttered at Sam, trying to open and close his palm, with no avail.

“Yeah, and if I were blind, I would believe that. You need to get that thing fixed. Maybe it just needs some motor oil.” He said followed by a loud laugh, only making Bucky’s eyes roll. “I already reported it to the medical department, anyways.”

“What are doctors going to tell me about this thing, it’s not flesh. They don’t know anything about it.”

“Well, I mean, we do have the best doctors in the world. I think they know something about that contraption.” Sam replied, standing up from his position and traveling to the front of the airplane to see how long it would take them to get back to the compound.

Bucky closed his eyes, trying to calm the bubbling anger that was filling him up, almost to the point of explosion. It was supposed to be the best, why would it be giving him trouble. Subsiding his anger, he thought that maybe he would have to go to Wakanda to get it fixed. Maybe he would even have to stay there for some time, he could only dream of that. In the past 80 years, that was the only time he felt something close to peace. Forcing his eyes to open, he realized that the plane was descending. Looking out the window, he saw what he dreaded the most. A team of people in white bathrobes.

“Doctors.” Bucky huffed in annoyance.

As he made his way through the white corridors with fluorescent lighting, he could hear at least three pairs of feet shuffling behind him. He could almost sense they were too nervous to ask him any questions. He stopped at the end of the hallway and waited for three seconds before turning around to face them.

“Well? Are you going to open this stupid door, or do I have to break it to get this thing fixed?” He yelled, not feeling anything as he saw the three young doctors shake and vigorously nod their heads. The tallest one, she couldn’t be a day older than 25, quickly entered the access code and opened the door. Revealing a large waiting room with one assistant behind a desk. He heard the elevator music first, after that came a whiff of something. Some kind of flower Bucky couldn’t recognize.

“I have an appointment.” Was the only thing he said as the assistant moved his eyes away from the computer and saw the former Winter Soldier. He was different, he wasn’t scared of Bucky.

“Name and date of birth please.” He asked kindly as he faced back to the computer.

“This must be a joke.” Bucky said, as he watched the assistant’s motionless expression, he realized it wasn’t. “James Buchanan Barnes, March 10th, 1917.”

“Thank you, Dr. (y/l/n) will be with you shortly. Would you like anything to drink while you wait?” He smiled again, only enraging Bucky even more. He decided no answer was needed. After about two minutes, he saw the door swing open and a field agent came out first.

“Thank you so much Doc.” She smiled, Bucky had seen her before if he remembers well, she even introduced herself. But like always, he never remembered anyone’s name. She smiled as she passed him, and he just nodded back. After the agent, a woman in that dreaded white bathrobe came out. Average build, fragile looking, late twenties, it would take me less than two seconds to knock her off the ground. Bucky thought, immediately erasing the thought from his mind, something his therapist had taught him to do.

“Mr. Barnes, please come inside.” She said, her voice was extremely peaceful and calm. Everything about her seemed that way. It was as if one of those singing birds from Snow White had come out of the storybook and became a human. Bucky followed her into her office and sat down, looking at the pendulum sitting on top of her neatly organized desk. Swinging back and forth infinitely. “You’re here because your arm is giving you trouble?”

“The metal one.” Was the only thing he said, she just nodded and motioned him to sit on the exam table, “I’m not laying on that. I’m not five.”

“You’re obviously not five, you were born in 1917.” She quickly replied. “If anything, I should have you sitting on a wheelchair, or one of those reclining chairs they have elderly people in. I need you to lay down here to check your prosthetic. I also need you to remove your jacket, and anything that would obstruct me from performing my analysis.”

With a quick glare, he followed her instructions. He took his jacket off and without thinking twice, ripped the sleeve from his t-shirt.

Laughing a bit, the doctor started contorting his arm in different directions. “You superheroes really have a passion for all things dramatic. You could have taken off your shirt.”

“This was easier.”

“Not much of a talker, are you?” she said before pressing on a disk near the arm’s wrist. Gaining a hiss from the former assassin.

“Could you just stop.” He said in an annoyed tone. “I’m just here because your people were waiting for me once I got off the damn plane. Now stop messing with it before you break my arm.”

With one swoop motion, he was back on his feet. “This is made from an incredible rare material. Something that they probably didn’t even know existed at whatever school you got your degree from. Which one was it?” Bucky said, getting more and more angry as he saw the doctor didn’t even flinch at what he was saying. He started looking around the walls to see where she had that paper framed. The one every doctor likes to display, as if it was some sort of badge.

“I don’t have a medical degree. You can say this comes,” Dr. (y/l/n) took a pause. “Naturally to me.”

Bucky let out a small laugh. “I’m fine. And even if I wasn’t, I’m not going to have some random person who couldn’t even finish med school looking at my arm. It’s probably more expensive than everything you own.

Dr. (y/l/n)’s expression didn’t change, the small smile still on her mouth. “Pepper’s team warned me about you, Mr. Barnes. They said you were, difficult.”

“Difficult.” Bucky scoffed as he leaned on the medical table, he watched the doctor move back behind her desk. Typing something on her computer, the printer slowly coming to life, sending out a small piece of paper.

“Well, they actually said you were a huge pain. Difficult is just the word I choose to use.” She adjusted her glasses and read what was on the paper, taking out a pen and signing it.

“It really shows that after Steve left, this place started hiring just about anybody. Their whole system is going to fall apart if they keep uncredited people here.” Bucky spat out, aggravated at the mere thought that Sam would have sent you here with her.

“You’re not completely wrong with that statement. But I don’t think it was after Steve, it was before that. At one point they even recruited brain washed assassins.” The doctor replied with a grin on her face, only making Bucky’s blood boil even more. “Try this, it will help with regaining mobility.”

Bucky ripped the paper out of the doctor’s hand, crumpling it up and shoving it in his back pocket. Turning around to leave the office.

“Oh and Mr. Barnes, you have to come back to finish the assessment before you can go back into the field. Those are the orders stated by Mr. Wilson.” Again, that smug smile adorning her face. Does she always have something to say? Bucky thought as he stormed out of the medical building, heading straight to Sam’s room. He was going to hear what Bucky had to say about that know-nothing fake doctor.

Bucky heard Sam’s laugh before he actually saw him, as the automatic doors opened, he saw that the laughter was directed towards him.

“I’m guessing by your angrier than usual glare, you saw (y/n).” Sam said with a gigantic smile.

“Was that some sort of prank? You hired a fake doctor only for me to go and waste my time?” Bucky asked as he strode past him walking straight into the kitchen.

“What did you have planned for the rest of the day? Sitting on the corner of your bed at three pm, standing in a corner at four and do your hair at five? I know you do your hair, it’s impossible for it to always be perfectly imperfect.” Sam said shooting Bucky a questioning gaze, but he just rolled his eyes and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “And what are you talking about fake doctor? Please tell me you let her do her job, if not I can’t let you come on the mission tomorrow.”

“Of course I didn’t, tomorrow I’m going to see an actual doctor to get a stupid note that says I’m fine! Even though I’m telling you right now that I’M FINE.” He yelled as he smashed down the bottle, making it as flat as a piece of paper.

It was at this specific moment that F.R.I.D.A.Y. said: “Bucky Barnes, you have an appointment with your therapist tomorrow at 11:30 am. If you were to miss this appointment, you will be sanctioned and will not be able to assist on missions.”

This obviously sent Sam on a fit of laughter. “That message couldn’t have come at a better time. Anyways, you need to get your appointments aligned. I suggest you go to the Doc’s office tomorrow morning to see if she has anything available.”

“Just send me the actual doctor’s office and I’ll be there tomorrow morning.” He said through gritted teeth.

“Bucky, I don’t know who got it into your head but, (y/n) is an actual doctor. That why she’s Dr. (y/l/n) and not just (y/n).”

“She was the one who told me she’s not credited. She doesn’t even have a medical degree, let alone know anything about vibranium!” Bucky said throwing his hands up in the air.

“You don’t have a degree but that doesn’t mean you’re not capable of being an ass. And an annoying one too!” Sam said, getting frustrated with the conversation. “Look, Dr. (y/n) has been here for a long time, she knows what she’s doing. Maybe you don’t know anything about her because you were frozen for half of your life and the other half you spent being a cyborg assassin. Also, she was one of the first people to handle vibranium when it was found in Wakanda, so I think she knows something about that. She even spent some time in a hut over there, just like you! You have more things in common than you think. So, tomorrow you’re gonna get her some coffee, go to her office, apologize for being, well, you; and get that arm fixed. In the meantime, you can look up some things about her. You do remember how to google things right?”

“Of course I remember. Could you just help me get on the net?” Bucky said while holding out his phone, it was now Sam’s turn to roll his eyes.

--------

The next morning, Bucky reluctantly made his way back to the medical building. The two disposable coffee cups were almost knocked out of his hands when the doors swung open.

“Back already Mr. Barnes?” he heard Dr. (y/l/n) say, it surprised him that she would talk so casually with him, given that yesterday he was, difficult. “Should I put down extra thirsty as a side effect on your chart?” She asked pointing to both of the cups.

“Actually Doctor, one of them is for you. I didn’t know what you drank so one is a black coffee and the other one has a splash of milk and sugar. Sam told me you would accept coffee as an apology, some sort of olive branch.” Bucky said, shoving both of the cups near her for her to choose.

“You can take me to get coffee instead. Judging by the stale smell, this is day old coffee. Plus, I don’t think you have tried oat milk lattes.” She smiled as she guided him to the restaurant inside the compound.

“Oat milk wasn’t a thing in the 40’s.” Was all that Bucky replied. “I wanted to formally apologize. It’s something new to me, my therapist says I should externalize my feelings more. I did not know your past; you know with the whole regenerative thing.”

This was the first time he saw her not smile. She looked away for a moment and asked “Did you try what I told you. It’s a type of oil that seeps into the smallest indentations in vibranium, creating a protective layer. With that, and some rehabilitation exercises, you will feel as good as new.”

Bucky just shook his head, not wanting to talk about his less than normal extremity. He opened his mouth to ask her, but she interrupted. “I know what you’re going to ask me. I may not be able to read minds but this profession has taught me many things, one of them being how to read people’s expressions.”

“Can you still do it?” He pressed on, if what he had read was true, then she was probably one of the only people that could understand what he was feeling.

“Yes, of course I can. As a supersoldier I would think you understood. It’s not something that you can just turn off, it’s here forever.” She said pointing to her whole body. “I didn’t want this; I didn’t ask to be able to regenerate. I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time and with the wrong people.”

“I researched you last night.” Bucky admitted shooting her a shy smile.

“Didn’t think you were tech-savvy.” She said, taking a sip of her coffee. “That was a long time ago, she’s long gone. I thought what I was doing was the right thing. And he, he convinced me that it was. But alas, I was only some sort of protection. Receiving the bullets that would wound him and healing the cuts that would kill him. But after I realized all the damage, we were actually doing I, I found this place. And from there on I decided I was going to heal other people. Even if they couldn’t regenerate.”

“I can relate.” Bucky said, slouching back on the bench they were sitting on, a weird feeling appearing inside of him. Something that he wasn’t used to, relaxation and peace. “I appreciate you not flipping out yesterday, I was out of line.”

“I’ve dealt with worse people here.” She laughed. “I looked at your videos fighting. You need to take better care of that arm of yours.”

“I didn’t know you were keeping tabs on me Doc, had I known I would have smiled at the camera.” Bucky said shooting her a smile, it was the first time she had seen him actually do that.

“It’s my job to check my patient’s whole file.” She explained but couldn’t resist to smile back. “And you can call me (y/n) by the way.”

“In that case, call me Bucky.”

[natewriteslol]

And There You Stayed

Part 2 of Just You and Me

Summary: Malleus realizes that the dream of Y/N the human is becoming a reality. Will the memories that he created crumble and fade to black just like last time? Or will they follow through, and life will fall into place.

A/N: I know some of you guys were heartbroken so I wrote you a happy ending

Y/N uses they/them pronouns

Warnings: none

Genre: Fluff and just a little bit of angst

tag list: @coffeeleafdepression, @magicpumpkin3, @puddingqueen-writes  

Part 1 of the fic! (ahfkfaad pls read otherwise the fic will just seem weird) 

It was still a week and a couple of days after the dream and Malleus had such a tough time forgetting you. Your touch, scent, smile, they way you laughed. He couldn’t believe that you were a figment of reality, and the horned man just wasn’t the same. Lilia, Silver and Sebek noticed the change in their master’s mood, but they didn’t want to dig and make him uncomfortable. Malleus was sad and way more aloof than usual, it was hard to approach him let alone fix. So, they let their master have his space. 

An organized meeting for the dorm leaders was meant to commence soon, talking about formalities since the school year had just started after all. And despite his melancholy, Malleus knew he had to attend. The meeting was quite boring, no one really talked to him as his frightening demeanor was even more intense when he was in this state. So he had just sat and listened. 

And that was when everything changed, the magic mirror vibrated and lit up. With great blinding light someone flew out of the magic mirror with a scream. It was a cat? Another scream rang out, flying out the magic mirror in the same fashion, except the silhouette looked human.

The beast talked with great blue flames surrounding it’s ears and tail. 

“Who the hell are you?! Get off of me you stupid human!” The voice of the cat said, as the human had toppled over the cat, both laying on the cold dark marble of the floor. 

“A talking cat?!” The human shrieked. 

“Yeah do you have a problem with that, human?” The cat asked angrily, floating in the air. The human had emerged from the darkness. 

It was them, from his dream.  

Every imperfection, every beautiful quality, Malleus had memorized them all. And there they were, right in front of him. 

This had sent him into a state of shock, the fae had just stood there. While everyone had tended to the new resident. Everything he had already predicted was happening. Enrolled as one student with the cat named Grim, placed in the abandoned Ramshackle dorm, defeating the overblotted dorm leaders. 

And your name, Y/N L/N. Flowed perfectly off the tongue. 

The only thing Malleus had gotten wrong, was that you didn’t come on the first day, but rather a few days after. It was insane and Malleus grew afraid. What if everything would fizzle out again? Revealing that it was a fantasy and nothing more. 

Yet something was different about this time. It was that he was experiencing more, different adventures that weren’t revealed in his dream, new conversations that made his love for Y/N grow even more. 

Like the one time he was reading peacefully in the courtyard only to see Y/N and the gang running away from a Giantess Froganza (Giant mutant frog). 

“HI MALLEUS! BYE MALLEUS!” you yelled before starting to scream and run away from the beast. Y/N had still managed to notice him, even in moments of terror. Yet without magic you had saved the day. Like the great hero that you were. 

The dream was a vague prophecy of love given to him. Malleus was hurt yet grateful, to feel insane for days but then given the gift of this human. They were silly, completely out of whack, but they were still so in sync with Malleus. A perfect fit into NRC, like a puzzle piece. 

Lilia had noticed Malleus’ behavior being soothed yet still alert. 

“Malleus, what is going on?” Lilia asked, gazing into his eyes. And that is all it took for him to spill out his secret. He felt embarrassed, thinking that Lilia was going to look at him with two heads. All Malleus’ feelings were out in the open. 

Lilia gave him a smile, “Oh Malleus, but don’t you know?” 

“Know what exactly?” Malleus asked, wanting his guardian to go on. 

“Dear, when faes get older they can earn new powers. Some stay forever, some only stay for a short while like yours,” Lilia answered. 

“And while it wasn’t completely accurate, and didn’t show everything. You had a prophetic vision, they typically happen when there is something of great importance coming. And from what I can tell, Y/N is incredibly important to you,” The elder fae said teasingly, making Malleus a little flustered. Lilia wasn’t wrong but that didn’t mean that he had to say it. Y/N made the horned man nervous undeniably, his heart skipping and his breath hitch whenever they spoke to him. 

“But please, rest easy. There is nothing to fear Malleus,” Lilia said. 

~

Malleus and Y/N were looking at the sunset while sitting on the roof of an ancient building of NRC. He confessed about his prophetic visions, he didn’t want to feel like a fool when around him despite getting reassurance from Lilia. Malleus didn’t tell them about him professing his love to them, he wasn’t ready for that yet. 

“I know it sounds quite unbelievable but-” 

“Malleus, I got chased by a gigantic frog,” they started, taking his hand into theirs. “You are a great and all powerful sorcerer. One of the most powerful people I know! That isn’t unbelievable or weird.” 

“But if something is bothering you, then you can tell me. I’ve got my arms wide open for you.”

~

It was summer, one of the last days to close Y/N’s first year at Night Raven College. The human decided to take a walk with Malleus feeling anxious, but they weren’t really sure what they were feeling apprehensive about. More and more time without being home, the feeling of being done with a school year or wanting to tell Malleus about how they felt. 

Was it a combination of all three? Most likely.

The human had felt a connection with him for a long time, and they didn’t know how long they had to keep it hidden within. So they decided, you know what? I’m gonna confess to this guy! With such great confidence, yet it fizzled around him in seconds.  

His eyes, so bright and mysterious. Of course everyone’s eyes were pretty different from what they’ve seen in the human world, but Y/N could gaze into specifically his all day. His lips, speaking in that beautiful voice with such proper language. The human remembered that one time they poked fun at Malleus with Sebek around. 

“I’m quite a royal, yes I am. The most powerful sorcerer among these humans” they said flamboyantly, closing their eyes and placing a hand on their forehead. 

“Stop making fun of the young master, you ignorant human!” Sebek boomed with anger in his voice. 

“Sebek, my loyal servant, you bark like a dog,” the human said, opening an eye to look at the angry fae. 

“That’s it!-” 

But in the background there came a snicker which emerged into one that was just a little bit louder, yet still soft. 

It was Malleus. Laughing? Admittedly, Sebek was a little jealous of Y/N for being able to make the young master laugh, especially since it was at his expense. But it put happiness in his heart that someone was able to make him happy. Not as a servant, but as a friend. 

 However, the green haired fae was still prepared to strangle you. 

~

The pair sat down on the grass, seeing the lights of fireflies around them. The human took Malleus’ hand into theirs all while staring at the lake in front of them.  

“Child of man” Malleus started, making you turn your attention to him. “When we were on the roof and I talked about my vision, I was not being completely honest.” 

“What do you mean?” you asked. 

“Well, I had left out a minor detail,” 

“We were on the bridge, and I had confessed to you” Malleus finally got out. “When I had finished, you told me to wake up. Everything had gone black and I was woken up by Lilia.”

“I had been very anxious about sharing this moment with you, Child of Man. I’m frightened that everything will fizzle out to black and not be real.” It was silence until, 

“Malleus, I love you-”

“Y/N, I love you-”

They both chuckled from them speaking at the same time. 

“Please go first, Y/N.” 

“Malleus, I really love you, you know. I’ve been crushing on you for so long. And I promise that we’re in reality,” you paused to look at the fae in his eyes. 

“I know you told me that you’re anxious to take on the future, and I’m the same. I don’t know what’s in store or what I’m going to do, but let’s be there for each other,” they finished, placing their palm against his pale face, smiling as you did. 

Malleus put his hand on Y/N’s face as well, pulling them into a deep kiss. And while his vision wasn’t one hundred percent correct, the moment the fae and human had shared was incredibly magical. 

“I have wanted to do that for a long time, Child of Man,” Malleus said, smiling cheekily. And there the pair stayed, conversing under the stars until you had to run from employees who had spotted them both. 

Careless, young and free. But most importantly together. 

As they had both promised each other.

[someonedm]

It was an inconvenience, really. Jane didn't want to be here, and neither did I. She had all her friends to be with, chatting and quacking about things I had nothing to do with. And I had... my alone time, I guess. Sweet, quiet, alone time.

But things didn't go out as planned. Jane got suspended, for being a bitch, and when school said she couldn't go to the field trip, she called her rich parents who got it all sorted out. But room arrangements were already made, which landed her right here, with me.

I suppose we both made the best out of it. She spent her time with her girls, while I had a blast going through social media. But, when bedtime finally arrived, we couldn't avoid it. We have to stay together in the same room.

She steps out of the shower, her wet hair dripping drops of water onto the floor. She turns to me with annoyance. "What are you looking at?"

I hadn't noticed I was staring at her until her remark, and it caught me off by surprise. "Oh. I just-yeah." I got in the shower. "Good thing you are finally washing, don't know if I could sleep with you stinking out the room." She said it so incidentally, not caring about if it'd hurt me or not. The kind of effort someone puts in a "congrats" message in a group chat.

Coming out of the shower, I find her still standing there, looking at her own reflection in the mirror. Seeing me, she swiftly turned to her toothbrush, trying to hide the self-absorbance this entails.

Her eyes, reflecting from the mirror, look tired. Her skin is dotted with little imperfections. Her mouth, which I was so used to see lie on a self-assured smirk, was curved down. She wasn't wearing any makeup, and we could both see her.

Perhaps she was thinking of another insult, perhaps she didn't mind my blank stare, but I noticed her relentlessness as she offered me a moisturizing cream. "You want some?"

"no, thanks."

She went back to her bed silently. She was no longer wearing her popular girl persona. We were both tired and just wanted to sleep.

After finishing my prep up, I too went back to my bed. I stretched my arm into my bag, fishing out a flask. I waved the flask in front of jane. "You want some?"

"Where'd you got this?" She laughed, reaching out her hand to take the flask.

"Stole it from my mom's cabin."

She gave it to me back. "Won't she be pissed at you?"

I gulped some of the scotch. "No way. She must've noticed it was gone as soon as I left. If she cared for me I would have heard from her way too long ago."

"Aaah." She yelped. "Sorry for asking".

"First time?" I asked with a full grin, unable to hide my satisfaction with the situation.

"You think?"

"You goody two shoes got yourself detained recently, so I don't know what to think."

"Hell nah. The first time was eighth grade. My ex's brother organized a party and snuck in booze. They said they would have got me with them, cause I looked a lot older than I was. I think that that sentence was why I took that first glass." She sighed, and I knew she has something weighing on her, but she stopped herself from speaking. "What about you?"

"My mom thinks that my first time was when she gave me, after he- after he- uhhh... yeah. It was a bad night for her, and she couldn't give any shit. I had to act like it was all new to me, as if I hadn't had one of those after other nights. I am not a great actress, but I did have a drunk and tired audience." I looked up to her, and noticed she too had a hard time looking in my eyes. "Forget about me. What about your party? Your ex??" I raised my eyebrows repeatedly, and it got a chuckle out of her.

"I'd rather not talk about him." She smiled, though it was a sad smile. "But since we are discussing firsts... well, me and Tyler. Homecoming party."

"Tyler, huh? never thought he was your type!"

"What do you think my type is?" she asked, intrigued by my statement.

"I thought you liked your boys strong and sassy. The kind of jock smart enough so you won't have to actually tutor him during your 'study sessions'. Not some theater student exchange kid!"

I laughed, but she didn't seem to like it. "Do you really think of me like that? That I'm that basic?"

I looked her in the eyes. Even after knowing how she looked without her makeup, she seemed so tired. The kind of tired that stems from frustration, rather than lack of sleep. Jane cared a lot about how people think of her, even if those people were outcasts like me. "If you want me to be sincere" she nodded. "Yes."

Her soft smile faded. "I guess I should go to sleep, then."

"Wait, I am sorry. Why don't you tell me about Tyler?"

"Okay, but, I can't promise to be awake to finish."

"Consider me an elephant. I am all ears." I gestured with my hands curved, extending my ears.

"He is smart, and funny, and kind - I thought he was kind. He helped me learn for history, and we actually did study, unlike what you were guessing. He said how he missed his friends at home, and I thought it was really sweet. I felt safe with him, that he cared for me. I think he did - I wasn't just a popular girl to achieve. He made it clear, romantic gesture after romantic gesture, and when homecoming came I offered him myself. And it was all great going forward, up until Christmas break. He finally had a chance to go back home and insisted I'd stay home with my family. He ghosted me all that time, including a week after he got back. Then he confronted me. Apparently, he was having a long-distance relationship with whom I thought was his ex, and they had sex when he came back for his visit. Said he loved me but that she won't let him be with me.

So I got a little basic, and invited one of the jocks to have rebound sex in his car. While his girlfriend was over."

I chuckled. "I am sorry. What you went through is terrible. But god damn is that a good way to get back at someone, you magnificent bastard."

"I am glad I am amusing you." I couldn't decipher the look on her face, resting for a split second, before turning back to gossip. "So, who's your first?"

"I had a first- yeah uh I definitely had one."

A malicious smile sneaked onto her face. "No, you didn't."

I held the palm of my hand at the back of my head and looked down in shame. "No, I didn't."

A familiar sense of vanity came from her. "Doesn't matter. Who'd you kissed?"

I wanted to lie, but instead, I hid my face in the palms of my hands, hiding from her glare. "I uh - I hadn't kissed anyone yet."

"Well, that's such a shame! I bet many boys like you. You just don't notice them, that's all."

This comment, coming from her, caught me off by surprise. I had anticipated some sassy, if not outright a bit mean remark. "Really? You think that? Cause you kinda sound like my mom."

I guess I shook her a bit too, cause the sass was quick to come. "I'm sure of it. You know how boys are - they lust after anyone they think they have a chance with."

"Ahh, there it is. Should I take it as a compliment?" I smiled softly. "Cause I'm not hurt."

Her eyes widened for a moment. "No I- I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it like that - Ugh, nevermind." She rubbed her eyes. It was late. "If you want me to, I can help you get any boy you'd like. Who you've got your eyes on?"

I was starting to feel uncomfortable, but I couldn't tell what about this innocent question was so jarring. "I don't know. I never thought about it."

She leaned forward on her bed. "Tell me your type, then, since we already talked about mine."

"You must guess first."

She looked me deep in the eyes, assesing how I looked. She then turned her head to the flask. I imagine she was going through what I've told her, trying to make a sense of me.

"You like shy artsy boys that keep to themselves. You get tired of the enthusiazm of other people, even if it's about things you like, so it's nice having someone who's more quiet, like you. But you also want him to be more emotional than you, cause if it was left up to you, you'd be scared of the relationship falling apart. Did I get it right?"

Her description felt off. It wasn't insulting or arrogant, and I couldn't tell what exactly was incorrect, but it felt wrong.

"I... I don't know." I knew what I wanted to say, and it made me anxious. I could feel the saliva getting stuck in my throat. "I like someone who's sarcastic and witty, and doesn't open up, so when they finally talk earnestly it feels like winning a prize. Someone who cares so much about how other people see them, that they take off their hand crafted mask just for you, and seeing them that way, they are only ever more beautiful."

My gaze drifted away from her as I spoke, and I couldn't bare to see how she had reacted.

"I am tired." Her voice finally broke the silence.

"Me too. I don't want to stop talking to you."

"Me too."

The vision of that flask felt burned in my memory as I thought about reaching out and taking another sip. I couldn't sleep, and perhaps more alcohol in my blood stream meant stopping to think. I couldn't stopped thinking, and it paralized me. Images ran in my mind, thoughts and ideas being intrusive, and I had no help in silencing them.

The steady rhythm of her breath calmed me down, but as I focused on it the intrusive thoughts only grew.

"Hey." Her voice was quite, almost a whisper.

"Can't sleep?" I answered, with the same crooked tone.

"No."

Her breath is still slow and calm, but I can feel my own heart pounding faster. I wonder if she can hear it beat from beyond my skin.

"When you talked about the type of person you like.

You weren't talking about a boy, right?"

I turned my head to face the wall, watching the creaks, trying to make them absorb my thoughts and visions. I knew she would hate me for it, and the thought of being honest made breathing almost impossible.

"No."

I listened the rumble of her bed sheets, and her light steps on the floor, and my squeaking bed as she set on its other edge. Tears filled my eyes and I swallowed the saliva down my throat.

"Was it about me?"

I rose up on my end of the bed, looking at her being the most difficult thing I have ever done. I couldn't see her clearly through my tears, but I knew she was absolutely beautiful.

"Yes."

She reached out her soft hands around the back of my head, leaning closer and kissing me.

I was surprised and uncomfortable but I loved every moment her tender lips touched mine.

I parted away, breathing heavily as I only now felt relieved. I sounded like a wailing baby, and I must have looked like one when I wiped off my tears that continued to come.

She sat there, holding herself. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't want to make you uncomfortable... I didn't..."

I braced her as hard as I could. We kissed again, now calm between each other's arms, trading our air between our body and stopping only when we had to. We cherished each other's beauty, finding comfort in each other's eyes.

She laid her head on my lap, and I caressed her hair. "I don't want to leave you."

"Me neither." I leaned in and kissed her forehead. "I want to hold you until dawn. But the bed is too small."

She woke up and went to bed, and it dawned on me how tired I am. As we both lay in our separate cushions, she lends her hand towards mine, and I hold hers.