#story: jamais vu

[morownic]

of fever dreams and jamais vu — masterlist

a (sort of) non-chronological, non-canon compliant, self-indulgent series dedicated to the world’s best “living” baseball player, ken sato.

latest chapter: you found your house, but where’s your home?

warnings/tags [updated with each part]: NSFW MDNI, non-ultraman AU, afab + fem pronouns, mutual pining, slow burn, hurt/comfort, friends with benefits, situationship, implied major character death(s), drug abuse and overdose, alcohol abuse

a/n: i wasnt sure if i should even tag this as xreader but i will do it just in case (also just to push this out there) and as the story progresses if there is any feedback about it ill take it into consideration!

preface: i would like to thank this tiktok for being the biggest inspo behind this + @patroxlos’ home base + @reyalvr’s she’s mine + @mitskicain’s ken sato works! please check out their blogs as well!

of fever dreams and jamais vu [3k]

now one is too many, but it’s never enough [7,9k]

you found your house, but where’s your home? [8,8k]

don’t you wanna love me at all? [in progress]

hingga dia lupa warna kuning dan biru [in progress]

[pedrithink]

doctor ✩ kylian mbappé

request: heyy could u maybe do a social media au where kylians girlfriend is like a medical student or smth, has that typical beauty and brains to her, and kylian is always posting abt her and her achivements always letting her know how proud of her he is and everyone just admiring them

faceclaim: lexie grey

ynusername

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KMbappeNews congratulations to Y/N, another medicine award and another win for women in the science’s world. kylian was there 🥺💗

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user1 kylian was smiling ALL THE TIME

user2 he was so proud of her :(

user3 SHE’S SO SMART

user4 it is so good to see young women winning such important awards

user5 worldwide famous football star with his smart doctor girlfriend

user6 kylian is having the best moment of his life

k.mbappe

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k.mbappe ta réaction quand tu as vu que tu avais gagné un autre prix est la plus belle chose que j'aie jamais vue. merci d'��tudier et de travailler si dur pour améliorer la qualité de vie de nombreuses personnes. tu es la personne la plus étonnante que j'aie jamais vue, je t'aime infiniment. (your reaction when you saw that you won another award was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. thank you for studying and working so hard to improve the quality of life for many people. you are the most amazing person I have ever seen, I love you immeasurably.)

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ynusername thank you for you immeasurable support. love you!

user7 HER SMILE

user8 kylian is so in love lol

user9 they’re so cute omg

user10 she’s so adorable

user11 kylian’s support is so important :(

user12 @user11 fr, they are so so cute!!

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ynusername extremely happy to have delivered my beautiful friend's baby, welcome to the world! thank you for believing in me, @marco_verratti92 and @jessicaaidi! the prettiest baby girl ever.

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k.mbappe this baby was born in the healthiest way because she had the best doctor in the world. ❤️ congratulations, friends. 👏🏻

ynusername @k.mbappe i love you!

antonelaroccuzzo so pretty 😍

marco_verratti92 thank you so much ❤️

jessicaaidi we are so happy, thank you for being part of this very special moment in our lives. 🥺💗

georginagio 🥹🥺❤️

ethanmbappe ❤️

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ynusername amazing night with friends 🫶🏻

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k.mbappe i’m so lucky

ynusername @k.mbappe naaaah i’m the lucky one

antonelaroccuzzo hermosísima 😍

ynusername @antonelaroccuzzo te extraño, amiga 😓

ethanmbappe miss you sis

ynusername @ethanmbappe let’s go out next saturday, miss you 💗

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ynusername psg’s all-time top scorer. 7️⃣💙 you were born to make history and i am very happy to be able to accompany you as you conquer the world with your talent. you deserve it. i love you! 🤍🫶🏻

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k.mbappe you and me forever, i can't put into words how much you help me everyday. thanks for everything and i love you! 💗

ynusername @k.mbappe 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

leomessi felicidades @k.mbappe por el récord!! 👏🏻

antonelaroccuzzo 😍😍😍

marco_verratti92 starboy!!!!

antogriezmann kyky de bondy ❤️❤️

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k.mbappe i’m beyond proud of this hardworking woman, thank you for everything. my partner in crime 🤍🫶🏻 i love you.

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ynusername i love you, i love you and i love you.

antonelaroccuzzo 😍❤️

user13 ARGH THEY ARE SO CUTE

user14 the cutest

user15 THE 2ND PIC

user16 i love you both

[cupoftrembling]

Alterity

Jamais vu.

Jamais vu is not a new concept, the idea of knowing without knowing. To know which way the sun rises, without ever once seeing the dawn, that is jamais vu. To hear the child’s melody on the air is jamais vu. To know where, just right, to sneak the knife in is jamais vu. Every culture across the Askaven Continent is aware of jamais vu. Of course, there are different reasons why one experiences it. Some theorize that there is a collective weft of the mind that connects each and every one of us. The idea is that, when we think something, it joins the Grand Weft of Isosa. A weft that we all have access to and can pull resources from. A memory bank that allows, across time and space, a connection between one another. 

Others think that at every moment we constantly extrude harmonic striations; the way our bodies interact with the air sends out signals to anything and everything, constantly displaying our true intentions to one another. Those who follow such ideas say that jamais vu is just us picking up on the harmonic resonance of one another, intuiting one’s desire as our own. When I focus and know, beyond knowing, the story the man who sits in front of me was told by his father when he was a child, it is simply me picking up on his body language and pheromones at any given point. That these jamais vu’s are just biological impulses that we are, to one degree or another, receptive to.

I am not here to debate the merits of which theory is correct.

Because they all call the experience jamais vu. A Mariposian word. At the center of this concept, like at the center of all things, is Mariposa. Derived from the name of a fallen angel of Auleen, the words “jamais vu” have infected the very discussion of the topic. Whenever I broach one of my contemporaries, how few they are indeed, they discuss the merits of the different social philosophies surrounding jamais vu. But the language, it does not matter. Empyrial, Mariposian, Celestial, Eastern, Algeran. Each of them talk about the concept using the cage of language that is jamais vu. 

“Why?” I ask them, hands wrapped around a leather bound journal. “Surely, your own tongue must have the words for jamais vu?” I plead with them, my eyes wet with concern and with frustration.

They blink back at me, their own eyes glazed over with some sort of deep understanding. As if whatever words, whatever concept, has been kept from them, locked away in the vault by the supplanting arcane taradiddle. “I’m sure there are.” They rationalize, “But what else could it be but jamais vu?”

Jamais vu: A thief of a concept that makes a home in places it is not welcome. They know, without knowing, that the Mariposian word is the most accurate, most well conceived word for what we experience every day. 

What Reva experienced on that boat, in the cold, salt brined waters off the coast of Ashosh Ai could only be described as jamais vu. 

There were four people on that boat that dreadful day. Reva was the abjur of the group, the one specialized in defensive and negative magics. Herah was the muscle who wore a scar across the bridge of his nose. Formen of the Wastes was a prevoker whose own magics suffused sinew and bone. And Mirabell was the pretty little skald from foreign shores.

And then there was Dawn.

She sat at the back of the boat, hand on the rudder of their all but silent vessel. Salt soaked water stuck to the edge of her brow, slicking her blonde hair back tight against her scalp. Each of these thieves were all dressed in Dawn’s favorite shade of purple, mirrored in outfit by their patron. She wore a grin, pernicious and deceptive, wide on her face. It didn’t sit right to Reva, who had seen that smile several times. It was almost as if her mouth was too wide, or too deep, for her face. Ravenous, as the Wolf had often been described to be. Her teeth too sharp, her tongue too dextrous. Dawn’s mouth was something to fall into, to be ensorcelled by. 

Dawn’s other hand, the one resting on her slacks, had a single, plain gold band around her ring finger. She fiddled with it with her thumb. A wedding ring, a Mariposian practice. Dawn was not married, or if she was she gave no care or concern for her wife, as Reva’s own experience had shown her. But the noise that Dawn made as she rubbed that ring drilled a thought into Reva’s mind. It was louder than the engine, louder than the crashing of waves, louder than the prattling rainfall. It was a clear moment, obliterative of any other thought or sense that might have been had.

It was a sunny day in Mariposa, and the air was thick with the smell of lavender berries. Dawn was walking, hand in hand, with a woman who Reva had never seen before. Long, auburn hair and skin that smelled like an old book. History. She knew, beyond knowing, that this unfamiliar woman usually wore her hair up in a small, tight bun, but that Dawn liked it down. Dawn reached down to a stand, picked up an apple, her daughter’s favorite, and placed it in a small, handspun wicker basket. She was smiling in a way that was not her own smile, a smile that looked unfamiliar to Reva. Something natural, something more akin to the human form. The woman smiled back. And then, she was gone.

But Dawn, she remained smiling the same way that she had, moments before the not-quite-a-memory had wormed its way into Reva’s mind. Her eyes had narrowed, as if she was aware of the abjur’s intrusion into something private. Her thumb was now as far away from that ring as possible. “Got something on my face?” She half joked

“Yea, that look you give me.” Reva brushed off the memory. It was something she wanted to imagine, something that she felt she wanted. Perhaps that was Reva’s future she was picturing. It was almost convincing enough, like a hand on the back of your neck or a sword over your head you can almost swear isn’t there. Reva smiled as the boat glided through the water.

Dawn smiled back and looked towards the shore, only moments away. With her ringed hand, she reached into her vest and drew her revolver. Snubnosed, and easily concealable, it was not a model you or I would be familiar with. Completely bespoke, made by the perilous thief herself. It had a silver frame with pearl handles. The cylinder of bullets inside of it, much like the revolvers of the weaponsmiths of Mariposa that had inspired it, dripped with a sort of chill. As if anticipatory, they made no noise. They did not hum like the acausal bullets of other guns. A weapon, silenced. A breath, held.

The boat hit the shorebank, jostling Reva from her seat. She lurched forward and caught herself on the rope handle of the craft. Only one person stood on the shore:  a tall, stout knight with hair interlaced with the flowers of summer. He looked regal, in the same way a blade might. He eyed the party with suspicion. Formen of the Wastes took a step off the boat and, noticing the sentry, raised a long rifle to meet his eyeline. The Wastral looks through the slits of his wide helmet, eyes wide and jittery from the ampule of Auleen’s Blessing he had hidden in his nose. He tells himself it was to calm a shaky hand, and I am sure at some point he had been correct.

Dawn raised her hand and placed it on Formen’s barrel, lowering the rifle to the ground. “Friend, not foe.” She smirked. “At least, as friend as we get.”

The sentry rushed towards the landing party. Mirabell stretched her legs and caught a dirty look from Reva. Mirabell had too long of fingers to be human and that smile she wore looked a bit too wild to be anything but trouble. She looked like a mockery of the human form, flesh stretched out over too much body. She dug her toes into the sand underneath of her and sighed a breath of relief.

“Ah, good to be home.” Mirabell's grin grew wider as she stretched her arms behind her head. Reva hears a sickening crunch as bones settled back into some new, terrible shape. “Been too long, Ashosh Ai.”

The Sentry descended on them,  pulled his plumed helmet from his head, and furrowed his brow. His eyes were like Mirabell’s, constantly sparkling with a light not quite there. “Mrs. Allcott, you’re late. You’re almost three hours late” His voice was somber, as if at a wake. Reva draws her pistol for a reason she can’t quite place. “I’ve put a lot on the line here just-”

“Brightwind, it's me you’re talking about.” Dawn took a step towards the man and placed a reassuring hand, the one with the ring on it, on his shoulder. She smiled wide in a way that always made Reva weak in the knees. “I’d never put you in a position where I’d let you down, right?”

Reva turned towards the castle behind the shore as her employer and their contact began to talk. Herah was standing off to the side, observing the treeline just above the shore.

“You good?” Reva raises an eyebrow, quietly joining him. Herah was a tall, wide man. Short, cropped hair kept tight to his scalp. Burned onto his arm, right where his shoulder meets neck, was a small flower. Segmented in seven different petals. The symbol of Mariposa’s merchant army, employed for any sort of conflict the kingdom would ever need. She never asked how he got the scar on his nose.

“I don’t like how exposed we are right now. We should have landed up the coast a bit.” He motioned towards a small bay further up the shoreline. It sat in the castle’s shadow, the brickwork looming against the sun. Somewhere, above them, they could all hear a song. Mournful, cruel, with notes disharmonic and dissonant. Reva fought the urge to cry, yet a single, lonesome tear rolled down her cheek. “Any Tom, Dick, or Harry could stumble upon us and alert the whole island.”

“It's closer to the castle than we are.” Reva shrugged. “Maybe Dawn knew it’d be more guarded.”

“I like Dawn and all,” Herah glanced down at his companion. “But something tells me she didn’t think through the plan that hard.”

“She hasn’t gotten us killed yet.” 

“That she hasn’t.”

A moment passed. The wind whipped and howled, stirred into frenzy by the storm on the horizon that never seemed to get closer. The singer shifted melodies, the lyrics now about Reva’s childhood, about being lost and scared. This she knew, even if the words were foreign to her. About being stuck in the underbrush, about it getting dark and no one coming to find you.

“Do you think we’re actually after a panpipe?” Reva rubbed her arms, as if to stave off a chill. Herah looked at the woman with confusion. The air was damp and heavy with wet, hotter than the Cambion Coast. “I mean, seems pretty banal.”

“I try not to think about what we’re here to do.” 

Reva raised an eyebrow. Behind them, Dawn laughed loudly, as if hearing the best joke ever told. Nobody buys it. “Is this a special case?

“No, it’s not.” Herah sighed, eyes skirting downwards. “We’re here to take something of value from someone who values it. It makes me sad to think about it for too long.”

Reva smiled and clapped the mountain of a man on his back. “You’re in the wrong profession, friend.”

“Can’t help what I’m good at.” He smiled back at her.

“You can, though.” Reva’s smile dropped, just a bit. It is softer now. Sadder, almost.

“Yeah, but.” Herah looked out towards the sea. There was a storm out there, somewhere. A roiling, boiling thunder that kept the sky alight. He could feel it, he just couldn't see it. He shuddered off the thought, letting it roll from the back of his neck. “This is easier. More right, I guess.”

Reva frowned and looked down. Herah placed a large hand on her shoulder. 

“It doesn’t feel right.” Reva chided, feet kicking an errant shell. 

“Chin up, Rev.” Herah’s thumb rubbed where Reva’s neck meets her shoulders. It is the same motion her mother used to do, years ago. Comforting. It is not something he had ever done before, nor was it anything he’d most likely do again. “Maybe I’ll steal you something shiny, something just for you.”

“It's time.” A gruff voice came from behind them -- Formen. His long rifle was slung over his shoulder. His clothes were long and flowing, like clouds that flew too high. His helmet wasImperial make, Reva noticed the moon with the sword driven through it that he tried to scratch out, but whether he had it  because of his background or because the Western Wastrals trade almost exclusively with the Empire of Night was unknown. The cloth that wrapped around his hands was black and red, fabrics intertwining and woven together to make something that kept out the cold but wicked sweat away. He looked good standing on the sand, steady, as if he was born for it.

“The boss want us?” Herah raised an eyebrow.  Formen nodded. The storm would have to wait. “That’s all I’ll need to hear. Reva, come on.”

Reva nodded in return. The sentry had replaced his helmet at home point, and was now standing next to Mirabell, who’s smile was wide and childlike, right where the sand turns to grass. Dawn was a couple steps behind, gun drawn, wheat blonde hair slick with the salt of sweat and the sea. A small path unfurled in front of them, through the thick brush and unnaturally dense trees. A small, stone arch demarcated the trail. Reva walked, feet already feeling heavy and worn. She fought the urge to catch up with Dawn, to walk in lockstep with her. It made her feel childish whenever she did, as if she was a little lost dog following around its master.

Brightwind put his hand up and the group stopped with him. He looks back and grins. Past the helmet, past the visor and the mystery of whoever this man was, Reva recognized something. Something primal, something pure.

Pride. 

“Stick to the path, friends. To where I step.” He said, tongue uncoiling like a snake between his lips. “There are old things here. The Sundance Throne is an hour walk from here, and the ceremony has already begun.”

“You hear the man, right?” Dawn looked back at her thieves, her perilous cadre. “You wanna live long enough to get paid, you gotta respect this place. It sure as shit don’t respect you.”

The thieves all grunted in approval and, in a moment, were swallowed by the wilds.

If you’ve never been to the Sundance Throne in its prime, I pity you.

Imagine, if you will, a castle nestled deep in some primordial forest. The stones interlaced with flowers and vines, the arches tastefully decayed. Banners that ripple in slight wind, heralding pristine monarchical traditions that predate the very sands of time. On the air, fruit and song and revelry carried like pollen, like breath. It was infectious. It was an Avalon of a better, more right age. An age of gallantry and of knights, in which rule did not need maintaining and all was right and in its own place. 

It was like a place out of Reva’s storybooks, the ones her mother read to her as a child. She would sit on her mother’s lap, light flickering slightly overhead as she read to her. The only scion of a minor corporate noble in Mariposa, Reva would have needed to be well versed in the world, even the parts of it that never have been true. She would ride on her nursemaid’s shoulders like she was a grand steed, strike the head cook in the back of his head with a rolled up piece of paper as he had his smoke.

She placed a hand on one of the stone bricks of a dilapidated archway as they exited the forest. It was like the archway that demarcated her old chateau in the countryside. If she looked hard enough, cared to scour over every inch of the brickwork, she knew she could find her old initials somewhere on here. Faded, time worn, but still there. 

Dawn looked at Reva with pity first, and then slight annoyance. In her hand, just hidden by her sleeve, was her snubnosed revolver. Her thumb was on the hammer of the weapon. She had no illusions of what this place could be. But she was not a cold woman, nor a cruel one.

“It's beautiful.” slipped from Reva’s mouth in a moment of un-vigilance. “How long has this place been here?”

“No idea.” Dawn shrugged, voice modulating in odd ways. “You ask the queen of this place, she’d say forever.”

Formen grunted. “I’d rather not ask her a thing.”

There was a slight pause, pregnant and awkward. Reva coughed. “Right.”

“Always the serious one.” Dawn smirked, hand still pressed tightly to her revolver. “Can’t let the pretty girl have a bit of fun?”

“Fun can be had after the job, miss.”

Their guide had put his helmet back on, but Reva knew the weight of the gaze of the glaring eyes beneath. They were the eyes of the Queen of this place.Judgemental, right, and true: this Reva knew without knowing. He quickly disappeared into the oncoming crowd.

Reva was surprised to see this many bodies here, on an otherwise deserted island. From the beachfront, the castle looked dilapidated. Banners flew and waved, but they were tattered. And the wilds had long overtook this place. Here, now in the shadow of the Sundance Throne itself, this all remained true. But there was a certain air of pageantry to the decay now. The vines that, from the distance of the shore, looked as if haphazard and random now had the arrangement of parade streamers, brightly petaled flowers almost looking like triangular banners. The heavy canopy disguised the equally dilapidated, and yet still inhabited, stone and thatch buildings underneath them. 

And the people --

Maybe hundreds were approaching this grand, stone circular stage. It reminded Reva of the sacrificial circles of the Orcish Hinterlands. Places that the old and ancient Orcs once had inhabited before turning to Isosa worship, now used only during holidays and ceremonies. However, over the years, the sacrifices became more and more symbolic, with men and women throwing pieces of burning memories into the center of the circle.

These, however, looked just as active as ever. In fact, it was the only structure in the square that had no vegetation across it at all. Even the grass that creeped along the party’s feet, the grass that made Reva wish to take her boots off and feel it between her toes, thinned and disappeared as it approached the stone structure, replaced with the sandy shoal that this island was no doubtidly made from. Reva knew, beyond knowing, what rituals were performed here. And for who they were performed on. 

She pretended her shudder was from the sea air.

All manner of folk were here in the Sundance Throne, from all corners of the Askaven Continent. Long fingers, straw hair, big pointed grins. There were Orcs and Humans and Elves and all manner of things which are not those. Long, slender things who look almost like you or I. Things that hide between blades of grass. Things who hide between bolts of lightning.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Mirabell grinned her toothy grin. Her shoes were still off and the blades of grass wrapped themselves around her toes. She looked back at Reva and grabbed the abjur’s hand. “Not another place on the continent like it.”

Reva clenched her fingers around Mirabell’s. They felt like worms, writhing around beneath her skin. “Maybe not another place like it in existence.”

“Maybe,” Mirabell continued. “Just maybe, I can show you around after the job is done.”

Reva looked around her. Her companions, Dawn, had left. Formen, most likely, absconded to some high tower or parapet to look over the courtyard. Herah and Dawn folded into the crowd, becoming like them. Even now, with how intimately she knew her employer, she would not, could not, be able to identify her. She has become, for this moment and for what felt like forever, a stranger. She steeled herself and, delicately, looked at Mirabell.

“This place is your home?” Reva asked, the question heavy on her tongue. Her throat was dry. Mirabell wrestled down the need to flee, to grab her something to drink. “This queen is your queen.”

“Aye.” Mirabell responded, thumbs rubbing across Reva’s palm. Her brogue is heavy, thicker now than it had been. The crowd of almost people and never-weres envelop them as they walk. Their bodies are warm to the touch, radiating that sickly sweaty heat. Somehow, somewhere, trumpets began to blare. “You’re wondering why I would steal from her.”

Reva nodded.

Mirabell looked over across the courtyard, past the canopy of trees, past the banners and flowers and the birds with human eyes. She saw it, dear reader:The Sundance Throne, the castle of Queen Titania. And, from its tallest spire, a voice echoed across the island. It sang an old song, older than words, but not older than stories. A single, lonely aria of all that you've never wanted to hear.

“Because I love her.”

Reva raised an eyebrow. “An odd reason.”

“This queen, like all queens I suppose, is more than an individual.” Mirabell gripped Reva’s hand that bit tighter. “She is, she can be, everything we can aspire to be. The limit of our bodies is the limit of hers. And when she is resplendent, like the sun, that is wonderful. There would be wind in our sails and beneath our wings.”

“But when she isn’t…”

“Exactly. I love my Queen, but she will kill me.” Mirabell glanced downwards. “She will kill all of us.”

“How?”

“The world has changed, and she has not. Or maybe she has, and I just have not noticed. We are not creatures made for this place.”

Reva smiled, a single tear rolling down her cheek. An effect of the song, an effect mirrored in her companion. “You can be, though. You can break yourself into shape.”

“What do you think I’m trying to accomplish here?” Mirabell laughed slightly to herself. “I wouldn’t have agreed if I did not believe I could.”

Reva nudged her companion with her shoulder. “Are you our secret benefactor?”

“Hah!” She smiled. The wind was cool between the two of them. Mirabell remembered  the first time she had met this ‘secret benefactor’. The smoke filled room, the velvet cushions, the mournful piano that echoed through the manor. A single, plain gold ring on a long finger. Mirabell touched it to her lips and Reva’s mouth tastes like datura and ash. Mirabell let go of her hand. “Maeve I am not.”

“So you’ve met her?”

“Once. She was beautiful. Hair like fire, with these long satin white gloves that extended past her elbow.”

“She sounds resplendent.”

“She is.” Mirabell sighed. “We’ll meet her after this job is complete. In Mariposa.”

Reva smirked. “From one Queen to another, huh?”

“We live in a world of Queens,” Mirabell looked towards the horizon, where the sun meets the storms. “Queen Mariposa, Queen Titania, even Isosa above us. There are the common, and then there is the uncommon. Masters and slaves.”

“What about us? Those would spit in the eyes of the Queens. The servants who swipe the silverware from the table.”

“We hope and we pray that no one knows us enough to categorize us as either or. That is where we die, Reva, when we are known.”

A small, faint crack of lightning echoed across the sea. Reva flinched. Beside her, a man with vines woven between his beard glared at her. His eyes were like diamonds, cold and hard. White, as if he was blind. His hair was thick and braided with moss and lichen. He looked like an old yew tree, standing tall on a hill above large, rolling cliffs. On his hip, a broad sword of white stone. On his back, a titanic bow, hand bent from that ancient tree. There was no string, and no arrows either. On his hands, Reva knew, there was blood. This man glared at her, acknowledging her flinch. Reva knew in his eyes that she was an outsider. That no true son of Ashosh Ai would flinch at the storm.

And that is when the sky, grand as she was, opened her mouth.

“Children of Ashosh Ai! Those who love me and are loved in return!”

The voice of the sky was sharp, cutting through the air like ozone and blood. Reva’s head snapped towards the source of the noise but she couldn’t quite find what caused it. 

“For years, my outrider knights have braved the dark places of this cruel world.”

The man in front of Reva grunted, stepping between Reva and the stage in front of her. He was tall and broad, rolling hair cascading in curls down his shoulders. His bow rested on his neck like the plow of some grand draft animal. In his beard, the flowering vines blossom. He glared down at Reva, moisture clinging to the hair around his mouth. The sun haloed his head and it was as if the fire itself surrounded him.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” His voice was coarse, like loamy sand. Reva, truly, had no idea what he meant by that. “Who do you report to?”

Reva swallowed hard and tasted the bile rising in her throat. “Um.”

The sky continued to speak: “To shine my light deep into the untrue alcoves and hidden enclaves.”

The man took another step toward her. Around his neck, a small knot of wood. Between the ridges and lines of the plant’s matrix, a small light glows. Red, like autumn leaves. “You’re not an outrider. I know all of them. So, you have to be one of their crewmates, right?”

Reva cannot tell if he’s merely goading her or playing some sort of cruel joke. His face, old and scarred, was not jocular. His hands were the perfect size of Reva’s neck. He could, would, crush her in a moment. Not a magick in the world would save her. This she knows.

“To carve truth into a world of lies.”

“I’m with Vanglorious.” Reva stammered the first name she can think of., the knight she entered with. 

The man in front of her smiled. “No you ain’t.” He took another step toward her. “I know his crew. Good neighbors, one and all.”

“To cleave peace from war.”

“New hire.” The words roll from off her tongue, possessed by the spirit of knowledge never known. “After Bittersmith ate it outside the Cambion Coasts.”

“To fulfill our purpose in this cruel place.”

“I could call him up. See who’s bandying around his name.” He gripped Reva’s hand tight. She felt her bones starting to buckle, a small hairline fracture around one of her carpals. Her skin blooms with immediate bruising. 

Reva’s eyes narrowed. “You should do that.” She drew her gun.

“Ser Yew, please forgive me.” Mirabell whispered as she, too, freed her weapon, a small wooden knife from her sleeve. It was sharp as iron and it slipped in between where Ser Yew’s ribs would have been. Mirabell twisted the t-shaped handle as the knight’s hand gripped her back in an approximation of camaraderie. He didn’t cry out, doing so would be an insult to his station. He just gripped Mirabell like she was an old friend and locked eyes with her. She smiled warmly.

The sky cracked with violence. On the curl of its lips, the voice sharpened to a razor’s edge. “We have company.” The crowd turned to face the unwelcome. In their eyes, the flash of lightning. Like the eyes of animals caught in a beam of light. All individuality, all sense, all compassion wiped clean in a moment. Ser Yew drops Reva’s hand. Mirabell twists the knife up, driving it so far deep that her fingers themselves pierce his skin.

Behind her, another set of fingers lace through Reva’s other hand. The skin is calloused and bitter. A mechanic’s hands, a thief's hands --Dawn’s hands. Mirabell locks eyes with Reva. In a moment, all of what might be flashes before her eyes. Smokey rooms and a panpipe in the hands clad in scarlet. A place for peace. She can give Reva nothing but this. 

“Run.”

Mirabell was torn limb from limb. The crowd descended on her like wolves on a lamb. Verdant viscera and bone and sinew and gore splattered on their muzzles. Hands. Claws. A flash of white teeth marred in the violence. Biting and tearing. Reva tried not to see it. Tried to shut her eyes to it as she flees through the flood of the crowd, all clamoring to sink their teeth into Mirabell’s flesh. She tried to block out reality, keen her mind on her footfalls in front of her, to what place might approximate safety here. On the hand in her hand. Tight, desperate, and together.

She failed, every time.

Dawn slammed the door behind them, chest heaving from exertion. Reva threw her hands to her knees. Her chest burned, lungs coiled in knots from the running. Her hands trembled, dousing her pants in Mirabell’s blood. Green blood. Reva always hated being right. The room they found themselves in appeared to be empty, a boon, and limited to only one entry, a bane. It seemed to be a small mess room, with windows looking out towards the courtyard. A tapestry hung on the opposite wall, a burning tree emblazoned in its heart. The courtyard out the window was the same that Reva thought she was in just moments ago. The crowd was restless, even from this distance that much was clear. Queen Titania had disappeared, along with her entourage.

“How, ah.” Reva caught her breath. “How long were we running for?”

“Not sure.” Dawn lied. Forty-three minutes almost exactly. “Fey magic, makes time pass funny.”

“So they are fey.” Reva shot Dawn a look. From outside the door, she could hear running, faint shouting. They were looking for her. Looking for them. They will do to Reva what they did to Mirabell. Rip her flesh from her bones, floss their teeth with her hair. She will be made nothing. Rewa locked her eyes with Dawn’s, her glare knife sharp.  This woman is her killer. Reva shoved her harder than she intended to. “You should have told us this, Dawn.”

Dawn glared back at her. They should have made it to the center of the castle by now, they’re just wasting time now. “Yea well, would you have gone otherwise? Gotta be worth all the coin I was gunna give you.”

“No.” Reva sighed and followed Dawn’s eyeline. “Babe, you can’t just lie to me like that.”

Dawn crossed the room and looked back at Reva over her shoulder. “I can, though. At the end of the day, you came with. I didn’t hold a gun to your head.” Dawn motioned over to the crowd. “You wanna see if they’re any nicer than me?”

Reva broke their gaze. “I don’t, no.,” her mouth thinned into a hard line. “But we’re only making it through this if we’re a team, Dawn.”

“Yeah.”

“And I deserve some answers.” Reva crossed the room to be next to her employer. Not her lover, not her friend. At least, not at this current moment. “Who hired us?”

“A noble out of Mariposa.” Dawn shrugged. “I don’t know any more than that.”

More shouting from outside the door. A bit closer now. Reva’s hands began to shake. “What are we stealing?”

“A panpipe.” Dawn replied. Her eyes were focused on the door. “I didn’t lie ‘bout that.”

“Do you know why it's special enough to get Mirabell killed?”

Dawn blinked. “No.” She lied. 

Reva sighed. “You’re in the dark as much as we were then, fuckin figures.”

Dawn raised a hand to the nearby hanging tapestry. Her fingers traced along the flames of the burning Castle Elphame like they had along the bumps of Reva’s spine. Her face was inscrutable, but her touch was gentle, as if the threads were woven braille, a message only her hands can parse. Reva’s eyes softened at the sight, her shoulders untensing. This was a side of Dawn that Reva knew. Dawn’s fingers reach Durandal. Here, he was depicted in a small, almost childlike manner. In his hands, he was holding a silver blade, like a shard of moonlight. His fingers bleed, as do his eyes. Next to him, his adversary: The Wolf. Her head is shaved, her eyes covered in soot. She is smiling with thousands of teeth. Behind them both, the Wyld burns. The death of all fey. This was a tapestry depicting the Fall of Elphame, the time when the fey lost their immortality. A child’s story. 

“This must be The Blade Awoke.” Reva remarked, off-handedly. “Titania’s daughter who became her son.”

“Durandal.” Dawn said. “You’ve heard the stories then?”

“Don’t quite think they’re just stories anymore.” Reva cast another quick glance at the window. “A fey believed so strongly in a cause, that he broke his name to serve his mother. He became a weapon to stop The Wolf.”

Dawn chuckled. “Didn’t work, did it?”

“No, but,” Reva smiled “I think it's a sweet story. To believe, so strongly, that you might change who you are.”

“You see love here?”

Reva reached over to put a hand on Dawn’s shoulder. “Who wouldn’t?”

Dawn  couldn’t decide if she wanted to smile or frown. She produced a knife from her scarf and tore it into the fabric. Her knife cut through the strands of history, excising Durandal from the story. 

“What are you doing?” Reva says in a half-laugh, as if forgetting where they are.

“I dunno,” Dawn lied. She kept cutting, tearing fabric away until just the Wolf remained. She now burns alone, fighting an enemy long defeated. Blades raised with nothing there to cut or rend. “I wanted to do it, so I did. Keep a little souvenir here. Of love.”

Reva frowned. Is she making fun of her? Dawn was a lot of things, but cruel she was not. At least, Reva wanted to believe that. She tried to reach across to Dawn, to see what she might be thinking. What she might be feeling. She attempted to force a jamais vu, mind keening on a singular want and desire. To know Dawn better, to attempt to bend this woman she loves into a shape Reva can understand. There is nothing for her efforts. All she sees is Dawn and the mystery woman on that sunny spring day in the Mariposa market. The same vision she saw on the boat. Dawn narrowed her eyes. Her thumb rubbed along her ring in her closed fist. She could feel the intrusion on the back of her neck, like a shiver before a rumbling storm across a city. So her mind shifted, directing the attention to what she wanted to be seen feeling.

“You’re a weapon, aren’t you.” Reva chided. She was being metaphorical, her disappointment in Dawn’s intrusion dripping from her words.  “I attempt to bridge the gap, you cut me away. You were made to hurt.”

“No, I’m not.” Dawn placed her hand along the fraying fabric of the tapestry. Durandal used to be there. And now, he is not. She holds him in her hand. “It was something I chose to be.”

“You can choose to not be it, too.” Reva considered the gap between them once more, but thought better of trying to bridge it once more. “If you wanted to.”

“We have a job to do, Reva.” Dawn looked back at her and smiled in the same way she once did to her wife. The same way she had in the memory Reva had plucked. “We can talk about what I want to be once we’ve survived and we’re rich.”

“Ah,” Reva refocused, remembering with sudden clarity exactly where she was.  The voices are distant again. They do not know where they are -- yet. “Yeah.”

“Come on.” Dawn sighed going for the door. Towards the unsafety of the castle. “Maybe we can meet up with the others.

Reva always follows her.

In front of them, Herah’s blood pooled as he slumped against the credenza. Muddy red and brown fading into the threaded gold of the carpet. He was frowning, his face permanently held in slight puzzlement. Reva had never seen him frown before, or if she had all thought of it was obliterated from her mind by what was before her. In his hand, a small gold idol. Many hands and all sharp angles. Something shiny, just for her. Reva brought a hand to her own mouth, blocking a silent scream.

Above him, Vainglorious Brightwind, Third Outrider Knight of Queen Titania the Eternal. His armor shone with all the fierceness of the Sun, like he was something out of a storybook. It caught light that wasn’t there, refracting the gilded bricks and fabrics of the Sundance Throne. He lifted his alabaster cape towards his blade and cleaned Herah’s blood from it. His helmet, which had bornDurandal’s likeness on the front, was discarded at his feet, the solemn visage shattered by Herah’s errant gunshot.

“Brightwind…” Dawn sighed. In her hand is her silvered revolver. A frail thing. Her fingers gripped tight around the pearl handles. Knuckles white.

“Don’t you ‘Brightwind’ me, Allcott.” 

“You’ve killed my employee.” Dawn motioned towards Herah’s chilling corpse. Reva raised an eyebrow in disgust at Dawn. An employee? The tattoos on Reva’s hands began to glow white hot. 

Brightwind laughed, hollow and shrill, like he was trying to hide it from some prying ears. “My Queen ordered this man dead personally.” His gloved hand struck his chestplate. Right over his heart. Maybe he saw Dawn looking there. Maybe he saw the errant twitch in her fingers. Maybe, just maybe, he felt it on the wind. But here, even beneath that armor, his heart was exposed. Imperiled. “You know what she would do to me if I were to disobey.”

Dawn centered her pistol, leveled at his chest.  Brightwind’s hands trembled.“Yeah, what I’d do to you would be a blessing, right?

“Don’t be like that, Allcott.” Brightwind took a step forward. The hammer on Dawn’s revolver clicked.

“Like what?”

“Unreasonable.” Another step. Herah’s body was reflected in his shining armor. Titania gave that armor to him, years ago, for leading her people from the Wyld to wherever new hell this place was. Vainglorious kept it polished to a mirrored sheen. Even if the light got too bright, even if the sun reflected off it in his eyes. He would never stand to have it sullied. “She was behind me. What else was I supposed to do?”

“You respect your queen enough to kill for her,” fell out of Reva’s mouth,  “But not enough to keep us from stealing from her.”

“Leash your pup, Allcott.”

Reva’s vision flashed red. “What the fuc-”

“You don’t get to call her that.” Dawn cut her abjur off. “You’re no better. Reva’s right, you jumped at the chance to betray her, you know, as long as your ass wasn’t on the line.”

Reva met  Dawn’s eyeline, twisting her foot into the carpet, like a viper coiled to strike. It was in the way the light moved around Dawn. It was not passing through her, it was not blocked by her. In this moment, Dawn cast no shadow. She was not radiant. She was not a queen. She would not need servants to kill. This Reva knew.

“I don’t know what-” Brightwind began.

“What I mean?” The side of Dawn’s face is obscured by her revolver. “I mean that you’re a coward. And I don’t do business with cowards.”

And Reva knew --. 

She ground her foot against the fine carpet below her, the one sodden and heavy with her friend’s blood. Her tattoos were white hot, glowing like molten metal through the veins of a crucible, and her fists ossified into steel. The muscles of her leg contract and tear, hardening as well. Her veins contracted, slowing her blood flow to a crawl under the pure pressure of transformation. Brightwind was maybe thirty feet in front of her. He kept  his eyes on her mate, on the woman holding his death in front of him. She was gleaming, this Reva knows. She was what Reva will disappear into.

She crossed the distance before Dawn could pull the trigger. The thief blinked and, in a moment, Reva was not beside her. Dawn was surprised when she saw her employee in front of her, blocking her shot. No longer is his heart exposed, no longer is his death clean and known. Reva ruined this. Dawn fought the urge to shoot anyway, swallowing down that disgust somewhere deep. Reva’s fist made contact with Vainglorious Brightwind’s chestplate. Though it may be infused with ancient and gleaming magics, bronze will forever remain no match for steel. The breastplate dented like the hull of a sinking ship. A small, sharp gasp shudders past his lips. His feet slipped from underneath him. His blade fell from his grasp. It hit the floor with a clatter that echoed through the halls of the Sundance Throne, heard by all except Dawn, Reva, and Vainglorious Brightwind.

Behind them, Dawn lowered her pistol slightly. Not enough to not be ready if she was needed, but enough to hesitate if she ever was. Enough to miss any shot she might have taken. Reva, on the other hand, remained a blur of violence. She reared her fist back again, skin broken and bloodied from the contact with the metal plate. Clang. She struck him again, another dent in Vainglorious’ armor. Blood flew this time, immolate as it soars through the air. Brightwind stumbled another step back, feet pulling the carpet runner up like waves on the shoreline. His chest was heavy and bruised, blood pooling around a broken rib. His body was not mortal, it was not physical. This is what Titania had promised him, that this armor and this purpose would make him perfect. 

And yet, why does it ache? 

He could not take another blow. Her fist glowed like fire, her eyes ablaze with rage. He twisted, pulling his broken torso back as he stumbled away at the last moment, and her fist sails past him, carrying her in cruel momentum. She tumbled forward, curling her body so her eyes were still locked on the knight’s in front of her.

“Shit.”

Behind the two of them, Dawn cursed. The ravenous crowd had found its way into the castle. Two of them, mouths and hands stained with Mirabell’s gore, began to lumber towards the three of them, their eyes glowing like an animal caught in firelight, senseless and lost. In their hands, cruel and jagged blades. Even I could not be sure they could tell friend from foe. She glared at Reva and Vainglorious, locked in mortal peril. Reva dropped her weight, arms braced at either side of her. Reva’s fist, iron and stalwart, dripped crimson. It, for a moment, made Dawn’s breath hitch in excitement. It was something so human, to her at least. To raise arms to defend what you love, enough to break yourself for it. Dawn fought a smile as she leveled her revolver against the interference. This was not her fight, but it was one she could ensure they had alone.

Dawn broke into a sprint, blowing past Reva and her knight-errant. Reva bore her fist again in front of her. “Come on, Brightwind. You’re mine.” The words dripped from Reva’s mouth like rabid spit. They froth as they escape from her lips. She lunged forward, hand grasping for Brightwind’s neck. There is exposed flesh there. Something weak, something to break. She would grab him there, crack him open like a crab. Reva, beyond anything, knew that the coward was squishy down to the core. 

Three gunshots rang out. Dawn knelt, elbows braced on her thigh. A soldier’s stance to eliminate sway. Pure instinct, beaten into the circuits and servos of Dawn’s very logic. It felt right to hurt, to kill. Two landed dead center onto one of the revelers, the one with straw hair and a sea breeze scent. He dropped to the floor, dead before his mind could comprehend what had happened to him. His companion, a skinny little redhead redcap, brandished bloodied blade and was missed by inches. The redcap let loose a scream and looked down at his erstwhile and new friend, seeing the wounds burn and sizzle from the projectiles. He was made for this moment. To hurt his Queen’s foes.

Brightwind raised his arm to block Reva. Her fist made contact with his vambrace at the moment that Dawn fired another shot and the metal crumpled instantly. Reva’s fist continued it's trajectory, pinning Brightwind’s now useless arm against his sternum. The two of them fell to the floor, legs locked between each other. Their breath was heavy, labored. Reva straddled the knight, teeth bared and hand holding his own arm to his throat. Not enough to choke him, but enough to make his breath shallow and pained. Dawn turned around to see another three knights emerge from where they came from. A large man carried a censer like a flail. He had to lean down to make it through the doorway, barely squeezing through. Behind him, two thin, armored forms with spears that stab and bite. 

Dawn cycled her revolver, acausal bullets off gassing their alchemical memories. She still had three shots worth of energy left in the chamber, but the man before her lumbers and takes up the whole hallway. Her thumb ran the rounded edge of the cylinder as she assessed the brute. He wants to luxuriate this, to crush them at his own leisure. To enjoy every feeling of bone snapping against metal. She has the time to reload. Brightwind locked his legs behind Reva’s back and flipped the two of them over towards Dawn. His arm was shattered and useless -- He would not last in a straight up fight. Reva’s hand still clung onto his neck guard. She pulled him in close and ripped the bronze from off his body, rivets and leather tearing uselessly. Her fist lost  its hue, hand purple and bloody. Her teeth began to glow white with fire. 

His neck exposed. 

Her teeth finds purchase  in its side. 

The large man was above them now. Reva could not see him, eyes shut in rapturous enjoyment. Vainglorious’ blood tasted like clipped grass and white wine, earthy and intentional. She hated how much she enjoyed it. Brightwind let out a garbled scream like an Ortolan drowning in armagnac. Dawn’s pistol leveled at the brute above her lover. The hammer clicked-- a single shot. The man fell to the floor, blood pooling between his eyes. His companions dropped behind him. He is meat now, to be used as a shield. Dawn continued to fire. Flesh tore away from his corpse in chunks. Red and brutal, they flew through the air. The backblast coated Dawn’s face in soot and sulfur. Sparks from metal striking the acuasal bullet screamed in immolate joy, striking her cheek. She did not feel it. 

She would not let them take Reva. Not while Brightwind still lived.

Reva pulled away, ripping sullen flesh away from Brightwind’s neck. Green arterial blood shot across glittering golden bricks.The viscera caught in the light, and the hall was filled with a momentary sanguine constellation. Vainglorious Brightwind looked up at Reva Ambrose, only daughter of Misha Ambrose, and watched her swallow. His own green blood stained rivulets down her mouth and the front of her shirt. He brought his hand to his throat to staunch the blood, but there was just too much of him gone, too much missing to keep himself together. He, in that moment, became the first to recognize her for what she really was, that borrowed hunger in her eyes. 

And then, at last, he was gone.

The knife in his hands fell to the floor, discarded, useless. In another world, Reva would have hesitated just a moment longer, and his knife would have found purchase in her heart. The two of them would have been intertwined there, raw and bloodied on the floor. Viscera and lifestuff mixed together on millenia old tile and stone. 

This, dear reader, this Reva knew.

And then, she heard it: Dawn firing off another salvo from her service weapon. She was standing over the hulking beast of a corpse not six feet from Reva. Her nonfiring hand dug  into the neck of something tall and thin and hateful. His companion lay crumpled,  riddled with holes. The side of her dominant arm was covered with soot and burns, backblast of repeated shots from her revolver. Her quarry looked up at her like Reva had done numerous times. Reva sees, in that moment, herself in the kneeling man’s position. In wood lined rooms on the road, on silken sheets, in dark pulsing drumbeat backrooms of bars and clubs. Pleading, doe eyes wet with tears and exertion. Dawn raised her thumb to cup the man’s face. It is gentle, almost. Tender. And then Reva sees the bruising around his neck from where Dawn’s boney fingers crushed his windpipe. She places the barrel of her revolver against his forehead like a kiss. He lets out a scream as the hot metal burns his flesh. Dawn narrows her eyes. 

She pulled the trigger.

And the man fell to the floor, spent.

There was a moment where the gunshot echoed throughout the hallway. Another, where only their two ragged breaths can be heard. Reva stared at Dawn. Her gaze stays low for a long time, locked on the man beneath her, before she turns her head towards Reva.  She half expected her lover to be dead. She saw it, in her mind's eye, that vision of another world like a shiver on the back of her neck. Jamais Vu. The two of them, intertwined in violence on the cold stone of the Sundance Throne. Reva was not dead, though. Her hand was bloodied and bruised. Her mouth dripped with blood not hers. In her eyes, something wild and wolven. But, she was not dead.

The two stared at each other a moment more. Wind whipped outside as a storm began to batter the island of Ashosh Ai. Dawn’s revolver hung by her side, still gripped in Dawn’s white knuckles, her face inscrutable. Blank, like the woman that Reva had known for six years was not there. As if replaced with a simulacrum that Reva might never have known. Another insidious thought crept her way into Reva’s mind. Was that really Dawn? Not the Dawn in front of her now, but the Dawn that she had known. Was she the illusion?  Doubt crept, as the cold light of violence obliterated those falsehoods, , replaced Reva’s lover with an automaton of cruelty.

“That’s my Reva.” Dawn said in a voice mechanical and unlike hers. There was no odd modulation, it’s too light and too smooth to be Dawn’s voice. She smiled, but only with her mouth. Small flecks of blood covered her face, but Dawn bore no wounds. It was as if the thing in front of her is a hallucination, unscathed by violent reality. She took a step forward and if Reva had the energy to move back she would have. She climbed down from that massive corpse in front of her and placed a hand on Reva’s neck. Her fingers were cold, and Reva knows this was how they had always felt. She rubbed her thumb along Reva’s lower lip.

And Reva Ambrose began to cry.

“How long are you going to give me the silent treatment?”

This was the first thing that Dawn said to Reva in hours. They had reached the entrance of Titania’s throne room some 30 minutes ago. It was a set of gold doors with no handles and no locks. The tops of them disappeared into the darkness, leaving Reva with a sense of unease. By her internal map, the one that she knew not where it came from, they had reached the top of the Sundance Throne. There was no more ‘up’ to go. And yet, these doors crawled onwards. Anything could be up there. There could be infinite layers to the world, yet uncovered, yet unexplored. This was not how her storybooks ended. In them, there would be a queen beyond these doors. A queen to depose, to unthrone, to usurp. The cruel and wicked tyrant dashed upon the blades of the right and true. 

Reva and Dawn were not right, and they were not true. They were thieves in the night. They were never to be known, this was never to be an event that would have been written about. A thing was to disappear and those who steward it would be none the wiser. 

Nobody was supposed to die.

But now, this was an event. This moment, where Dawn was fiddling with the lock on a door that had no lock, was to be recorded by someone. It would be pondered and examined and studied. There would be a motive that would be ascribed to the dead and cause ascribed to the actions that followed it. She knew, beyond anything else, that these actions, this perilous theft, would change history in some way. That if the world was to reset, if the Celestial Civil War was to happen again and again, this moment would somehow become fixed in reality itself. That Mirabelle and Herah and Brightwind would always die on this cold, shale island in the middle of nowhere. Try as she might, she may never have been able to save them.

She looked down at Dawn. The lock in front of her is not real, but a simulacrum, manifested.. She had seen Dawn do something like this before, a way to interface with the underlying magick of whatever bound the doors shut. Turing abstract fundaments to reality, making the complex magickal code underneath them simple. Dawn had said before that it requires an intense concentration, that Reva was never to speak as she was performing this lockbreaking. Either Dawn was worried about Reva’s feelings so much to usurp such concern or she never needed the concentration to begin with. 

“I’m not.”

“You’re lying to me.” Dawn chided. “Come on, babe. I think we’re beyond that.”

Reva chuffed and clenched her fist absentmindedly. Her two fingers are broken, the rest of her hand is bloodied and bruised. But she survived, and Brightwind did not. “How do you mean?”

“I’ve seen you.” Dawn looked back at her without turning her head. Purple iris shining through past bottle blonde hair. “The real you that I think you’ve kept locked up.”

Reva narrowed her eyes. “How do you mean.” She repeated herself, firmer.

“You’ve never turned your teeth to violence like that. Usually, you keep those for me.” Dawn chuckled, turning her eyes back to her task. “You were radiant.”

“I don’t feel radiant.” Reva looked down at her feet. Her boots were covered in green blood, as was the front of her pants. She felt heavy, wet, soaked and sodden with blood. “I’ve never done that before.”

“You haven’t?”

“No.” She paused. “I saw something. In here.” She tapped absently against her temple with her broken hand.. She winces in pain when the ruined bones make contact.

“What’d you see?”

“I saw Brightwind, um, Vainglorious. I saw him bleeding you dry. I saw him killing me, and then you. And, in that moment, I knew what I needed to become.”

“A set of teeth?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Reva crossed her arms and looked at the door they came from. There were no footsteps, no one would dare to venture this close. The castle’s defenders had to have known where they were, how close they were to their prize. There was no escape, no way out. And yet Dawn continues to press forward.

“Durandal.” Dawn looked back again. Her voice was cold. Mechanical, like the projected lock in front of her. “He did something similar.”

“That’s the story.”

“It's truth. He carved himself into a blade, for the love of his mother.” Dawn looked down at the door again, at her own reflection in the glittering gold. “He changed who he was, fundamentally. Shifted from female to male, broke his name in half.”

“His name?”

“The names of Fae, their true names -- they’re powerful.” Dawn recounted. “If we steal one of them, we could make any fae do anything. Even Titania. We can compel them to unmake themselves.”

“Is that what we’re stealing here, Dawn?” Reva stepped forward, in her eyes she could see that power. Rending the very being asunder, unmaking who they are at their conceptual level. It is what Dawn is attempting to do to this lock, what Reva did when she tore Vainglorious’ throat in half. What happened to Mirabell. “Are we stealing Titania’s true name?”

“I’m a thief, not a revolutionary.” Dawn chuckled. “I’m not in the queen toppling business anymore.”

“Then what are we doing here?” Reva took one more step forward. Her fists are clenched.

Dawn turned around now, facing Reva. She was on her knees, looking up at her former lover. Dawn knew this now. No matter what happened, no matter who survived. The two of them are never to touch each other in love, ever again. “Are you threatening me, Reva? You going to bare your teeth like you did to Brightwind?”

There was a pause. A beat. The air in the room went cold. Reva felt the pieces of Vainglorious fallow in her stomach, the salty brine of his blood in the back of her throat. She felt her teeth grow long and grow sharp, glow white hot with the Wolf’s Rage. And she knows, now, what she is channeling. Wolf magic. Chaos and entropy upon her lips. She took a moment, and breathed. She forces a Jamais Vu, not with Dawn this time, but inwards. Hunting for the capability, to see if there was any part of her who could turn those fangs upon Dawn, the woman she loves. 

She never finds it.

“No.”

“Then stop wasting my time.” Dawn turned back around, a look of disappointment on her face. “And fucking let me work, Reva.”

There was another moment of pure silence.

“Who is she?” Reva asks. She regretted it the moment it slips her lips, as if that question, so implied by every interaction, was never to be asked.

Dawn did not turn back around. “Who is who?”

“When I turn to you and focus, and you rub that ring and shut me out, I see a woman. Black hair, messy bun. Spring’s day in Mariposa.”

“Oh,” Dawn said plainly. “Her.”

“You owe me that. Who is she?”

Dawn looked more intently into the lock in front of her. The ring hummed a tone that sounded like spring on the wind. Reva did not need to force a connection to know what she was thinking of. Reva can see Dawn’s reflection in front of her. Before, all she could see was her own reflection. Dawn’s had been absent. Now, the two of them are visible. “Yeah, ok. I can give you that.”

Reva crossed her arms. “Who. Is. She.” She asked now, for a third time. The irony was not lost on Dawn. The compulsion of threes. 

“That woman is my wife, ah, ex-wife.”

Reva sighed, letting her breath slip from between her lips. That’s what she had feared. She walked to the window and looked over the island. The crowd was ravenous. They churned like the waves on the sea below them. Torches and swords are held aloft, making them look like glittering stars in the void. The moon looked at them from above, hanging hungry over this tableau. It was not night, not moments ago, but the Lady of Hounds will not be denied. 

“You don’t sound too sure. You’re still wearing her ring, after all.”

“We never got divorced.” Dawn paused her ministrations with the lock. “I think she thinks I’m dead. Or wishes I am.”

“I could have forgiven that, Dawn.” Reva looked over at her shoulder. “I always kinda figured I wasn’t your main girl.”

“How’s that?”

“When you kiss me.” Reva breathed. “I can always tell you’re trying to kiss someone else.”

Dawn looked up at Reva, dropping the lock entirely. “And you’d be ok with that?”

“I liked you, Dawn.” Reva looked back at her. In her mind, she pictures this a romance storybook. Where the grand gesture of love might save the day. “You’re brilliant and radiant. I didn’t care in what way, I knew I needed to have you.”

The corner of Dawn’s mouth twitched. She isn’t sure if it was a smile or a frown. “You’re nothing like her, you know.”

“Then, what was she like?” Reva glared at Dawn out of the corner of her eyes.

“You don’t wa-”

“You don’t get to tell me what I do or don’t want.” Reva interrupted. “What was she like, godsdamnit?”

Dawn flinched, just for a moment. “I knew she was the brilliant one. Smart as a whip, with eyes that glittered like diamonds. She was ambitious to a fault. That, if the need arose, she'd hurt me if she had to, and I wouldn't be able to fault her. That woman reminded me of someone I knew once.” The words escaped out of her, as if compelled. “She saw through me immediately. Saw through the illusion and the half truths, knew me in a way I hadn’t been known for years. I became her assistant, and we made great things. Beautiful bits of knowledge that have never nor will ever be replicated.”

“So what happened?”

“Later happened. I knew I was falling in love. And I knew that if I loved her, I couldn't, wouldn't, be the thing I promised to be. I'd like to think she wouldn't fault me, but I dunno.”

“You’re right.” Reva looked back at Dawn. She did not think Dawn would look up from her task for this conversation. She knew, beyond knowing, that she did not have that respect for Reva. To be wrong angered her. “I sound nothing like her. Why were you even with me?”

Because Reva was a self pitying pissant. Because Reva was a silly girl who still believes in things like love. Because she was everything like Dawn and nothing like Blair, like Her.

“Because I hate you, and you love me.” Dawn’s voice was cold, but it was not distant. It was not mechanical. It was, for good and for ill, unmistakably Dawn, hard, and hoarse and real.. “We need each other. And that type of thing neither of us could ever give up.”

The lock clicked. It fell to the ground and then disappeared into star stuff. Dawn, still looking at Reva, stands up, shakes her shoulders, and then looks towards the door. It appeared as if nothing had been done to it, but as  Dawn raised her finger to it and pushed, it gave way, opening as if some grand giant had compelled it to do so. She disappeared within. 

Reva did not move, not for what seems like ages. There was a part of her that wanted to peer into that vault. To see what gilded treasures Titania had hoarded away for centuries. Gold stacked to the ceilings, swords and weapons with names of yore, maps to hidden islands where adventure might yet be found. It was, I am sure, magical to imagine what is in there. And so, unburdened by truth, she continued to stand. 

Dawn and I, however, are not so liberated.

The room itself was barren. The coffers of the island had long run dry. Everything on this island served not out of coin, but out of devotion to their lady. Not even cobwebs remained, the spiders that lurked here having long died of eternal starvation. There had been no living being that had stood inside the vault in years. And, at the center of a worn piece of marble fashioned into a pillar, was a small panpipe, standing upright and  leaning on nothing. It was wooden, strapped together with vines that smelled like apricot wine. It played the tune of a better story.  A kinder one. Dawn raised a hand to it and cradled it gently. It was warm and it felt like love. With her other, she pulls out a small tapestry piece.

Durandal.

It was soaked through with blood and crumpled, but Titania’s son no less. She places the pan pipes within her scarf. And she pauses. A thought crosses her mind. She hefts Durandal in her hand like the cloth weighed more than gold. On his face, now smattered with red and green blood, was woven a brutal scream. A challenge, for a wolf at his door. She smiles warmly, and places him on the pillar. 

Reva saw Dawn exit the vault and sighed, eyes closed in contemplation. She opened them and sees Reva, a look passing between them. Dawn’s cheeks were stained with tears but she was smiling, clasping the pan pipe to her chest in both hands. Reva was smiling as well, for no reason in particular. She doesn’t know why she smiles. Dawn looks down at her ring on her finger. That solid gold band that kept Reva from Dawn, the real Dawn. The thing that obscured so much. She moves to take it off.

And then it happened.

Reva did not need to force it this time, and the weight of absolute reality hits her. There is a library, far beyond the horizon, with books that stretch until forever with every kind of knowledge you’ve never wanted to see. At the center of that place, a star, unburdened by time. And at its entrance, a woman with blonde hair stands. Her nose is not crooked and her hair is not curly and her eyes are not purple but it is Dawn. Her natural curls straightened to a painful degree and with her hands nailed behind her back. Her clothes match her eyes, a deep and true azure. Like waves one would get lost in.

A woman with floor length black hair stands in front of her, leaning on the counter and she is smiling like Dawn was smiling at Reva. It is a smile wide enough to get lost in. And in every moment, Reva knew this was what Dawn was protecting, this memory of this woman. What she had kept Reva from at every turn, distracting her with sentimentality and affection. Whenever Reva had leaned in for a kiss, this is who was kissing Dawn back. She leans over the counter, grabs Dawn by her lapel, and plants a single, toothy kiss on her cheek like a maiden sending her knight to war. When she pulls away, there is a mark that will never be washed off.

Reva had seen what she thought Dawn was, in that hallway with Vainglorious. That violent thing, carved from many shaped cruelties and inflicted upon reality. Whether or not that was Dawn at all was irrelevant. Reva knew this to be her lover, now. No longer was she this brilliant woman. No longer was the edge of Dawn’s body the edge of Reva’s mind. And yet, she was standing before her, the grand illusion of Dawn becoming ever so close to shattering. In this light, her skin looked real, with veins and blood and secrets buried just beneath the surface. If Reva tried, if she looked deep within her mind's eye, she could see Dawn’s heart in this very moment, reflected in that black haired woman’s eyes.

This radiant truth scared her.

It scared her because no longer could Dawn be a construct, no longer could she contain Dawn within herself. She would not be the blade in the night or the perilous thief or her lover or any other sort of childish and selfish thing that Reva might need. As the toothy mark on Dawn’s cheek grows ever wider, as the gaps between the then and the now come to a screaming collision, Reva turns away. The room grows cold. Dawn’s ring stops just before her knuckle. Her tears dry up. Behind her, there is the past. The comfortable reality Reva thinks is the truth. Where Dawn would brandish blade and they might be in love. She sees it now. In the market places of Mariposa, in the face of a woman that would never look like her. This would be her future. She could carve away everything from the tapestry of life to make it so. She would become the knife and cut away the present and past to make way for this future.

“In this, I find you.”

Reva never sees it coming.

So lost in this reality was she did not hear the voice of the Queen of All Fey. She did not feel the creeping hands behind her, twelve of them, ghosting her legs, up her body, and wrapping themselves around her very neck. The fingers were as sharp as lightning and gentle as every lover Reva had ever felt. This is what Titania lived in, what drew her to Reva Ambrose. The overwhelming, intoxicating and unbearable reality of the past. Reva did not hear her own bones snapping, or feel the blood pooling in her lungs as the fingers crawled down her open, gormless mouth. All she could hear is a child that is not her’s asking for another apple. She does not feel them tearing and ripping and biting and laughing and rending. All she can feel is a wife that is not her’s talking about the weather. And, in a moment that felt like forever, Reva’s strings snapped, and her body falls limp.  And in her glassy, bloodshot eyes, Dawn could see what she is seeing. She could see her own ex-wife infecting Reva’s final thoughts. Dawn didn’t even see herself.

All Dawn could ever have done is run.

Dawn emerged onto the beach just as the storm began to batter the island.

In front of her, Formen of the Wastes. He stood against the boat, rifle resting on the ground next to him. The waves were choppy, but there was no sea that would keep Dawn on this island. She was dripping with blood, and her revolver was running hot. She ran so fast, and so far - thirty nine minutes, fifteen seconds.

“Boss.” He nodded.

“You’re still alive.” Dawn sighed, relieved. From the sky, the queen of this place begins to scream. The clouds roil, the monstrous seas churn. “How?”

He shrugged, his rifle scraping slightly against the boat as it floats against the shore. “I didn’t let anyone get anywhere near me.” He looked up to the castle. It looked so still down here. He couldn’t hear the roiling crowds. “I saw Mirabelle eat it, but I lost track of everyone else.”

“Gone.” Dawn looked back at the castle. “We need to leave now.”

“Shame,” was all Formen could muster. Dawn glared at him out of pure instinct. There was a part of her that understands his blaise attitude, a part of her she wants to think is true. “Hopefully they took some down with them.”

Dawn approached the boat. “They did, they were absolutely beautiful” She looked down at Formen’s rifle and met the eyes of her reflection in its barrel. “At least they died for something.”

“Not like us, huh?” Formen shrugged, picking up his gun and loading himself onto the boat. “Getting rich for nothing?

Dawn followed him onto the boat as well, and would not say a word until the island disappeared into the distance.

[justtakeout]

Honestly, I just want to say, the amount of Shamy fanart we're seeing from you is insanely good and you're one of my favorite artists!

Like, HOLY HELL! THAT'S AMAZING. We are so blessed to have you in the fandom.

Also, I have a question. What's your favorite Shamy fanfic? Any recommendations?

thank you so much, hahahha <3. regarding to the number of shamy fanart, it's because I don't have anything else to do during my free time hahhaha.

thank you also for liking my artworks. despite being a latecomer (having only seen tbbt few months ago >⁠.⁠<), the fandom has been really nice and friendly (⁠*⁠_⁠*⁠).

for shamy fanfics, here are my recommendations; i've only mentioned my favorite story from each author. you can check out their account for more stories! but these are my faves so far (these are all from fanfiction.net):

The Superlative Chemistry by Boys3allC

The Trip by kimbee73

Treading Water by YlvaBorealis

And If You Blink, You'll Miss It by Empress Shellie

The Investigation Complication by moulesfrites

Romantic Love and Other Treatments for Jamais Vu by EroticFriendFiction

The Big Reversal Theory or the Vixen in 4B by hazelra7

The New Refuge Contemplation by bigbangenthusiast

The Weekend Perplexity by NerdForestGirl

The Family Amplification by imdreamingoutloud

The Dispatch Inquiry by April in Paris

[miyamoratsumuu]

𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

-where the crows take flight, where the great king became a comrade, where the eagles soar, where the cats roar, where the owls prey, where the foxes are the most sly, and the weasels unpredictable

navigation . . .

DRABBLES (short fics below 1k words)

↳ "uh, tsumu?". . . it's normal for people in a relationship to BOTH share their clothes. right? (miya atsumu, gn reader. fluff, crack) ↳ at midnight. . . kuroo tetsuro being the nerd he is, had the audacity to give you butterflies this late in the evening. (kuroo tetsuro, gn reader. fluff) ↳ you're safe here. . . you come home late due to an accident during volleyball practice. little did you know your boyfriend was waiting for you the whole time. (seperately- oikawa toru, bokuto koutaro, kuroo tetsuro, gn reader, fluff, comfort) ↳ out of your league. . . he wanted to be yours. and he can be., but certain circumstances say otherwise. ↳ unsent letters. . . he was a writer, you were his muse. and every stroke of his pen reminded him just why all he wished for was to be the one to love you until the end of forever. (iwaizumi hajime, fem reader. fluff, angst)

HEADCANONS

↳ dating the pretty setter squad W/ MOODBOARDS. . . ft. oikawa, akaashi, kenma, atsumu, semi ↳ dating the hq boys, W/ MOODBOARDS pt. 2. . . ft. kuroo, mattsun, suna ↳ dating the hq boys, W/ MOODBOARDS pt. 3. . . ft. bokuto, iwaizumi, tsukishima ↳ haikyuu boys + tiktok trends with you. . . ft. various hq boys ↳ in love all over again. . . as you walked down the aisle, the song that described the story of your love played in the background. or your wedding with them as opm (original pinoy music) songs (ft. various male characters) ↳ still into you. . . after all this time, kenma was still into you as much as he was in the beginning of your relationship (ft. kenma)

TEXTS/SMAUS

↳ jamais vu. . . (h.iwaizumi x reader smau series, ongoing)

FICS

↳ and they were roommates. . . keiji seemingly made everything easier for you when he moved in. especially the part where he made you fall in love with him. (akaashi keiji, gn reader. fluff. 1.9k words) ↳ easy to love. . . love has always been a beautiful mystery. until kiyoko came along to help you uncover it. (shimizu kiyoko, gn reader. fluff. 1.2k words)

[sabinerondissime]

J'ai fais un peu de ménage. Pas chez moi, mais parmi les deux ex qui m'ont écrit la semaine passé. Le premier a dégagé de mes contacts. La raison ? J'aime pas qu'on ignore mes messages ! Le contexte ? Monsieur écrit pendant 3 jours, plusieurs fois par jour, puis dimanche, rien. Pas de réponse à mon dernier message. C'est pas comme si on s'était dit "A plus" en concluant la conversation. Non, c'est un dialogue laissé en suspens, comme ça, parce qu'il n'a plus envie de répondre. Pourquoi plus envie et pas simplement pas le temps ? Parce qu'il est connecté le reste du temps. Donc, dimanche après midi, j'envoi un message assez léger mais un peu cynique, concernant le temps qu'il va lui falloir avant de se rendre compte que je lui ai répondu. Une heure plus tard, il répond : "MDR, ça dépend de mon humeur. " Puis il me pose une question sur ma stories. J'étais passablement agacée par sa réponse, donc je répond en 3 mots , qu'il ne lit pas ! Hier, pas de message. Avant de me coucher, voyant qu'il n'avait toujours pas lu mon message alors que 36 mn avant il était en ligne, je l'ai supprimé de mon compte et j'ai également arrêté de le suivre. Ce matin, réponse à ma question de dimanche. Du moins d'après les premiers mots vu dans la notif sur mon téléphone. J'ai effacé le message sans le lire. Parce que maintenant, y en a marre! Marre de ce mec qui revient dans ma vie alors que j'ai rien demandé, qui me traite une fois comme s'il avait envie qu'on renoue un contact puis rapidement comme si je n'existais pas. Ce mec de toute façon, c'est le plus égoïste que j'ai jamais croisé ! A part lui, personne n'existe ! Une dinguerie. Et bien qu'il aille au diable, j'ai assez perdu de temps à être sympa avec quelqu'un qui ne mérite que mon mépris.

[kilfeur]

Plus j'y pense plus je me dis qu'on sait pas ce qui s'est réellement passé entre Leola et les humains pour qu'elle leur donne la magie. On a la version de l'ordre cosmique et celle de son père. Mais on a jamais eu SA version des faits. Bon après, ça aurait été difficile de la faire parler vu qu'elle était terrifiée pendant son "procès". Donc je me demande ce qui a poussé Leola a donné la magie aux humains ? Quel était le déclencheur ?

The more I think about it, the more I realize that we don't know what really happened between Leola and the humans to make her give them magic. We have the cosmic order's version and her father's version. But we never got HER side of the story. But then, it would have been hard to get her to talk, given how terrified she was during her “trial”. So I wonder what drove Leola to give magic to humans? What was the trigger?

[mavieaujourlejour]

J'ai fais un peu de ménage. Pas chez moi, mais parmi les deux ex qui m'ont écrit la semaine passé. Amar a dégagé de mes contacts. La raison ? J'aime pas qu'on ignore mes messages ! Le contexte ? Monsieur écrit pendant 3 jours, plusieurs fois par jour, puis dimanche, rien. Pas de réponse à mon dernier message. C'est pas comme si on s'était dit "A plus" en concluant la conversation. Non, c'est un dialogue laissé en suspens, comme ça, parce qu'il n'a plus envie de répondre. Pourquoi plus envie et pas simplement pas le temps ? Parce qu'il est connecté le reste du temps. Donc, dimanche après midi, j'envoi un message assez léger mais un peu cynique, concernant le temps qu'il va lui falloir avant de se rendre compte que je lui ai répondu. Une heure plus tard, il répond : "MDR, ça dépend de mon humeur. " Puis il me pose une question sur ma stories. J'étais passablement agacée par sa réponse, donc je répond en 3 mots , qu'il ne lit pas ! Hier, pas de message. Avant de me coucher, voyant qu'il n'avait toujours pas lu mon message alors que 36 mn avant il était en ligne, je l'ai supprimé de mon compte et j'ai également arrêté de le suivre. Ce matin, réponse à ma question de dimanche. Du moins d'après les premiers mots vu dans la notif sur mon téléphone car j'ai effacé le message sans le lire. Tout comme j'ai effacé le suivant quelques heures plus tard ou il semblait me demander si je faisais la gueule. Faire la gueule, ce serait lui accorder trop d'importance. L'ignorer, c'est tout ce qu'il mérite. Parce que ce n'est pas la première fois qu'il agit de cette façon et je sais bien que si je lui répond, si je lui explique pourquoi j'en ai marre, il va retourner la situation contre moi en espérant que je vais me poser des questions et me sentir coupable. Mais maintenant, y en a marre! Marre de ce mec qui revient dans ma vie alors que je n'ai rien demandé, qui me traite comme s'il avait envie qu'on renoue un contact puis rapidement comme si je n'existais pas. Ce mec de toute façon, c'est le plus égoïste que j'ai jamais croisé ! A part lui, personne n'existe ! Une dinguerie. Même sa femme et son fils ne comptent pas quand il a décidé de faire quelque chose. Et bien qu'il aille au diable ! J'ai assez perdu de temps à être sympa avec quelqu'un qui ne mérite que mon mépris.

[pompadourpink]

Le Petit Prince

Le Petit Prince - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, 1943

Chapter 1.

Once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book, called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest. It was a picture of a boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an animal. Here is a copy of the drawing. 

Lorsque j’avais six ans j’ai vu, une fois, une magnifique image, dans un livre sur la Forêt Vierge qui s’appelait « Histoires Vécues ». Ça représentait un serpent boa qui avalait un fauve. Voilà la copie du dessin.

In the book, it said: "Boa constrictors swallow their prey whole, without chewing it. After that, they are not able to move, and they sleep through the six months that they need for digestion."

I pondered deeply, then, over the adventures of the jungle. And after some work with a coloured pencil, I succeeded in making my first drawing. My Drawing Number One. It looked something like this:

On disait dans le livre : « Les serpents boas avalent leur proie tout entière, sans la mâcher. Ensuite, ils ne peuvent plus bouger et ils dorment pendant les six mois de leur digestion. »

J’ai alors beaucoup réfléchi sur les aventures de la jungle et, à mon tour, j’ai réussi, avec un crayon de couleur, à tracer mon premier dessin. Mon dessin numéro 1. Il était comme ça :

I showed my masterpiece to the grown-ups, and asked them whether the drawing frightened them.

But they answered: "Frighten? Why should any one be frightened by a hat?"

My drawing was not a picture of a hat. It was a picture of a boa constrictor digesting an elephant. But since the grown-ups were not able to understand it, I made another drawing: I drew the inside of a boa constrictor, so that the grown-ups could see it clearly. They always need to have things explained. My Drawing Number Two looked like this:

J’ai montré mon chef-d’œuvre aux grandes personnes et je leur ai demandé si mon dessin leur faisait peur.

Elles m’ont répondu: «Pourquoi un chapeau ferait-il peur ? »

Mon dessin ne représentait pas un chapeau. Il représentait un serpent boa qui digérait un éléphant. J’ai alors dessiné l’intérieur du serpent boa, afin que les grandes personnes puissent comprendre. Elles ont toujours besoin d’explications. Mon dessin numéro 2 était comme ça :

The grown-ups' response, this time, was to advise me to lay aside my drawings of boa constrictors, whether from the inside or the outside, and devote myself instead to geography, history, arithmetic, and grammar. That is why, at the age of six, I gave up what might have been a magnificent career as a painter. I had been disheartened by the failure of my Drawing Number One and my Drawing Number Two. Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.

So then I chose another profession, and learned to pilot airplanes. I have flown a little over all parts of the world; and it is true that geography has been very useful to me. At a glance I can distinguish China from Arizona. If one gets lost in the night, such knowledge is valuable.

Les grandes personnes m’ont conseillé de laisser de côté les dessins de serpents boas ouverts ou fermés, et de m’intéresser plutôt à la géographie, à l’histoire, au calcul et à la grammaire. C’est ainsi que j’ai abandonné, à l’âge de six ans, une magnifique carrière de peintre. J’avais été découragé par l’insuccès de mon dessin numéro 1 et de mon dessin numéro 2. Les grandes personnes ne comprennent jamais rien toutes seules, et c’est fatigant, pour les enfants, de toujours et toujours leur donner des explications.

J’ai donc dû choisir un autre métier et j’ai appris à piloter des avions. J’ai volé un peu partout dans le monde. Et la géo- graphie, c’est exact, m’a beaucoup servi. Je savais reconnaître, du premier coup d’œil, la Chine de l’Arizona. C’est très utile, si l’on est égaré pendant la nuit.

*

In the course of this life I have had a great many encounters with a great many people who have been concerned with matters of consequence. I have lived a great deal among grown-ups. I have seen them intimately, close at hand. And that hasn't much improved my opinion of them.

Whenever I met one of them who seemed to me at all clear-sighted, I tried the experiment of showing him my Drawing Number One, which I have always kept. I would try to find out, so, if this was a person of true understanding. But, whoever it was, he, or she, would always say: "That is a hat." Then I would never talk to that person about boa constrictors, or primeval forests, or stars. I would bring myself down to his level. I would talk to him about bridge, and golf, and politics, and neckties. And the grown-up would be greatly pleased to have met such a sensible man.

J’ai ainsi eu, au cours de ma vie, des tas de contacts avec des tas de gens sérieux. J’ai beaucoup vécu chez les grandes personnes. Je les ai vues de très près. Ça n’a pas trop amélioré mon opinion.

Quand j’en rencontrais une qui me paraissait un peu lucide, je faisais l’expérience sur elle de mon dessin numéro 1 que j’ai toujours conservé. Je voulais savoir si elle était vraiment compréhensive. Mais toujours elle me répondait : « C’est un chapeau. » Alors je ne lui parlais ni de serpents boas, ni de forêts vierges, ni d’étoiles. Je me mettais à sa portée. Je lui parlais de bridge, de golf, de politique et de cravates. Et la grande personne était bien contente de connaître un homme aussi raisonnable.

Fanmail - masterlist (2016-) - archives - hire me - reviews (2020-) - Drive

[crazy-hanji]

Je sais que j'ai des chances d'être lu mais bah la race je peux pas la laisser gagner comme ça .Si je dois partir , elle partira avec moi

Enfin vu l'épisode purée j'ai kiffé voir Vérosika dire les termes à blitzo. Car en vrai Blitzo me rappel une bonne amie , je ne l'ai jamais hein...mais pareille je lui ai donné beaucoup de chose et ma rendu que de la toxicité de l'aide de l'attention . Et ça n'a pas affecté que moi mais tout mon serveur on est pas aussi nombreux que les ex de Blitzy mais on est un sacré paquet . Je crois que ça c'est mal terminé car on est pas aller dans son sens à elle , disons vouloir être aidé mais quand les gens se bougent pour elle bye et ça nous a tous usé et affecté de différente manière

Comme Vérosika on a finit par passer pour les méchant de l'histoire. Tu ne peux pas décemment dire que tu as pas passé d'excellent moment avec nous alors que j'ai le souvenir de t'avoir vu rire avec nous . Tu ne peux pas dire je vous ai rien demandé alors que tu étais la première à vouloir des explications des rectifications. On a pas été parfait mais c'est l'ensemble de tes comportement qui nous a poussé a bout nous qui voulait de donner tellement . Puis de ce que je t'ai vu faire ailleurs , le parfait inverse de ce que tu aspirais avec nous . Chez nous c'était mauvais mais ailleurs ça passe.

L'épisode m'a poussé a écrire ceci pour mettre vraiment un point final au conflit car je sais l'image qu'on a de tes amis et on en a rien a pété continue on sait ce qu'on vaut ce qu'on a voulu faire pour taider . Le personnage de ce petit diablotin te correspond bien plus que n'importe lequel dans tout l'univers de Vizie .

Il ne suffit pas de dire je veux changer , il a aussi la volonté et l'envie de vraiment le faire . Avoir des difficulté social ou relationnel ne peux pas tout expliquer , ne peux pas tout pardonner ce n'est pas un putain de totem d'immunité et c'est encore moins une tare !

Finally saw the episode, I really enjoyed seeing Vérosika say the terms to blitzo. Because in real life Blitzo reminds me of a good friend, I never have eh... but the same I gave her a lot of choice and gave me only the permission of the help of attention. And it didn't just affect me but my whole server, we're not as numerous as Blitzy's exes but we're a hell of a lot. I think it ended badly because we didn't go in her direction, let's say we wanted to be helped but when people moved for her bye and it used us all and affected us in different ways Like Vérosika we ended up being seen as the villains of the story. You can't decently say that you didn't have a great time with us when I remember seeing you laughing with us. You can't say I didn't ask you anything when you were the first to want explanations of the corrections. We weren't perfect but it was all of your behavior that pushed us to the limit, we who wanted to give so much. Then what I saw you do elsewhere, the perfect opposite of what you aspired to with us. At home it was bad but it's OK elsewhere. The episode pushed me to write this to really put an end to the conflict because I know the image we have of your friends and we don't care, keep going, we know what we're worth, what we're worth something I wanted to do to help you. The character of this little imp suits you more than any in the entire Vizie universe

It is not enough to say I want to change, he also has the will and the desire to really do it. Having social or relational difficulties can't explain everything, can't forgive everything, it's not a fucking totem of immunity and it's even less a defect!

[putaindesarace]

sinon next story (TW viol):

la semaine passée c'était LE weekend de l'année car chaque année y a une grosse fête dans le village d'un de nos potes le vendredi et on enchaine avec la marche dans notre village samedi et dimanche. cette année J vient pas bref je vais avec Aub et M la soirée est cool je bois bcp (vraiment trop) on finit par rentrer

Là mon "pote" chez qui on dormait entre dans la sdb pendant que je mets mon pyjama, je lui demande de partir. Il part pas et me fait des commentaires comme quoi je suis "trop bonne" etc. Dois-je préciser qu'il a une copine ?! bref je lui redemande de s'en aller il fait mine de fermer la porte mais la laisse entrouverte pour me regarder alors je claque la porte. Je rejoins mes amis dans le salon et fait mine de rien. On continue à boire et rigoler quand à un moment je sens une main sur ma cuisse sous la couverture et c'est ce fameux "ami" chez qui on dort. je tape sa main pour qu'il la retire et lui lance un regard noir. Il recommence, je lui dis non, enlève sa main mais il recommence encore et encore en mettant sa main à chaque fois plus proche de ma vulve. là blackout tout ce qu'il me reste c'est des flash d'images et de sensations qui me donnent la nausée. je sais juste qu'à un moment sa copine est arrivée, elle s'est mise à crier. Moi j'étais là mais pas là. Mon corps était là mais pas moi. Je suis partie et j'ai été me réfugier dans le lit près d'Aub. Je nsuis restée là les yeux ouverts quelques heures puis j'ai fini par descendre

Là je tombe sur M, son mec et D dans le salon personne me parle ni me regarde, je rassemble mes affaires. J'essaie de parler à M qui me dit que j'ai fais une grosse bêtise. Je lui dis que je voulais pas, que j'ai dis non et retiré ses mains. Elle me dit "il faut être deux pour faire ça Léa" je lui dis qu'elle me connait mieux que ça et que jamais j'aurai fais une chose pareille elle me rétorque qu'on m'a entendu gémir. J'ai l'impression d'être à mon procès. Elle me dit que j'ai de la chance de pas avoir vu Aub ce matin. Je pars. Je marche le long de la route et je décide d'appeler A pour lui raconter la situation. j'étais encore saoul et je pleurais. Ma mère était en route pour venir me chercher. Il est resté au téléphone avec moi et m'a soutenu. J'en ai parlé à Am et S aussi qui ont été très présentes pour moi. J'ai essayé d'appeler Aub sur le chemin pour savoir si elle était rentrée chez elle sans succès donc j'ai laissé un message incompréhensible entre deux sanglots à moitié ivre.

Le samedi je me rends à la fête du village pcq on avait déjà payé le BBQ même si j'avais juste envie de mourir. J y était et m'a nié et était super froide avec moi. Je me suis doutée que les filles avaient dû lui raconter leur version de l'histoire. je décide de rentrer tôt car je me sens mal et j'ai pas dormi. impossible de fermer l'oeil de la nuit j'ai une nausée constante qui me colle à la peau. quand je ferme les yeux j'ai des flashbacks qui me donnent envie de me défenestrer. Dimanche rebelote, je me rends à la fête sans en avoir envie pcq je m'étais engagée auprès de deux amies du village. Au cours de la journée bourrée J me dis "faudra qu'on parle de tes bêtises" je lui dis que c'est pas des bêtises. finalement plus tard je me confie à plusieurs amis du village qui ont été très présents pour moi. bien plus tard dans la soirée, et bien trop saoul, J me permets de lui parler je lui raconte ce qu'il s'est passé, elle ne me croit pas. je suis hystérique, je pleure comme une folle. Comment c'est possible ????? Je pars de là et j'appelle A je suis ivre morte et j'ai envie de me faire du mal. On se prend la tête au téléphone je rentre chez moi et je me fais du mal. A arrive, je pars avec lui. Il désinfecte mes plaies et on va se coucher.

Aujourd'hui la nausée est un peu passée, je ne dors tjr pas. Je me dégoute et la réaction de mes soi-disant meilleures amies me dégoute encore plus. Je suis en colère. J'ai même des messages de mon agresseur reconnaissant qu'il a forcé et abusé.

J'ai toujours été là pour elles, aujourd'hui je vis un enfer et elles me tournent le dos.

j'ai mon mémoire à rendre dans 7 jours

mon chat chez A vient de se faire écraser on ne sait pas si elle va survivre

j'ai tjr envie de me faire du mal

je m'en veux de solliciter A autant mais je ne sais pas vers qui me tourner d'autre

Stp le karma choisi une autre cible j'ai assez donné

j'ai l'impressions que tout ça s'est passé hier littéralement mais ça va déjà faire une semaine

[pourprecry]

Lundi dernier j’ai vu un mec de la fac, que j’avais croisé en boîte en mai. Je lui avais demandé quelques infos pour les masters.

On s’est revu, on a bien parlé, on a beaucoup bu aussi, et puis on a fini par aller s’acheter de l’alcool a l’épicerie de nuit pour finir la soirée. On est allé chez moi. Et puis, il m’a embrassé. On a couché ensemble.

Et puis, depuis 2/3 jours, c’est a dire depuis qu’il est parti en vacances avec son pote, il est hyper distant par msg. Hier soir il m’a envoyé un msg, comme quoi il ne se sentait pas d’une relation sérieuse pcq il avait besoin de temps vu que ça fait 4 mois que c’était fini avec son ex. Ok. Il m’a demandé si j’avais des attentes particulières. Je lui ai répondu par msg à minuit trente environ. Et ça va faire 24h qu’il n’a pas ouvert, et qu’il continue à poster des storys.

Je suis au plus mal. Je peux pas dire que je l’aime, parce que je ne l’aimais pas encore. Mais j’ai l’impression une nouvelle fois qu’on m’a utilisé, piétiné et sali. J’ai l’impression que ce schéma se répète en boucle, sans cesse, sans pause et sans trêve. Je lui en veux, comme je m’en suis tjrs voulue, d’avoir fait confiance alors que la seule chose qui les intéresse toujours c’est mon fucking corps.

J’hésite à désactiver mon fb et messenger. Juste pour disparaître.

Je ne pensais pas que je serai blessée à ce point, non je n’aurai jamais pu imaginer après la merveilleuse soirée de lundi me retrouver comme une conne, à nouveau à attendre un msg de quelqu’un qui ne me propose rien d’autre que d’être son plan cul.

Ce soir j’ai mal, et putain que je déteste ce monde.Je pourrai pas vous expliquer, mais c’est une plaie à vif qu’il a reouverte, et je ne l’avais pas vu venir.

[miyamoratsumuu]

JAMAIS VU CHAPTER 02. HIS SALUTATION, and now

— : an expression of greeting, goodwill, or courtesy by word, gesture, or ceremony

... and a chapter of friendship warning/s: slight violence/threatening from the reader

: friend·ship — the emotions or conduct of friends; the state of being friends.

on the 20th of july,

JAMAIS VU

✒ decades have passed and in another life, they've found their way back to each other's arms. could they finally get the happy ending they missed out on years ago? now that he got his second chance, hajime would do anything it takes to spend forever with you.

JAMAIS VU masterlist ✉ haikyuu masterlist

✒ taglist: open!!

@froyaoya @wyrcan @19calicos @loverlunaire @loveelylacey

@frvppe

a/n: the only timestamps/dates that matter here are the ones on the lockscreen hihi

second official chapter of jamais vu!! I'm testing out the order of the chapters so hopefully this all comes out understandable as a story! also i feel like i should remove oikawa, makki, and mattsun being wingmen from the content of this series bcs I doubt they'll be showing up much in this series after all</3

[yeniel]

"Salut, est-ce que tu vas republier des dessins bientôt? Tu vas bien?!!"

Il ya 3 raisons concernant ça; 1. J'en avais marre depuis quelque temps déjà de publier sur internet. Quand j'ai commencé ce blog, c'était avant tout pour moi et me prouver qu'après tout ce que j'avais vécu j'étais toujours vivante. Je me disais qu'il fallait que je le remplisse pour pouvoir avoir quelque chose qui me rappelle que j'en ai été capable quand je serais en train de clamser.

2. J'ai 40 ans maintenant, et je me sens parfois vraiment en décallage avec mon public. Je suis toujours super touchée quand je reçois un gentil message, mais j'ai parfois l'impression que la personne qui me l'envoie est très jeune et croit que j'ai son âge. Et si tu rajoutes ceux qui me parlent des mangas qu'ils aiment alors que ça doît bien faire 15 ans que je n'en achète plus…

3. L'usurpatrice. Je me suis retenue pendant longtemps mais attention je balance. Beaucoup de personnes m'ont dit de l'ignorer vu que les modos de chez insta sont des grosses buses en droits d'auteur et usurpation d'identité. Mais au bout d'un moment ça devenait vraiment n'importe quoi. Je ne sais pas si elle et sa soeur voulaient faire croire qu'elles me connaissaient ou que j'étais la trisomique, mais dès que je publiais quelque chose hop, elle brossait dessus pendant 2 semaines, citait les mêmes prénoms et décalquait mes dessins en story, en utilisant l'IA ou des applis pour cartooniser des photos, en public elle décalquait via tablette surtout des trucs piochés sur Pinterest qu'elle faisait passer pour les siens. Elles faisaient semblant de ne pas me connaître alors qu'elles ont reçu plusieurs avertissements, d'ailleurs l'usurpatrice a commencé à imiter ma signature après le premier et à fini par éditer ses vieux torchons pour appliquer l'imitation dessus, probablement pour faire croire qu'elle l'a toujours fait comme ça. Si je disais que je faisais un truc, hop, pendant 2 semaines elle disait qu'elle allait le faire aussi et ses commentaires bizarres disant tous mots pour mots pratiquement la même chose en lui demandant "mais pourquoi tu ne fais pas ça (comme moi)?", la 4° dimension. Ce n'est quand même pas compliqué de rajouter un mot ou un nom pour bien montrer que tu n'as rien à voir avec une artiste établie depuis 20 ans ayant déposé son nom d'artiste comme une marque. Et quel intêret sinon d'escroquer les gens que d'essayer de se faire connaître alors qu'il existe déjà quelqu'un d'assez connu qui utilise les codes que tu usurpes depuis très longtemps? Ou alors c'était pour faire "comme moi", non mais j'ai pas 8 ans moi… Et encore à 8 ans la surdouée que j'étais parlait presque comme une adulte. Je suis mondialement connue, en Corée aussi visiblement au cas où ça n'est pas rentré dans leurs cervelles déficientes.

Et le blog de la soeur, sérieusement… Il est aussi probable qu'elle ai pensé qu'utiliser mon nom pour appâter les pigeons pour les escroquer serait une bonne idée. Elle citait souvent des gens ayant travaillé -pour elle- qui comme par hasard, étaient des homonymes de gens connus qui avaient stoppé leur carrière, mais on ne les voyait jamais. Passé un moment, elle faisait à l'usurpatrice par Photoshop la même tête qu'une jolie chanteuse coréenne chrétienne qui se fait appeler Yeniel aussi, et j'ai des doutes quant au fait qu'elle ait stalké une danseuse de ce nom, on a vu des rèfs bizarres. On m'avait dit il y a longtemps que l'usurpatrice avait le syndrôme de Down, mais je me disais que cette personne devait être un peu en colère malgré certaines photos qui sont très explicites. Au fil du temps on me l'a répété et j'ai vu des photos d'elle non retouchées. Je ne crois pas que ce soit très sain pour l'équilibre psychologique d'une trisomique de lui laisser croire qu'elle est quelqu'un d'autre comme ça et de l'encourager à faire quelque chose d'illègal pour être à l'abri des sanctions soi-même. Sa soeur fait partie d'une secte ou on glorifie le mensonge au nom de Dieu. Ces gens se disent chrétiens mais n'ont rien à voir avec les 3 branches du christianisme, sinon ils ne pisseraient pas sur les Commandements tous les jours et n'utiliseraient pas les faibles et la manipulation. Je ne connais pas bien toutes les branches du Protestantisme, mais je crois qu'on s'accorde tous sur le respect de ces valeurs. C'est probablement elle qui tient le compte de l'usurpatrice car il semble qu'elle en ai beaucoup d'autres. On m'a dit qu'elle allait avoir des problèmes avec la justice, je ne sais pas où ça en est et je m'en fous.

J'ignore d'où vient cette fixation malsaine sur moi, c'est pas comme si j'étais Stan Lee ou Don Rosa, je suis juste une passionnée qui partageait son art avec le monde et qui a toujours refusé de monnayer mes services. De plus, comparer une tumeur à la tête avec un simple rhume pour attirer la sympathie, faut vraiment être une sacrée pourriture (à moins que ces foldinguos ne croient qu'on le soigne à coup de radiothérapie peut-être, parce que oui oui, deux jours après avoir posté mon strip sur la radio elle se plaignait d'être gravement malade d'un rhume qu'elle a soigné avec des médicaments tout choupis en se plaignant que ses cheveux étaient trop épais (?)). Les produits, je voulais juste voir ce que ça donnait, et si ça plait c'est cool. Mes dessins, je les ai toujours fait gratos. Une seule fois quelqu'un m'a payé pour une peinture, mais il a tellement insisté que je n'avais pas d'autres choix que d'accepter. La célébrité, le succès, je m'en bats les steaks, les surdoués sont au-dessus de ça.

Voilà. Oui je vais bien aujourd'hui et je vis tranquillement. Pour être tout à fait honnête, je ne pensais pas aller jusqu'à cet âge vu dans quel état j'ai été. Je ne sais pas de quoi demain sera fait mais en tout cas je vous remercie tous d'avoir suivi ce blog (et pour mes plus vieux suiveurs DA et ON!!), pour vos mots gentils, et d'avoir acheté mes bouquins et tout le patatra. Un salut au forum de KH Island s'il existe toujours, vous ne savez pas ce que vous m'avez apporté les gars. J'en profite aussi pour répondre à une question qu'on m'avait posé concernant les conventions, alors non je n'y participe plus depuis un moment. Si vous voulez me parler c'est uniquement via mon mail (sur mon site Wix). Je suis peut-être une vieille peau mais je suis toujours polie :). Le problème avec mes autres plateformes, c'est qu'au mieux je m'y connecte une fois par mois, donc avec le mail, vous êtes à peu près sûr que ce sera lu. Sinon je le rajoute quand même, mais tapez vos messages en français ou en anglais s'il vous plait. Ciao à +!

[we-can-be-heroes]

(Hmmmm chu un peu stressé pck en deux jours j’ai vu deux trucs sur mon blog que j’avais PAS posté moi même et une story sur Instagram que j’avais pas postée non plus (heureusement en privé)…. 😬 je veux bien croire que c’est moi qui verrouille jamais mon tel et le tripote n’importe comment mais si ça réarrive……)

[vinstinx]

Thinking...

Où sont passées les sirènes? Regarde autour de moi tous ces gens remplis de haine Après l'ivresse vient la migraine Au final je crois que je me suis fait bouffer par le système

I fuckin' tell you fuckin' failure—you ain't no leader! I never liked you, forever despise you—I don't need ya! The world don't need ya, don't let them deceive ya Numbers lie too, fuck your pride too, that's for dedication Thought money would change you, made you more complacent Fuckin' hate you, I hope you embrace it

Je sais pas où je veux en venir mais voilà quoi

(aussi "J'ai pas téléphoné pour l'anniversaire de ma sœur, alors que j'appelle mon manager toutes les trois heures" vs. "I'll start with your little sister bakin'/ A baby inside, just a teenager, where your patience / Where was your antennas? / Where was the influence you speak of / You preached in front of one-hunnid-thousand but never reached her" mais je me sens mal de comparer ces deux choses)

« Je sais pas ou je veux en venir mais … » shut up you knew exactly what you wanted You know you wanted me to rant about my two favorite rappers and making parallels making me more insane anyways…. (/lh /nm /nsrs) I love a good rant about mah baby boys, mah baby boys best writers in the own mother tongues each.

You searched for that, here’s la dissertation:

Okay first merci pour l’éclairci parce que j’avais jamais vraiment vu le chant des sirènes tant négatif et même j’ai toujours vu le chant des sirènes comme un « Putain j’ai trop réussi regardez mon succès je suis le maître du monde c’est moi le meilleur… » type shit. J’crois j’écoutais juste le refrain « j’entends le chant des sirènes. / regarde autour de moi qui m’aime… » et aussi le premier couplet (que perso ça tjrs été mon préf dans la chanson donc le seul que j’écoutais vrm) et ctait suffisant pour moi à me dire que Raelsan est en égo trip trough thé roof mais vénère assez positif.

Mais en réécoutant avec le parallèle que t’as fait, j’me suis vrm rendu compte que c’est une whole story qui evolute en descente au enfer (normal, why would orel make a song that ISNT a complete storytelling??? This bitch loves his storytelling)

Bon mtn au début (vu que j’avais perso mal compris le chant des sirènes) jvoyais pas trop le rapport avec U j’t’avoue. Mais C TROP VRAI PTN T’ES UN VRAI GÉNIE. RAELSAN CEST TROP LA MÊME QUE KENDRICK DANS U. Ptn le « après l’ivresse vient la migraine » il hit tellement différent mtn. C’est vraiment leur égo trip de leur récente célébrité et qui vient se crasher avec leur vie d’alcooliques/suicidaire. J’avoue qu’il a vraiment quelque chose à considérer dans leur passage à la célébrité qui est similaire en mode ils ont délaissé beaucoup de leur proches avec ce que les fans leur donne.

Mais je crois aussi que Orel dans CdS a quand même une vision « positive » de la célébrité que Kendrick n’a pas dans U. Encore un peu de difficulté à les associer en partie parce que bah Raelsan ça reste un perso fictif, même CdS j’crois c’est la période la plus sombre qu’il a écrit un album, Orel il est trop fictional pour que je veuille l’associer à celle que Kendrick me fait ressentir dans u. (Skill issue pour orel srry. Mm si il est tres fort il lui manque de quoi pour accoter kdot dans la profondeur de l’écriture) Genre comme tu le dit j’me sens mal de comparer u a CdS parce que bah first pour moi j’ai toujours vu CdS assez positif et puis aussi bah ça a beau être des souffrances liée à leur éloignement du à leur célébrité, ce que Kendrick avoue dans U ça a aucun rapport avec le d’histoire d’orel qui reste très bof… j’ai envie de dire une éraflure comparer à la fracture ouverte dans U . Genre j’crois que ce qui ressort le plus du texte d’orel comme confession horrible c’est son alcoolisme et en parallèle je crois que Kendrick lui sa confession la MOINS pire c’est l’alcoolisme. Genre il est toute une marche plus en haut d’orel en tant que peine. D’autant plus que je crois qu’ orel il est pas vraiment en dépression (ah wait NEVERMIIND got hit with the « ouais bah j’crois j’ai déprimé han » d’orel dans le docu prime mdrrrr) yeah they’re both depressed cats and depressed alcoholics cats, just one I think is more important than the other.

Y’a vraiment que leur rapport a l’alcool et leur dépression que je veux comparer ici j’crois. J’ai envie de leur donne le plus gros des câlins pour les réconforter (et je déteste les câlins)

Conclusion et ouverture time?? Donc, enft first merci pour la vision complete de Chant des sirènes mdrrr, c’est vrai aussi que les deux traversent les meme épreuves amené par la nouvelle célébrité mais à différente échelle, ce qui fait que c’est plus un meaning global. Bon ça m’emmène à mon ouverture: Je te relance la balle, avec le parallèle qu’amin et Hugo m’ont fait découvrir: The art of peer pressure et Manifeste, bon c’est vraiment pas concret comme u et CdS, c’est plus symbolique la preuve y’a pas vrm de lyrics que je peux tiré pt juste apart les deux bridge/refrain c’est « me and the homies » et « jsuis dans la manif » Trop envie d’en parler mais j’ai déjà trop parler j’crois…. Bref, c’est leur prise de conscience dans leur groupe d’amis que j’aime bien associer un autre parallèle….