#technology just gave people a whole new and worse way to abuse people.

[snekdood]

I think in the whole convo around why its hard to make friends today really understimates how technology has essentially ripped peoples masks off to show how toxic they can become and how repelling and even scary it can be interacring with ppl bc of it. Bc of tiktok. Bc of ppl filming you secretly. Bc the "bullying is good, actually" people. Literally that video of that lady lying to her neighbor and then the neighbor confronted her and she gaslighted the neighbor like. You might laugh but deep down you know youd never hang out w that person on a deep level. You know that person would just be toxic. At this point being alone seems more appealing bc you dont have to risk all this weird bullshit. Its almost worth the touch starvation n all the other physical and mental bullshit that comes w loneliness n shit if every friend geoup is going to try to eventually moralize their hate of you and kick you out of a friend geoup for being too "cringe" and then put you on blast online and then all the commentors just laugh and dont think deeply about the situation bc theyre just there to laugh and are prolly just as fuckin toxic. Like we got a real issue here yall. Wtf is going on. Ppl in my generation are so fucking unlikeable.

[itzpris15634]

Some Swap 7 AU stuff! But only involving 4 out of the 7 of them. These are written with a Human AU in mind. I'll be making use of the names I gave them, if applicable.

This was mostly all supposed to be silly goofs and gaffs about their hobbies, but oops, I accidentally added a bit too much tragedy to the mix-

Shoudl I put a warning? I'll put one here, to be safe.

If you click to read more, you'll be greeted to mentions of neglect, amputation, abuse, and generally unsafe living situations. It doesn't go into extreme extreme detail, but I figure it's still worth a warning.

Scarletta - Scarletta's relationship with her parents was almost non-existent. They were too busy in their own fighting to even notice they had a daughter.

Scarletta found comfort in a friend. They'd do everything together. She found herself staying way more often at her friend's house than her own. She was even allowed to borrow their musical instruments, which is how her passion for music started.

They've been friends for years. They decided to make a promise- to be there for each other, no matter what.

...Until that friend reveals they'll be moving away.

Scarletta is heartbroken. She's come to depend on them too much. What is she going to do now? She begs and pleads with them to stay somehow, but it's been settled. Their parents have already done all the paperwork, purchasing, and preparing for the move.

Scarletta isn't quite the same after that. No one has ever been able to fill that emptiness in her heart. She'll snap and get agitated at anyone who tries.

Charlie/Cheep-Cheep - Charlie is bright and smart, full of many great ideas to share with his friends. His love for technology and science stems from his father. The two shared a passion for working with tech and machinery, constantly working on new ideas together. All was going well... until, one day, Charlie was involved in an accident involving one of their machines. He survived, but lost his left arm. His father, regretful that he couldn't save his son, lost the spark he had for iventing. Charlie, on the other hand, never gave up. He continued working on his passion- even building himself a new arm- and he hoped to reignite his father's spark so they could bond again, just like they used to.

It never happened. Charlie's father later died, that spark forever lost .

Charliw vowed that he'd make use of his talents to help other people with their passions and ideas, hoping that it will make up for what he's lost.

Mitzi - Mitzi feels like she's constantly been walking on eggshells her whole life. It started with her parents, who'd beat and berate her if she didn't follow what they said. So, she started doing everything at home, hoping to please them. She'd exhaust herself with cleaning work, she'd go out in the middle of the night just because they were craving something despitr the possible threats, she'd keep quiet about everything. The parents never quite seemed to appreciate Mitzi's efforts- they seemed annoyed that she was still there, actually- but at least she'd be keeping her new scars to a minimum.

That was years ago, long back in her childhood. One parent has died, the other she found the courage to cut off. But no doubt they left an impact on her. So here she is now. A people pleaser, she'll do anything and everything to keep you happy, even if at her own detriment.

Simon/Shivers - At first, things seemes okay for Simon Winters. Sure, his parents fought quite often- stuff about his mom being way too spendthrifty- but he was too young to understand. When his dad- the only income of their family- decides to leave, it gets worse. Mrs. Winters spent the money he left them on drinks and bets, not leaving much for her son. He couldn't even find an extra blanket to keep him from shivering in the cold. Simon started working odd jobs and gigs for some sort of cashflow, but balancing work and school wasn't too easy.

He resorted to shoplifting and theft. Did it make him feel a bit guilty? A little, but did he have much of a choice?

Unfortunately for him, old habits die hard, and he continues his theft to his adulthood. Even on things he doesn't quite need.

-

In a nutshell: parental issues. Except for cheep cheep, kinda, but still.

I'm yet to solidify my ideas about Shahrukh, Felina, and Esteban, but I'll make another one of this if ever I do :')) I probably should come up with something for Josh... but that'll be a future me thing to deal with lmao

...

Why do I have more backstory for side characters than I do the main 7?

[morally-grey-girlbosses]

Archbishop Rhea/Seiros Propaganda Post

It’s not talked about enough that she is probably the most morally gray character of the game with many of her actions having good intentions, but not going about it in the best way.

She made a lot of difficult choices with no way of knowing the future consequences. Needed more screen time, she only got 1 war crime compared to Edelgard’s 15, she deserved the chance to commit more.

She stabs a man to death in the opening cutscene, sacrifices herself numerous times to save people, and offers weed to students. She has the range.

Listen to me!!! She is the best example of moral ambiguity in the game. Too many people wrongly attribute bad things in game to her and project their religious trauma onto her and make her out to be the bad guy just because of a little catholic aesthetic. I’ve even seen people believe she is homophobic and racist despite the fact that she is bisexual AND has had assassination attempts on her life because she DOESN’T discriminate based on race. To understand her you need backstory.

Rhea is from a race called the Nabateans, the literal children of the goddess known as Sothis. They were more advanced than humans, but decided to share their technology with them anyway. Bad idea if you are familiar with Star Trek’s prime directive. The humans let the power go to their heads and started a devastating war. By the time it ended the whole continent was in such bad shape, Sothis had to use up a majority of her power to heal the land and then went into a healing sleep.

Centuries later, the Nabateans are living peacefully in their own city when the group of people that started the old war (now called Agarthans) convinced a bandit group to help them kill the Nabateans. It was a literal genocide (referred to in-game I believe as the Red Canyon Massacre) with only 9 known survivors of an entire people. It gets worse though. The bandits drank the blood of the slaughtered Nabateans to gain their powers (crests) and tore out their hearts and bones to create weapons. To avenge her family and fight back against the continent wide conquest by Nemesis (lead bandit who killed her mother) Rhea took on a new name (Seiros) and led a resistance effort while pretending to be a human oracle. She won in the end, but that is where the moral ambiguity comes into play.

History is written by the winners, and Rhea chose to lie. Specifically, she changed the origin of Nemesis’ power. She spun it that he didn’t kill the goddess, Sothis gave him her powers to be a holy warrior, but he became evil and betrayed her. In her sadness, Sothis left the mortal world and called upon other holy warriors (Rhea and co.) to defeat him. The crests and “holy” relics (bone weapons) weren’t created from slaughter, they were direct blessings from the goddess. Other bandits who killed her family, actually heroes on her side. Why, you may ask, did she do this? To protect her remaining family. The war had lasted for around 100 years due to the Nabatean blood extending the bandits lifespan and had given them super human powers. They had had kids and even grandkids. The powers were noticeable, significant, and had to have come from somewhere. She could either:

Tell the truth. The bandits killed the goddess and her people, and now the bandits entire family had inherited proof of this horrific act. Pros: the bandits are not seen in a good light and she doesn’t have to be nice to them. Cons: she has put a target on the remaining Nabateans as sources of inhuman power for unsavory people. Also, the bandits descendants suffer for their ancestors crimes. (There is an example of this in game.)

Lie. Crests were blessing, but the goddess left after her gift was abused. Pros: hides Nabateans existence and makes the bandits in her debt for not being seen as evil. Cons: she has to pretend she is not surrounded by the blood of people who took her family from her and are using their bones as weapons. She chose to lie. This eventually led to the development of crest-based importance in society. Those with crests were more highly valued which led to discrimination and favoritism based on it. This is mainly for nobility, commoners didn’t give a shit about it other than “proof you are related to a specific guy”. So some people in the fandom are mad at Rhea for this and think she should have told the truth to prevent magic blood based elitism as if that would have prevented wealth and power based inequality.

Another morally ambiguous action she did was temporarily slow down the the progress of human advancement. She had seen what can happen when humans get a hold of dangerous tech (prime directive!!!) and ALL bans were done to prevent more fighting. Examples:

A printing press. Exist in current canon, but was temporarily banned due to the potential “of mass circulation of misinformation and malevolent rumors”. Guess what happens in game. A character has an “information campaign” to promote a war of imperialism and spread anti-religious and Nabatean sentiments.🙃

Telescope. Specifically because “the ease of locating enemy camps would escalate wartime violence”.

Black oil. Due to “misuse could result in accidental death” and “competition for it could cause strife”. (I am 100% on Rhea’s side for this, fuck fossil fuels)

Note: people try and say that she also banned autopsies, but in-game books only say that a Cardinal wanted them banned with no evidence that Rhea agreed to do it.

Also, another divisive action Rhea took was the attempted resurrection of Sothis (this has two parts). The first was her creation of homunculus. Her process for this was to create an empty body as a shell and then put the goddess’s heart into it and hope she entered into and took over the body. She did not and instead the homunculi all developed their own consciousnesses. Rhea did this 12 times over the course of 1000 years meaning she probably let each one live out a human lifespan and tried again after they died. This one is only really ambiguous because a lot of people incorrectly assumed that she had been kidnapping children and experimenting on them instead of creating the bodies. I try to avoid arguments about whether she should have created the homunculi in the first place, because they kind of start to sound like those arguments about whether women in XYZ situations should be allowed to create life/have children (if that makes sense).

The second part is her attitude and treatment of Byleth (the main character). Byleth was stillborn and Sitri (Byleth’s mom and Rhea’s 12th homunculus) was dying from birth complications. Sitri begged Rhea to remove the goddess’s heart (which brought her to life) and use it to try and save Byleth. Rhea, who saw Sitri as a daughter, agreed to do it. Some players found this unforgivable for experimenting(???) on Byleth and not asking the father(???) for permission. Rhea’s attitude toward Byleth when they grow up is weird writing wise. Some scenes imply that she believes Byleth to be the goddess reincarnated (sort of true) and in other scenes she implies that they are a vessel for Sothis to possess (also sort of true). So that’s another point for ambiguity.

LASTLY (I’m almost done), the scene near the end of the one route where Rhea is an enemy instead of an ally. The player character’s team has almost won, most of the continent has been conquered, and the last remaining of Dimitri and Rhea’s rebel forces are trapped in a fortress city not suitable for sieges. Rhea decides “I am taking you to hell with me :)”, turns into a dragon, unleashes the hidden Nabatean high tech robots, and has the WHOLE city set on fire with civilians implied to still be inside. Big girlboss moment and honestly considering why she is the final boss I don’t blame her for going ape shit.

[limitededitionsanderssidesblog]

The Stacks Two Year Anniversary Thing’a’ma’jig

Hey, ya so two years ago, today, August 11th 2018, I published the first chapter of The Stacks. I realized a bit too late that the anniversary was coming up, but I wanted to do something. So first I wanted to make this:

If The Stacks ever were to become an actual book, I would like to think the cover would look something like this (please excuse the poor coloring)

Secondly, I just wanted to talk about the story, how I came up with it and all, so yeah let’s do that-

So I didn’t have any actual plan for the book when I started writing it. The only ideas I had were: steampunk, and Virgil is a clockmaker. That was all I had. Then when I started to write the first chapter and began world building I realized two things: this isn’t steampunk, and Virgil being a clockmaker doesn’t make sense.

I honestly didn’t know what or where I was going with the story when I started it, and I only got an idea around chapter 15 (which was around where I had originally planned to end it.) But I credit @impatentpending‘s Powerless as inspiration and drive for my story. Her take on societal issues (although a superpowered one) really inspired me to continue my story and gave me a bit of direction (also what’s not to love about enemies to lovers). My other inspiration was John Steinbeck, one of my favorite authors, specifically his book Grapes of Wrath, since my story had a lot to do with poverty and social class issues that were similar to the Great Depression and the plight of the Oakies.

Once I had this goal of what I wanted to portray in mind I started to delve deeper into the main four characters.

Virgil: I wanted to show the anger and strife of the oppressed, as well as showing the comradery that tragedy often brings out in people. This as well I also wanted to portray the feeling of helplessness and entrapment that abuse situations often brings, but also the kindness that can come out of it. In addition: his ‘romance’ (or lack of one for the majority of the story) was meant to display how looking to other people in romantic entanglements due to trauma can often be harmful to one or both parties. I wanted to show that Virgil first took the time to work on himself and heal from old wounds BEFORE he went into a relationship.

Patton: I wanted to mainly use him as a way to show the differences of social class, since he was the only one two live in both worlds as a Stacker and as a Non-Stacker. His interactment with new ideas and technology was meant to show just how little the Stackers have and know due to their confinement.

Logan: He was a tricky one to develop, as he kind of had his own subplot all together and didn’t interact much with the other main four besides Patton. However, I decided to use him to show how ignorance of other’s issues while being in a position of power can actively cause damage for the suffering minority. Those in power should know the intimate lifestyle of all citizens so that everyone has their needs met and recognized. I also used his perspective to show the corruption in Politics, and how some politicians actively choose do to evil to specific groups because they view them as less than another.

Roman: I said that Logan was tricky, but Roman was a whole ass struggle to write. Roman’s role is similar to Logan’s but taking a different approach. He’s ignorant to the struggles of the Stackers not because he doesn’t know anything about them, but rather because he was raised and taught perpetuated stereotypes about them. This was to demonstrate how generations of people who look down on or abuse certain groups act because of conditioned thinking taught to them by parents/school/media, etc. Not to excuse the bigotism that these people exude, but rather to show that this way of thinking can be unlearned if given time and self-checking. (This and also that when it comes to romantic pursuits with someone who deals with trauma, to never pressure them into anything or make them feel bad for not being able to give themselves to you the way you’d want.)

Bonus!:

Damien: Although I love and adore Janus, Damien can go burn in a pit of fire. Nevertheless the reason I wrote him to be so despicable was to portray those who take advantage of the suffering around them to benefit themselves. People who come from a harsh background and come out of it can sometimes shun those who live in similar situations that they did, or even make their lives worse, due to a lack of empathy, a feeling of superiority, and being a sociopa- I mean a dick.

Q/A Time! :D

 @dreamyzworldlove​ asked: do emile and thomas ever call logan dad??

A: Yes they do, they did in the last chapter. I tried to show the difference by having them call Logan ‘dad’ and Patton ‘pa’

Anonymous asked: Weird question I know but, in the stacks, if things had (from whatever point) played out differently, what other pairings do you think could’ve ended up together or you might have paired together in the World you built??

A: If Virgil hadn’t ended up with Roman than I like to think he wouldn’t date, at least not anyone from the main cast. I also think Patton and Roman would have made a cute couple if they interacted more in the beginning. 

Anonymous asked: did you have an idea in mind for Damien’s age?

A: I never thought too much on it but I had the idea that Damien took to power at age 17 or 18, ruled the Stacks for about three-four years before Virgil came to him to help Patton. That would mean he’s about 25/26, so around the same age as Roman and Patton

Final Thoughts:

The Stacks is my favorite work I have done so far, and I credit it for being the reason why I realized I wanted to be an author and what helped me develop my skills the most. It’s hard to believe it’s already been two years, and that it took took two years to write the damn thing. Nonetheless I am eternally grateful to all of you for being with me along the journey, and if you’re new, thank you for reading, and if you haven’t read it, then the story just got spoiled for you. Sorry.

[baepsaetan]

Banner by @thebannershop​

Summary: In a futuristic age where a person can be coded and inserted into a new body, the rich can live forever. Born to a wealthy family, Jin expects to live life at a lofty and uncaring height. His expectations go awry when his body is murdered and a small gang steals his ‘stack’ and resleeves him in a criminal. Thrust into a gritty, neon world far below his life as an immortal, where death can be Real, Jin will discover truths that challenge his perceptions and make him wonder what - if anything - immortality is worth.

Chapters: pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt.5, pt. 6, pt. 7

Genre: Altered Carbon Fusion, Science Fiction/Futuristic, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Murder Mystery

Warnings: Shifting PoVs (primarily Jin), minor character death, abuse, torture, gangs, drug addiction, drug use, references to depression, body dysphoria, animal death, swearing, smut in future chapters

Length: 7.4k

//

The gang he’s been kidnapped by apparently doesn’t own – or at least use – a car, not even a terrain-exclusive one, and they set off on foot from the little apartment complex the men live in. He doesn’t know what time it is, and the sky’s too clouded to give much of an indication, but it’s too light to be night. Mid-afternoon, maybe? There are a fair few people out, and they wind through a series of side streets, cutting by buildings that are tall but also sagging, as if the weight of keeping themselves and their hundreds of thousands of inhabitants upright for half a century or so is becoming too much. Jin considers running, or calling for help, but Jungkook had none-too-subtly shown him the pistol he’s carrying before they’d left, and he hasn’t put it away, either. Besides, when they break through the side roads into what seems to be a main street, Seokjin has other things to think about.

He’s lived in Triptych all his life, but it might be more accurate to say he’s lived in Glass Harbour, instead. The neighbourhood – built in the ocean a short way from Triptych’s shoreline – is of course isolated from the rest of the city, but Seokjin has never realized just how removed he’s been, too. He’s been outside of Glass Harbour plenty of times – even been to the Curve, where they clearly are, given the general disrepair and the lack of multileveled streets – but never without at least several guards and a friend or two, and never really on the streets, either. His family owns several hovercars that simply coast up to whatever place he wants to go; walking the pavement is for the poor.

Triptych is a sprawling city of towering steel and glass buildings, shining pathways of cable and artificial stone arching across various levels, letting citizens walk in the sky as they move through their lives. Far younger than the Bay Area, it is a city of technological advancement and drive, of lights and steel and laws written by a Meth chequebook.

The Curve is an exception to that rule. In the early days of its inception, Triptych had been built on what was essentially two hills, with a deep cleft between the pair. That inconvenience was offset by the location – close to the shore, and, more important for the three Meth families who founded the city, perfectly situated next to a wide ocean shelf on which they could begin to build their Glass Harbour. As the city grew, all soaring heights and chrome exteriors, the gap between the two hills was overwhelmed by the buildings going up on all sides. A deep dip in the urban landscape, it received less sunlight and fresh air than neighbouring districts, and so was forgotten by the Meths who poured money into construction and maintenance.

In a city devoted to worshipping the future, the Curve is a neighbourhood left in the past. There are no networks of raised walkways to direct people through the area. Everyone too poor to move elsewhere operates on one level: the ground.

And there are apparently plenty of those people. The trek through the narrow, pitted roads, Namjoon ahead and Jungkook behind, has revealed more citizens than Jin was even aware lived in Triptych. They have to push through several crowds, hassled people in impatient groups shuffling outside a building or at a transit stop, waiting for things and headed for places he can’t conceive. Even though it’s raining, a miserable shower that sinks straight through his sweater and makes things worse, almost no one has an umbrella, or even a hood. They just accept the rain.

In the same passive way, they accept the haze smearing across neon-bright signs set up far above their heads, the pollution distorting ads for any number of cheap looking products, most of which Seokjin can’t guess the purpose of. Everyone walks quickly, eyes down or on their companions, and accepts – or ignores, it is hard to see a difference – the constant noise of the advertisements. The disembodied voices fall down from the signs and the smog like the conversations of chain-smoking angels, never quite fully understood, too distorted to catch.

“Get a… Won’t regret the…”

“…seat in the back and…”

“…like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Buy now!”

The noise and lights and people crash over Seokjin with a weight that feels more physical than mental, and he guesses these people can’t even afford neural implants or ONIs. That must be why all of the ads are out in the open instead of transmitting into the ocular displays of specific consumers, targeted based on purchasing history and tendencies. He’s only experienced op ads once – no business would dare bother a Meth without permission, and he’d just tried it for fun, at Taehyung’s suggestion – but even that hectic mess of visual heckling had been less overwhelming than the blaring sounds and sights assaulting him now.

And then there’s the sheer struggle of getting where they need to be. Jin actually finds himself grateful for Namjoon. The pink haired man seems to have no issue cutting through the crowds, and, deliberately or otherwise, usually clears enough space for Jin to get through in the process. A few times it isn’t quite enough, and, unused to the broad-shouldered sleeve, Jin jostles against a passerby or two – with irritated responses – but without Namjoon, he probably would have drowned trying to get just a few steps, let alone miles.

When they finally slow, approaching the mouth of an alley off the main street, Jin’s feet are aching. The once white sneakers they gave him have seen better days, and they’re even worse now than when he put them on more than an hour ago; it feels like the three of them walked through enough trash and mud to build a small mountain on the way here, and his shoes reflect that. Namjoon and Jungkook had been oblivious, but he’d spent most of the trip trying (and failing) to navigate puddles, wrappers, cigarette butts and things he couldn’t identify and didn’t want to.            

That, coupled with Jungkook almost literally breathing down his neck the entire time, gun in hand, and snickering whenever Jin slipped or winced or hesitated, has put him in a mood that could only charitably be called bad.

There’s also the whole being kidnapped and forced to return to the spot of his death thing.

“Will you stop that?” he demands when a foot knocks painfully against his heel for the umpteenth time, whipping around to glare at the (presumably) younger man. Jungkook puffs out his cheeks and smiles, a small overbite becoming evident with the little grin, and the innocent expression is infuriating.

No Meth would ever leave a defect like an overbite alone. So far as Seokjin is concerned, it screams poverty. And this drudge had the nerve to kick him! Repeatedly! And grin about it!

If the irritation boiling under his skin is any indication, he’s probably turning an unattractive shade of red, but before Seokjin can make what might be described as a mistake and take a swing at Jungkook, Namjoon intervenes. “Leave him alone, Kookie,” he orders. “Go watch the entrance, make sure no one’s going to start anything.”

Jin is dismally certain that the chances of that are low. He’d tried making eye contact with anyone even remotely respectable in appearance on their way here, some half-baked notion of escape in his head, but very few people even looked at him. Those that did were quick to look away, and he hadn’t been able to tell if that was the fault of the intimidating sleeve he’d been stuck in, or Jungkook looming over his shoulder and scowling, or something else altogether. Regardless, the small number of passersby who happen to glance into the alley all suddenly remember important engagements elsewhere and rush off, leaving Jin stranded.

Better to just bide his time. Or something that sounds similarly calm and planned and definitely not freaking out.

“So,” he says, looking around the alley, and falls silent. It’s certainly not a glamorous spot to die in, or even breathe in. Jin literally can’t imagine why he would have been here. There’s dirt and garbage on the ground, like a carpet of very dubious design that releases an odor he suspects hints at the more disgusting uses this alley has been put to. A bunch of graffiti is scrawled on the walls, senseless black and red scribbles splattered across the bricks like blood and ichor. Someone even rigged up a holographic bit of disruption, a horrifyingly grotesque man, rail thin and warped, who flickers into being (and scares the hell out of Jin) when they get close enough to activate its sensors. The image is deteriorating, pixels missing here and there, and the whole figure wavers in and out of existence erratically. However, that doesn’t stop the holographic from going through a series of obscene gestures, the least of which is giving viewers the finger.

Namjoon is staring at the wavering vandalism. “Do you know,” he asks suddenly, “how hard those are to make?”

“Ah…” The random question takes Jin off guard, and besides, graphics have never been one of his interests.

“It’s hard. Not if you have a computer program to do it all for you, but the program would cost too much for an individual to own.” His heavy eyes flick to Jin and then back to the figure. “Most individuals. So, someone built that, piece by piece, in some kind of limited process, and they did a decent job. It looks good.”

“Good,” Seokjin repeats doubtfully as he stares at the holographic, wondering if there’s something he’s missing about the distorted piece. Or maybe Namjoon’s just a nutcase.

“Not the subject, obviously,” snorts the nutcase in question. “But the skill is there. Good rendering, skin tones… The facial expressions are on point, too. Took time, took effort, took knowledge… and it’s sitting out here, in some random alleyway, just to fuck with whatever police were here to investigate your murder. See, the mechanism is latched in place? The police didn’t even bother to get rid of it, and since they’re not around anymore, it’s not getting seen by anyone.”

This doesn’t exactly feel like small talk, but if Namjoon is trying to make a point, it’s joining the advertisements prattling above Jin’s head, lost in the haze. He rolls his shoulders, impatient, and moves away from the holographic. A few seconds later it dies away. “Look, I got killed here and I don’t care about the quality of some stupid vandalism. You dragged me to this place, now tell me what’s next.”

Taking that with a mouth that twists a little, Namjoon pivots, points to a spot on the ground. It is conspicuously less filthy than any other spot. “You were found around there. This alley is a dead end, so the guy who killed you was probably close to the entrance when he did it… unless he was supposed to meet with you or set up an ambush or something. Just… try to picture it all. See if anything comes back.”  

Compliant, if not exactly confident, Jin looks around more carefully, willing himself to ignore the unpleasantness and stench and focus on the specifics instead. He trails his fingers over the cinder blocks with only a slight grimace for what his touch smears through, studies each line and scuff in the grime at his feet. There are no windows opening up onto this alley, just featureless walls rising up on either side, blank and disinterested in the little drama taking place between them.

"When did I get shot?" he asks.

"From the police files we, uh, liberated, around two in the morning."

So, it was dark when it happened. If they're close to Ringwanderung – Jin can't be sure, he hasn't seen the building so far and he doesn't remember it's exact location from the last visit he can remember – the roads probably weren't deserted. People would have heard him if he screamed. But did he scream?

The rasp of the ground is rough against his fingertips, and when he pulls them away, they're blackened with dirt. Just a bit of dirt, no blood, even though this is the spot he died in. The police apparently did a good job cleaning up; if his faulty memories are at all accurate, he bled like his heart was trying to water the dry ground. But what else is there? Night time...

He's starting to feel strange again. Disconnected, although this time it's not the sleeve that he's floating away from. No, this time the body stays with him as he detaches from the present, forcing his mind into the treacherous, bleak path of the shadowed past. There's nothing there that's solid. It's disintegrated even more than the vandalism Namjoon was so intrigued by. He has – feelings. Impressions. Maybe-might-if-could-be's that float through his head and come apart when he tries to grab them. Words lost on the tip of his tongue.

He didn't scream. Jin is suddenly certain of that. He didn't scream for help, because the man – threatened something. Threatened someone? Someone – Jin loses it. But the man – in his mind, the man is the holographic, twisted and broken and ominous as he looms up in the darkness, with no solid features to nail in place. He veers in and out of focus, and his words are as intangible as his features. Something about – about wanting, about plans collapsing, about frustration and fear, about defiance, about no no no no you can't–

With a gasp, Seokjin shoves himself up from his crouch, staggers into the wall and stays there, needing the uncaring surface to keep him upright. His chest is aching, fear closing ghostly fingers around his throat, the sensation a faded pressure. This time Namjoon doesn't try to help, but neither does he rush Jin or demand an update. That makes it – easier – to get his breathing under control, but it does nothing to help the simmering pressure bubbling under his skin. He's clenching his jaw, he realizes numbly after a moment, and can't seem to get himself to relax as dissatisfaction upbraids his self-assurance.

All of that, and he still has – nothing. Absolutely nothing. A bunch of gibberish, even less useful than a holographic placed in the middle of nowhere.

He hits his fist against the wall he’s leaning against, more of a tap than a punch, but Namjoon’s eyebrows lift at the aggravated display. “I’m guessing that means you can’t remember anything important?”

“I’m trying,” he pants. “But this is just – garbage and more garbage. I can’t put anything together.”

“Tell me a bit about it.”

“What’s there to tell? I – I got threatened by the guy, I think, and he wanted something. I don’t know if I gave it to him.” Jin coughs, trying to clear a throat that’s gone dry. “Just to be clear, that’s all maybes. I don’t – I can’t tell if it’s real or not.”

“What did he want?”

It’s not purposeful – or at least, Jin’s pretty sure it’s not – but there’s something extremely aggravating about the other man’s persistence. “Yah! Are you deaf? I told you, I don’t know!”  

Namjoon is silent for a moment, a muscle ticking in his jaw, before he turns away. "So, we're at more than one dead end," he comments, and though Jin catches an attempt at a smile at the corner of his mouth, he sounds dispirited. Not angry. Just… tired. Jin is surprised and relieved that his outburst hadn’t elicited a violent retaliation, but there’s something dimly reproachful keeping his throat tight as he follows the other man to the end of the alley. When Jungkook looks over inquiringly, Namjoon shakes his head.

"Let's go inside the Ring and see if there's anything we can pick up there." Passing a hand over his face, for a moment the pink-haired man doesn't follow his own command, just stands unmoving on the sidewalk. It lasts for all of two seconds, but it still makes discomfort sink seething hooks into Jin, somewhere low in his stomach. Obviously Namjoon is struggling to hold himself together, and that doesn't seem to speak well for Jin's immediate future. Or for any of their futures, actually. When he glances at Jungkook, the boy is biting at his lip and watching his leader from the corner of his eye, presumably just as concerned, albeit for entirely different reasons.

Dropping his hand, Namjoon gives himself a little shake. As though they were the ones dawdling, his voice sharpens as he snaps, "Let's go."

True to his capturers' words, the Ring is just a few buildings down, though the street curves sharply upward and had made it difficult to spot the sign from further down the way. The sign isn’t garish, which is surprising given how many eyesores Jin has seen on this street. Three neon rings surrounded by a fourth, all of them differing shades of blue, with Ringwanderung shot through them in a dark blue approaching black. The sign probably looks quite beautiful at night. The Ring itself is a squat building of modern black and grey angles, shorter by two or three floors than the ones on either side of it, but it's also wider than either of them. If Jin remembers correctly, it has several underground floors, too, where most of the drug dens and prostitute rooms are. Above ground, funny enough, was for above ground deals, like dancing, hanging out and eating, drinking alcohol and using some of the milder intoxicants available. Very PG 13.

There aren't all that many people frequenting the club when they enter the Ring, including security. That's not entirely a surprise, given the time, and Jin pauses just inside the entrance, letting his eyes adjust to the slightly dimmer setting while they scour the red and black couches scattered across the room. He's half-hoping he'll see a familiar face, someone to run to and beg for help – several of his friends, particularly Taehyung, like to come here, enjoying the establishment’s slight edges. Jin’s come to realize those are pretty laughable. What’s edgy about a building complete with a complement of security guards?

Although, now that he thinks about it... his friends might be wearing familiar faces, but he isn't. What would they do if some random stranger came up to them and started ranting about needing help?

Not react quickly enough to save him from being shot by Jungkook or Namjoon, Jin's pretty sure of that. Even Taehyung, with his special empathy implants, would probably take too long.

Both of his escorts are tenser in this closed setting, anyways. Somehow Jungkook manages to inch even closer to him than when they were walking, and Namjoon doesn't let the same amount of space grow between them as he leads the way through the lounge, deeper into the club. "Keep your head down," he mutters to Jin. "I don't want someone recognizing the sleeve."

Jin stops dead and hisses, “What do you mean, someone recognizing the sleeve?” Seconds later, as Namjoon regards him tight-lipped and silent, a horrified revelation stumbles into his mind. “You – I’m in – You put me in someone’s body illegally? Someone who lives here?”

“Now’s not the time to get into the details, Seokjin,” Namjoon says from between clenched teeth.

“Not the time!” His voice leaps like it’s trying to high-five the ceiling. “Where is – who is – how –” It hadn’t even remotely occurred to him that they might have put him in a sleeve with an owner who wasn’t either dead or locked away or had moved on from this sleeve. He’d just – Meths took their sleeves from others if they took a fancy to one, sure, but that was an exception, not the rule. Most of them were lab-created, or, if biologically based and from parents, at least genetically enhanced. The point being that they were new, and not… He’d known this was a used sleeve, the impulses proved that, but he hadn’t thought that the previous user might still be around! Or their friends!

Namjoon must see the alarm taking over Jin and tilting precariously towards a full-blown meltdown, because he steps closers, grabs Jin’s arm. “Relax, okay? I promise, we’ll fill you in on everything, but not right now.”

He stares wildly into Namjoon’s dark eyes, and they feel like locked doors with bright OPEN signs above them. A lie and a disappointment. “Just tell me. Are they dead? The person who had this sleeve… Did you kill them?”

The fingers wrapped around Seokjin’s arm tighten to the point of pain, but the other man doesn’t look away. Doesn’t hesitate when he says, “No. They’re not dead. Even if they deserve to be. We’ll talk about the rest later.”

Seokjin is released and his captor turns away, leaving a throbbing ache in Jin’s arm and a colder hurt in his chest. He doesn’t know if Namjoon is lying to get him to go along with this. Is that why this body is so bruised and battered? Because whoever had worn it before ‘deserved’ it?

“Like I said,” Namjoon tacks on, voice cool, “just keep your head down. Don’t look at anyone for too long. I don’t even think he went here that often, only a few times.” He starts to move away.  

"A few times is a few times too many! Maybe you should have thought of that before?" Jin gripes, unmoving, sweat pouring down his back and making his shirt stick to his skin uncomfortably. The wary looks he darts at the club inhabitants don’t reveal anyone particularly interested, even despite his outburst, but he feels like a target’s been put on his back. "This face isn't exactly indiscrete. It practically begs for attention. You should have grabbed me a hat or something."

Jungkook shoves him in the back, the gun's barrel pressing a painful indent into his body, but that doesn't stop Jin from seeing the way Namjoon grimaces, his head falling, accepting the blame as yet another heavy burden.

The dance area is even emptier than the lounge, with only a few groups of people standing here and there, drinks in hand. The small cluster of booths off to the side are completely empty. A trio of girls are swaying slowly in the middle of the floor. They can't be dancing to the music – there's a quiet but fast electro-pop song playing in the background – and he can only assume by the relaxed way they move that they've been sampling some of the wares that the Ring offers. There's a bar at the back of the room that might sell such wares, a long counter with a bunch of stools manned by a sole crewman. He's not exactly the friendliest looking person Jin's ever seen, with a bristling black beard and eyebrows so thick they could have crawled down his chin and formed another beard. He’s also giving them a once over.

Apparently failing to notice those alarming traits, Namjoon heads straight for the counter. "Arven," he says warmly.

“Namjoon!” the bartender calls back, just as warmly. “If it isn’t the bulletproof boy. I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.” When Jin moves to get closer, interested in spite of himself, Jungkook grabs his sweater, pulls him back with a warning look.

“They’re not talking about shit that concerns you, Meth,” Jungkook says. “Just some business deals. How ‘bout you just stand there and look good until they’re done? I bet you’re good at that.” The acerbic words sound a bit awkward, like the kid is trying them out for the first time, and after Jin stares at him for a few seconds, Jungkook flushes and looks away.

Jin mumbles, “I am good at looking good,” and yanks his sweater out of the other's grasp. Still uncomfortable, he scans the room, observation skipping over several people before he freezes. One of the girls on the dance floor, a red head in a floral green summer dress, is watching him, her gaze glassy, and he smiles nervously before looking away.

“Uh, Jungkook?” he whispers. “I think that girl recognizes me.”

“No, she doesn’t know…” The strangled way his guard’s words die might have been funny, if the girl wasn’t making her way over.

“What do I do!?”

“Get her to go away!”

“How?”

Jungkook doesn’t come up with anything before the girl is in hearing range, and a quick look at his wide, panicked eyes makes Jin suspect it would have taken awhile, anyways.

"Hey, Siwoo," the pale girl breathes in an uncomfortably familiar way when she halts in front of them. Her eyes trail across his face, noting the cuts and bruises, but she makes no comment. Is it the norm for this sleeve, or just not something you talk about in public? "It’s so weird to run into you now."

Jin casts a pleading look at Jungkook, but the young man just edges closer, hand under his coat and definitely cradling his gun. Seokjin doesn’t dare turn around enough to see if Namjoon has noticed their interaction, but surely he won’t be shot? If he can just fumble around and pretend to be who he’s not? And if he can’t? Is he – or the girl – going to be killed just because he can’t act like a thug? The unbidden thought sets his teeth on edge, and Jin tries to pull his face into something tough and removed.

"Uh, hey," he says, wondering if she's high enough to miss any discrepancies in his mannerisms. Her expression is spacey enough to give him hope. "I had something to pick up nearby, and I, uh, figured this place had a nice ring to it, you know? Hahaha." Her delicate brows furrow, button nose scrunching, and he thinks that maybe Siwoo doesn't use puns too often. Or maybe it was the way his laugh had spiked seventy octaves, nerves punting it up like a pro-kicker over a goalpost.

Before Jin can devolve into panic too much more, the perplexed expression dissolves, replaced by a knowing smile. "You picked up some of the new stuff from Kali, huh? Bet it's got you going." She steps closer, looking back at her friends suggestively. "If you shared some with us, I bet we could really keep you going, Siwoo."

"Ahaha..." His cheeks flaming red, Jin wonders if spontaneously combusting would destroy his stack, or just this sleeve. He also wonders what kind of guy Siwoo is, that girls are willing to make that kind of suggestion, and so boldly, too. The thought does nothing for his embarrassment. "I, uh, can't. Not this time. I’m meeting with, uh…"

A stroke of genius hits, sweeping away most of the mortification. Namjoon said that whoever this body belonged too, he deserved to be dead. Who else could that be, than one of the gang members targeting Namjoon’s group? If that were true… If this girl knows Siwoo, then maybe she knows something about that, too. And if he can find it out…

Jin slaps his forehead, thickens his voice further like he’s seriously intoxicated. “Damn… You know the one. He’s the guy who…” Jin leans closer, pitches his voice lower. “Well, you heard about that Meth that got murdered the other night? It’s the guy who offed him.”

She jerks back, alarmed even in her haze, and gives Jungkook a wary once over. Her voice lowers to a hiss. “Keep your voice down, Siwoo. Fuck, you’ve had too much if you’re talking about David. ‘Sides, that’s your guys’ business, not mine.”

“Yeah, yeah, David, sorry.” He tries to wave an airy hand, but it’s shaking too hard, so he runs it through his hair instead. The motion doesn’t do much to soothe his racing thoughts. “This shit I’m trying is just, uh, really heavy.” She nods slowly, but Jin doesn’t think she’s quite convinced. He tries a different tactic. “Actually, honestly, I’m just kind of pissed off. I heard David got a bunch of creds or something from getting that guy, and he isn’t sharing it with me. But I still gotta grab shit for him?”

As he hoped, the promise of gossip eases her a little, even as a confused frown slopes her mouth. “I heard it was a lot, too. Something big or something, everyone up top was freaking out. Someone said Rafa smiled when he heard. It’s weird he wouldn’t share, when I heard you’re the one who helped him out.” Jungkook moves, a sudden twitch, and she eyes him again. Jin could have kicked him in the shin. Abruptly losing interest, the girl shrugs. “Like I said, it’s not my business. Besides, you never introduced me to your… friend?” Jin stiffly nods. “Who is he? Have I seen you before?” That to Jungkook directly, and with her attention diverted, Jin is free to look at his guard, too.

He hadn’t realized it before, too engrossed in the pretence, but Jungkook might very well be having a heart attack. The kid is shaking and sweating, pink staining every visible patch of skin, and his head is ducked so low his chin might as well be fused to his throat. Jungkook stutters something that’s completely incomprehensible, before clearing his throat. In a very small voice, he says, “Probably. You probably saw me. I – I’ve been here before.”

Such a novel experience as his captor floundering should really be enjoyed, and Jin is spitefully ready to sit back and let Jungkook continue to struggle. It seems no more than justice.      

Unfortunately, impatient or too drugged to hold on to a train of thought, the girl shrugs again, not even interested enough to get a name. “Alright. Anyways, Siwoo, are you going to the Meth party? I’ve never been to one and I hear it's going to be wild! Some of the other girls were invited last week, but since that Meth got messed up, not many of you guys are coming here to throw around party invitations. So far none of you assholes have asked me to go. Plus I doubt any Meths are gonna be sending out invites, either."

The girl is definitely working another angle, and Jin blinks rapidly, trying to keep up with the information. "The party? Uh, I haven't decided yet. It's... when is it again?"

"Christ, Siwoo, maybe you should lay off the stuff for awhile. I heard everyone from your group is invited. It's, what, a few months from now? Remember? If you feel like going, you should hit me up; I want a pass."

"A pass?"

"Duh. Not like the Meths are gonna let just anyone stroll into Glass Harbour, especially not at a party like that." The redhead rolls her eyes. “Can’t have people like us dragging in mud, right? I want to –” One of the girls still on the dancefloor calls out a name, Natasha, and she glances back. Her friends make beckoning gestures. Natasha waves at them and looks ruefully at Jin. “My friends are calling. I’ll see you later, okay? Anytime. Hope stuff works out with you and David… And seriously, let me know if you’re going? Or if you just want to hang out…” She trails away without another look at either of them.

Beside him, Jungkook inhales violently. Within a few seconds Namjoon arrives at their side, face calm but eyes demanding as they turn to Jungkook. The brown-haired man hurriedly says, “I think it’s fine. She’s a friend or something, not someone that knows this asshole is missing.”

“And Seokjin didn’t…” Try to clue her in, Jin assumes Namjoon is asking. He lifts his chin, outraged by the question.

“No,” Jungkook replies, “nothing like that. Actually, he – I think he pretty much fooled her.” His tone could not have been more grudging if he’d made a concerted effort, though before Jin can smile at the faint praise, Jungkook cuts that pretty short. “She was so high I think a pole with a face stuck on it might have fooled her, though.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that while Jungkook was imitating the pole he just mentioned, I was finding out things! A lot of help you were, by the way,” Jin adds with a sour look at Jungkook. Yeah, he definitely prefers the kid flushing in embarrassment instead of wearing a smug grin. At least the former is cute instead of insufferable.

Namjoon forestalls anything either of them might have added. “You can tell me about it when we leave. I talked to Arven, mostly business, but I asked him about the murder, too.” As Jin begins to frown at that information, he continues. “Not about you specifically, just in an indirect way. He didn’t know much about it. Said something about an unusual amount of Meths coming here, and not just thirteenth sons and daughters, either, but even a few heads of houses.”

He looks so excited by the news that Jin feels a little bad to let him down. “That’s not that weird. There are trends, right? Ringwanderung has been gathering popularity for awhile now; it’s not odd that some of the heavy weights would eventually stop by. It’ll be a thing for a bit – maybe a while longer than usual, since I got, uh, since I died – and they’ll move on to other things.”

The way Namjoon’s shoulders slump is distracting enough for Jin to ignore Jungkook’s comment about flighty bastards. Hands hovering and waving awkwardly, Seokjin says, “Well, it might be important. Maybe it’s not a coincidence that I got hurt just when they started coming here.” It’s definitely a coincidence, so far as he’s concerned, but it’s nice to see the gang leader take a deep breath and straighten a little.

“Okay. Well – we’ll figure it out. I’m guessing being here hasn’t struck anything in your memory?”

Jin looks around the Ring. He remembers it well enough, but just from night and weekend sprees, hazy and splotched with drugs and alcohol. There’s nothing immediate about the memories, nothing that says he’s about to stumble onto a massive revelation. Hesitantly, wanting to give it his best try, he spends a few minutes wandering around, his two captors tailing him, but by the time they circle back to the dancefloor, he hasn’t found anything. He doesn’t really want to go downstairs, either, not with this company. After a few more silent seconds of observation, he shakes his head.

His companion sighs, but less heavily than the last time. “It’s time for us to go, then. This was a long shot, anyways, and the less time you’re in the open, the better.” When he gestures, Jin precedes him out of the dance area, leaving the pop music behind, with Jungkook trailing them both.

They enter into the lounge again, soft lights a distinct change from the darker illumination of the dancefloor, the private conversations a pleasant background noise. Jin tunes them out; he’s attempting to calculate what else he has to offer, since this trip has been essentially a bust. Was the Meth party significant? Who was hosting it? He can’t remember being invited to one recently, but that could be his amnesia in general, or maybe he just wasn’t friends or acquaintances with the host. The latter was admittedly much less likely – there weren’t all that many Meths, especially ones influential enough to host parties that normies could be invited to – but if the whole gang was invited, that had to be important, right? Only, what could it mean? What…

“Ah, we’re gonna find something tonight! I can feel it!”

“Sir, it’s barely the evening and we just got here. Besides, we’ve been here so many times in the last few days. What makes today different?”

“It’s a feeling! I’m absolutely positive someone here knows something.”

“…sir, you’ve tried already… Why don’t we just go home…?”

Jin’s concentrating so hard that it takes him a moment to realize that he knows both of the voices coming from a cluster of couches not far from them. When he gawks in that direction, he definitely recognizes the tousled head of dark brown hair just visible above the chair’s back.

A surge of relief hits him, thunderous comfort resonating through his nerves, so powerful that he stops dead and feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Without conscious decision, the name bursts from him, as natural as his own. “Taehyung!”

The gun that’s suddenly jammed against his spine, hard enough to make his mouth tighten in pain, is expected. After all, even as the word had left his lips, he’d regretted it, had wanted to pull it back and give himself time to think instead of showing his hand so early. He’d expected the consequences.

But he doesn’t expect the glacier cold voice that issues from behind him to belong to Namjoon.

“Put your head down, now,” demands the voice he hardly recognizes, and even as Taehyung stands up from the couch and turns their way, Seokjin complies, sets his stinging eyes on the red carpet at their feet. Namjoon snatches his arm, bodily forces him to sidestep away, and Jungkook casually paces in front of them, blocking Tae’s line of sight. “You say anything, you even breathe wrong, and you die. So does your friend,” Namjoon says quietly, his perfect enunciation of each word somehow more frightening than if he’d been shouting.

“What is it, sir?” asks Taehyung’s companion, and Jin knows it’s Drayton, the Kim family’s personal driver. Probably here to drag the man home on his father’s orders, but roped into whatever TaeTae is doing.

When Taehyung replies, he sounds miffed. “I thought I heard my name.”

“Really? I don’t think I…”

You did, Seokjin wants to scream, and he wants to cry too, because God, he’s been so alone, and Taehyung is right there. But a new terror is puncturing his lungs, making it hard to breathe, and this jagged fear has nothing to do with the pistol pressing into his back. It has to do with Taehyung’s curious, clever eyes, and the way he sees things that sometimes he shouldn’t, and the way he wants to help when he shouldn’t, too.

If Namjoon had been just a little slower – if Jin had been just a little louder – his friend would have seen him, maybe even recognized him. And Jin would have had just enough time to see something like bewildered joy bloom across Taehyung’s face before Taehyung, one of the best people he knows, was shot to death, and who cared if it was just a sleeve death? Jin is walking proof that the experience is a horrible one. And the possibility hadn’t even occurred to him until after the fact.

The thought makes him nauseous, literally nauseous, and Namjoon practically has to drag him through the lounge and outside. The air’s still stifling despite being outdoors, and when Seokjin looks up all he can see is buildings and grey haze. No sky to speak of. Yet somehow the rush of people is still present, going through their day as if they don’t have an ashen weight over their heads. It’s smothering and does nothing for the frenetic pounding in his chest or the queasiness in Jin’s stomach.

A harsh shove by Namjoon sets him into a stumbling walk, the gun falling away with his captors hemming him in on either side. After a few blocks, the pink-haired man asks tersely, “Do you think we’re being followed?”

Jungkook says, “I haven’t seen anyone. No… I don’t think so.” There’s a beat of silence between the three of them that’s so profound it almost blocks out the sounds of street traffic, the noisy chatter of the people they’re flowing through. Jungkook breaks it. “We shouldn’t have brought him. Or we should have made sure we had control of him. We shouldn’t –”

“I know, Jungkook. I know.”

Silence again, deep and miserable and difficult to walk in. Jin doesn’t know what to do, what to say. The constant fear that’s been lapping at his feet or swamping over his head is proving too much; his lips and fingertips are tingling, but Seokjin is numb to everything else. His feet slog through a sticky puddle of someone’s discarded drink without pause, and the clang of his foot hitting the mostly empty can doesn’t even make him glance down. It’s hard enough to just keep his legs moving.

They cover several more streets before Jungkook says, small and unhappy, “Sorry, hyung. I should have kept a closer watch, anyways. I got… distracted.”

“…Nah. S’not your fault. Just bad luck or something. Maybe we’re cursed.” It’s a joke that falls so flat it’s almost 2D, and when Jin’s eyes drift over to Namjoon’s tight face, the man doesn’t really look like he’s joking, anyways.

They’re off the main road now, passing through an industrial zone with cars lining both sides of the street, but few people are in sight among the clusters of squat, stained buildings. Jungkook kicks at the chain link fence they’re walking next to, making it rattle. “It’s not bad luck. It’s him. Why’d you have to go do something stupid like that, huh?” he abruptly demands of Jin.

Jin, grateful to be more or less ignored until now, hesitates to answer. Jungkook’s question isn’t even that mean, more frustrated than anything, but Seokjin can’t tear his gaze from the cracked pavement they’re walking over. Truth is, he’s been wondering the same thing himself. Had he really almost gotten Taehyung killed? All for – what? A second of relief that he wasn’t the only one in this horrible situation? He’d already concluded that no one could help, at least not quickly enough, but he’d called for his friend despite that.

What does that make him?

Once again, Namjoon intercedes on his behalf. Sort of. “It doesn’t matter now, Kookie. We got out without anyone important catching on. All’s well that ends well. A fairy-tale finish.” The bitterness is absolutely impossible to miss by the end, but when Jin risks a look, Namjoon isn’t directing the vitriol towards him. He’s wearing an indrawn expression, fine brows caving together, and Jin doesn’t think it’s the encounter with Taehyung that has him so upset. Or at least, that’s not the only thing.

Namjoon catches him watching, however, and his brows draw down even more. “Jungkook’s right, though. It was stupid. What did you think would happen?”

He waits to feel the sharp prick of defensiveness, but it doesn’t come. “I… I didn’t really think, it just… came out.”

The ice that was in Namjoon’s tone before has crept into his eyes when he says, “Next time – if there’s a next time – you have to think. Because I know this situation sucks, but I’m not risking my crew for a Meth who puts his mouth before his head again. Next time…”

“I get shot. I die. Yeah, I get it.” And he does. He really kind of does. So much so that it does nothing to the leaden mass sunk into every atom of his body.

The tight hollowness in his throat is only growing, a gaping emptiness that’s threatening to climb into his head and plummet into his chest. There’s regret, sure, regret for saying anything, regret for not saying enough, regret that he’s here at all, but the fear is a wrung-out towel, strangled and nearly dry. All Jin wants is to be somewhere else. It’s hard to look away from both Jungkook and Namjoon, since they’re on either side, so once again his gaze finds the ground.

Which is why Jin completely misses the woman, dressed in dark clothes with a black face mask, who suddenly steps out from behind one of the cars ahead of them. There’s a gun clutched in her hand. He misses the way she lifts up the weapon and aims – right at Jin.

He doesn’t miss the crack of the gun going off, though.

[aparecium-hq]

Welcome to Aparecium, Mar! You have been accepted for Lydia Pucey. I must admit the Pucey sisters are among my favorite of our characters here, and I’m so excited to see where you take Lydia. Check out the new member checklist, and jump right in.

Character Basics

BIRTHDAY (AGE):

twenty-two years old, born on july 29th, 2005 ( math is not my strongest point so i hope this is right! ) — which makes her a leo sun & scorpio moon.

GENDER (PRONOUNS):

cis woman, she/her/hers pronouns.

SEXUALITY:

bisexual, biromantic.

BLOOD STATUS:

pureblood.

HOGWARTS HOUSE/SCHOOL:

slytherin house.

OCCUPATION:

chaser for the montrose magpies, socialite.

FACECLAIM:

madelaine petsch would be my preferred choice, with zoey deutch as a follow up in case she wouldn’t be available!

ANY REQUESTED CHANGES?

none!

BIOGRAPHY:

tw for: implied child abuse,

lydia nadine pucey was born a product of her mother’s hope. her first born child, adrian, was not showing any inclinations of magic, and from the way her husband raged to the private tutors, house elves, and yes, even to her, it seemed the worst could come to pass — her child would be a squib. the pucey’s were a traditional pureblood family, starting their line in france and only recently moving to the united kingdom, they had relatives they could not disappoint, a name they could not sully. when she became pregnant with lydia, it was like a breath of fresh air breezed through pucey manor. there was hope, clouded with fear ( because what was to happen if both their children were squibs?! ), but hope nonetheless. and with lydia, it seemed, that hope would be answered — especially when she already started showing magic at an early age.

while she was a product of her mother’s hope, she was also a product of her father’s determination — and rage. adrian pucey senior was done with his first born before she even stood a chance, but lydia, the one gifted with magic, oh how he doted on her! spoiled with the finest of tutors, new dresses every week, even a beautiful broom that her toddler legs could never hold onto. at that age, lydia did not recognize she was receiving preferred treatment compared to her sibling. she just knew her mother and father loved her, very much so.

once the way her parents treated adrian became clearer on young lydia, she started changing her behavior. she wanted to be the golden child, not to spit on adrian, but to avoid becoming the same in her parents eyes. she knew how fast their mood could change, saw it happen right in front of her with adrian — and all she knew was to avoid that anger. lydia was to be perfect, sitting straight and always using the proper etiquette, impressing her tutors on a daily basis, learning to fly instead of playing with her friends. she was determined to be the best she could be, whatever her parents asked of her, she would do. and she saw them in a divine light as well, they were her parents, and they had to be right, wouldn’t they?

hogwarts provided a sudden change. she realized now the way adrian’s being a squib had affected their family’s reputation. there were pointed stares, hushed whispers, someone even tried to shake her down — though they quickly learned her hardened nature was not that easy to get to. still, she might have been her parents’ golden child, but at hogwarts her stellar school work and excellent quidditch skills impressed no one but the professors. it wasn’t until she stumbled upon an older years’ party that she realized she could change that. at first the older kids laughed at her, the lost first year, with the expensive robes and perfectly curled hair. but one of them took pity on her, lydia convided in them and they helped her out, quickly letting her know that “nerds aren’t part of the popular crowd, lydia, not even when you do their homework for them”. following the advice like gospel, she approached her second year with an unmatched ferocity.

arriving at hogwarts with a leather jacket carefully hanging over her shoulders, a pair of sunglasses balancing on the bridge of her nose and a smile that screamed trouble, she managed to get kicked out of her first class of the year by “accidentally” setting her professor’s robes on fire. combined with the invites she was provided to older years parties, her popularity quickly skyrocketed, and she left her peers in the dust. her parents were not exactly happy with the constant letters that were sent home about her (mis)behavior, they sent howler upon howler, but lydia had bitten into the forbidden fruit — and merlin, it was delicious.

when she came home after a spectacular year, she faced the full brunt of her parents’ wrath. the memories of the way they treated her still haunt her, even today. it took her two whole weeks, but she finally tried to make them understand that because of adrian, she had no choice. she had influence among her peers now, friends she could rely on, it was better than being the outcast with the squib sister. her outburst made her realize how much she resented adrian for not having magic, mostly affecting her own selfish heart, but she pushed those emotions down to deal with at another time. they gave her rules, extracted promises from lydia, but they compromised. luckily for her, pucey money went a long way too in helping placate hogwarts. a sizeable donation for a renovation of the library here, sponsoring an alumni even there, the pucey’s cleaned up their messes, of that, there was no doubt.

lydia considers her hogwarts career quite successful, her grades took a bit of a dip after first year, but they were still admirable, especially if you consider how involved she was as a student. attending every worthwhile party, being in a couple of clubs, and of course, quidditch. captaining her team as well as being a star chaser took up most of her time, but the amount of game wins she managed to stack up was well worth it. there was no doubt lydia would play professionally, it was what her parents wanted, it was what she was good at, but she never felt fully sure about her decision. she’d always been interested in a career of curse breaking, but never even approached the subject with her parents — fearing their reaction.

her current life would be exciting for any outsider, but lydia is growing bored. she’s starting to come to terms with the fact that her parents have controlled almost her entire life, manipulated her against adrian on frequent occasions, and they only love her as long as she does what they want. the wizarding world being in turmoil again doesn’t do much to uplift her mood either. she’s never been into pureblood supremacy, though her parents certainly tried to force it on her, but she still regarded muggles as below any wix. technology is something she quite enjoys, it brings new opportunities for their people, and she can see what it does for adrian, which ( although she would not admit it ) makes her happy. but muggles mixing with them? not only would it be unrealistic, it would be dangerous. she took muggle studies long enough to know they turn on each other for even the smallest of differences — she feels in her heart they would not handle magic well. they would become jealous, for muggles could never be their equal, especially now that they could combine technology with magic as well.

she would be more involved in the discussion, but lydia has enough on her hands as it is — dealing with the revelations she made about her life, trying to get to a decision about what she wants to do with the rest of it, playing into her parents hands or tasting true freedom? she acts out against them more often now, messing around with her reputation and career, but they’ve never taught her how to properly deal with those emotions, how to cope in healthy ways, not self destructive patterns. she is a flame burning too brightly, too harshly, and soon enough, she’ll set something on fire.

Character Questionnaire

How does your character feel about their family?

lydia’s relationship with her family is complicated, and even that’s an understatement. her parents have tried to control her life from the moment she showed signs of magical ability, projecting all their hopes and dreams onto her. she felt loved by them, but whenever she did something they did not agree with or like, that love soon faded and turned into anger. the extended pucey’s she barely knows, for they live abroad in france, but from whatever visits she’s made — they are probably even worse. a pureblood dynasty hanging by it’s threads, adrian being a squib was the first disgrace, but lydia being a girl and not someone who could provide them with a bunch of lovely little pucey heirs, that was a disgrace to them as well. still, her relationship with adrian is the most complicated of all. she used to resent her sister for being a squib, before realizing that adrian had no hand in that, and would probably have changed it if she could. her feelings were self-centered, always started with how it affected her. it didn’t help that their parents played them out against one another either, giving lydia a preferred treatment and frequently talking about her sister in a negative way, right in front of her. she doesn’t know how to address it, how to apologize for letting her parents manipulate her into hating her own sister, so they fight even more — because that’s what they know.

How would a stranger who has just met your character describe them?

honestly, lydia is not just an appearance, she is an attraction. designer clothes, always the first to pay for a round of drinks, friends or familiar with almost everyone around — make her a quidditch player too, you have the celebrity appeal down quite quickly. a stranger would probably describe her with “star power”, the radiant smile and bright red hair drawing in a crowd quickly. whatever establishment lydia visit, instantly becomes popular. whoever lydia hangs out with, quickly gets their own shout out in one of the gossip papers. if she wasn’t so determined, her sheer boldness would have likely sorted her into gryffindor instead. you can’t miss lydia in a crowd, and most are dazzled by her appearance alone.

What magical skill or talent is your character most proud of?

though you would expect her to list her quidditch skills, or even her duelling talents, lydia is most proud of her skill in wizard’s chess. though she considered dropping it once she gained popularity, she’d been in the club at hogwarts, playing almost daily. lydia claims it keeps her mind sharp and focussed, but also brings her a sense of calm nothing else could. even nowadays, she sneaks into a relatively unknown cafe in wizard london every wednesday afternoon, when a group of wizard’s chess players meet and play a couple games.

Para Sample

the party was raging on, but lydia was, for just a moment, not joining in. leaning against a wall around the corner of the night club she frequented so often they had her drink order ready the moment she walked in, she breathed in the fresh night air before reaching into her purse to fish out a pack of cigarettes instead. her parents berated the habit from the moment they found a pack stashed away in her room, her quidditch coach berated it even more. but she did not smoke often, only when she needed the added calm.

sweat still clung to her skin from the atmosphere inside, but she was quickly starting to grow cold in the early autumn air, especially without her jacket. her head was tilted slightly downwards, so the curtain of her hair hid her features. she wanted to be alone for just a moment, no “wait! aren’t you—” that started whenever someone recognized her, followed by the snapping of pictures or selfies. she liked her reputation as a party witch and popular quidditch player, but there was turmoil in her mind today, and in those moments, she liked it a little less. her parents had caught a picture of her in a gossip paper, aggressively making out with a stranger, who also had his hand up her shirt. lydia couldn’t even remember the moment, it happened too frequently for her to make note of, but her parents screamed and cursed for hours on end.

so of course, lydia had done what she knew best. she sneaked out of the manor and went for a drink — or five. ending up in a night club, her feeling were briefly faded out by the bass of the music and alcohol flowing through her veins. but it didn’t take long for her to flee outside again, needing to compose herself before she set off. finishing off her cigarette, she felt much calmer already, and stomped it out with the heel of her boots before turning to go back inside. two girls instantly spotted her, and from the way their eyes lit up, she knew how this was going to go.

“wait! aren’t you—” the girls started, like they all did. lydia dialed her smile up to ten and approached them. “hell yeah i am! let’s take a picture, shall we?”

[eternaleve]

Watching A Broken Frame music videos for the first time!

Carrying on with my Depeche Mode video rewatch project with the vids for A Broken Frame (first post is found here https://eternaleve.tumblr.com/post/624649762286780416/ive-spent-the-course-of-covid-lockdown-cycling)

I looked through my vinyl and found I did not steal my mother’s Depeche Mode singles from this album (I only stole all her Elvis Costello and Joy Division and a bunch of Japan singles which I suspect she snuck to me in hopes of making me like them) but they are all mysteriously gone. My abusive stepdad recently moved out and I have thoughts about what property he took, but this just seems petty. 

Anyway, let’s talk about A Broken Frame! Vince Clarke left the band to go and be the Paul McCartney of 80s electronic music, forming Yazoo and Erasure. Apparently he did not like success and touring and stuff, which is far because it’s a lot of pressure, so he’s out and Alan Wilder is in after responding to an ad in Melody Maker. Remember music journalism? He joined as a tour keyboardist and appears in the videos for the album, but didn’t contribute to the album.

 A Broken Frame was released eleven months after Speak & Spell, which doesn’t seem to be enough time to me for a band to create another whole album's worth of material. It just seems that a band spends a few years perfecting their sound and a selection of songs, and then a record label says, ‘Great! Now do the same thing, but in a much shorter timeframe, under much more stress, and in snatched moments between being shuttled from gig venue to gig venue!’. I understand there’s a ~hype train~ that music acts have to follow, because bands can slip out of notice so fricking quickly, but the pressure does not seem set up to maintain the mental and emotional well-being of people. I’m sure nothing like that will happen in the history of this bad though!

This album cover is considered one of the world’s greatest photographs for a reason. It’s stark and beautiful and has echoes of socialist realism and is just a really striking image. I don’t know who has final say over art direction in the band but whoever does has a great eye for images. The picture is taken over by Duxford and as I’m from the Midlands I have been to Duxford on a hundred school trips (it has a big air centre with WW2 planes and things and bits of the Berlin Wall), so I’ve probably been past this field an uncountable number of times without even realising it.

See You (Jan 1982, No 6 UK charts)

I like how it looks like fuzzy felt. It feels very, very different from the singles art from the last album, I guess to indicate a clear difference in direction? Maybe? This is the first single for the band written by Martin Gore and starting his reign as songwriter.

All the music videos for this album were directed by Julien Temple and are Not Liked by the band. I generally quite like Julien Temple’s work and watched a lot of it as a teen (stepdad being hugely into the Pistols), so I am intrigued to say the least how these will turn out to be.

This does give me a bit of a nostalgia kick for an old-fashioned style train station. It’s pretty much what my home station used to look like before everything was privatised, bought out by Virgin, turned bright red and full of commuters. I like how the station sparks to the beat of the music and that someone okayed an actual spending budget for this time around.

YOU HAVE TO LEAVE THE STATION THE PHOTOBOOTH IS HAUNTED

Not going to lie, this looks 100% like my Dad’s first ever passport photo. I like the addition of the bowtie. It adds a real ‘First Communion’ vibe to the whole look. The nose stud… well, I had a nose stud at the exact same period of my life. Same age too, I think, only mine stayed around a lot longer when it definitely should not have done.

It was at that moment he knew he had made a grave mistake in confronting the ‘Telephone Box Killer’ on his own.

Insert a standard ‘Original Selfie’ joke here. The use of the photobooth gives a cute little through line in the video, as well as giving other band members a chance to be present. I remember using photobooths to take fun photos, before they started costing so much goddamned money and put them only in the most inconvenient places. I still have a bunch that I keep in my purse.

… And now everyone’s working an office job? To show the passage of time? Or because it’s now a bit with music, so we’re showing the use of keyboards through office equipment that sort of requires you to make similar hand movements?

Something, something, statement about technology? The photobooth theme was fine! It was cute! It said something about the regret and passage of time from teen to young adult romance! Why are there now a lot of calculators?

Just in case you forgot - the single’s out now. Wink, wink.

But let’s go back and check in with our corporate overlords. Bob, how are you doing on the spyware floor?

… is this Julien Temple? Is it a music video within a music video? Did he put himself in the video? Could this part not have been done by a member of the band? Like, y’know, that new one who was clearly added in partly through this video?

I like the main core storyline of the video - thinking about a past relationship and then happening to run into them again unexpectedly - but I can see why this is perhaps not well thought of. Next one!

The Meaning of Love (April 82, No 12 UK charts)

This reminds me a lot of the cover for the first Adrian Mole book which was published the same year. It does not match the first single at all or the album, but I guess the album art was yet to be done? Or maybe two different departments handled them, because I would have gone with a different single cover if I knew that one of the greatest photographs of all time was in the wings for the album.

Reader, my heart dropped. I knew we were in for some deeply 80s bullshit. And, like, not good 80s bullshit.

This is the lounge act in the cruiseship of my nightmares

Martin Gore there looking like 99% of the lesbians on the DIY punk scene.

What the fuck is going on?

What, and I must reiterate, the fuck is going on? Are those pies? Pie eyes? Pie eye glasses? What does it mean?

Now’s not the time for your science homework, it’s time to film a music video.

Great, I know what image will be repeating in my night terrors tonight. Martin Gore’s face earnestly singing at me from the depths of a paramecium.

THIS JUST GETS WORSE AND WORSE. THERE IS NO SITUATION ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET MADE BETTER WITH PUPPETS.

No, my night paralysis nightmare will be Dave Gahan’s face turning into a fucking pie over and over and over again.

Oh, I see, the Meaning of Love is that your wife will turn into a bitter harpy that won’t let you live your dream and also your life is ruined because she keeps letting the puppets sleep in the bed.

I guess the video has a sort of XTC vibe? It does remind me of the video of ‘Making Plans for Nigel’, which I do like, but also this video is fucking awful should be seen to be believed. I liked the band’s awkward choreography which was four men showing how much they did not want to be doing any of this.

Leave In Silence (August 82, No 18)

The font is nice. That’s about all there is to say for this. It doesn’t match the other two singles. I’m not saying everything has to be matchy-matchy, but it is nice to have visual similarity and consistency. This looks like the record label gave up on trying.

Okay, so we’ve got the album art sorted and starting out with a - I guess you could call it ‘low rural farming vocalisation’, and neither of these two things match the other singles or music videos, which have had a very poppy, teen girl, Smash Hits vibe. 

This week on The Generation Game, you could win a stainless steel bowl, a cuddly toy, and the lead singer of Depeche Mode!

This video started with a group of people vocalising while pouring out grain and looking very plaguecore, now we’re all playing around on a conveyor belt because I think Julien Temple has run out of ideas and is being artsy and surreal and weird to cover that up.

Ladies and gentleman, I’m sad to say that ‘The Fanciest Little Cowboy’ competition will not be running this year due to a lack of other contestants. This is a very fancy Little Cowboy though.

…. I…. what? 

I have seen many bad, bad, bad cursed images in my time, but this is going straight up to the top. What the fuck does this say about the song? The band? The image the record label is trying to project? This pointless weird imagery for the sake of being pointless and weird.

It’s okay, Jess. Bright Red Martin Gore can’t really hurt you. Only haunt you.

And now spacehoppers. Because of course spacehoppers!

The players from Pathologic show up to make a cameo appearance, matching nothing in the video, and seeming wildly out of place with everything else. Pick a theme or story, Julien! It is EITHER the Generation Game OR a terrifying children’s show OR guttural Soviet inspired plaguecore. You can pick one! Not all of them!

The Blue Man Group really had a rough start. The wheat is… just there. Because I guess Julien Temple couldn’t think of how to organically weave it an advertisement for the album. So there’s just a bundle of wheat for no good reason.

By this point, same, mate. That is the only reaction I am having.

These videos were… not great. I think ‘See You’ is the best and most cohesive - it tells a cute little story that ties in with the themes of the song and provides an emotional resonance. And then things just go off the bloody chain a bit. They get weird and experimental in a way that does not work in selling the band or the song. They seem pretty disconnected from what a music video should be and Julien Temple seemed to just run out of ideas by ‘Leave In Silence’. C- Mr Temple, must try harder.

And then onto Construction Time Again! ... well, when I get round to it. In a few days maybe.

[kcwcommentary]

Shiro’s Second Amputation

Shiro’s Second Amputation

The character design for Shiro includes him with a prosthetic arm. Interviews with executive producers Joaquim Dos Santos and Lauren Montgomery have revealed that the reason they initially gave Shiro a prosthetic arm was because they thought it looked “cool.” They seem to have put no thought into what it would mean to a person to have an amputation.

Shiro is captured by the Galra at the beginning of the show and then a little later in the first episode returns to Earth a year later, now with his arm amputated and a prosthetic made of Galra technology. The closest we ever get to any exploration of what it meant to Shiro to lose an arm is a very brief line of dialog at the beginning of 2x03 “Shiro’s Escape,” in which Shiro, in flashback, yells, “You took my hand, what more do you want?” We have no other information about his amputation. Was his arm injured during gladiatorial combat, making it a medical necessity to amputate? Haggar says to Shiro in 1x13 “The Black Paladin, “You could have been our greatest weapon,” so was his arm cut off as part of an experiment she was subjecting him to?

Ultimately, whatever the reason was for the amputation and addition of the Galra prosthetic, the show never tells us. But this is the amputation that everyone already knows about.

Shiro was subjected to a second amputation.

This is something that has infuriated me for a long time, and I’ve never seen anyone else talk about this in any of the Voltron discourse I’ve read.

In season seven, Shiro gets a new prosthetic to replace the Galra one that Keith cut off. I have never liked his new arm. The forearm is lot wider than a natural arm. The disembodied, floating quality makes it vulnerable to disruption (we saw Sendak’s arm be disrupted by Pidge passing her bayard between the shoulder and the arm in 1x07 “Tears of the Balmera”). With the big gap between the shoulder and the arm, the arm lacks the ability to provide leverage, thus something like Shiro arm-wrestling in 8x08 “Clear Day” is impossible. I would think that it would take a lot more power to maintain the disembodied hovering quality of the new prosthetic than it would take to operate a more normal arm. The design and function of the new arm does not seem reasonable to me.

But what makes the new prosthetic worse is Shiro’s shoulder. To implant the shoulder piece of this prosthetic, they amputated Shiro’s shoulder.

Shiro’s Galra prosthetic always looked like it connected to his arm halfway up his bicep. Because of the second, floating prosthetic, sometimes I thought maybe I had misinterpreted the visual design of the Galra prosthetic, that maybe the prosthetic was his whole arm. I couldn’t remember any time where we got to see him without sleeves to know for sure. I learned for sure that I was right that Shiro’s Galra prosthetic only went halfway up the bicep when I did my rewatch and commentary for 3x06 “Tailing a Comet.” In this episode, there is a scene in which we see Shiro (technically the clone) wearing a white tank top. His shoulder is flesh and the prosthetic is not his whole arm.

To have the shoulder implant that he gets in 7x10 “Heart of the Lion,” the rest of his arm and his shoulder would have to be amputated. I would think it would be unethical for a doctor to do this unless it was medically necessary. No medical need to amputate the rest of the arm and the shoulder is given in the show. Narratively, there is no reason that Shiro’s new arm needed to be this disembodied floating absurdity. But I guess once again, the EPs thought it would look “cool,” because they decided to go with this design.

One of two things happened in the process of this new character design work.

One, the EPs and design team realized that they would have to amputate the rest of Shiro’s arm and shoulder and thought having animation inconsistency that they hoped no one would notice was better than having people criticize them for having Shiro amputated a second time, so they had Shiro slightly redesigned from the moment Keith cuts off his arm to when he gets his new prosthetic.

The second possibility is that when they had their design team do the slight character redesign for the moment Keith cuts off the clone’s arm, neither the EPs nor the design team were aware of past work-product and did not remember that the show had shown us that the clone clearly had a flesh shoulder and part of the upper arm. Maybe designing the clone for the moment Keith cuts his arm off, the design team made an honest, though inexcusable, mistake.

Either way, the instant Keith cuts off the clone’s arm in 6x05 “The Black Paladins,” suddenly, the upper arm and the shoulder are metal.

This second amputation is a retcon, a visual redesign. Whether it was done specifically because the new prosthetic design had been approved and they didn’t want to be criticized for amputating Shiro’s shoulder, or whether it was done because they didn’t pay attention to what the show had already established, one way or the other Shiro went from having a flesh and bone shoulder and upper arm, to not.

The way the production of this show treated Shiro, they just could not stop inflicting additional pain and suffering on him. If all the other ways the EPs and writers abused Shiro’s character didn’t also reveal this, we could know solely from the EPs saying that they chose to amputate him and give him the prosthetic because it looked “cool.” Since they never understood the impact being amputated would have on a person, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that they amputated Shiro a second time to have the second prosthetic. I will never not find it horrifying that they did this to him.

[crazynekochan]

Soudam Prompt: Runaway Princess AU

Omegaverse, Royalty AU

Kazuichi is the princess of the most technologically advanced kingdom in the country and his father the king decided that the omega was supposed to get married with a sire of an allied kingdom. However Kazuichi is absolutely against it to be married off against his will to some stranger (I might use Haiji?), but any kind of refusal from his side ends with him getting beaten up to an inch on his life from his abusive father

So instead he devices a plan to get away from it once and for all. When he begins his travel to the kingdom where he was supposed to marry the prince and live for the rest of his life, he waits until they take a small rest during the travel (which they have to do a lot, due to the princess’ motion sickness) after arriving in the middle of one of Novoselic’s forests (which is right between the two kingdoms, but not allied to them) and just runs away, before any of the guards are able to notice. He had prepared a bunch of peasants clothing in advance that he hid in his carriage inside of a bag, together with some supplies and after he gathered enough distance he changed into the peasants clothing, folded up his highly expensive dress and traveled to the next village by foot

During his travel through the vast forest he does however get lost, because due to his rank he never really learned to move around in the wilderness and there aren’t many maps for the inside of huge forests when you have to avoid the main paths, because the guards must be very aware by now that the princess is missing and are probably searching the whole woods by now. When it gets night time he ends up finding a little hut and out of desperation for shelter during the night he knocks on the door, where none other than Gundham, a small farmer who specialises in animal keeping, greets him. Kazuichi lies to him and tells him that he is a traveller and got lost in the woods and really needs a place to stay for the night so that he can continue his way to the closest village in the morning. While Kazuichi knows that it isn’t exactly the most save thing to do to stay with some unknown alpha, he is desperate enough right now, because staying out in the open too long could lead to the guards finding him. Gundham in the meantime agrees without much questioning, because he can’t possibly let a lonely omega out in the darkness on his own and he is easily strong enough to fight the stranger if the omega might try something. So in the end Kazuichi stays at Gundham’s tiny farm for the night and even gets some food, before Gundham takes him to the small village the next morning with his carriage

Some time goes by and after Kazuichi sold his fine dress and jewellery he rented a small flat and began working as a mechanic at the only workshop within the small farming village, together with Chihiro and Miu, all under a false name. During his time the princess from the neighbouring kingdom gets declared missing, but no one ever finds him, making people assume that he was kidnapped or even worse, was already dead. Kazuichi however doesn’t care at all, because his life as a princess was beyond miserable and he never has been happier than he was now. He had friends, he had freedom and after a while of spending time with the nice alpha he met during the first night of his escape, he also found a partner. A year or so after he ran away from home and gave up his identity as a princess, Kazuichi got officially mated with Gundham and they had a sweet little wedding on the village green with all their friends (and maybe even had some babies, not sure yet)

However unknown to Kazuichi, him missing caused a lot of problems in his own kingdom. The alliance with the kingdom of his “fiance” was breaking ever slowly and all of the sudden his father the king ends up dead (was assassinated by Mukuro), leading to no successor being left to take the throne. Which is where a certain blond woman and known tyrant going by the name Junko decides to take over with a mixture of bribing and blackmailing the royal council, and with brute force, oppression and plain out brainwashing over the common people. And she is out to take over everything else as well, as Kazuichi’s home is one of the most advanced in technology and he had to leave all his inventions behind. Of course Junko‘s first target is Novoselic, the kingdom with the most advanced military power and thus the one who could give the most problems, and also where Kazuichi is living in hiding with his loving mate

Usually Kazuichi did his best with avoiding any news about his home kingdom, mostly because of bad memories and fear of being found out, however even he can’t avoid the sudden news that not only his dad had apparently passed away but that Junko, who was always known to be the most dangerous person within his kingdom, took over and is now using his inventions to take over the other kingdoms

Now the lost princess has to decide, before people die:

Should he just ignore it and continue living his happy life within the tiny village with Gundham and away from all the pain and stress he had suffered from daily, like he always dreamed of doing?

Or give up his life and return to his kingdom as the lost princess and take his country back with force, before innocent people die, and worst of all, tell his mate that he isn’t the person he always claimed to be? Not to mention that he still does have a fiance as a princess, despite the fact that he is already married/mated in secret

At the same time people from Kazuichi‘s kingdom began a rebellious group who are fighting against Junko’s oppression and one small group of them (Hajime, Izuru, Fuyuhiko and a few more) are searching for the lost princess to make him take back the throne as queen and get rid of Junko once and for all

[jflashandclash]

Tales from Mount Othrys

         Our tale is one of heartbreak and loss. One you know how it begins and how it ends. My friends are faceless ghosts left to be tortured in the Fields of Punishment, forsaken—not for their own sins—but for the neglect of our parents. Our song isn’t the one you want to hear; it’s the one that needs to be told. Losers never write history. They fade to urban legends and night terrors. If the only way for us to be remembered is as monsters, then monsters we shall be. And in the night, you will hear us scream.

             Luke Castellan saved my life. Not the way you might expect—and I did die several times later, but the Sisyphean feat of keeping me dead is for another story.

--dictations from the ramblings of Jack Flash

  Histories of Luke Castellan:

 Uncomfortable Beginnings

(or: Plans Never Go How They Should)

           While watching the cop car pull up to the school, Luke chewed on his lip. He squeezed the hilt of his sword, suddenly unsure he should have brought any weapons. He’d tied his orange Camp Half-Blood sweatshirt around his waist to hide the blade and logo with the hopes that the color wouldn’t attract as much attention if he put it lower on his body. Nothing said subtle like traffic cone orange.

         Sometimes, he wondered if their camp director wanted them to get attacked by monsters.

         “What, kid, getting cold feet?”

         Luke was used to people being shorter than him, but his companion, Phil, was barely at chest height.

Luke looked like he belonged to this school. Phil looked like he should be thrown in jail if he got anywhere near a school. He had an untamed black beard, scraggily black hair, and dark eyes that constantly seemed to seek flaws in every person and institution for some internal mockery.

         Another horrific crunch erupted from between Phil’s lips, like an eighteen wheeler obliterated a Smart Car inside his mouth.

         “Could you chew with your mouth closed?” Luke snapped, unable to handle the foreboding smash of iron again.

         “Can you turn down the sun glare on your hair gel?” Phil asked, removing the metal rod from between his lips like a cigarette. “And maybe your panic? You’re going to attract monsters for a twenty mile radius with how much you’re sweating.”

         If Phil hadn’t been such a skilled keeper, and annoyingly right about the sweat, then Luke would have smacked him. Phil was a satyr—horns, tails, and all—and excellent at sniffing out new demigod blood. Unlike many of his counterparts, Phil had learned to use human technology to his advantage to gain access to unexplained incidents in police reports, newspapers, and magazines.

“The cops aren’t exactly inspiring confidence. You think this has something to do with Fai Lan?” Luke asked. He and Phil were waiting by the senior parking lot, by a side exit that Phil said this girl used to skip class. She was running late in her class-skipping, and Luke was wary that the cop car parked in the kiss-and-ride loop had something to do with it.

“Fēi Lín,” Phil corrected again. “That’s a fast way to get to a girl’s heart—mispronouncing her name. And unlikely. She’s not exactly known for getting caught, nowadays. Ah, you gotta love when a young, aspiring vagabond finds her way to proper subterfuge—there’s our birdie, now.”

On cue, someone exited the side doors. The girl was in the middle of taking off a gym shirt, revealing a too-tight, too-short black tank top that a teacher must have made her cover. Her red, pleather pants and black combat boots made him grin. Black bangs and side wisps bobbed around her face as she ran out, head tilting towards the cop car in the kiss-and-ride. She looked like an Asian version of that vampire slayer, Buffy.

Maybe the cops did have something to do with her.

“Remember not to stare at her face,” Phil said, taking another bite off the iron rod and munching.

         “Not going to be a problem,” Luke said, though he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. His face warmed. Luke had been around lots of Aphrodite’s cabin members and intimately knew how attractive Selena Beauregard was. Especially with that knowledge, this girl was smoking.  

         “Just remember: she killed the last satyr that came after her. Do. Not. Stare. At. Her. Face,” Phil emphasized every word.

         She turned to examine the main entrance to the school, so all Luke could discern was a hair bun with… with hair sticks? Or stilettos? They glinted like they were sharp. She was only fifteen feet away now.

         Luke had to keep calm. He’d lead plenty of people through Camp Half-Blood, getting them comfortable with the fact that the Greek gods were real. This wasn’t even the first time he’d handled someone who had a criminal record. Most of his blood siblings had them. This was, however, the first time he would work with someone that could easily kill him, according to Phil’s research.

It was also the first time he’d reached out to someone before Kronos had gotten into their dreams. Luke would prove that he was useful without his master’s direction.

         “Hey,” Luke said in greeting. He stood up tall, shoved his hands in his pockets, and gave her a charming grin, trying to look as harmless as possible. “Fai Lin Davidson?” He decided to use her American last name, since there was no way he’d properly pronounce her other one.

         “Dǒng Fēi Lín,” Phil muttered under his breath.

         “My name is Luke—”

         Luke stumbled over his introduction. Fēi Lín glanced in his direction. Her eyes were icy, calculating, and panicked, but that wasn’t what distracted him. When Phil had warned that she had scars, Luke assumed her scars would be like his, like the single, massive claw mark that stretched from his forehead down one cheek.

The skin on her face and part of her neck was shriveled, ribbed, and discolored. Her lips looked stretched too thin. One eyelid didn’t look like it should be able to close all the way.

Phil elbowed him.  

         Fortunately, Fēi Lín didn’t seem to notice Luke’s pause. Her gaze darted back to the front entrance, where two officers escorted someone out.

         Although her lack of attention saved him some embarrassment, Luke was annoyed that she ignored him. He, in fact, was the most popular boy at Camp Half-Blood. He wasn’t used to being ignored.

         “And I’m his rustic side-kick,” Phil said with a wry smile. “Phil. As a heads up, I’ll gore you if you mention Disney’s Hercules.”

Luke always enjoyed how ridiculous and pompous that movie made the gods look. Though Disney liked to skirt around the whole incest and abuse thing that was rampant in Greek mythology and it made the Titans look like mindless fiends.

         She gaze shot back to them. They narrowed at Phil. “You monsters always pick the worst days to attack,” she said, slipping the sharpened hair sticks from her bun. The bun stayed neatly in place, proving they weren’t there for aesthetics. Her voice was a hoarse whisper, almost too soft to hear.  

         Phil took a rapid step backwards.

         This was not how this was supposed to go. Luke put his hands up, but kept one close to Backbiter. “Not monsters. He’s a satyr. I’m a demigod like you. We’re here to help you—”

         “If you’re here to help me, get that boy away from those cops before they drive away.”

         Luke had to focus to hear her words. Each one seemed to grow softer and softer until she erupted into a fit of coughs.

         “Oh,” Phil said, relaxing. He crunched another chunk out of his iron bar. “You’re sick. I guess a charm speaker can’t charm anyone if she can’t speak.”

         Her eyes narrowed further.

         Before Luke could stop her, her palm struck Phil’s face. The satyr staggered backwards. Iron spit out his mouth like a Pez dispenser. He barely caught himself on one of the cars, fortunately out of the cops’ line of sight.

         “Hot damn, she hits hard!” Phil said, clutching his face. Blood seeped between his fingers.

         Luke clutched the hilt of Backbiter, ready for another strike.

         She didn’t attack. Instead, she pointed her finger back at the cops and their escort. “Help him, or it’s an auto-no for whatever you want to talk about. Or are you worthless and I need to kill those cops on my own?” Her voice sounded like it should earn a month off school for threat of contaminating everything within a thirty-mile radius. Had he heard her on the phone, he would have thought the threat cute. With those sharpened hair stick in her hands and the ferocity of her gaze, Luke took a step backwards.

         Luke didn’t want to get involved with the cops. No one at Camp Half-Blood knew he had slipped away. If his face showed up in the news and Chiron found out, or worse, if they were able to connect him to his mother as a runaway…

         Luke hated her wording even more: worthless. He’d felt worthless for years. And then he’d messed up his first mission for the false glory of something that had been done before. All the time he’d spent at Camp Half-Blood: worthless.

         “You have five seconds to decide, or I’m coming after you as soon as I’m done with those cops,” Fēi Lín said. Her panicked eyes darted back to the officers. They were almost to their car. Their escort didn’t have handcuffs on. He was just some kid, maybe a junior, who looked dazed as he walked between the cops. “Four…”

         Luke did not like being bossed around or being put onto a tight timeline. But, there were so few numbers for the Kronos cause; he needed this girl. Phil said she was incredibly powerful.

         ‘Three—” she said.

         “Cause a distraction,” Luke commanded Phil. They needed more time to plan.

Phil snorted, pinching his bleeding nose. “Cause a distraction he says. I ain’t going back to jail for this, you know that kid?”[1]

         In a motion so quick and precise that Luke couldn’t believe a sick person had done it, the girl grabbed Phil, spun him, and tossed him in the direction of the cops, out into the open. A little more power and she could have gone skeet shooting with a satyr.

         “Help!” she tried to call out, but her voice broke. She tucked the hair sticks back into her bun.

         Luke picked up on the charade immediately. He would find a way to make it up to Phil later, else he knew Phil would threaten to tell Mr. D about him.

         “What makes you think it’s okay to creep on our school property?” Luke shouted, and took a step towards Phil. He really hoped the school’s assigned officer wouldn’t come out to see what the fuss was about. Then they’d have three cops to deal with, and they were dedicated to the act now.

         The officers noticed the commotion.

         They motioned for their escort to stand by the car, then made their way towards Phil, Luke, and Fēi Lín.

         “Hey! Break it up!” one as pale as the clouds shouted. He had a tiny, handmade paper flower attached to his breast pocket, like something a kid might give a dad. If the kid liked their dad and got to see him, Luke thought bitterly.

         “I told this perv to get lost!” Fēi Lín tried to say. The words came out a hiss. She stomped towards Phil, though her steps were wavering. Luke couldn’t tell from her disfigured face, but he thought she was sweating from fever.

         If Luke had to guess, the officers were rightfully confused. Phil did look like a creep, but, this girl looked way more threatening than the downed satyr.

         “What’s going on here?” the other officer, this one with chocolaty skin, asked. This man looked like a heavy-weight boxer with dimples so deeply embedded that they didn’t go away in serious mode. Luke was suddenly unsure if he was okay with Fēi Lín’s comment about killing them.

The cop put his hands up in an everyone calm down maneuver. Meanwhile, his pale companion had settled one hand on his sidearm, at the ready.

         The pale officer was closing in on Phil while the other carefully moved to make Luke and Fēi Lín back up. “What’s going on?” he started to repeat.

         “What the—”

         Behind him, once the pale officer got close, Phil kicked off his boots, revealing two hooves. He proceeded to nail the officer in the head with a solid hoof print.[2]

         The cop flopped over.

         As Luke and Fēi Lín’s officer went to glance back at his partner, Fēi Lín lunged forward. Within seconds, she had him in a headlock, pinching his neck between her forearm and bicep. Her arm trembled with the effort.

         No turning back.

Luke rushed up to snatch away the officer’s handcuffs, radio, and gun. The cop kicked Luke backwards with one solid hit to the diagraph.

Luke stumbled back a step, clutching his chest. This was nothing compared to fighting monsters or demigods, but he’d lost a few valuable seconds to gasping.

The cop fumbled for Fēi Lín’s forearm. When that failed, he thrashed, trying to buck her off. His eyes and forehead vein were bulging when he elbowed backwards.

This guy had at least a hundred pounds on Fēi Lín, but she didn’t flinch when he hit her. His elbow strike nailed her in the ribs. She barely gasped, though Luke didn’t know if that was because of lack of breath from her sickness or because of pain tolerance.

Luke gritted his teeth. Was she really going to kill him?

         The struggles became weaker as he collapsed to his knees, then his hands. His eyes rolled up and Fēi Lín gently set him onto the pavement.

         “Jack!” she called hoarsely. She loosened her hold, though kept the headlock position. Her eyes frantically traced back to the cop car.

         The boy by the car approached them slowly. His steps were uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if he was really walking here or if he was about to fall off a virtual reality platform.

         “Call for him,” Fēi Lín said, her voice too soft to be heard at his distance, “Tell him we’re real.”

         Phil didn’t hesitate. “Hey! Jak-Jak! We’re real and could use your unexplained help!”

         “This is getting stupid,” Luke said. He shoved the gun into his belt, chucked the radio further into the parking lot, and handcuffed the huge cop. Fēi Lín moved to give him access to the cop’s wrists. She unwound a silk ribbon from around her waist and tied it firmly between the cop’s teeth, tight enough that his cheeks and the back of his head bulged.

         The boy, Jack, leveled with them. He was probably a junior, maybe seventeen or so. His brilliant, red hair was spiky, similar to Luke’s blond, except Jack’s was long enough to dip against his forehead. His eyes were watery and unfocused like a distant, forgotten dream had left him deeply disturbed. He was as tall as Luke, though unhealthily thin and gangly. The black nails and Coheed and Cambria band shirt gave Luke an annoying sense of nostalgia for one of his old friends.  

         Slowly, Jack’s gaze focused on Fēi Lín with no recognition of the cops, Luke, or Phil. “You’re sick,” he said in concern. His voice trembled as much as his body did.

         If Luke had to guess, these two wouldn’t last long as friends once Jack found out that she was a demigod. Mortals tended to run from their brand of crazy. Or, they were dumb and thought it was cool to almost die all the time and be neglected by your godly parent. Luke didn’t know what his deal was and didn’t care at the moment. They needed to get Fēi Lín and get away from here.

         Fēi Lín pointed to the cop Phil had kicked. By now, Phil had sat up and was dusting off his hoof, cursing about ungrateful children under his breath. The pale cop with the flower pin, on the other hand, hadn’t moved. Blood trickled onto the ground from his head. Luke couldn’t tell if it was from his ear or his mouth.

         Luke’s stomach clenched. Had they killed someone?

***

Author’s Note:

I’M FINALLY POSTING THIS!!! This is Part I of the first Tales from Mount Othrys short. I hope you enjoyed! I’m aiming to post every other week :D Ready to watch Luke and his friends skid into madness and betrayal? Join hands and listen to how the crew from Othrys fell apart.

 [1] Oh gods, I accidentally made Grunkle Stan into a Satyr Stan.

[2] Pax wants to know if satyrs have battle “horse” shoes for this occasion.

[diveronarpg]

In fair Verona, our tale begins with LORETTA DELLUCI, who is THIRTY-THREE years old. She is often called LADY ANNE and are NEUTRAL. She uses SHE/HER pronouns.

ABUSE TW

The genesis of Loretta was BIBLICAL. Her mother had been cast out from her household, abandoned by the one who she had thought would be her love, and was forced to bear her child in an empty church before the eyes of God with no one to hear her agony and rages against the world. The child’s first breath of life was one that she cursed, for a child born into rotten circumstances would likely grow up to have a rotten soul. With these words she would wake her child and to these words the poor, bright young thing would fall asleep – tears in her ears and anger stewing in her heart to prove the woman who gave birth to her wrong. And just when she thought there was no more cruelty to be subjected to, her mother did worse. At the age of thirteen she was turned over to the caring hands of nuns and the devoted of GOD. This was where she was reborn and given new life, but not without the price of becoming a ghost of the girl she used to be. Rulers and venomous words, worse than what her mother could even come by, managed to tame the the fire and rage, turning it instead into complacency and obedience.However, the company of children just as miserable as she something that she learned to treasure. But nothing good ever lasted for her and this would be no exception, for just as soon as she thought she had her family – CHOSEN, TRIED, andTRUE – they were ripped away.  Some were given to wholesome families, but the majority were not so fortunate; the people who had shouldered the burden of the world with her were never heard from again.

She was beaten and she was bruised but Loretta had been born before the eyes of God and she was determined to make him watch her raise hell upon this earth. With the help of a pure-hearted nun, a novitiate who was determined to right the wrongs the children of the orphanage had been subjected to, she managed to escape with other children, determined to live life on the streets than suffer another night of POISONOUS words. Sister Anne Joseph sent them what little money she could at the end of every week and the rag-tag group of miscreants managed to stretch the meager funds they had – that is, until Loretta managed to con enough people to support them all. They were all petty cons of course, guided by a masterful woman who took potential from the street urchins and used them to her advantage – some of them were simple pick-pocketing, others as sophisticated as hacking phones to procure credit card information. Her name was Maria and it was the only one that she would give. Her smile was deceiving, her wits sharp, and her ambition was left no room for a notion as flawed as mercy. Under her tutelage she learned the most valuable lesson a young, abandoned child could ever learn: the most important family was the one forged by will, not the one tied by blood. It was far easier to do when people were looking at your cheerful smile to slip their phone from their pocket or purse – and Loretta had a rather winning one. With the dirty money she made, she managed to afford herself, and her family, an education that would mark her as a PRODIGY. One that would allow her to write her name in something as pivotal as the stars: coding.

There are those who might say that it was by God’s grace she managed to commandeer the field, but it wasn’t by anyone’s GRACE but her own. It was her own fortitude that allowed her to turn her skill into a craft, the fire in her heart into a rage that could scorch the earth, and an intellect that could put the greatest of philosophers to shame. Coding was a language that she spoke fluently, spoke gracefully, and created poetry with – poetry that could decimate whole countries and build them without her so much as rising from her couch in the morning. But, for all her glory and grandeur, there was the fickle, unsolvable PUZZLE of her heart. For, despite the abuses she suffered, she wanted to find her mother and show her what she had built for herself. An American empire, where she reigned supreme and was sought after – not for her pretty face, or charming tongue, but for herself. For her crystalline mind and the power that she held at her fingertips. The child born before the eyes of God, marked at her conception as a creature meant for destitution and depravity. She knew she was in Italy, so when the nights became too much for her to bear, she bought a first class plane ticket – a rather humble choice, considering purchasing her own plane was quite within her means – to the country where an GODS had once roamed and an empire began. And that was how her journey to Verona began.

It was odd how the city had ensnared her heart. It seemed to breathe as she did, with turmoil, hardships, and scars – but above all, a loyalty to a family that was chosen rather than one burdened by the obligation of blood. But the war that she had once deemed stagnant – passive, even – began to reach its crescendo, and she had never been so embarrassed as to think that the quiet could be lasting, for, as soon as she believed that there could be peace, it was shattered with the hammer of CALAMITY . A pattern so inescapable that history shows how such things deceived even the most intuitive of souls. All of Verona held its breath when the body of Alvise Vernon was discovered and Loretta was no exception because she knew what everyone else was too foolish to see: there was only ever two sides in war and the only way to survive was to arm one’s self and choose. But, until that time came, she would bide her time and consider all the cards in her hand. It was rather unfair to everyone else though, because Loretta Delluci always made sure that she had a good hand to play. Whether or not it was due to the fact she was always hiding more up her sleeve is no one’s business but her own.

IVAN RAHAL: Plague. She has been keeping track of a coder in Verona who goes by the moniker the Plague. It wasn’t difficult really, to keep tabs on whoever this might be what with the glaring scarcity of suspects to go by. From the whispers and threads she had followed, she thought it would be someone worth her tutelage – imagine the disappointment when he wasnot. Perhaps it was a blemish on Italy’s rather long list of errs and misfortunes, but the rather obvious oversights they made with their technology was one that hurt them deeply. It didn’t take long before she discovered who he was, but she was mindful to cover her tracks and watch her digital step. Despite the fact that she knew such caution was wasted – the ineptitude that she witnesses in his security processes. Those who have suffered from his breaches have whispered about him, mumbling his moniker: The Plague. The mastermind that purportedly fells people with a swift keystroke. As is consistent with Italians, their understanding and philosophies are as dated as their technological advances. Plagues are no longer the worry in this day and age – what with vaccines and modern medicine – no, cybernetic warfare is. Should he ever earn her ire, she would have no problem showing him why. She might just show him why to truly remind him of the weakness of those who think themselves untouchable gods.

RONAN IVARSSON: Mark. She loathes people who have far too much money, far too much power and do nothing with it but remind those who don’t of how weak they are. That is why Ronan is the next villain who will be felled by her coded blade. He throws his weight around without regard, robbing people of their housing before anyone can so much as raise their voice to stop it. The Ivarsson name is a grand one, a formidable one, whose record is impeccable only because it is too blood stained to read the multiplicity of crimes listed there. But Loretta is smart and, above all, she’s patient. She’s waiting for the misstep that will allow her to sharpen her blade, then the next one that will inevitably follow and allow her to press it against his throat. Then she will gut him and bleed him out as soon as he is incriminated in the eyes of all of Verona. Money will pour from him like water from a dam and she will see the sun rise on a day without Ronan Ivarsson. For she knows that on that day the world will certainly be a better place. Her mother had always made sure to remind her of how bleak the world was when she was born into it. But it will be a little less bleak the day Ronan Ivarsson is buried in the grave of his own sins.

HALCYON SANTOS: Fascination. It wasn’t meant to be something enjoyable because, due to the overarching theme in her life, figures in authority positions were detestable to her. But when she had walked into the police station, putting names to faces under the guise of looking for her “birth mother” who she just recently discovered, Halcyon had been there to help her. Perhaps it was due to the scarcity of crime committed in Verona – that could actually be convicted, at least – but Halcyon seemed to make it an objective in her life to help Loretta by whatever means necessary. They would meet over coffee, the officer’s computer in hand, and go over the missing people or any recent bodies found at the morgue. Now, Loretta could have done this quite easily herself of course, but the company was appreciated and Halcyon’s genuine kindness and concern in this manner was rather…touching, in a manner of speaking. When she spoke, daisies seemed to turn her way, and when she smiled one could almost mistake it for being something genuine and true. Loretta spends so much time looking at the darkness of a screen that she forgets how fond she is of the light reflected in someone’s eyes.

LUCIEN: Counsel. He’s a rather enigmatic man. He says the right thing at the right time, is always at the wrong place at the right time or vice versa. Regardless, he has been an inescapable presence in her life, this man from across the hall who happened to be there the moment someone tried to break into her humble apartment. Again, she was truly being humble because she was quite capable of affording a penthouse to herself. But he had felled her foe quickly and had only accepted her invitation for a drink when he realized she wouldn’t take no for an answer – or perhaps it was what he had intended on doing all along. It was difficult for her to discern, but Lucien himself was a difficult man to grasp. He was as elusive as a ghost, but as present as a shadow. But he provided the sage wisdom of a man who knew skeletons and knew them well, a man who had lived long enough to see the weariness of a world repeating its mistakes. It was difficult for her to call people in her life a friend – there were either as close as family or as distant as those who you brushed shoulders against while walking across the street – but Lucien was her counsel. Lucien was her one – and only – friend.

Loretta is portrayed by MARQUITA PRING and was written by ROSEY. She is currently OPEN.

[oftitcnium-blog]

→ elizabeth gillies, 25, cisfemale, bio → looks like MORGAN HOWARD STARK is here. civilians know her as GOLDEN GIRL ( FORMER ) / MORGAN and think she’s a ( FORMER ) HERO / CIVILIAN. she’s supposedly POWERED and has the powers of LATENT EXTREMIS VIRUS & GENIUS-LEVEL INTELLECT. some people say she's IRON MAN & RESCUE’S legacy. but i mean with the whole COFFEE-INDUCED ALL-NIGHTERS , SNARKY COMEBACKS , WINGED EYELINER thing , she kind of seems like more of her own person. → LARA, SHE / HER , 23 , AST.

g o l d  ,  G O L D  ,  g o l d. bright & y e l l o w. HARD & cold. molten , graven , h a m m e r e d , rolled. H A R D  to get & l i g h t to hold. s t o l e n , borrowed , squandered , doled.

name: morgan howard STARK. aka: golden girl , morguna , howie , squirt , honorary avenger , midas , professional extorcionist , world’s smallest lawyer , stark industries’ smallest intern. age: 25. date of birth: january 3rd , 2003. hometown: new york city , new york. parents: tony stark & pepper potts.

current location: MANHATTAN , ny. status: POWERED ( latent ).

I. BABY’S FIRST WORDS ARE “ I’M NOT HERE TO MAKE FRIENDS ”

morgan h. stark is the first born of tony stark & pepper potts. she’s named after pepper’s cousin and tony’s father. her middle name is unconventional , but she loves it.

she’s born on january 3rd , which makes her a capricorn.

growing up around the avengers , she considers every single member ( and their kids ) her family. undeniably a stark , she’s not the best at expressing her feelings , but she adores them. she would do anything for them.

she spends her time between her dad’s workshop and her mother’s office. she learns everything she could from both of them , understanding from a young age that she’d one day have to carry their legacy - she is their legacy.

high school is mostly uneventful. it’s boring , not challenging the young genius nearly enough. she’s restless , yearning for something bigger. she gets in trouble for being a smartass and talking back to her teachers. she often corrects them if she notices them make the smallest mistake. she's oppositional. defiant. confrontational. argumentative.

she believes she’s smarter than everyone around her ( which is hard to argue against , because she kind of is ). she’s competitive, knowing she’ll always win. when she doesn’t , she’s a very sore loser. she can argue her way out of a paper bag , even as a kid. she hates losing and being wrong , and in her eyes , she never is.

II. “ excuse me. i am dangerous. i am bisexual. i have depression. i’m NEW in town.”

she turns 16 and along with the keys to a brand new car ( an audi r8 , vegas yellow ) she gets her very first iron man suit. she’s not exactly surprised - everyone she knows has one , she’s been waiting for this moment her whole life. it’s gold , with rose gold details. she takes on the mantle of GOLDEN GIRL.

she joins her dad on missions , like his little sidekick. he’s installed any and all protective measures he can thing of - anything to keep the golden child safe.

unlike her dad , she keeps her identity a secret. people have their suspicions , of course, but morgan never confirms them.

later that year , she graduates high school and gets into mit - dad’s alma mater. double majors in mechanical engineering and political science.

even though she’s living in boston , she’s still golden girl. she flies back and forth between boston and new york ; collegiate by day , teenaged sidekick by night.

the pressure starts to get to her - she’s always had a need to prove that she’s smarter than everyone around her , and usually , that’s true , but at mit , the competition’s a lot fiercer. she feels the weight of the stark legacy getting to her. as time goes by , she picks up the golden girl suit less and less , opting to put on a dress and go out to a party instead of putting on the suit and fighting crime.

mit’s hard , but the parties are even harder. morgan lets loose , ignoring every warning her father ever gave her about substance abuse. she sees all the red flags and dismisses them. she drinks recklessly , and the rest of her undergrad years fly by in a drunken haze.

III. WITTY , self - deprecating , sometimes UPROARIOUSLY funny and sometimes unbearably SAD.

she graduates at 19. at this point , she still dons the golden girl suit from time to time , but it’s more for fun than out of a sense of responsibility. she’s become so accustomed to having a suit , that she’s forgotten about the responsibility that comes along with it. she sees it as more of a birth right - everyone around her has a suit , so it’s no big deal.

she pursues a business degree at nyu. she moves back home and brings the party with her. they’re not as heavy here , but still oh , so fun.

she turns 20 and decides to have a big blowout. she invites all her new york friends , as well as some of her pals from mit. everyone , basically.

they’re having the time of their lives when morgan , driven by an excessive amount of liquid courage , confesses to her friends that in her younger years , she was known as golden girl. in an attempt to prove this , she decides to dust off the old suit and model it around.

it starts off as a fun little party trick. soon enough , she hears something through the system - there’s a robbery going down just a few blocks away. it’s perfect - just another opportunity to show off. she excuses herself - “ this’ll only take a moment ” - and flies away.

morgan , however , bites off way more than she could chew. she arrives at the scene of the crime to find that it’s much more than a simple robbery , some petty criminal trying to steal some cash. she grossly miscalculated the gravity of the situation. it’s not long before she’s knocked out and held hostage on some roof in new york city.

the avengers come to the rescue , in what has now become morgan stark’s worst nightmare. the last thing she ever wanted was for her dad to see her in this state.

it only gets worse from there, because her suit is drained out of all its power and she’s thrown off the roof. she’s convinced she’s falling to her death , but is almost disappointed to wake up in the hospital , having broken more bones than she could count.

IV. “ instead of learning from my MISTAKES , i like to DWELL on them until i have a panic attack.”

it takes a long time for her to recover. she finishes the semester from home , and needs a lot of physical therapy in order to walk normally again. it still hurts a little bit , but stark technology certainly helped speed up the process.

if she was abusing alcohol before , at this point she’s completely dependent. wanting to forget ( or at least ignore ) , all the mistakes that got her to this , she drowns herself in whiskey , or anything else she can find.

she doesn’t go back to nyu until her very last semester. she’s given up on her dreams of following in her parents’ footsteps — she knows she’s too much of a disappointment. golden girl is abandoned back in stark tower , collecting dust.

her parents’ legacy now unattainable , morgan looks to create her own path. after graduation , she turns to law school. she’s heard all the anti-mutant and anti-powered rhetoric all around , fueled by fear of some mysterious disease. it sparks something in her , so she decides to become a mutant rights lawyer.

not long after passing the bar exam , they’re all trapped in new york. and here we are now.

[ this got way longer than i intended it to but !! come plot with my girl !! feel free to like this , or message me here or @i love tony stark#4945 on discord !! ]

[master-sass-blast]

Strong as Stone --Part Forty-Four

Full disclosure: This is basically unedited.

I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I’m two days off my anti-depressants because the pharmacy hasn’t filled the order yet.

So here you go. Over five thousand words of unedited update.

You’re welcome.

Last time, we saw the preparations for Dewani’s trial.

This time, we get to see the conclusion of that little mini-plot.

Rated T for: mentions of child abuse, mentions of injuries, and a fuckload of angst.

Pairings: Okoye x M’Baku and Shuri x OC.

@the-last-hair-bender, @skysynclair19

There are going to be times when the darkness of the world will threaten to consume you. Times when you’ll be caught in the undercurrents of the river and dragged down in the depths of the water. Everything will seem lost, and surrendering to it all will often seem like the only recourse.

Hang on as best as you can, my dears. Joy will always be right around the bend.

The main ceremonial hall of Hanuman’s temple was packed, standing room only. The council members presiding over the trial sat at the furthest end of the room on wooden chairs, six on each side of the aisle. Witnesses for the prosecution and defense sat on benches next to the council members. Prominent members of the tribe –priestesses, village leaders, educators—sat close to the witnesses, with access to a better view that was reflected by their status. Common members of the tribe were further back in the room or up on the second level, watching the whole thing start up from different balconies that lined the walls.

Okoye felt sick to her stomach in a way that she knew had nothing to do with morning sickness. This whole damn thing is a farce. Everything’s resting on a technicality. It’s a joke.

Next to her, M’Baku reached out and curled his hand around hers.

She clutched at his hand just as tightly.

The entire room stood as the senior-most priestess –the person in charge of presiding over the whole trial and ensuring that everything stayed in order—walked up to the wooden podium where the witnesses would present their testimony. She held up a hand, cutting through the whispers that echoed throughout the hall and bringing everyone to silence. “We are gathered here today to bear witness to the trial of Dewani, sister of Chief M’Baku, on the charges of inciting the use of demonic powers and blasphemy.”

F’Tendi surged to his feet almost automatically. “Priestess Adisa—”

“That’s enough from you,” the priestess said sharply. “I wasn’t sure you’d have the balls to try your own niece for homosexuality, and I was disappointed when you did anyway.” She wagged a finger at him when he tried to open his mouth again. “No. Enough. Homosexuality is not a crime in the Jabari lands, nor is it a violation of Hanuman’s teachings. Your niece is only going to be tried on charges that apply to our laws and traditions. All other charges, testimonies, and evidences to anything else have been dropped.”

Okoye narrowed her eyes when F’Tendi sat back down without protesting further. What is he playing at? She turned her head as far as she dared, just enough to see Nakia’s face, and waited until she looked at her.

The former spy and current queen nodded surreptitiously once Okoye caught her eye.

A fucking smokescreen. Okoye felt like seething, but settled for briefly clenching her teeth together. He tried to throw as much as he could at the elder representing Dewani so they’d have less time to prepare their arguments for the blasphemy charges.

It was chilling to consider, that F’Tendi was so far into the game he was hellbent on playing that he could see their moves before they tried to make them.

But he couldn’t have known that there’d even be grounds to charge Dewani with blasphemy, Okoye thought as the priestess finished bringing everything to order. What’s he playing at? This can’t have all been a sham, a farce. If he’s as cunning as everyone says he is, there’s no way he’d start all of that abuse just on the hopes that Dewani would make a mistake big enough to possibly hang her on.

“I’m officially setting this trial in motion. Bring up the first set of witnesses,” the priestess announced.

It was the same story, over and over and over and over and—

First, Abayomi. Then, Izgebe. Then, Fukayana. Dewani. M’Baku.

Everyone telling the same story, over and over. How they’d rescued Adesina from the forest in the cult territory.

Granted, there were differences, especially among the girls. All of the important stuff was the same, but they’d all met Adesina at different times. Abayomi claimed to have met the woman through Olufemi –a claim that was met with no small amount of uproar from the crowd—when the former priestess was still alive, evidently witnessing to the cultist whenever she had the chance. From there, Fukayana had met her through Abayomi, then Izgebe through the other two girls. They’d only gone to Dewani when Adesina’s condition started deteriorating faster –some of the other cult members had found out about her visits with Olufemi—in the hopes that the Chief’s sister would be able to find out.

From there, everything ran the same: the rescue mission, the condition they found Adesina in, the nerve-wracking hike back to the lodge and the even tenser flight to Shuri’s lab.

The only interesting thing about listening to the same story get told over and over was watching F’Tendi work.

Now that he wasn’t putting on the persona of ‘raging imbecile,’ Okoye could see just how F’Tendi had managed to avoid getting his ass thrown out of the tribe outright for so long; he was clever, manipulative, a clear expert at setting up a series of questions with no visible end until it smacked you in the face and left you cornered.

In some facets, he almost reminded her of Nakia sans the altruism that ran to the Queen’s core. The same intelligence and shrewdness was there, a similar glint in the eye.

He would’ve made a good spy, Okoye thought with no small amount of irony. Given how good he is at shedding skins and putting others on.

And that, comfortingly enough, was the most important difference between F’Tendi and Nakia. Nakia adapted to whatever roles she had to take, yes, but her morals and principles always shone through in them. She found a way to make them fit in what she was doing and kept them there.

F’Tendi eschewed whatever sense of ethics or morality he pleased in favor of the goal, the definition of ruthlessness embodied.

In Okoye’s opinion, that was more terrifying than the blustering rage he’d displayed on more than one occasion.

“General Okoye. We will hear your testimony about the retrieval of the conduit of Ravana now.” The priestess motioned to one of the attendants as she stood. “Bring her a chair, please.”

“I wasn’t aware the General was incapable of standing, as the other witnesses have done,” F’Tendi scoffed, arms crossed over his chest.

The priestess merely gave him an unimpressed look. “The disabled, ill, elderly, and pregnant are customarily offered chairs during trials to take the strain off their bodies. I would hope, elder F’Tendi, that someone as well versed in our tribe’s laws and customs would be aware of that detail.”

The look of shock on F’Tendi’s face was priceless. “She’s pregnant?”

Granted, it wasn’t how Okoye had wanted the news that she was expecting to be revealed, but there wasn’t much she could do to change that now. She simply opted to arch an eyebrow at him as different whispers and murmurings ran throughout the hall.

M’Baku broke the quiet din when no one else spoke. “Get her a chair.”

The priestess motioned for the attendant to move again. “General, we’ll have you sit in front of the podium while you deliver your testimony.”

Okoye nodded, then thanked the attendant before sitting down.

The elder presiding over Dewani’s case waited for the attendant to sit before standing and nodding at Okoye. “General. Can you please recount your involvement in the retrieval of Ravana’s conduit from the cult territory?”

A twinge of discomfort emanated from her chest at the casual indifference towards Adesina. Far be it from me to pick a side… but they seem hellbent on dehumanizing her as much as possible. “I received a call from Dewani earlier in the day, wherein she told me that she needed my help. She said that she had tried to rescue Adesina from the cult territory with the aid of her friends, but that Adesina’s condition was worse than they’d anticipated and that she was likely dying.”

The elder’s forehead wrinkled. “Adesina?”

Okoye did her best to keep her face neutral. “The name of the ‘conduit.’ Adesina.” They don’t even know her name...

There was a long, awkward moment of silence before the elder nodded. “And you went to assist in the retrieval of the conduit.”

“I did.”

“And how did that proceed?”

“I informed Chief M’Baku of his sister’s whereabouts and my reasons for coming to assist her when I arrived in the Jabari lands. The Chief accompanied me to the cult territory of his own volition, wherein we found his sister and her friends in the midst of the woods with… Adesina. I used some of the medical technology I’d brought with me to stabilize her, and then we all headed back to my transport so we could get her to people that would be able to treat her injuries better.”

The elder nodded. “And the conduit of Ravana has been under guarded custody at the Birnin Zana palace since then, correct?”

Okoye nodded back. “She’s needed extensive treatment to reverse the effects of her injuries. The proximity was entirely necessary.”

“And the reason for the guarded custody?”

“Given that we didn’t know the entire story around Adesina’s injuries or alleged abilities, we followed standard protocol and placed a twenty-four hour guard posting on her room.”

“And now that you are aware of the conduit’s abilities?”

“Our methods to ensure the safety of the palace residents, along with the citizens of Wakanda, have not changed.” Okoye hesitated for a moment, then added “Though, I believe it is worth noting that Adesina has followed all orders given to her by her guards, myself, or the King. We haven’t encountered any difficulties with her while she’s been at the palace.”

The elder nodded. “Thank you, General.”

Above where Okoye sat, the priestess cleared her throat. “Elder F’Tendi, do you wish to counter-examine the General?”

F’Tendi shook his head. “No, thank you, Priestess Adisa. I’ve heard all I need to for now.”

“Very well. General Okoye, you may step down.”

Shuri and Jhanvi went next. As the primary responders and caretakers of Adesina, they were responsible for explaining the depth of the injuries the woman had suffered and establishing that a rescue mission had, in fact, been completely warranted.

It was stomach-churning to see every single injury and surgery step explained –and, given Shuri’s and Jhanvi’s combined proclivity to go for broke, displayed through countless pictures and videos—in great detail again. Just as she’d been the first time she’d seen the woman, Okoye was shocked at just how much abuse Adesina had managed to survive.

The council presiding over the trial looked mildly, collectively nauseous by the time the Princess and Jhanvi were done going over everything. The gallery of onlookers was completely silent as well. Even F’Tendi looked graver than usual, as though he was just realizing that what he’d perceived as an easy shot at his niece wouldn’t be so easy after all.

The elder presiding over Dewani’s side of the council swallowed visibly when Jhanvi shut off the last visual display and nodded. “And, in your professional opinions, would the conduit of Ravana survived without immediate medical attention?”

“No,” the two women replied in unison.

“Making the retrieval mission a necessity, not an act of rebellion.”

“Yes.”

The elder nodded again. “Thank you.”

F’Tendi stood up once the elder had taken their seat again. “Your Highness, Ms. Singh. Is it possible that the conduit of Ravana could have inflicted these injuries upon herself in order to garner sympathy from outsiders?”

“No,” Shuri said icily.

“Are you—”

“We just spent the past half hour going over the extensive history of the injuries Adesina suffered,” Jhanvi growled. “Like we already said, the scarring on her muscle and bone tissue show several years of injury and abuse. So, unless she’s been injuring herself since she was a child, there’s no way she inflicted the injuries upon herself.”

F’Tendi narrowed his eyes at Jhanvi, mouth twitching into a slight scowl. “And could the conduit of Ravana have faked her condition?”

Jhanvi narrowed her eyes back at him. “No.”

F’Tendi stared at the technopath icily for a long, tense moment. “No further questions.”

Okoye let out a silent breath as Shuri and Jhanvi stepped down from the podium. That could’ve gone much, much worse.

It still got much, much worse.

The elder presiding over Dewnai’s case called for a recess to allow the council presiding over the trial to process and deliberate over the evidence that had already been presented –hope being that, given the impeccable testimony and physical evidence already presented that the rescue mission was entirely necessary, the council would opt to waive the trial altogether.

Admittedly, the elder presiding over Dewani’s side of the case had warned them ahead of time that it was a long shot, but Okoye had been hoping that it’d would’ve worked.

Instead, after only ten minutes of deliberation, the council had reentered the hall and declared that, while the mission did seem well-intended and the injuries the ‘conduit of Ravana’ had suffered were regrettable, none of that changed the fact that Dewani had incited the use of demonic powers. The trial would have to proceed as planned.

Okoye pursed her lips as M’Baku held her hand in a vice-like grip. She kept her breathing even as F’Tendi smirked and shot a none-too-subtle glance at his niece. You won’t win, Okoye thought. You can’t. You’ve overplayed your hand.

She could only hope that she was right.

Things only got worse from there.

Once the council made their decision about the ‘technicalities’ of the mission and Dewani’s request of Adesina, the elder presiding over Dewani’s side of the case had immediately launched into the next set of testimonies about the fight against Thanos.

Between her seat next to M’Baku, which put her almost right next to where the council was seated, and going first, Okoye had the advantage of watching the council throughout T’Challa’s and Nakia’s testimonies about the entire shitshow. It wasn’t hard to tell that the council was largely unmoved; shitshow or not, the technicality of the law was the same.

By the time the council recessed again to deliberate, Dewani was a shaking mess. “It’s not working. None of it’s working.”

The hall had been completely cleared so the council could deliberate in full privacy; the gallery of onlookers had been directed to the outer walkways while the hall was closed off, while the opposing sides had been relegated to different rooms away from the crowd and council alike.

M’Baku wrapped his arms around his baby sister, bending over her as much as he could –which wasn’t all that much, anymore, not with how tall she was—so as to shield her from the outside world. The two siblings swayed together, each crying silently as the gloom of what seemed like to come hung in the room like a cloud of smoke.

Okoye exchanged a pained look with Nakia; it was looking more and more like that they’d have to use whatever options the former spy had cooked up, and only Bast knew what kind of havoc that would wreak. He could actually win, she realized as F’Tendi’s smug, calculating face flashed in her mind’s eye. He could win, all thanks to a stupid technicality. She reached out to help steady the siblings—

And then Abayomi burst into the room and quickly accosted Shuri before the Princess could reach out to Dewani. She began whispering hurriedly in the other young woman’s ear, standing on the balls of her feet as she did.

Shuri went completely still, eyes widening as she processed whatever the priestess-in-training was telling her. “You’re sure?”

Abayomi nodded as she stepped back. “It’s really our only option at this point.”

Shuri stayed completely still for a moment, then broke into a flurry of action. She darted across the room, kissed Dewani on the cheek, then sprinted towards the door. “I’ll be back later!”

“Where are you going?” Dewani asked, frowning.

“I’m saving the day!”

Abayomi followed after the Princess, and a couple of Dora Milaje followed them both.

Nakia clasped T’Challa’s shoulder when he made to follow his sister. “Leave her to it. She’s got it handled.”

Okoye could only hope she was right.

“The council has finished their deliberation. Unless either side has further evidence they would like to submit for consideration, I am going to authorize the council members to deliver their verdict.”

The elder presiding over Dewani’s side of the case. “Priestess Adisa, it’s come to my attention that there may be key witnesses that can provide crucial information about the battle against Thanos—”

The priestess held up her hand and nodded. “Very well. Bring them in.”

The doors at the end of the hall opened, revealing Abayomi, an elderly woman dressed in priestess’s robes, Shuri—

And Adesina.

The uproar was immediate. The entire room was on their feet in a matter of seconds. A few screams of terror ripped through the room, though those were largely overshadowed by shouts of anger and indignation.

Fight or flight, Okoye thought as she grabbed the vibranium capsule that housed her spear. She didn’t activate it –she didn’t want to add to the rapidly growing pandemonium—but she figured it was better to have it immediately on hand in case things went any further South.

Speaking of further South—

“This is an affront to our tribe and our beliefs!” F’Tendi snarled as Adesina followed Shuri, Abayomi, and the priestess down the aisle that led to the podium. “That thing has no business in the temple of Hanuman!”

“That ‘thing’ is a human woman, and her name is Adesina,” Shuri snapped, completely unfazed by the uproar or F’Tendi’s vicious scowl. “She has just as much to contribute to this trial! She’s one of the few people that knows everything that’s happened. To ignore her testimony is a miscarriage of justice.”

“The Jabari tribe does not recognize the rights of the cultists,” F’Tendi growled.

“Then what you’re offering today is a farce, not justice.”

T’Challa grimaced next to Okoye. “Bast, Shuri, just shut up.”

The priestess held up a hand, bringing the room to complete silence. “Princess Shuri, while I can… understand your intentions, I fail to see how the conduit of Ravana can provide any new information we have yet to hear. Most of the evidence already provided in this trial has been largely redundant.”

“Then I suppose it’s good that I’m not here to offer information,” Adesina spoke up, drawing various whispers and hisses from the gallery of onlookers.

The priestess merely raised an eyebrow at the statement. “Then, if not testimony and a good reaction from the gallery, what are you here to offer?”

“An exchange. A life for a life.”

The whispers died out entirely.

Okoye found herself frowning. What? What is she talking about?

The priestess regarded Adesina for a moment before nodding slowly. “Very well.” She shifted her gaze to the other priestess standing next to Abayomi. “Priestess J’Bisi. What can you offer to this trial?”

“Corroborative testimony,” J’Bisi announced. “That the late Head Priestess Olufemi did in fact witness to Adesina, and that her escape from the cult territory was not an elaborate scheme to undermine the teachings of Hanuman.”

“You would dare slander my mother’s name?”

J’Bisi merely fixed F’Tendi with a cool gaze. “I never took you for the type to fear the truth.”

Priestess Adisa held up her hand when the gallery of onlookers began roiling with chatter again. “Very well. Priestess J’Bisi, please take the stand and give your testimony on the matter.”

Priestess J’Bisi’s testimony was short, but revealing. She’d accompanied Olufemi on her various outreach missions to the fringes of the cult territory, and confirmed that they’d both met Adesina and witnessed the progression of her injuries as they told the young conduit more and more about the teachings of Hanuman. Moreover, she was able to confirm that Adesina had indeed been receptive to the teachings of Hanuman despite her upbringing, and that she’d received different meditation booklets and writings from both priestesses before Olufemi’s passing.

It was good. It was better than good. It was downright damning.

“What does all of this mean for the trial?” Okoye whispered in M’Baku’s ear when J’Bisi stepped down after F’Tendi’s –largely futile—cross-examination.

“I’m not sure.” His hand still held hers tightly, but he looked brighter, more hopeful than he had in a while.

The priestess locked eyes on Adesina –who had opted to stand off to the side, out of sight of most of the gallery. “You said you… were willing to offer an exchange? A life for a life?”

Adesina nodded, stepping out of her little corner of shadows and into the light. “I do. My life for Dewani’s.”

A ripple of whispers coursed through the gallery once more.

Okoye stared at Adesina, shocked. Is she really—

“To be clear: you are offering your life… in exchange for sister Dewani’s.” Adisa frowned when Adesina nodded. “Why? What do you have to gain? It would likely mean your death.”

Adesina swallowed visibly before nodding again. “It isn’t about gaining anything. The way I see it, you’re all twisted up over this because Dewani asked for my help. Because she was trying to save the world. But, really, I don’t think any of you want her gone. I think you all know that she was only trying to help, and that the technicality of the law is your way of coping with my presence and powers. You don’t want her death; you want mine. And I’m willing to offer it if it means that an innocent person doesn’t have to die.”

“The technicality of the law,” F’Tendi interjected. “Means that the culpability is on the shoulders of the inciter, not the one who was incited. The guilt still lays on Dewani’s shoulders.”

Adesina stared at him for a moment, then stepped further into view of the gallery. “Are there any of you that would object to my taking Dewani’s place?” she asked, addressing the crowd. “Is there really a single person in this room that wants to watch her die? All of us know that she was only trying to help, so why are we punishing her for that?”

“Our laws and teachings from Hanuman are what keep our society in order,” F’Tendi said. “And you would dare to try and undermine them in his temple.”

Adisa held up her hand when the gallery started losing their order again. “We aren’t here to debate the teachings of Hanuman, and you aren’t here to provide testimony. Are you truly willing to sacrifice yourself for Dewani?”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“I never asked to be made into what I am.” She gestured at herself with a bitter smirk. “I never asked to be a ‘conduit.’”

“The cultists freely practice—” F’Tendi interjected.

“I was strapped to the ceremonial altar when I was three,” Adesina growled, cutting him off. “My body burned as Ravana and his consorts molded me into a suitable host. My throat bled from how much I screamed, but that didn’t stop my ‘community’, my parents from continuing with the ritual. I had no say in what I became. I never asked to be made!”

Okoye couldn’t help but wince as her shout echoed off the stone walls.

“My entire life, I’ve been told that I would bring about the end of the world. That people would quake in my presence, that they would cower in fear.” Adesina let out a harsh laugh. “No one ever asked me if that was what I wanted my life to be. If I wanted to take on the burden of whatever gods-forsaken prophecy some priestess read at my birth. I never wanted to be an instrument of destruction, and I have spent my entire life trying avoid being just that.” She went silent for a moment, then looked over at Dewani. “If my death means that someone who was just trying to do their best still lives, then maybe I can consider my life well spent.”

The hall was deathly silent as everyone stared at Adesina. 

Okoye barely dared to breathe as she waited for someone to say something. M’Baku’s hand was a vice around hers, but she could barely feel the pressure.

After what seemed like an eternity, Adisa nodded. “It would appear we have more to deliberate over.”

If waiting for Adisa to speak after Adesina’s explanation had been an eternity, waiting for the council to finish their latest round of deliberations was at least three, if not more.

M’Baku and Dewani were both pacing the room they’d been relegated to, each of them staring down at the floor while they walked aimlessly around the space.

An hour passed. Then two.

Halfway through the second hour of waiting, Shuri got up and paced with Dewani. The two didn’t say anything as they ambled around the space; they simply moved together in silence, fingers interlocked with each other’s.

M’Baku finally sat down next to Okoye as the second hour passed into the third. He sighed heavily, expression grave, and put an arm around her shoulders.

Okoye leaned against him, simultaneously exhausted and wired.

Nakia was the one who dared to break the silence, once five hours had passed in total. “Do deliberations normally last this long?”

M’Baku opened his mouth to answer, but before he could the door opened.

“The council is ready to deliver their verdict,” one of the attendants said.

“I guess that answers that,” Nakia muttered.

The hall was utterly silent as the council filed back in.

M’Baku’s hand shook in Okoye’s grasp.

“Have you finished your deliberations?” Adisa asked.

“We have. We have decided to rule in favor of Sister Dewani.”

Relief coursed through Okoye hard and fast enough that she almost felt like she was going to pass out. She and M’Baku sagged against each other, barely capable of doing anything else in the wake of such amazing news.

“After consulting the teachings of Hanuman and reviewing the evidence and testimony provided, we have ruled that Dewani’s actions do not line up with the incitation of using demonic powers at all,” the elder in charge of delivering the verdict continued. “Adesina's words and willingness to sacrifice her own life for another show transformation of belief and heart. As such, Dewani was not inciting a demon to use their powers. Rather, she was asking a person of great ability to aid in saving the world. As such, we will not require an execution or punishment of any kind towards Dewani or Adesina since there has been no infraction against our laws.”

She could barely believe it. Bast… thank you.

Adisa nodded. “Very well.”

“We also have a further ruling. We have reviewed the evidence and charges pertaining to the original purpose of this trial –obtaining a verdict on the abuses suffered by sister Dewani during her years in the custody of her uncle. We find Elder F’Tendi guilty of child abuse and heresy on the grounds of punishing sister Dewani for her orientation, of which there are no grounds or permissions allowed for in Hanuman’s teachings. Furthermore, we find his attempts to turn this trial in an attempt to crucify her for well-intentioned actions –along with his manipulation of his nephew and the abuse of his status as an elder in our tribe—as an insult to the Jabari way of life and our rules of justice. As such, we find the only suitable recourse to his actions to be his immediate banishment and removal from the tribe.”

Dewani let out a loud, relieved sob and fell out of her seat to her knees. Her hands shook as she pressed them against her face.

Shuri knelt down next to her almost immediately, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend’s shoulders and rocking her gently.

Priestess Adisa nodded. “Then let it be so.”

Several guards stepped forward, separating F’Tendi from the rest of the gallery.

Okoye kept her face neutral as he was escorted out of the hall, but she didn’t bother to try and stem the flow of satisfaction that ran through her. You lost.

“If there is no further verdict to be offered by the council, I will call this trial into conclusion,” Adisa said once the doors had closed behind F’Tendi and the guards.

“We have none.”

Adisa nodded. “Then, we are done here.”

“He’s gone. I can’t believe he’s really gone.”

They’d retreated to the Great Lodge once Adisa had closed the trial, all of them in various states of shock and elation over the verdicts handed down by the council.

Dewani let out a shaky laugh as she collapsed onto the nearest chair. “He’s really gone. I’m never going to see him again.”

Shuri sat down next to her. “I’m so happy for you. It’s what you deserve.”

“We’re all happy for you,” Nakia added. “And for the outcome, obviously.”

“I’m happy, too,” Dewani said. “I never thought I’d get out from under his shadow.”

“But now you are,” Shuri said. “And you’ve got the rest of your life to live without him looming over you.”

Dewani sobered abruptly. “Yeah. I’ve, ah… I’ve actually been thinking a lot about that, lately. I mean, I thought I was going to die, and that I wouldn’t get the rest of my life. And now I’ve got it, and it’s just… a lot.”

Shuri patted her girlfriend’s hand. “You’ve got plenty of time to process it now.”

“I know, I know, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned from this and fighting Thanos, it’s that when you know you want something, you’ve got to make the necessary moves to get it.” And, with that, she got off over her chair, knelt down on one knee in front of Shuri, and pulled an elegantly carved ring made of Jabari wood out of her pocket.

Shuri clapped a hand over her mouth, inhaling sharply. “What? What!”

Dewani’s eyes were glassy as she smiled at her girlfriend. “Shuri… I love you more than anything in this world. You’ve opened my eyes to possibilities I never would’ve dreamed could have existed.” Her voice broke, thick with emotion, as she continued. “For the past few weeks, I’ve been staring down the possible reality that I might not get to live my life. And now… now I get to live it. And I don’t know what all I want it to look like yet, but I know I want you there for all of it.” She let out a nervous laugh, then took a deep breath and composed herself. “Will you be my wife?”

Shuri let out a nervous laugh of her own –then reached into her purse and pulled out a small velvet box, which she opened to reveal a ring of her own. “Your timing is impeccable.”

Everyone laughed –Dewani included.

“Tell you what,” Shuri said with a radiant smile. “I’ll be your wife if you’ll be mine.”

Dewani beamed back at her. “Sounds awesome.”

Okoye grinned and clapped along with M’Baku, T’Challa, Nakia, Dewani’s friends, and the other Dora Milaje as the two young women kissed and exchanged rings.

There couldn’t have been a more perfect ending to the chaos they’d endured over the past few months.

[tomb-bloom-noctem]

Doubt/Never Any

Prompts: Summer of Descendants prompt list provided by (@)jaylos. August 7th prompt-Jaylos

Rated: Teen. Some language, minor violence. Some mentions of abuse.

The beats dropped in his music, pumping up his heart. Another beat drops as sweat drops off his face too. The pace speeds up and he follows it. Pushing himself to be harder, better, faster, stronger. All of it. He was determined that he, Jay, would never be beaten in a fight again. 

As a child he was afraid. He didn’t want to fight and he feared the consequences. He feared his father especially. Threats of being turned into a mouse and feed to his father’s snake could still be heard loudly in his head. So he feared his father’s wrath and would run away. But running away only made everything worse. The threats changed from being “turn you into a mouse,” they became “turn you into the mouse you are! Coward!” From then on, Jay never backed down from a fight. That was when he started winning. People, mostly his fellow male students, wanted to battle. He never lost. His father usually payed no mind to his only son unless he was angry. When stories were told of how Jay was fighting back, winning against whole groups of bullies, not backing down no matter what began to fly around, that was the first time Jay saw any pride in his father’s eyes. 

“That’s my boy,” Jafar said. That was the happiest Jay had ever been. After his first fight, Jay never lost a fight. Until now. Until last night when he was jumped by an older classmate he’d never met before, only knew by the stories. Gerald, the eldest son of Gaston. 19, a senior, a walking hunk of muscles, and bad through and through. He jumped at Gerald for attacking another student in Jay’s grade. Jay hated bullies. And even though he lost the fight he had at least helped his bullied classmate. One eye over his swelling black eye, the other outstretched to help his classmate stand, Jay shook his hand. 

“I’m Jay by the way.”

“Carlos De Vile,” he replied shaking Jay’s hand. “Thanks for helping me.”

“It’s no problem. Can’t stand jerks like him,” Jay commented, feeling the burn in all of his muscles. “Damn he sure can use what he’s got though,” he chuckled. Carlos nodded weakly. “What did he want with you anyway?” Jay asked. Carlos shrugged. 

“Wouldn’t help his little brother. He was trying to get me to hack into a phone he stole from a girl in class. Told him to piss off. That stealing her phone was never gonna work. That girls want a man, not a pig like him. Then the idiot went to his big brother and said I threatened him. Like I really look like the kind of guy who could take on someone, let alone one of the Gaston children,” he said with a sigh.

“Well why don’t we change that?” Jay suggested.

“What?”

“Well I mean, this place is crazy dangerous. Anything can happen to anyone here. As you clearly know now. Look I’m just saying I work over at the Troll Lifts Gym. I can get you into some slots for weight training and such. Build them muscles a little and defend yourself a bit better,” Jay stated.

“You’d really do that? For me?” Carlos asked with a little bit of suspicion in his voice. 

“Yeah. A few slots of time in won’t get noticed or hurt anybody. Gonna have to pay at least a little eventually but I guarantee I can get you at least a few training sessions in free of charge and all,” Jay promised.

“Um...okay. If you’re really sure,” Carlos cautiously agreed.

“Great. See you there tomorrow at 4 pm!” Jay said sprinting off.

“What? Hey wait!” Carlos called after him but Jay was already too far away. He groaned. Pain was already attacking his body and now he was gonna work out tomorrow. Slowly he trudged home, weighed down by the dull, pounding ache that he felt all over himself. He laid down on the floor, his “bed,” just a blanket and pillow on a hard and freezing cracked concrete floor. Hopefully the cold might make his muscles numb.

Jay had raced back to his house, got some ice on his eye and ate the bit of food he had left over from another day. Making his way up to his bed afterwards, he wondered to himself why he was so quick to offer up lessons to that kid. He’d helped other bullied kids before but something in him offered the help before he really processed the thought. Maybe it was cause he knew him. Carlos De Vil. They had been in the same class since they were kids but he never really talked to him. He didn’t seem to have much friends. He could remember seeing the small and skinny guy avoiding big crowded areas like the lunch room or the gym during free time, instead hanging out in the tech room. Almost nothing in the tech room worked properly but it seemed like Carlos had a knack for all the ones and zeroes, wires and chips of technology and fixed up a lot of things in there. He saw the poor kid get overwhelmed by older kids before, especially when word got out he could fix phones. He did say that whole scuffle began when he refused to help hack into a phone. It would be good for the kid to toughen up some. Be able to defend himself. Jay had peace with his decision. He was gonna help this guy out and with that thought he fell asleep.

Yanking out his earbuds, Jay stopped thinking about last night and just grabbed himself some water. A quick glance at the time, 3:50 pm, and he should hopefully be seeing his new client soon. Jay stretched his muscles, ignoring the burn in them. Gerald sure had done a number on him before walking off in disgust all right. He had tomorrow off thankfully so he could get a bit of a muscle rest in then. And Carlos was his last client today anyway, even though it was unofficial. If he worked out with Carlos till 5, he could still have everything cleaned up and put up then close up the gym by 5:30. Yeah. He could make this work. Meantime, he could get his own good workout before Carlos arrived in order to keep making himself stronger. It irritated him to no end that Gerald beat him in that fight. He was gonna have to get stronger himself. 

A jingle at the door caught Jay’s attention and there he was. Decked out in a t-shirt and red shorts, Carlos De Vil stood there, nervous and unsure of himself. He fiddled with his water bottle as he looked around, possibly trying to find him. 

“Hey! You did make it! And you’re early even, I like it,” Jay said as he outstretched his hand for Carlos. He shook it but Jay could feel him tremble. Poor kid was so scared for some reason. 

“Thanks again you know. For doing this,” Carlos said.

“No worries man. My pleasure,” Jay said as he walked over to one of the bench press stations. “You’ll be fending off your bullies in no time,” he said as he adjusted the weight on the bar.

“I doubt that,” he barely heard Carlos say. He turned and faced him. Carlos was looking down in embarrassment. 

“Hey man. Never have any doubt, okay? No you won’t leave here today with the strength to take on anyone. It’s a process, gotta give it time. But if you trust in me, and more importantly yourself, you’ll get there. Okay?” 

Carlos met his eyes. His eyes seemed glossy, like he was gonna tear up. He nodded looked away again. Yeah. Jay had no doubt. He’d somehow or other manage to help this kid. Slamming the last weight into place and locking it tight, he called Carlos over.

“Alright this bar is alone is 20 pounds. Now it’s got 80 pounds in weights on it, making it 100 pounds total see? I want you to bench press me 10 reps. First though a quick warm up.” Jay led Carlos through some warm up exercises and then Jay deemed him ready to start. Carlos got positioned under the bar. “Remember, if you can’t lift it, don’t panic I’m right here. I’m your spotter, see? If it’s too much I’ll get it off of you,” Jay reassured Carlos. That information seemed to give Carlos a little bit of confidence.

“Oh and um...sorry again about yesterday,” he said as he placed his hands on the bar. “From this angle that eye looks worse.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just focus on getting stronger,” Jay said. He nodded and proceeded to bench the reps that Jay requested. 

“Alright! Okay let’s add a little more and see from there.” Jay said. Carlos ended up being able to bench press 160 pounds before his arms gave out. 

“Damn it!” He groaned.

“Aw no none of that man! You did great! I get people who come in here all the time who start off not being able to do that much. It’s not bad at all Carlos. You gotta stick with it. Remember what I said, don’t doubt yourself. Just give yourself time,” Jay reassured him. Carlos brushed his white tips out of his face and nodded.

“Right. Never doubt again. Right,” he said softly as if he was trying to convince himself. They spent the rest hour doing various exercises like jumping jack reps, lunges, sit ups, and others. Jay was impressed by Carlos’s spirit.

“Alright Carlos, it’s five till 5, I gotta close up at 5:30. Let’s call it a day, give you a few to shower if you like,” Jay said. Carlos nodded enthusiastically and ran off to the showers. Jay took cleaning product and worked on the equipment. Admittedly they didn’t have much for the gym but the owner tried his best. Disinfectant products were some of the hardest to come by though since it wasn’t usually thrown out with enough product to use still. The weights and benches and most of the other equipment actually had been thrown out among the trash. The owner of the gym, a guy by the name of Roger, put a lot of time and gold into restoring them all enough to be used safely. Roger was one of those kind of guys who may have been labelled a villain enough to justify throwing him here but he wasn’t really a bad guy. Just a petty thief in his youth. The gym was his pride and for Jay it was his pride too. He learned to grow strong here and he looked up to Roger. He felt a little bad for having Carlos here for a few sessions without pay but he knew that if Roger found out, he would be willing to let a few slide. After only a few minutes Carlos came out of the locker room still pulling his shirt over his head. Jay gasped lightly when he saw Carlos however. It was just for a second but he was close enough to see for certain, Carlos had several large scars on his back. He couldn’t see just how high they went up but they were for sure on his lower back and continued down his hips, except for Carlos’ shorts blocked how far exactly. Just that little bit of scarring he saw though told Jay this guy has seen some things. Lived through them too. If he had to guess what those marks were from he would have said a whip. Throwing his towel into his torn up backpack, Carlos turned to Jay with a smile on his face.

“Jay...Thank you for doing this. I’m so sore right now but I feel so good too. I’ll see you next time,” He said with a wave.

“Oh hey wait. Uh you know we go to the same school right? In the same grade and everything,” Jay mentioned.

“Oh! Yeah you’re right. Um why do you bring it up?” Carlos asked.

“Just cause I was thinking...like um. Just that I’ll see you in school. We can even...I was thinking maybe if you were cool with it, you could show me some of your tech stuff and I’d just pay for your gym membership with it. Kinda like instead of giving you money for learning the tech stuff, I put it into paying for you to come here,” Jay suddenly blabbed. Where did THAT come from? Carlos grinned wide. 

“Really?! You like technology too?”

“Well uh actually I don’t know anything about it but hey it could be something. And you know it’d be fair. It’s like you teach me to do tech and I train you here, trade skills instead of buying them. You know what I mean?” Jay asked his face suddenly feeling very hot. Carlos smiled even bigger and somehow his face felt hotter.

“Yeah! That sounds great! Thanks Jay! On Monday, head to the tech room at lunch. Okay? Bye!” Carlos waved and exited the gym. Jay exhaled heavily. He drank some water and splashed some on his face trying to get why he started blushing so badly. And where had that blurt out come from!? Learning tech! Man what the heck? He didn’t know a thing about technology and now he was supposed to start learning it! What was his brain doing? He was gonna look like an absolute idiot in front of Carlos now. He sighed in frustration. Smooth going Jay. Real smooth. Then his thoughts fell back on those scars. Gosh someone did a number on him. Abuse and violence was nothing new on the island but Jay hated it. His father may have always threatened him if he misbehaved but for the most part he was actually quite ignored. Plenty of people Jay knew were quite heavily abused by their parents or other family members. Just about everyone he knew had had an abusive partner at some point. And of course crime was sky high here. Anyone at any time could suddenly be the victim of a minor crime like pick pocketing or more serious, violent attacks. For some reason his heart really beat painfully picturing the scars Carlos had, that mere glimpse looked more painful than anything Jay had ever personally experienced. As Jay clicked the gym’s lock and left for the night, he imagined someday Carlos being strong enough to stand up to whoever did that to him. This thought was inexplicably comforting.

Monday soon came and Jay headed to the tech room with a slight dread. He really hoped that Carlos wouldn’t think him to be so stupid if he couldn’t grasp all of these technology things. It was a surprise to him however when all that really happened was that Carlos insisted Jay ate while Carlos spoke and showed him a few things on a screen and occasionally had Jay jot down a note. He explained to Jay how computers ran on codes. Binary was one of the most common and he took a little bit of time to explain the code and showed Jay a few examples of how the coding works. It boggled Jay’s mind that Carlos had all of this understood and memorized. He felt certain he wouldn’t ever be able to keep the ones and zeroes in order like Carlos could.

“Man this is gonna be harder than I thought. I’m doomed,”  Jay laughed.

“Hey now. Remember what you told me? Don’t doubt yourself, ever. You’ll learn it if you apply yourself and stick with it,” Carlos told him. It felt like Jay had been smacked. Damn this is how Carlos must have felt walking into the gym. Lost and confused. But as it would turn out Carlos was a good teacher. By the end of lunch, Jay felt like he was at least 5% smarter than all of his school years combined. 

This wound up being the flow of things. Jay took a little bit out of his paycheck from the gym and paid for Carlos to have a membership and then he’d workout with Carlos after school. Carlos during lunch would teach Jay about coding and how different parts of computers and phones and other technology worked. They started to hang out outside of their usual activities. They discovered they had a lot of things in common too! They both loved metal and dubstep music. They loved the same programs on TV; Auradon Ninja Warrior, Chef of Steel, and Auradon’s Most Haunted. They loved tattoos and liked looking through the magazines for inspiration of what ink they might get someday. They agreed spicy food was the way to go. They even had mutual friends they hadn’t realized before. Classmates Evie and Mal were friends with the both of them but somehow they never crossed over with each other. “We’ll have to hang out, the four of us some time.” 

More than a year passed since that first day that Carlos worked out with Jay. He had been skinny and pale and afraid. Now he was lean and muscular, easily benching more than 200 pounds and not nearly as afraid as he was before. Most bullies didn’t dare mess with him anymore. The two of them started hanging out with Evie and Mal as well quite regularly. The four of them made quite a team even. Carlos taught Jay absolutely everything he knew about technology. The school eventually paid Carlos to fix their main computers and were very impressed with how well he had done. Jay and Carlos could make music together on an old computer they fixed together. They edited software to fit their needs and could then create whatever kind of music they wanted with just a few keystrokes. They loved to jam or workout to the tunes they made. Jay found out the reason behind those scars. That Cruella De Vil used to whip Carlos with a belt and one night when she was quite drunk she kept whipping and whipping, causing the scars. He learned that Carlos was so skinny because he was so often without food and that she made him sleep on the floor. Jay absolutely would not stand for that and set up a space for Carlos in his room. Carlos no longer lived with that awful mother of his, now instead calling his best friend’s room his home. Jafar either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Fine by Jay. His best friend was safe. 

He sat and reflected one evening. More than a year. More than a year and a half even. They were no longer juniors but seniors and the school year was already halfway over. Soon they would graduate and could purchase a place of their own. Jafar mentioned to Jay a place he saw for sale, a room up on the first floor of some mostly empty apartment building. They planned on the two of them and Evie and Mal all moving into the place as soon as they graduated. It was all really coming together. He remembered how back then he didn’t really have a plan. Just school, work to save himself some money, move out, and that was kind of it. There was nothing for him to look forward to necessarily. No real joy. Just surviving. Now he was going to soon be a graduate, with a place of his own, surrounded by his friends, Roger offered to make him co-owner of the gym after he graduated, it was all perfect.

Well except one thing. 

Something he was still carrying inside. He hadn’t told anyone at all it was weighing on him heavily. He wanted to let it out but he was afraid that if he did, everything would come crashing down. 

He was in love with his best friend. 

Jay knew for years he was gay. He tried to speak with his dad about it before, when he was 14, but like everything else, Jafar didn’t acknowledge it. He had never had a boyfriend but he did have a few crushes here and there. Problem is, he didn’t want to out himself only to find out who he was interested in was straight. That would be more than awkward. That was possibly even dangerous for him. No, he wasn’t going to come out to anyone until he was really sure. With Carlos he knew he was in love. There was no denying it. He didn’t really become attracted to Carlos until after getting to know him very well but once he did he fell hard and fast. It’s been months since he knew and it felt like a weight on his chest. He tried to discretely uncover Carlos’ sexuality but that got him nowhere. Carlos always kind of shrugged off the answers, claiming he didn’t really notice or know. Maybe he was asexual. That could be it. Jay groaned. He wanted his best friend but he didn’t want to lose him. It would be better to have his love be unrequited than rejected as a whole. Not that he thought Carlos would hate him or anything but he could see it now. Jay confessing his love for Carlos, Carlos growing uncomfortable, saying he just wants to be friends. And then the slow drift apart. He wouldn’t do it fast, act like all was good, but it was inevitable. He’d feel uncomfortable knowing that his friend was interested in him and would spend less and less time around him until they became strangers all over again. No. That hurt too much to even picture it. 

“Hey man!” Carlos cheerfully greeted. He just got back from an evening run. Jay waved from his bed. “Dude, I found a cool thing out by Mal’s house. Come on!”

“Wait what? Now? Leave now?”

“Yeah! Come on Jay it’s really cool. Mal told me about it, let’s go! Hurry!” He ran out the front door, poor confused Jay stumbled after him. Carlos sped away, parkouring and running to the spot.

“Dude! Wait up!” Jay shouted after him. He followed his friend until finally he saw he was stopped by a old broken statue standing in a pool of water. Carlos turned to Jay and smiled. 

“Come on! We have time,” he ushered Jay over to the pool. Once Jay was at his side, he pulled out two gold coins. “Mal said that there’s a shooting star tonight. And according to Mal, if you toss in a gold coin into a still pool of water like a well or a fountain, your wish will come true,” he said with glee. 

“Are you serious man?”

“Come on, what have we got to lose? Mal and Evie made their wishes already,” he pointed out two other gold coins in the fountain.”I passed them on my run, they told me about it. I wanted to get you in on it too. Just take a coin and do it Jay,” he urged. Slightly skeptical he took a gold coin. A wish that would come true. No, he couldn’t. Could he? Would it really work? What the hell, he decided. Guess he had to try. Clutching the coin tightly, he wished with all his heart that he would be able to tell Carlos how he really felt. And that maybe, just maybe, Carlos would feel the same. He tossed his in. Carlos clutched his up close to his chest with both hands, eyes squeezed tight. Moments later, he carefully tossed his in too. 

“So what did you wish for?” Jay asked.

“Shh, wait. Can’t say it out loud until after the shooting star goes by. According to Mal’s estimate it should pass by in...7 more minutes.”

Jay shrugged and took a seat on the ground,  playing with his fingers in the dirt and rocks. Carlos stood at the edge of the pool, almost standing on his tippy toes. Jay was second guessing himself as his fingers dragged mindlessly through the sand. There was no way in hell this was gonna work.

“Jay! Look!” He looked up and wow! There it was! A large white light, powerful and fast flew overhead. He quickly rose to his feet and stood next to Carlos and marveled at the sight. It was brighter than any star he had ever seen. Like a flash it was gone, leaving Jay breathless. 

“Wow...man even if my wish doesn’t come true, it was worth it to come out here and see that,” Jay breathed in awe.

“Yeah. But don’t doubt it Jay. It’ll come true. So, now that it has passed you can speak your wish out loud. Whether we know it or not our wishes already came true. What did you wish for?” Carlos asked. Jay turned away, looking down. His hands clenched into fists behind his back, his toes curled in his shoes. This was it. It was now or never.

“I wished...,” he paused with a sigh. “I wished for something that I’ve wanted for a very long time now. But never felt brave enough for it on my own. I wished that I could be honest with someone. A friend of mine who is very important to me,” he saw Carlos looking slightly puzzled as he spoke. “See this friend of mine is really important to me in more ways than one. And I’m scared if he knows that, that he’ll feel uncomfortable and want to leave, not be my friend anymore. And losing him like that would hurt more than just him never knowing how I feel. I wished that I could tell him how I really feel and not lose his friendship. And even maybe...maybe my friend would feel the same. I wish I could tell him how much I love him,” Jay said slowly. He kept his head down and his eyes closed, bracing for impact. Now he’s done it. He trusted a stupid superstition and now he’s ruined everything. It wouldn’t take a genius for Carlos to understand he meant him and to be disgusted by him. To run off and leave him behind. He felt confusion wash over him when he felt Carlos’ hand on his face, moving his head. He couldn’t open his eyes but he knew he was facing Carlos now. He waited, not sure of what was going on. Why wasn’t he saying anything? What did he want? To make him look him in the eyes as he rejected him? No please, that would just be cruel. He squeezed his eyes tighter. 

A sensation that was warm and light played on his lips and it got heavier and and warmer. It took him way to long to realize that wait HE WAS BEING KISSED WHAT?! His eyes flew open and yeah! Sure enough Carlos was holding his face so he could access his lips, eyes closed and lips pressed onto his. Jay pulled back, too shocked to even believe his eyes. Carlos let go of him and stood up a little straighter, looking a little red like he was blushing. Jay tried to speak but he kept stuttering and stumbling. Carlos took his hands into his.

“Jay...I wished for the exact same thing,” he confessed. Jay’s head was spinning. Was this even real? Maybe he passed out after he sat down and reality would come wake him up right before the shooting star passed over for real. This was a prank. This was fake. This couldn’t be.

“I don’t believe it,” he admitted softly. 

“I know I know I was really shocked to hear you say what you wished for too but I...gosh Jay I’m so relieved. I was so sure if you knew how attracted to you I really am that you’d hate me,” Carlos said, tightening his grip on Jay’s hands. Jay was still mentally spinning. This was too good to be true...

“I just can’t believe it...” he quietly said. Carlos nodded and took a step closer. 

“I know but it’s real. There was never any doubt for me that I love you and now we never have to have any about each other,” He said. Jay’s head finally stopped reeling and his words sunk in. This was real. Shooting stars and wishes or not this was really happening! Jay suddenly was overcome with joy and he lifted his best friend into the air, both laughing at the reality. He lowered Carlos back down and brought him closer for a kiss. They broke apart and smiled wide at each other. Yes this was real, this was meant to be. Jay took Carlos’ hand again and chuckled.

“You’re right.I never questioned my love for you and now we both know the truth. There’s no need to have any doubt.”

[THE END]

Hello again it is I, Autumn the author of this work. Damn this one was giving me trouble I hope that you dear reader enjoyed it in the end. The plot kept falling apart on me and plot bunnies got me down lost rabbit trails until I finally found this path for the story. I really hope that you all enjoyed this, the final ideas to make it work came together today, the day I’m supposed to post this. Gosh dang I’ve been trying to have all these prompts written ahead of time so all I have to do is post them but look at this, 12:31 am, late again! Aaaaaaaagh. Keep going gotta keep going. Anyway. Thank you again for reading this and I hope you enjoyed it so much. Feedback is super helpful if you can give it, it can help me know what works and what to improve and such. Thank you thank you thank you for reading! <3 

[gurguliare]

Anyway I finally finally finished the TM post-mortem so have one last rundown

Really loved: Signet’s stupid relics runway show, Ali describing the Mirage/Splice resolution as “the most amazing Gift of the Magi fuckup,” and, oddly, Keith’s reflections on anarchism, though idk if enough of that made it legibly into the season---which is one of the ways Gig was underserved, I guess.

I also enjoyed and appreciated the discussion of TM’s utopianism as monumental artistic challenge. I obviously have criticisms wrt execution and I disagree with some of their analysis of TM’s failures and shortcomings, but I thought everyone was refreshingly honest about the sheer scale of the task, in a way that I often missed during the series proper---when the tone sometimes tended more toward “we’ve set ‘depicting a utopia’ as our goal, and of course we share a coherent (static) vision of what that entails, and know exactly how to get from here to there.”

I was dissatisfied at best with the conversation about redemption vs rehabilitation. I might be more convinced by the distinction if Austin had ever stopped saying “sin”... which, among other things, helps to selectively blur together abuse and other forms of violence. (I’ve given up on even dreaming of a world in which FATT covers its ass better in re: Christian-centric, frankly Catholic-centric readings of both morality and faith, and maybe it’s for the best that they lack the wherewithal to mask that.) That said, I think it’s very striking that Even Gardner’s violence and militarism seems dealt with in-story almost exclusively as a form of trauma and a thing that happens to Even Gardner, while Fourteen’s history with Castlerose is discussed (up to the time of the finale) almost exclusively in terms of Sins Fourteen Committed. I’m not saying those framings are ~flipped, but the ratio does seem off. Even has a fuckton of choices at every step of the way and experiences basically no material repercussions or visible change of heart, other than “once there are no Advent people left I’ll stop targeting Advent.” He’s also, notably, “brought back from the edge” by a played-straight romantic relationship, for some reason. Fourteen has like... half of a narrative about turning bad habits and even obsolete ideas to constructive ends, and half a narrative about reclaiming agency once safely away from your abuser, even at the cost of losing access to huge swathes of your life... but it’s an arc that goes so unacknowledged or unseen by the other characters that it never connects back up to the idea that, well, bound up in the problem of rehabilitation is the problem of forgiveness---or if we don’t like that language, then acceptance. It’s never clear on what terms Fourteen is judged and reintegrated into their community, and how and where their self-image aligns with others’ view of them.

Which is very, very lonely, and raises huge questions for me about the whole issue of Fourteen as ~disability representation and specifically as a test case for what terminal illness might look like in a utopia. It is just not clear what anyone’s goals were, as far as showing Fourteen supported in a systemic way and not just on the level of relationships. It’s very odd. I’m still puzzled by Jack and Austin’s remarks on this, especially the focus on what Jack had or hadn’t done with Fourteen in play. Literally every NPC (who has a stance on the issue at all) responds to Fourteen with undisguised horror at their memory dysfunction---the most sympathetic version of this is a lecture about integrating assistive technology into their daily routine! and the least sympathetic is the point-blank statement that Fourteen not remembering who they’ve killed is worse than killing those people in the first place. Like, what the hell? That’s a vision of morality that is entirely premised on repentance, and on the idea that expiation for a crime only comes with appropriate helpings of guilt. And it never really receives an in-universe challenge.

It was also weird to me that Grand didn’t come up at all in that part of the discussion. But then again it seemed like no one wanted to comment seriously on Grand’s arc in general; maybe Art was making really sad faces on the call or something. It’s a shame though, since you’d think it would be a good opportunity to go on some bullshit about “salvation NOT through good works,” or rather, salvation definitely through good works but everyone feels a little weird about it. Three bombs? Three bombs?

Finally, it is important that I dissect all remarks on shipping. I was a little perturbed by the discussion of Fourteen/Tender; I thought Ali’s IC reasons were perfectly valid but I found Jack’s slightly suspect, because I don’t think, uh, “this person flirts all the time but is too busy dying to pursue new romantic projects” really jives---either with Fourteen’s profound, active engagement with others (more active and deeper engagement the longer the season went on) or with Jack’s stated goal of presenting a dying person who, without being embroiled in regret or bitterness in the face of death, still loves their life. Obviously I don’t think romantic relationships are a requirement for that, but the blanket statement that Fourteen is Not That Person gave me trouble. Also, I just don’t think you can drop the “platonic relationship representation is so important” line in there without a LOT more unpacking of the pros and cons of that---who are the characters involved in that relationship, and are they people for whom nonsexual relationships are a top-of-the-line representation deficit? Also, is nonsexual vs sexual really the paradigm you want to cleave to here, in a discussion of the chemistry between an internet goddess and a hunk of data?

I’m a hypocrite though bc when they got to echogrand and went on about how it was important that Echo’s arc not center on romance I was like RIGHT ON

...

Okay. One more thing. Janine shooting down Signet/Blueberry; I was fond of this, though I obviously do not care about her opinion and will continue to do what I want---I don’t like “parental” as the trajectory for a dynamic whose foundational moment is the younger weaker party saving the older, that doesn’t do it for me. Of course children can save their parents, but they shouldn’t have to, and that certainly shouldn’t be the pattern that defines the relationship. And for Signet and Blueberry I think it really is; Signet offers Blueberry apologies, Blueberry offers Signet things Signet actually needs. That’s not parental. Nevertheless, I was fond bc it made me think about what a wealth of fun mentorship dynamics this season offered otherwise---with Tender and Morning’s Observation, and Fourteen and Sho, there are these really precious internal movements, or moments of slippage, from distrust to empathy and from faith to disillusionment, that I treasured as real, organic, slippery pieces of character writing and of writing about growth... My favorite example of this is when Morning’s Observation is FURIOUS with Tender after the fucking... rooftop debacle early on in the Wind’s Poem arc. And then again, more seriously, later, after he’s been essentially abandoned and has to save the day by drawing on parts of himself he wanted to give up. That feels like a moment of roleswap between “guardian” and “child” that is presented as appropriately bittersweet, pivotal, and rupturing, and which therefore preserves the logic of the original relationship even as it expands it. And I also love Grand’s awkward interference there, haha... esp in the context of Grand managing to disappoint Morning separately later on, when by that point it’s lost most of its oomph just because Morning has learned not to have expectations of these fucking geniuses. Which is its own mixed result.

(I wish there had been a bit more followup with Morning in the finale, actually, I don’t think he really got resolution on some stuff and I think “happy at the Brink with his moms” is more avoidant copout than anything, though not implausible or unreasonable avoidance from a character perspective. But like, the fucking... part in the Feast of Patina where it becomes increasingly apparent, throughout Morning’s glad monologue, that he did, in fact, do many of the same things as Grand? He betrayed former allies for an enemy faction in the name of convenience! That’s not all Grand did, but it’s not nothing. And everyone has to fall back on “but the Advent Group are fascists! Morning didn’t turn coat and join fascists!” when it’s like, well, would he have, if they had offered him spaghetti?

Not that I think Morning’s and Grand’s choices are remotely equivalent. But it was a very funny parallel for them to try to wriggle out of on the fly, and I wish they hadn’t---I wish they’d leaned into Morning’s lingering doubts, which would if anything have served to highlight that he does have good reason to stay. It’s just that those reasons don’t cancel out the doubts.)

[feywildatheart]

Nenîth,

We’ve had a fairly quiet week — well, a mostly quiet week — and I was hoping that having this time might help me get my head around things better, but honestly I think it’s just made it worse.

After that terrible conversation about Mezeru, the topic thankfully turned to other things, and Elyn suggested we might want to stop holding our cards quite so close to our chest and think about trusting someone with the information of what we’ve been doing here and what we hope to do still, and we agreed that Tirine Larchbright was a good choice, and so Pika led us to his home without even stopping to send him a message to see if he was home, or if he was open to unexpected visitors.

Thankfully, he was — the first, at least, and if not the second, then he covered it well. We asked if he might have access to court records, so we could try to prove that Dehi had been falsifying them. He said he could try, though he seemed to be trying to make sure we didn’t get our hopes too high about that, so I’m not sure if anything will come of it. But he also said that he and Thistle and Hagi had noticed a pattern in the papers we’d given them, that we’d stolen from Paha Qasri’s warehouse. It was just a pattern, a suggestion, not proof and he said that if he had more documents it might help him fill the picture in better, and we discussed the possibility of trying to get back into the warehouse but I think we were all understandably nervous about that prospect. Paha Qasri may have been hopelessly inept about security, but even he couldn’t possibly fail to tighten it up after a break-in like ours, right? And it’s been a few days anyway, surely he would have moved anything incriminating by now. Right?

We went back to the Court of Flowers to talk through our options, and to fret if I’m honest, because we didn’t really have much in the way of good ones. And then we got a message from Snapdragon that Pika’s son’s nursemaid would speak with us, which derailed us from that line of consideration quite neatly, and threw us right onto a new one. And so we arranged that, with Pika’s consent if not quite blessing, and while we waited for the agreed-upon day and time, I took myself off to see Daisy and ask if she might direct me towards the sort of craftsmen who might work in such fine fabrics, and who might be commissioned to make goods for such aristocratic households. She requested a moment and conferred with a friend of hers named Petunia, who made an introduction and gave her the name and address of a weaver that does business with the wealthy and elite, and so we went there and met a very kind Gnomish woman named Ah’siya who showed me about her shop and asked what I was looking for, and when I explained that I was interested in purchasing a loom, she contacted her brother-in-law, who’d made the looms that she uses there, and he came to meet with me.

They were both very kind and very patient with me, in explaining both the art and the technology so I might better understand and articulate what I was looking for. And in the end, Zef agreed to bring some looms by the Court that he thought matched what I was seeking, and named a price that would’ve made me deflate a few months ago, but we can afford it easily now, especially after the generosity of the Fesdis.

We agreed that he would bring them by in a few days’ time, and I purchased a few yards of a lovely light sunrise-colored fabric from Ah’siya to thank her for her time, and then returned to the Court to confer with the others and make sure they wouldn’t mind such a purchase. And lest you start to think that a few weeks in fancy society has completely changed me, let me reassure you that the loom isn’t meant for me. You may recall, perhaps, me writing you when we were back on Nosirion-1, about Niko, the paladin we met (the one who nearly struck me with a halberd to the face, I’m sure you remember that part) who was a weaver back on her home plane, but who’d had to flee with only a backstrap loom to continue to practice her art. She was quite innovative with the art back on her own plane too, it sounded like, and so I saw those lovely sheer curtains and remembered the incredibly scarf that she’d showed us, that she’d made herself, and thought that while it couldn’t replace her own looms that she’d left behind, perhaps it might give her a start here, or at least something bigger and with more utility than a backstrap loom to resume practicing her art. I made sure to explain to Zef, when he was asking what I was looking for, that I wanted something that had the ability to be customized, so she might continue her innovations if she wished it, and sent a letter off to Alorvin too, to make sure that such a gift wouldn’t be taken amiss.

With that done, and with Elyn and Pika in agreement that it was a fine way to spend some of this gold we’ve earned (though Elyn quite sensibly cautioned that we’d want to make sure we were able to ship it anonymously), we didn’t have too much longer to wait before we met with the nursemaid who’s been caring for Pika’s child while she’s been unable and Dehi’s been unwilling.

She clearly loves him, which I think was a relief to all of us, and says that he’s a bright and clever child but a lonely one. She said he cares for his father the way that children do for a distant parent, which made Pika tense up as though the woman had drawn a weapon on her, but without the history and betrayal that Pika has suffered clouding my eyes, I think I can see that. Children want to love their parents, and be loved, and I could see how a distant but not outright abusive one might just make that yearning stronger. Of course we all understand that neglecting him is just as damaging an abuse as if Dehi had raised a hand to him, maybe more so, but he’s a child, and he lost his mother. Of course he wants his father’s love.

The nursemaid also said that she’s told the boy, when he’s asked, that she’s looking over him until his mother can return to him, which I think made us all have to take a moment to wipe a tear from our eyes. She’s also concerned about what we intend to do with him once Pika’s regained custody, and I’d say she’s well within her rights to. We’ve certainly done little to demonstrate any sort of stability for a growing child, what with our running around trying to destabilize corrupt judicial systems and everything. But Pika said that her mother would care for him, and Elyn seemed to mull the question over long after we left, and the fact that we didn’t immediately dismiss her concern seemed to mostly satisfy her that we were taking it seriously and not planning to just set the boy up in a room on a ship and go galavanting about the universe with him in tow.

All in all, I’d say it was a very beneficial meeting, if an emotionally wrought one, and it left us all rather drained by the time we returned to our rooms at the Court. None of us seemed to feel up to doing much of anything more than we already had, and so it wasn’t until the next day that we went to see Thistle and Hagi again, and see if they’d learned anything more from those documents.

They gave us a few names that they said were implicated by the contents of the boxes, including Paha Qasri’s cousin — a different cousin than the one who’s the head of the family — and a member of the Dehi family, though not Alban, as well as a few others. They said, too, that more files would be helpful to them in helping to get a better sense of what’s been happening and who’s involved, and so with some trepidation, we decided to disguise ourselves again — differently, and including me, this time — and go have lunch in the industrial district where we might once again spy on the warehouse unnoticed and see if we could determine if Paha Qasri had increased the security, or abandoned it, or what.

I started to smell smoke on the air as we neared the industrial district, and at first thought little of it. People make fires for warmth or cooking all the time, after all. But it got stronger as we got closer, and the dread sitting in my stomach got heavier, until we turned onto the street where the warehouse and the pub both were — or had been, because we found ourselves staring at only a smoldering pile of burnt-down rubble where the warehouse had been.

We stood as a unit and stared at it in shock for a moment, and I’m sure I muttered some sort of oath, before Pika gave both Elyn and I sharp looks and we remembered where we were, and we made a bit of a show of lamenting the fact that we weren’t going to be able to get lunch at our favorite pub after all, and oh well, since we’re here we might as well find someplace else close by, hadn’t we. And so we found such a place and got food and ate and tried not to show what a blow we’d just been struck, and despite our disguises on our way out we were stopped by a red-haired dwarven man who introduced himself as Dune, and said he works for Lady Qasri, and that she wanted to speak with us, which I’m sure you can imagine had all of us startled and nervous and on-edge.

We warily questioned him a bit more, and relaxed a little (though not entirely) when he said that Lord Fesdi had suggested that she have a conversation with us. Elyn suggested we find somewhere semi-public to meet, and Dune gave her a card with contact information and some sort of tamper-evident security that marked us as invited guests (I don’t quite understand how that all worked, but Elyn seemed fairly impressed by it all), and said that we could meet with her at her residence or at the Court of Flowers, at our preference. Elyn refrained from committing one way or another and said that we’d be in touch, and so Dune took his leave, and left us more than a little rattled by the whole exchange.

We went back to the Court of Flowers to discuss our options. Pika seemed reassured by the business card, but Elyn seemed as nervous as I about the whole prospect. Dinain Heru had said that she didn’t think it likely that Lady Qasri had been involved in the theft of the Fesdi’s necklace, but I don’t think either of us were entirely comfortable gambling our lives on that.

We decided to meet with Lady Qasri at her compound, just in case there was going to be trouble, since we didn’t want to bring any of it to the Court of Flowers. Or, any more of it than we already have. And we also took some precautions, just in case this all went terribly wrong. Elyn made sure that people knew where we were going and who we were meeting with and when we ought to return, and I wrote up everything we’d learned so far and set it on a delay to send to Athan, so that if the worst happened and we didn’t come back, not only would someone know where we’d been but someone would know what we’ve spent all this time and effort learning, too. And someone off-planet, to boot, because after all the intrigue and subterfuge we’ve discovered running through the city, I didn’t trust just sending it to one of our friends here in Mashoy. If harm were to befall us because of all this, what was to stop the person responsible for it from doing the same to whoever we told? So I set my LICD to send what we’d learned to the other side of the galaxy if I didn’t return in time to cancel it, and I made sure to leave my LICD behind and tuck it somewhere hidden in my room, just in case someone came looking for it. And just for good measure, I strapped my dagger to my thigh as well, since we were dressing up as nice as we were able to meet with nobility, and Elyn and I both made a point of wearing our scarves with the embroidery that marked us as under the protection of the Court of Flowers, and we left to go meet with Fusaha Qasri.

It was as lovely a compound as the Fesdis had been, and as impressive, and we were led into a receiving room where Lady Qasri was waiting for us. I let Elyn do most of the talking for us, since she’s far better at it than I am and far more willing to do it than Pika. Fusaha asked us — asked Elyn, really — a little about breaking into Paha Qasri’s warehouse, and said that she wanted to hire us to find out exactly what her cousin was up to, and who might have been behind it. She said what we’ve already pretty well figured out for ourselves, that Paha isn’t exactly the sharpest arrow in the quiver, and that she doubted he’d been the one to make the plan, even if he’d been the one to carry out the theft. Elyn said that, with the warehouse and no doubt its contents burned down, we’d lost our best chance of learning more, but that we’d tell her more if we learned anything. She also said that while the matter of the necklace and the theft was entirely the business of her family and the Fesdi’s, that the matter of the documents was going to come to light eventually, and we couldn’t make any promises about what would be found there. She seemed to understand and accept that, though when Elyn mentioned that her other cousin also seemed to be implicated along with Paha, she was understandably incensed, and seemed to intend to follow up on that once she’d finished speaking with us.

She also said that when she’d learned of what Paha had done, she’d had him confined on the family estate and his rooms searched, and that sh’d turned up a few more boxes of documents that he’d had stored there, which she was willing to give to us to help us prove that she’d had no part in her cousins’ plotting. Elyn very diplomatically told her that we couldn’t make any promises about what sort of information we’d turn up in the documents but that we’d speak on her behalf that she’d handed the documents over to us freely and willingly. She seemed to accept that, so I put the boxes into my bag of holding, and we were dismissed shortly after that and returned to the Court of Flowers, where we handed the boxes off to Thistle and Hagi, and went back to our rooms, to reassure people that we had returned and to cancel certain messages that had been scheduled to send, and to discuss our next steps, because while we’d been with Thistle and Hagi, they’d mentioned a party coming up in the next week, where some of the people implicated in the documents might be, and where we might be able to hopefully gain a little bit more information or insight into what’s going on, as members of the Court of Flowers (or visiting bards, in Elyn’s case) who are strangers to the city and aren’t known to have any sort of political leanings one way or another.

It seems we managed to garner the invitation to this party because Bird-of-Paradise will be escorting an invited guest there, and mentioned that Lady Daffodil was in town, with an apprentice, and also mentioned Elyn as an adventuring bard who might surely be an entertaining guest, and apparently Surya Fesdi put in a good word that greased the wheels as well. And so, we had a week to prepare for the rather terrifying prospect of this party, and Elyn decided rather quickly that she would be bringing her gloves, ostensibly so she could perform should any of the other guests ask her to, but also so she can conveniently forget to turn the recording off and document anything we overhear that might be incriminating.

Elyn told me I should just dance and smile and let my dance partners talk while I keep quiet, which I think sounds fine in theory but, if that last party was any indication, is going to prove a lot more challenging in practice. She also said that I was a good dancer but didn’t seem to consider the fact that the only dances she’s seen me do were Feywild dances, and I can’t imagine they’re going to do many of those in a fancy aristocratic Mashoy party. And so I took off to Daisy to ask her for instruction on Mashoy dances, and Elyn came with me to learn as well, and Daisy recruited Petunia for assistance, and also Mezeru, because of course she did. I almost have to wonder if Elyn or Pika put her up to it, just to prove their point.

It was excruciating, and not just because Elyn immediately claimed Petunia for her dance partner and left me with Mezeru, trying to figure out how to dance with him without swallowing my tongue or tripping over my feet — or his! — or blushing so furiously that I just combusted from it all.

I didn’t actually manage to not trip. I was concentrating very hard, but the steps are so complex, and I went left when I should have gone right and crashed into Mezeru and the two of us collided with Elyn and Petunia and we all went down in the most graceless tangle of limbs that I think the Court of Flowers has probably ever seen. We only injured our dignity, between the four of us, but even so. We spent the rest of the afternoon practicing, and eventually I think we managed at least one passable set, or maybe Daisy just took pity on us and declared it good enough. But in any case, by then it seemed like all of our feet were aching and I just wanted to go lie down for a few minutes or maybe soak my feet in a nice warm bath, but as we were starting to limp off Mezeru asked if he could speak with me, and Elyn, the traitor, promptly whisked everyone else out of the room so I was left alone with him, wishing the desert would just open up beneath my feet and swallow me whole.

He said he hoped he hadn’t done or said something to make me uncomfortable, which was, honestly, terrible, because he wasn’t the one who said it, but it seemed pretty obvious that I had upset him, or at least worried him, even though I’ve been trying so hard to pretend that Elyn and Pika never had that conversation with me and it’s all still been just the same as it was before.

And then he said, oh, he said so many things. That he thought maybe the reason for my being at the Court of Flowers was very different from his, which made me fear for an awful few minutes that I’d managed to blow our cover here, and that he liked me but that didn’t have to mean anything and we could just be friends, and all I could do at that was stare at him and wail, “You mean they were right?” which, well, he took pretty admirably in stride, all things considered. He’s going to be a great courtesan someday.

And then we had the worst conversation of my entire life, because all I could really do was flail about how do you know if you like a person, and he seemed at a loss about that and said that he just looked at a person and thought ‘well, I wouldn’t mind kissing them’, but honestly, isn’t that a pretty low bar? Shouldn’t there be at least a little more enthusiasm for the prospect? I mean, obviously he can kiss whoever he wants for whatever reasons please him, but I’d hope that if someone were going to kiss me, they’d feel a little more enthusiasm for the prospect than just not minding it.

None of which really helps me figure out how to know if I might like a person. Mezeru’s head sounds like a very nice place to inhabit, like his heart just steps up to him and politely clears its throat and says, “Yes, good morning. Just wanted to let you know, we like this person,” and it’s all nice and neat and obvious. Sometimes trying to know what’s in my heart feels the way I did back before you both sat me down and made me study Sylvan properly, like my heart just runs up and chatters at me with these strange syllables I can’t even manage to shape my tongue around and I have no idea what it’s trying to tell me even though it seems like it’s important, and all I can do is try to make out the gist of it but in all honestly I’m probably dead wrong, and the whole exchange is bewildering and terrifying and makes me want to go running back to hide in the safety and comfort of your arms, darna.

I don’t know how anybody does this. How did you know you liked each other? That you loved each other? Were you both like Mezeru, and knew your own hearts and minds easily? Elyn and Pika both seem to think it should be easy, too. Maybe I’m just the strange one (it’s not like it would be the first time), but I just can’t comprehend how it comes so easily to so many people.

Anyway, the conversation was the most painful, difficult, awkward thing I’ve ever experienced, and only made all the worse because halfway through it Pika dropped down out of the room’s air vents where she’d clearly been listening in on us, right in between Mezeru and me, and I’m just resigned to it at this point but obviously he’s not, and she startled him so badly that he toppled backwards in his chair (he was being very conscientious about making sure he sat while we talked so he wasn’t looming over me, he really is going to be a great courtesan; at this point I’m amazed that I didn’t give us all away the minute I strode through the doors of the Court). I helped him get back to his feet and apologized for her, and he said she was terrifying, which rather made me want to hug him, because oh gods, do I know that feeling well.

We commiserated over how terrifying she is for a short while and didn’t resolve anything, really, but Mezeru said we were friends and I agreed, because we are, and maybe at least now he won’t think that he did something wrong, at least. And the minute we were done I went back to our rooms and grabbed Squirt and we went out for a very, very long walk through the city, because I was starting to feel the way cylla does when it rains for too many days in a row, like my skin was too tight and I was just going to have to crawl my way right out of it if I didn’t find some way of expending all the restless energy pent up inside me.

So we walked and walked and walked, and I cast speak with animals so that I could talk to him while we did so, because he’s always the best company, and I’ve yet to encounter anything that he couldn’t cheer me up from. By the time we got back, Pika and Elyn both seemed to have gone to bed, which was all for the best. I think if I’d had to talk to even one more person that day (other than Squirt, obviously), I probably would have just sat down and started screaming, or maybe crying.

The next day neither Pika or Elyn asked me about it, which was an unexpected blessing, and Elyn and I went off to commission some nice dresses, since our wardrobes are rather thin on fancy party gowns. I also took along the fabric that I’d bought at Ah’siya’s and worked with her on designing a long vest-like layering piece out of it that I think would pair as well with my armor as it would with Court attire, and then at Elyn’s request I showed her the way back to Ah’siya’s so that she could buy some fabric to send home to her parents.

I also met with Zef, the loom-maker, to look over the example looms he’d brought and decide on one that will, I hope, provide Niko with a good starting point if she wants to continue her weaving innovations here like she had been doing back home. He talked a lot about dents and heddles and all sorts of other things that make as much sense to me as Orcish might, even though I’m sure he was speaking Common. But I’d explained to him what I could of Niko’s art, and how she’d been innovating it, and how I wanted her to be able to continue to do that with this loom, and he seemed to understand what I was saying and seemed to feel that the loom I chose would do right by her, and so I paid him for it, and to ship it to her as well, and so someday, I suppose, that will reach her, though I haven’t the faintest idea how long it’s going to take, considering how far we’ve traveled from Nosirion-1.

We also learned, just today, that a diplomat that Itamu Nadit had mentioned was coming to Mashoy during our tour was publicly humiliated, presumably, according to our friends, by someone working for a noble house. I don’t know why anyone would care so much about making improvements to the city when it seems like most, if not all, would benefit, but I don’t understand half the things these nobles do or care about. But somebody must feel strongly, because we also learned that Itamu Nadit was nearly assassinated just yesterday, and I truly can’t fathom why someone would want to kill an engineer, but he did say during our tour that the current ruler of Mashoy had previously held the position that Itamu holds now, so perhaps it’s someone trying to clear the way for themselves as they climb up the ranks?

There’s a lot we don’t know, and that doesn’t make the prospect of tomorrow’s party sit any easier. But at least I can take comfort in the knowledge that, whatever happens, it can’t possibly be as excruciating as my conversation with Mezeru was.

I’ll write to you soon, and let you know how the party goes, and how many toes I manage to step on, and whether I manage to bowl the whole dance floor over the way I did the four of us during practice.

I’d like to see them try their hands at Feywild dances, just once. It’d serve them right if I snickered, too.

I love you both, and I hope the Feywild is being kind to you, or as kind as it can be.

All my love,

Maliah