#those who succeed pay the price on others blood

[waystead-prophet]

Things will become harder for all of us

Don’t let man lie to you, god made us to suffer

We anger with our comfort

Blood must be shed and bathed before reprieve is ever concidered

[marilynthornhilllover]

To Become A Dragon Rider

Rhaenyra .Targaryen X Fem!Reader

Warning: smut 18+, breast sucking, speaking in high valerian, french kissing , slight masturbation, choking , mommy kink, tamed kink, praise kink, fingering, riding of fingers, Rhaenyra being controlling and dominant.

N.B: the valerian translation is not perfect, I used the shows translation,the rest I got from Google so forgive me if it is not 100% accurate.

As the queen's loyal advisor and hand it was your swore duty to inform her when her plans or acts were outrageous or not align with what the realms wishes. Rhaenyra was planning to send Elinda to king's landing to recruit all the long forgotten targaryen bastard that were swept under the carpet and kept hidden for years.

Her plan was to bring them to dragonstone to have them claim a dragon. Either vermithor or sliverwing. You tried to talk her grace out of the corruptible act. It was beyond dangerous to even think about nonetheless to even put a foot to attempt. It was a huge risk, and rhaenyra knew that but so did the dragonseeds.

Also, wherein doing this act she weakens Jacaerys' claim to the throne and his birth right to succeed her when she dies. It was no lie that Jace was a basterd, everyone knew that. Perhaps when rhaenyra laid with ser harwin she didn't think others will know, maybe didn't think he'd take his hair color....

They knew that without a doubt in the world that the chance that stood before them claiming a dragon was perhaps none. Dragons were said to be Gods, what makes a targaryen different from men. And the price you pay for attempting to claim one was death.... your life was the price.

Having a dragon was jace's only excuse to the claim that he wasn't a basterd, because basterds couldn't ride on dragons yet with this his excuse falls short of it's validity. You tried breaking it down for her in the sweetest most understandable way possible, but rhaenyra was a targaryen. And whatever she wishes, she shall have.

You walked slowly behind her, both of you followed by guards as you entered into the hall. Rhaenyra immediately stopped when one of her dragonkeepers approaches her.

" heksir Daor sȳrī issa ( this is not well!)" He speaks, clearly angrily. Rhaenyra stops and looks back glancing at you before she proceeds to walk again.

" Skoros ȳdrassis hen? ( what do you speak of)?" She asks, clearly confused. He huffs as he angrily approaches rhaenyra but takes awareness of her guards eyeing him closely.

" Issa vali se nyke jāhor daor gūrogon isse bisa! ( my men and I will not take part in this madness)" he says as he eyes rhaenyra up and down before storming off, the other dragonkeepers following quickly behind with their heads bowed. Rhaenyra clenched her jaw before she sighs.

She looked around the room, eyeing all of those who stood before her, the dragonseeds. A small half smile appears on her face and she approaches them. Taking a deep inhale she speaks up.

" I know that each of you have left behind a life to answer this call, a life to which you may never return to, but I assure you that if you survive you will be transferred, no man can claim a dragon and be otherwise" she says walking around the room, carefully inspecting everyone. Trying to pinpoint the braves ones, the weak ones and of course the ones with little hearts but big dreams. The ones who just want a better life perhaps.

But with a dragon does not come a better life, with a dragon comes war, death, privation, starvation. Rhaenyra continues to talk and you zone out. All your childhood you've only ever wanted to become a dragon rider, to feel what it feels like to be a kin, to serve the realm. You knew that it was never going to happen. Only the blood of dragon can conquer and tame their own kind, dragons.

You loved rhaenyra, she was the realms delight, you vowed to serve her faithful and truthfully until death. And you'd stop at nothing until she sits her throne.

" the dragon" Hearing her voice again you immediately snap out of your thoughts, not wanting to miss anything important and suffer the consequences of it.

" named vermithor, is the largest in the world after vhagar and perhaps the most fierce" she pauses and looks up at you before her eyes connects with the ceiling.

" he's called the bronze fury, we'll go to him now" she picks up her cloak and walks towards the door that leads to the hallway of the dragon cave before she stops again.

" and...may the God's bless you" she then nodds and continues to make her way out of the room. Everyone following behind. Everyone follows her onto the platform and they all look around in awe. You keep your distance, staying in the entrance of the hall. Rhaenyra walks all the way towards the end of the platform and turns around to face everyone.

" naejot māzīs vermithor" she commands, her valyrian accent was thick and the way she rolled her R's was stunning. You bit your lip and tried to control your breathing, you were well aware of the little crush you had on rhaenyra for the longest time but as time grew and you became her hand was it was certain that your love for her also grew.

You never hid your feelings from rhaenyra, she knew. You almost had a chance with her but then she was married off to laenor, then daemon. But now that daemon was in harrenhall the chemistry and tension between the both of you had been growing more and more each passing day. You tried to contain yourself and while it was working there were certain things she did that made your skin hot.

A deafening silence can be heard before a low rumbling erupts after rhaenyra spoke and everyone gasps and grabs onto the nearest wall or person beside them. The sound of claw scrapping and a loud growl echos from beneath the surface of the platform and rhaenyra turns around as vermithor emerges from the depths of the darkness. Everyone shudders as they look up at the enormous beast completely terrified.

The beast screeches and opens it's mouth wide, it's long and sharp teeth showing as a threat. Rhaenyra doesn't flinch or move, facing vermithor head on without fear.

" vermithor lykiri" she says, her tone soft and calm yet the creature is surly aware of the power she holds as a targaryen but after years of not having a rider and being locked up with pent up stress the dragon seems restless. Vermithor growls and places her wing on the platform causing a piece of it to break as the others behind step back in terror as their Hearts pounded rapidly in their chest.

" lykiri!" Rhaenyra shouts and the dragon looks down at her and pulls back before he growls loudly, the large sum of air slightly pushing against Rhaenyra but she doesn't move with it.

" DOHĀRĪS!" She shouted again but this time for demanding and the beast finally obeys, closing it's mouth, he slowly pushes his head towards her grace in a calm surrendering way. Rhaenyra gently and peacefully places her hand on him and he closes his eyes and breathes. Rhaenyra smirks and turns around.

" who amongst you will be first?" She asks, her voice thick and sultry, slightly husk too from shouting. There's a slight pause before someone steps forward. Everyone looks at him and he looks at rhaenyra, complete fear bounds in his eyes. Rhaenyra's eyes flick up to yours and for a moment she holds your gaze.

In her bright green eyes all you see swirling in them is desire and need. For what you do not know. She may or may not end this day with new dragon riders, but the hardest task was getting dragonseeds to begin with. You feel ashamed of it but a feeling of wetness can be felt between in your legs as she continues to challenge you with her vicious gaze.

You could slowly feel yourself getting hot. Maybe it was the air, or perhaps maybe due to being in a dragon cave with little to no ventilation or maybe it was the look in rhaenyra's eyes. As if she wanted to devour you. You'll be honest hearing her speak in high valerian with her accent did things to you, it wasn't the first occasion but it was certainly the first time you heard her speak in such demanding tone.

Suddenly you wanted to be at her mercy and command, on your knees maybe.... have her praise you in high valerian. Command you, shout at you. You've always been thankful rhaenyra wasn't cruel to you, but seeing her strict side made you think of all the things she could do to you do to you.

Maybe you wanted to see that side of her. The tension began to rise and you felt as your chest getting heavier with every breath you took, you swallowed heavily and quickly averted your gaze, upon doing this you walked swiftly towards the queen's chambers. When's she finished she'll return. You weren't supposed to leave her side at all, you weren't even to leave the room without her permission but you couldn't stand there a second longer.

You may explode.

When rhaenyra saw you leave in such a haste she too quickly dismissed herself.

" I have nothing more to tell you, it must be the dragon who speaks" she says, nodding to everyone as she quickly fled the place.

You closed the door behind yourself and walked towards her desk. You placed both hands at the side of the table in attempt to steady yourself. You felt light headed, you could feel your own juices pooling at the inner parts of your thighs. Slipping your hand into your underwear you felt your wetness, moaning softly at how sensitive you were as well.

You began to rub slow circles around your bud gripping the table even tighter as soft whimpers slipped from your lips.

" why did you leave?" You jumped, totally caught off guard by the sudden intrusion you swiftly spun on your toes to see rhaenyra standing at the door. All the color drains from your face and your convinced she can see how sticky your fingers are as they are coated with your own juices. Rhaenyra eyed you her eyebrows quirked as she patiently awaited your answer.

You swallowed thickly your voice even breaking as you spoke.

" i— I uh— forgive me your grace but I'm afraid I do not have an excuse" you said looking everywhere but at her eyes, biting your lips you watch as she slowly approaches you. Her eyes glued on yours, a predator stare, for you, her prey. Every step she took towards you was one step backwards for you until she had you completely caged in. No space to run, just the wall, you and her.

Your breathing intensified when she pressed her body weight on yours. Her eyes traced down your body before they suddenly snapped back up to your eyes a new found darkness lingering within them. You are caught off guard when rhaenyra roughly forces her hand around your neck. You gasp as your hands flew to the hand that was wrapped around your neck.

There is a predatory hunger, dark and urgent, in the way she stares at you. It makes you want to shrink into yourself or even disappear. It frightens you the way she stares into your soul, but not as much as the urge you have to simply give in to her. The room feels too hot, your skin blazes and you grow wetter between your thighs, guilt eating away at you for it.

You are broken from your thoughts when rhaenyra's hand cups your mound beneath your skirt, her lips parting slightly as she feels the arousal gathered there. Your eyes go wide and you try to move your hips away but you remember your trapped between her and the wall. You swallow a moan when her hand pushes itself pass your undergarment and into your panties.

" you dare to lie to me?" she whispers her voice smooth and dripping with honey but you heard the rasp of demand lingering within. She smirks when she sees your eyes go dim and your breath hitches when her finger hovers cover the entrance of your cunt, she could feel the wetness pouring out on the digit as she slowly drags it back up to your clit teasing the small bud.

You feel her squeeze your neck tighter, urging you to answer her. You didn't know what to say, your brain had already became clouded with the possibilities of what she could do to you right now.

" i—fuck rhaenyra, I mean my grace, it's your high valerian accent" you answered, Rhaenyra removes her hand from your neck and positioned it at your hip, her grip on you firm as ever. Her body heat radiating off her making you more hot. Your head falls back against the wall and your eyes close when you feel her enter two fingers inside of you.

" your gonna ride my fingers like the good slut you are" she muttered against your lips as she leaned in to kiss you. Her lips were just as soft as you had imagined if not better. Her hand moved up your side and back up towards your neck but this time she didnt choke you, she just allowed her hand to rest there.

She forced another one of her digits inside of you which caused you to let out a pornographic moan to which she swallowed. Your eyes rolled back at the intense and sudden intrusion, the stretch had you collapsing on her shoulder as your knees gave out and your legs quivered.

Her tongue wondered in the depths of your mouth as she French kissed you. Her tongue completely enveloping yours and sucking on it as you slowly dragged your hips forward and backwards riding rhaenyra's fingers, whimpering like a needy dog. Rhaenyra broke the kiss and pulled away, chuckling when you chased after her lips.

She curled her fingers in you and once again your head fell back against the stone cold wall behind you. You started moving your hips at a faster pace as you slowly began to fall apart on her slender fingers. Rhaenyra could feel you clenching around her fingers as your juices dripped from them.

Rhaenyra started making a circular motion with her fingers as her hand grabbed your hip again and started forcing you up and down. You grabbed onto her shoulders to stabilize yourself as you trashed against her. Your sure that any passbyers could hear your moans and the squelching sound of her fingers connecting with that spongy spot in you.

" Sȳz riña ( good girl)" she purred as she started thrusting her fingers as deep as they can go, knuckle length in you. You could feel your cunt spamming around her as you neared your climax. You needed it badly, but rhaenyra was not going to allow you to cum so easily.

" That's it, good girl, such a good girl" she whispered, her lips made contact with your neck as she gently began to suck on the tender flesh, she knew she couldn't mark you, but a part of her wanted to. Wanted to make it known to everyone that you were hers. Daemon might as well have not existed anymore because it was you rhaenyra wanted, and she always gets what she wants.

" Pleasepleaseplease, Rhaenyra please I want it so bad please let me cum" you cried trying your hardest not to let go and fall into oblivion. Rhaenyra chuckled but said nothing. She continued to bruise your skin with kisses and marks. You muttered a soft " oh fuck" when he fingers managed to drive deeper into your pussy when you lifted your hips.

" perhaps you should beg me in valerian.... if you so desperately want it of course" you could feel her smirk against you when you whined. She was going to be the absolute death of you. You started thinking of ways in which you could translate yourself, thinking back on all the times you heard her speak valerian or heard someone else spoke valerian.

You didn't know much, and your pronunciation was always off, you did understand when others spoke it but it had always seemed like trouble when you tried to speak it for yourself. Rhaenyra's fingers curve deeper into your cunt which causes you to cry out as your nails drag against the wall.

" shhh, time is ticking ñuha Rāqnon ( my love )" she husked, her pace picking up. A silent scream surpassed your lips and your eyes squeezed shut, her fingers in you felt so good your hips still moving against them.

" ijiōragon ( please)" you whispered as tears pricked the corners of your eyes as they snapped open to find her already staring. The animalistic look in her eyes was almost enough to make you entirely make a mess on her fingers.

" Kostagon nyke māzigon? ( may I come)" you asked and she smirked.

" Nyke ȳdra daor gīmigon ( I don't know )" she replied, at this point she was playing games with you, She was sending you crazy. Her fingers in you were moving at a pace you didn't even know was humanly possible. She had them so far deep in you, you felt every movement. You clenched down around her as your eyes rolled back. God she took up so much space in you.

If anyone were to enter and see this scene they would only think of you as a slut from henceforth. But you didn't care.

You could feel your orgam approaching and so did she. She could feel how needy you were for it. The way you were clenching around her. She pulls out her fingers half way and slam them deep into you. She started thrusting hard into your g spot with her fingers deeply curled into you. You could feel the knot in your stomach already forming.

Your hands immediately grab her hair, pulling against it and straching your nails against her scalp.

" good God's rhaenyra please— fuck!" Your eyes roll back and your back arches slightly off the wall as your orgasm hits you like a passing train. Your breathing is heavy and your legs were trembling if not for her strong grip on you, you would have crumbled to the ground. After you came down from your high your reopened your eyes and you are immediately met with rhaenyra's primal gaze.

" remove your cloak" you were confused by her demand but you obeyed her order and removed your cloak. Rhaenyra finished the job and undid the lace to your dress to expose your breast. You gasped when he pinched the small bud to your left breast causing it to become more erect. Her eyes flicked up towards yours as she smirked at you.

Her lips found your left nipple as she attached her mouth to it. Sucking gently her hand slid up your back pressing your chest into her face more. You tilted your head back a bit and allowed her to pull and twist your small bud with her tongue like a baby. Rhaenyra's other hand came up to your other neglected breast and began groping it. You moaned softly and closed your eyes as you gave into the feeling.

Rhaenyra released your nipple with a 'pop' as Slavia dragged from her mouth to the bud before she envelope the other nipple into her mouth and started twisting the bud, slightly chewing on it even. You whined but it was quickly cut off when the door knob rattled and twisted. Rhaenyra quickly removed herself from you and you grabbed your cloak and put it back on.

The door swings opens and rhaenyra's sworn knight steps through. Rhaenyra pretends to inspect the floor as she clears her throat and you turn your body so that your back would be facing the door.

" your grace, pardon the sudden intrusion but the dragon vermithor has chosen it's new rider.... you must come now" he says Clearly out of breath. Rhaenyra nods turning to look at you but you avoided her gaze. She clenches her jaw and looks down before looking back up at the knight. She walks swiftly pass him as he turns to follow her, closing the door on his way out he looks at you suspiciously.

When they both left you sighed a breath of relief. Today was a day, Rhaenyra's plan did work. Getting Vermithor and sliverwing a rider was successful. But Hugh and ulf weren't the only ones who got to ride and dragon today, you rode a special one in it's chambers......

[mii-ruby]

Theory about the "Price to pay"

Spoilers 'till chapter 260

So we're finally at the point where Yona has to talk to the dragon gods herself. We knew this was bound to happen and it was honestly the most logical turn of events. What we don't know however is the price she'll have to pay to get such a wish fulfilled.

Two theories come to mind:

1/ The first and most popular one is that Yona will have to leave the mortal realm and return to heaven to be the Crimson dragon King again.

No need for the dragon warriors anymore, they'll simply lose their powers, and the gods can finally have Yona back like they always wanted, which could be the interpretation of the last line from the prophecy "And The Red Dragon Shall Return At Dawn".

This theory, although logical, is just too cruel. Akayona is not a tragedy, I can't imagine Kusanagi will end a story about found family, self growth and overcoming your trauma with the death of the main character. I desperately tried to find another suitable price that didn't envolve Yona sacrificing herself, which leads us to the second theory:

2/Yona gets to stay on earth, but all the people she knew forget about her. I know this might sound just as cruel if not more than the previous one💦, but please hear me out 'till the end!!!!

Yona had done much more to the country as a normal girl than a princess. She went to different tribes on foot, bonded with peasants, pretended to be a bandit, pirate, an entertainer... etc, and fought off traffickers and dealers without ever mentioning she was a princess. Yes those people she helped will probably forget about her, but she can return to them and help them while being herself again. She doesn't need recognition as "Princess Yona". She draws people no matter her title.

On the other, since she'll no longer possess warriors with divine powers, she won't be a target for greedy individuals or people from enemy nations, so the gods can rest assured about her safety.

Lastly, everyone forgetting about her means that the red dragon no longer exists on earth. It's like his memory left the mortal realm and ascended to heaven again "And The Red Dragon Shall Return At Dawn". This could be an interpretation of the prophecy. The red dragon won't literally return to heaven. It's his memory that will leave people's minds and return to be a property of the heaven.

Now, even though I said that everyone will forget about Yona, I'm sure there'll be one exception to this rule. Only one individual will never forget about Yona while everyone else will, and it's Hak. The first reason is obviously the romance that'll just get reset to zero if he forgets about her. I mean, knowing  him he'll probably fall in love with her again, but it's like all their moments and all the development in their relationship will disappear and restart from zero which is something a lot of readers won't accept.

The second and most powerful reason (literally the reason that made me write  this post) is that one scene from chapter 25 that everyone hated. Remember when Yona asked Hak to be the only one to call her "Princess"? Remember when she told him even if EVERYONE IN THE COUNTRY FORGETS ABOUT HER, HE HAS TO BE THE ONLY ONE WHO REMEMBERS?

What if that scene was actually foreshadowing the ending of the series? That everyone will forget about who Yona was, and that he will be the only one to remember? Ofc I'm sure it won't be that easy. Hak will probably have to pass some kind of test to prove that he's worthy of remembering Yona, but I'm sure he'll succeed and the gods will begrudgingly yield to his request so Yona won't live a sad and lonely life after they cast their spell.

Ofc I'm aware this is still a cruel predicament. The family she fought so hard to save will forget about her, but she'll be able to start a new relationship with them. It'll prove that their bond was always genuine, that it had nothing to do with the dragons' blood, and I'm sure they'll love her as much as they loved her before.

The country also will forget about princess Yona. Her achievements will probably all be attributed to Soowon (but it's not like she cares about fame or recognition anyway).

Speaking of Soowon, it's kinda fucked up that he gets to forget the girl he hurt so much. He'll forget that he ever had a cousin, that it was her father he murdered that night, that she was the one who got the gods to heal the descendants from the Crimson illness...etc, It's unfair but we can't do much about it I guess.

What do you guys think about this theory? Would you be okay with it if it happened at the end?

[ivanttakethis]

Wren’s Log - Entry 1.2

————————————————————

ZYNE Entertainment was already abuzz with excited chatter when Wren arrived mid-morning.

Her preseason interview with Alien Stage Magazine hit the shelves a few hours ago, and the revelation that she was Tov’s twin made the front page.

Nearly everyone in the lobby had a copy, with several more strewn across coffee tables and counters.

Wren wondered if ZYNE bought in bulk.

Segyein staff whispered to one another as she passed.

“Legacy contestant.”

“Strong bloodline.”

“Looks just like her.”

Wren just smiled and waved in greeting, pretending not to hear them.

At least it was different from the whispers she usually heard.

“Show off.”

“Star thief.”

And the ever popular: “Bitch.”

Granted, those insults came mainly from other human trainees.

It didn’t bother her much. Wren knew who she was and what she could do.

Random gossip wouldn’t change that.

Not like there was anyone she could report the insults to anyway.

The segyein at the agency didn’t bother themselves with pet-human conflicts unless they escalated to physical violence.

And even then, the punishment was minimal.

Trainees were too much of an expense to harm too severely or discard.

“Sunk cost fallacy.” Ra had once said.

So under the rug they went.

Wren entered Locker Room #3 and set about changing.

Though she was technically no longer a ZYNE trainee, the agency had granted her continued use of their facilities to prepare for Alien Stage.

More than just Wren’s potential solo career was on the line for Season 40.

If she won, ZYNE Entertainment would get an untold amount of press coverage and prestige. It would solidify their place as the top ranked agency in the industry for years to come.

Everyone would want a piece of ZYNE and all they could offer.

Allowing Wren time in the recording studio and reserving a dance room for her every now and then was a small price to pay for what they stood to gain.

Quid pro quo.

Who was she to refuse such generosity?

Wren was just pulling her shirt on when the locker room doors opened again.

“Oh look, it’s the nepo baby.”

She turned around.

Behind her were three human trainees. She could only remember the names of two of them.

Uma was the one who spoke.

Lilac hair, tan skin, not a very good dancer.

Loved to call her a bitch.

“Who? Me?” Wren asked.

“So you’re not denying it?”

“What exactly am I supposed to be denying?”

Uma scoffed, “Don’t play dumb, Wren. We read the article. We all know you only got this far because of your sister.”

Really? Tov got her this far? The same Tov who didn’t know she was blood related to her a week ago?

Yeah.

Sure she did.

“That’s not how this process works.” She said, matter of fact. “We aren’t in Anakt Garden anymore. Legacy doesn’t do you any favors here.”

“Maybe not in bootcamp, but it does explain why ZYNE keeps giving you second chances.” Tyis, the other trainee Wren knew by name, said.

Tyis was taller than Uma, with model-like portions and pin straight black hair.

She washed out of boot camp on her first try because she couldn’t hold a consistent high note.

“You killed all three trainee groups you were a part of. Do you know what that means?”

Wren raised an eyebrow, “That I work best alone?”

“It means you’re toxic, Wren. And if it weren’t for your sister’s guardian’s status in the industry, the agency wouldn’t have kept you around.” Uma said.

Toxic was a strong word.

Wren preferred assertive.

She had to be to survive at ZYNE.

Training to become a pet-human idol was just as cutthroat as training to become a guard. Maybe even more so.

There were no friends here, only competition.

Every human for themselves.

Emotions ran high, and sabotage was a frequent occurrence, even once training groups were formed.

For most trainees, this was their last chance to prove their worth to their owners.

Anakt Garden graduates who didn’t make the cut for Alien Stage, like Uma and Tyis, were particularly desperate to succeed.

They’d already failed once.

There wouldn’t be another opportunity after this.

But that didn’t mean Wren was going to let them walk all over her.

No.

She had to assert her place.

All three groups she’d been a part of had different catalysts for disbanding before debut, but the one constant was someone — or several someones — deciding to pick a fight with Wren.

She understood why.

Wren was one of the top performers at ZYNE in both singing and dancing.

Her unique appearance made her stand out from the pack and draw attention.

And physically, she was also one of the smallest trainees on the roster.

Other trainees likely thought she’d be an easy mark. Maybe they thought they could be rough enough to scare her into leaving.

Wren never lost a fight.

Most of her opponents were no longer with the agency.

Uma and Tyis didn’t care about any of that, though. They just wanted a reason to instigate their own attack.

Wren was happy to oblige them.

“ZYNE keeps me around because I’m good at what I do.” She said. “I’m so good, in fact, that I made it through the preliminaries for Alien Stage. Unlike the three of you.”

“Bitch.”

The third girl who hadn’t spoken yet lunged forward, wrapping her hands around Wren’s neck and slamming her into the lockers. A loud bang of metal echoed around the room.

Her nostrils flared, violet eyes blazing.

This feels familiar…

Wren chuckled as her grip tightened.

Still too weak to cause any real damage.

“Sorry.” She said, a little breathless. “There’s only one person I’d let choke me out, and your name isn’t Naz.”

The mere thought of Naz hearing Wren say that was enough to make her laugh again, even though it made her wheeze.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” She growled.

This was far from the first time Wren had been asked this question.

Ironically enough, it was also probably how Naz would’ve reacted.

I should call her…

Something clicked.

“Oh,” Wren looked at the girl then. “I remember you.” She said. “You went through boot camp with me; you and your friend. She made it all the way to the finals, and got cut at the very end.”

Wren couldn’t remember the judges’ reasoning.

It didn’t matter.

Something about her statement seemed to anger the girl — Dahli, she thinks — and her grip tightened further.

“Quin should still be here. Not you.” Dahli snapped. “She’s a better person than you’ll ever be.”

And there it is.

Dahli, as well as Uma and Tyis, were led by their emotions instead of logic.

That was a mistake.

“It doesn’t matter who the ‘better person’ is, only the better performer. Your friend wasn’t good enough.” Wren said. “Nothing personal. Just business.”

“Shut up!”

Dahli pulled a fist back to punch her and Wren used the slack in the hold on her neck to strike.

She grabbed Dahli by the sides of her head and yanked her down at the same time she brought her leg up.

Wren felt the cartilage of Dahli’s nose crunch under the force of her kneecap with a sickening crack.

She let go of Wren’s neck and stumbled back, nearly falling over, eyes wide in disbelief.

Blood poured out of her nose, dripping onto the tile floor.

Wren didn’t break a sweat.

She scooped up her duffle bag and turned to Uma and Tyis. Both looked shellshocked.

“Anything else?” She asked.

Despite having so much to say before, none of the girls said anything now.

Wren smiled at them with empty eyes, “Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a competition to prepare for.”

She pushed her way out of the locker room and headed down the hall and around the corner to the dance studio.

Standing next to the double doors was a purple humanoid segyein, dressed in all black. Dark shaded glasses covered their eyes.

They took a few steps forward as she approached, “Wren Ra?”

Wren stopped in the middle of the hall, hackles raised, “Who are you?”

The segyein pulled a shiny silver badge out of their jacket pocket and held it up for her to see, “I’m Agent Pol with the AREPH. Can I speak with you for a moment?”

————————————————————

Welp! That’s not good 😬

But ignoring that for right now, more Wren lore!! Yippee!!

As you can see, she’s the polar opposite of her sister, Tov.

She leans into confrontation, is very unapologetic, and a little cocky.

She also isn’t afraid of violence, whether it be dishing it out or taking it.

Even when getting choked, Wren is the epitome of “light work, no reaction” and I love that about her.

However, if you were to ask about her to any of her Anakt Garden classmates (with the exception of maybe Naz), they would say Wren is a friendly, bubbly girl who wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Truly the duality of woman.

Also, Wren thinking about Naz while being choked is pretty emblematic of their relationship, I think.

I promise I’ll have them actually talk at some point, I just gotta figure out how.

Bonus: Tov being known as “The Star” and Wren being called a “Star Thief” is intentional!

Naz belongs to @lookatmysillies.

Tagging: @rockwgooglyeyes @apple8ees @neverforgetyou @chevalperd

[alicent-vi-britannia]

Why is the ending of Code Geass perfect?

The ending of Code Geass is perfect, giving a satisfying end to the narrative arcs of our characters, with special emphasis on Lelouch and Suzaku. Suzaku finds the peace of mind he has been desperately seeking for ten years by bringing peace to the world. By rediscovering the value of the human will, Lelouch renounces control over the world and the will of people by returning them and, at the same time, becomes a hero by giving his life for the greater good and a martyr by dying for his ideals. "Only those who are willing to die should have the power to kill." A foreshadowing that the creators gave us in the first episode.

It's perfect because Lelouch cleanses the world's hatred with his death and founds a new era of peace and prosperity. Not only does he become the scapegoat for the blood shed during the war, he also becomes the messiah he claimed to be like Zero thanks to a lie.

It's perfect because Lelouch redeems himself from the Japanese Administrative Zone massacre that ruined Euphemia's reputation. They both die being what they are not. Euphemia, who was a generous and kind princess who had the best intentions of helping the Japanese people, dies a genocidal liar and manipulator. Lelouch dies as the ruthless and megalomaniacal Demon Emperor who declared war on the world, even though he is actually the hero who saved it. However, Lelouch gladly accepts the role of villain, considering it deserved.

It's perfect because it's a deliciously ironic twist. Suzaku who wanted to change the system from within destroys it as Zero (whom he hated) while Lelouch who wanted to destroy it reformed it as Emperor (whom he hated).

It's perfect because he builds a parallel with episode 4 of the first season creating a rounded closure. Zero appears for the first time in the unjust execution of an innocent man and for the last time he reappears in the unjust execution of some rebels who fought for freedom and justice. Both parades were led by Jeremiah. In this way, Zero becomes a symbol of justice.

It's perfect because Zero's murder of the Demon Emperor becomes an incredible metaphor. Justice destroys hate. Good defeats evil. Hope will always prevail.

It's perfect because the foreshadowing of episode five of the first season is fulfilled: the White Horse (Suzaku) defeats the Black King (Lelouch). In addition, it is in line with the series' stance that Lelouch and Suzaku can succeed in anything if they join forces.

It's perfect because it solves the program's mystery about whether the end justifies the means. The anime answers yes, but you have to pay a price. Lelouch gives his life for the end and Suzaku lives to preserve the means used.

It's perfect because the Zero Requiem constitutes a just punishment for Lelouch and Suzaku. Suzaku, who wanted to die to evade guilt and pain, has to live as a peace mediator assuming the identity of Zero, the figure he opposed. Meanwhile, Lelouch who wanted to live with his loved ones has to die so that they can enjoy the kind world that he dreamed of. Thus both atone for his sins.

It's perfect because the Zero Requiem was the means to achieve peace. Lelouch and Suzaku literally ended all wars for a long time.

The F.L.E.I.J.A., which was the most dangerous weapon ever conceived, was destroyed along with the Damocles.

There will be no more Knightmares. In the final battle, Lelouch blew up the mines on Mount Fuji that accounted for 70% of the world's supply of Sakuradite (the mineral that provided power to the Knightmares) and, at the same time, eliminated the reason for the powers to conquer Japan.

There are no armies anymore. The most powerful army in the Code Geass universe at that time is the Order of the Black Knights and is at the service of the United Nations Federation. The Black Knights can only act together through a vote and, in any case, they will be one of the forces that rebuild the new world. The other largest army was that of Britannia, however, it was mostly annihilated due to the final battle.

There will be no power vacuum. That is the purpose of FNU. Almost all nations are united under the FNU, but still retain their leadership. The FNU is a coalition of nations whose seventeenth provision states that all members must be demilitarized. It is similar to the UN with the difference that it is a more competent organization. By the end of the series, all of the superpowers (the Chinese Federation, the European Union, and Britannia) are members; in such a way that the FNU becomes the governing body of the world.

There are no armies anymore. The most powerful army in the Code Geass universe at that time is the Order of the Black Knights and is at the service of the United Nations Federation. The Black Knights can only act together through a vote and, in any case, they will be one of the forces that rebuild the new world. The other largest army was that of Britannia, however, it was mostly annihilated due to the final battle.

There will be no power vacuum. That is the purpose of FNU. Almost all nations are united under the UFN, but still retain their leadership. The UFN is a coalition of nations whose seventeenth provision states that all members must be demilitarized. It is similar to the UN with the difference that it is a more competent organization. By the end of the series, all of the superpowers (the Chinese Federation, the European Union, and Britannia) are members; in such a way that the UFN becomes the governing body of the world.

No one has the strength to continue fighting due to psychological trauma. The final battle pushed everyone beyond their limits causing great emotional toll. Not to mention that the world was already immersed in an uninterrupted global war for 20 years in a row. The Britannians themselves witnessed such horrors on their territory as Lelouch brought such suffering. People were fed up with pain, deaths and wars. They didn't want to experience the same thing again soon.

Additionally, this war gave rise to a kind of reset in the political landscape. Britannia lost all its power and the Chinese Federation and the European Union would no longer try to fill the void by becoming the new dominant superpower. That is why Lelouch set out to conquer the entire world. Britannia will become a much more democratic government, now that Nunnally is the empress. She will redirect the empire in the right direction. We see that the colonies will be able to become independent, if they wish. For me, the wedding between Ohgi and Villetta ends years of hatred between Britannia and Japan and celebrates a new beginning marked by togetherness, happiness and peace.

Neither Nunnally's government nor the new world will face threats. The nobility was abolished by Lelouch and many of them died when Schneizel fired the F.L.E.I.J.A. towards Pendragon. Any dissidents who might disturb the peace were hunted down by Jeremiah. Schneizel, who was the main danger and the most competent politician, is under Zero's orders, which means that he will no longer act on his ambitions, but will instead lend his skills and knowledge to the rightful ruler of Britannia, Nunnally, the weak link of the royal family becomes the most powerful person in an entire empire.

Of course, this is no guarantee of peace nor is it indicative that it will last forever. There is still resentment and anger. The UFN could be dissolved and all nations could once again turn against each other. Lelouch could have stayed in power to keep the peace. But he respected free will and believed that people were in the constant search for happiness, so Lelouch gave the world the opportunity. According to Kallen in the epilogue, all nations are pooling their efforts to address other problems such as hunger and poverty, proving that Lelouch was right about human nature. In the end, peace is a decision that the world makes. A peace created by the system and not imposed from outside (just as Suzaku wanted).

In short, the ending is perfect because the climax coincides with the closure of the story. That is, all problems are solved with a single (and very powerful) scene. It's a difficult feat to achieve in narrative. And yet, the creators did it.

[eugenedebs1920]

From where I stand it seems to me that we hate each other. We can’t stand the opinions, beliefs, or actions that the other engages in. So much so that we go out of our way to spite the other, to contrast the other, to “own” the other.

This sounds like the start of a breakup with a romantic partner, when you finally have that heart to heart about the reality of your situation. Yet this is us, Americans, the Democrats and Republicans, the liberals and conservatives.

We can’t go on like this. We can’t keep continuing to hurt each other, to lie to each other, undermine the other’s worth. This is directed at both sides. Neither is innocent in their treatment towards the opposing side.

What’s not understood is that the plight for either is not different. The joys, the struggles, the pain, the hopes and dreams.

When it comes to our nation what is the main concern for us? We want to see our country succeed. We want to see it prosper. We want to ensure its defense. We want it to live up to the ethical standards it should. We want the citizens, who make this land, safe, secure, healthy and free.

Can we agree that that falls on the primary hopes we have for our nation? That both sides want? That’s a starting point.

Liberals, let’s start with you. Although majority of you live in cities both big and small you are reliant on rural America. From the hustle and bustle of the city it may seem as if what the bread basket and the south contributes, is not relevant to your urban existence.

Yet it is. Those who make up the small towns and vast farmlands of America are who put food on your plate. Who manufacture the industrial equipment that run and power your metropolis. Who work the oilfields and natural gas facilities. Who labor at ports and distribution yards importing and exporting goods for commerce.

This is strenuous, hard, dangerous, often life threatening work. The pay is not great at times and the risk of injury is abundant. A lot of these positions are in the elements, conditions that can rage from minus 30 degrees in the petroleum lands of North Dakota, to over a. Hundred degrees with 90% humidity in the ports of the gulf.

A lot of these jobs are brutal, thankless endeavors, with overbearing supervisors and unrealistic expectations. Busting their ass only to have 40% of their hard earned money taken through taxes, while their small towns limp along, a relic of their once thriving glory. They are the heart of this nation, pumping the blood , feeding the cells of society with the nutrients it needs.

We are in their debt. For they provide for urban areas what urban areas can not. It is their sweat and blood that bolsters our gross domestic product. Let’s give credit where credit is due.

Conservatives. City living is not a walk in the park, although often that is the only source of nature you’ll find there. Urban existence is traffic and smog, computer screens and documents, suites and ties. It is residential plumbing and remodeling. It is being gouged in rent prices to live in a room inside a building that you will never own.

City liberals live paycheck to paycheck at jobs they earned through degrees they loaned hundreds of thousands of dollars to receive. Loans that encase them in a modern form of indentured servitude, paying more on the interest of the loans than the principal itself. Loans they will be lucky to pay off before they retire.

They were told to get an education if they wanted to succeed in life, then afterwards find themselves unappreciated and underpaid but trapped in the inflated housing area their career lands them in. They watch as their rent goes up, their salary lays stagnant, and their higher ups get bonuses, while their personal workload grows ever larger.

City living is seeing what addiction and mental health problems do to the underprivileged. These troubled souls whose regrettable choices or unfortunate circumstances landed them on the streets, begging for spare change.

Yet in these skyscrapers and buildings are the nervous system to our economy. The administrators and executives, the researchers and lawyers, the bankers and traders, titans of industry executing the acquisition and sale of American commodities. Without these people the produce would rot in boxcars, the manufactured goods would collect dust in warehouses, the economic dealings that keep supply flowing would cease to happen. The nervous system of a body is no less important than its heart.

So! What is the animosity about? Why do we hold such contempt towards the other? Why is the head fighting the heart.

Again let’s start with liberals.

Your procurement of a college degree does not make you superior to anyone else. Sure you may have a masters in business, or accounting, or environmental science, or whatever it may be. Yet when your car needs serviced do you posses the resources and know how to fix it yourself? Do you have a plot of land where you grow your own fruits and vegetables, raise livestock and milk farm animals? Can you transport the goods you sell clear across the country in a big rig, 12 hours a day?

The values you hold may not align with others. Is it your place to force these values on to those who may not feel the same? Racism is never acceptable but to assume anyone who doesn’t think the way you do precisely, is prejudice, exudes utter hypocrisy.

You must remember the golden rule, to do on to others as you would have them do on to you. The smug attitude, a holier than thou approach, the entitlement of your convictions will not breed anything but contempt.

Realize that the most “unskilled” laborer knows things you are completely oblivious to. That the rancher and the rig worker have talents you will never possess. Most of all, empathize with your countrymen on the hardship they have and equate it to your own.

Conservatives. Live and let live. Your perceived morality is simply that, yours. It is not your concern what others do. For what your religion or your upbringing has instilled in you, is yours and yours alone. That is not to lessen your beliefs, it is to respect them as the compass that guides you.

There will be no compromise on hate. That goes for hate directed towards ethnicity or race, that goes for hate directed at sexual preference or identity, that goes towards gender or choices. This will not be tolerated in America. For you are no better, no more superior, no more righteous than anyone else. Do not claim the moral high ground above others when you are not without your flaws. Do not claim to know what’s best for people and the family they may or may not have or possess the ability to provide for.

Let’s keep in mind there are forces that benefit from our division. There are powers who seek to profit from us, unable or unwilling to find common ground. For the thing the “masters of men” fear the most is our uprising against their subjugation.

By creating an us versus them discourse it has split the country in two, causing a stalemate. The overwhelming population trapped in trench warfare over culture differences. The whole time the distraction from this, takes our eye off the injustice being committed to all.

Wealth inequality has never been greater. The American dream seems out of reach. Our pursuit of happiness lays glum. This is not the consequence of liberals wanting a woman’s bodily autonomy, nor is it because conservatives want a common sense immigration policy. This is because we are being oppressed by an upper class that has molested the purpose of capitalism, hoarding all the capital for themselves. Musk, Bezzos, Koche, Soros, these are not figures to idolize, they are the face of the economic disparity that crushes the middle class.

Before we conclude let’s get a few things straight. Not all, in fact a small portion of Republican voters are racist, many far from it. They live in harmony with all walks of life and harbor no disdain for the pigmentation of skin. It is wrong, it is uncalled for to assume otherwise.

Family planning and a woman’s bodily autonomy is a fundamental right. There is no such instances where a child is aborted in the 9th month, or as has absurdly been claimed after they’re born, that’s called murder. Unlike many of our political leaders, doctors and health care professionals hold true to their oath. To do no harm. The percentage of abortions that happen after the 4th or 5th months is minuscule and usually due to unviability of the fetus. The 8th and 9th month claim is so so insignificant and always for the same reason. So conservatives. Don’t believe the lies that are being told to you.

Those who didn’t go to college, those who work with their hands, are not dumb. The skills that many have acquired despite higher education are crucial to society. Just because someone doesn’t have a college degree that does make them uneducated. They can build, fix, create, herd, grow, that which not only is needed for our country to thrive, but is that which many are unable or unwilling to do. Do not judge someone by their accent or by the grade level last completed.

It is the privilege of no one to say who someone can love, who they want to be, or see themselves as. Love is a personal experience, many times unexplainable. If two men are in love, that is their prerogative and has absolutely nothing to do with the opinion of anyone else. If a woman sees herself as a man, or visa versa, that is their personal perspective and not privy to the judgment of anyone else. This is not perverse or in some way a threat to the youth. For if we can recall the worst abuse directed at children has been committed by religious institutions, and family members. Don’t concern yourself with who others love or how they want to love. Thier love belongs to them. Just focus on the love you give and the example you set for your children and the world around you.

Let us not fall into this trap of division. Let us not be influenced by a one sided view. Let us not be divided by our differences but united in our similarities.

For this is the land of the free and the home of the brave, this is a country for the people, by the people, where we hold this truth to be self evident, that all people are created equal, that they are given their right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That this is all of us. No matter who we are, what we do, where we’re from, who we love, the ethnicity we are. We are the United States of America. We are the people spoken of when written, we the people in order to seek a more perfect union. The most important words there are united and union.

We are stuck with each other, we can not simply say this isn’t working out and pack our stuff and leave. Deep down we still love each other. We still need each other. We still admire each other. Let us remember that as we move forward into the future together.

[inspiredbyhelena]

The Moment I Saw IU: A Concert Diary

Date: August 2, 2024

Location: The Kia Forum

It was a regular Friday morning — except it wasn’t. The day I had been eagerly waiting for had finally arrived: the IU concert! I’ve been a fan of IU since I was 11 years old. Her music has meant so much to me over the years — comforting me during my darkest times, soothing me when I was sad, and encouraging me to keep moving forward. That morning, I could barely contain my excitement. To prepare for the concert, I even spent months making bracelets and keychains to trade with other fans.

The ticketing experience, however, was a nightmare. IU is known for selling out stadiums across Asia, and I don’t think she anticipated such a huge turnout for her North American tour. She chose smaller venues for the tour, but when I entered the queue, there were already 60,000 people waiting. The ticketing process felt like a battleground — blood, sweat, and tears were shed just to get my ticket. My friends and I, along with our parents, tried our best to secure tickets for all of us. Unfortunately, despite our efforts, we didn’t succeed. I was heartbroken and disappointed. In the end, we had to purchase resale tickets, but thankfully, we didn’t pay an unreasonable price.

For the concert, purple and florals were the theme. I struggled a bit when picking my outfit because I tend to overthink clothing choices. In the end, I decided on a purple floral dress paired with a white tee and jeans. I wanted to stay comfortable but still dressed up, knowing it would be hot — August heat is no joke.

The only thing missing was the lightstick. For those unfamiliar with K-pop culture, most artists have their own lightsticks, which are a way for fans to show their support and feel united. The artist often coordinates the lightstick’s color with the setlist. IU’s lightstick, shaped like a microphone, is one of my favorites. My friend, who was flying in from San Francisco, attended the San Francisco stop of the tour and brought me a lightstick from that concert. We hadn’t been sure whether we’d be able to buy one at the LA stop, so I was grateful to have it in hand.

Hearing IU live was an experience beyond words. Her live vocals are unmatched, and her concert felt so intimate. She truly cares about her fans and makes sure they’re included in every aspect of the show. Since most of her set was in Korean, and the audience was largely English-speaking, she had the phonetics of the lyrics displayed on the screen so fans could follow along.

The concert lasted almost three hours and included multiple costume changes and an encore. During the encore, there was a more interactive segment where fans could suggest songs for IU to sing. One of the most memorable moments was when she performed a small snippet of her iconic song “Good Day,” despite having retired it during her Golden Hour concert. I never thought I’d hear it live again, so it was truly special. I thought I would cry at the end of the concert, but surprisingly, I managed to keep my composure. Still, my inner child felt completely healed that day.

Final Thoughts:

Attending IU’s concert was a dream come true. Although I had watched countless clips of her performances online, nothing compares to the magic of being there in person — feeling the energy of the crowd and hearing her incredible voice live. It was an adventure I’ll cherish forever, and I can’t wait for the next one.

Until Next Time,

Helena

[aishangotome]

Chapter 7-1 The Path to Breaking the Stalemate (破局之路)

Chapter 6 Rumors

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Qing Hun and I journeyed northward. The young bird nestled in my sleeve, curiously observing the scenery outside, completely unaware of the predicament we faced.

Princess: It's not safe to follow us...

I sighed softly. Countless times along the way, I'd considered releasing it, but each time it would flutter back into my arms, looking at me with a pitiful expression.

My heart softened, and I decided to keep it.

Princess: Since you want to stay with me, from now on your name will be... Xiao Huang.

I looked up. Wanted posters for my capture were now plastered on every city gate we passed. Upon reaching Lingzhou City, it was even more heavily guarded by Red-Robe soldiers.

Princess: ... The more Han You wants me dead, the less I can let him succeed.

Princess: Qing Hun, let's find another place to stay.

-

At dusk, we found a quaint temple at the foot of a mountain outside the city and settled in.

The night deepened, and the temple was silent. In the Hall of Rebirth, only countless candle flames reflected my shadow as I knelt on the prayer mat.

Before me was the eternal light and countless memorial tablets. I dared not look up, and kept carving the wooden tablet in my hand.

Qin Hun: Princess, it's time to rest.

Princess: I heard that my father and mother have been buried together in the imperial tomb.

Princess: But my second brother was labeled a traitor and his soul wanders alone. I want to set up a memorial tablet for him here.

Princess: Besides me, no one else would do these things for him.

The cawing of crows pierced the thick night. Wood shavings flew out along with the dancing cold light. Blood seeped into the grooves of the wooden tablet, leaving crooked marks.

Princess: You know, every day when I close my eyes, I see the faces of those people.

A knife carved down fiercely.

Princess: Han You, Consort Han... I wish I could tear them into pieces...

Another cut.

Princess: Only with hatred can I live on. Han You, Rong Lin, Sun Huaijin, and also...

Princess: They all have to pay the price.

Another cut.

Princess: I only hope they don't die before I go back, because I want to collect every debt I owe with my own hands.

Qin Hun: Princess, you're hurt.

Qin Hun firmly grasped my wrist, with a bit of force and determination, pried open my hand holding the knife.

Qin Hun: You can't continue.

Qin Hun: The wound will get infected. It needs to be treated.

He held my hand, the warm softness wrapped in Qin Hun's scent surrounded me. His lips gently landed on my fingertips, licking away the crimson blood beads.

Then he took out a clean handkerchief from his bosom and bandaged my wound. His movements were quick but gentle.

Qin Hun: Princess, live on. Don't forget hate, but also don't forget love.

Princess: Love...

He covered his heart.

Qin Hun: Love, here, Princess, for Qin Hun.

He then pointed to my heart.

Qin Hun: Many people, also for the Princess.

This once icy cold person in front of me now also had warmth.

Qin Hun: Give it to Qin Hun.

He took the wooden tablet from my hand, the one that was almost ruined. In Qin Hun's hands, it seemed to come alive, quickly carved into a complete memorial tablet.

Compared to other memorial tablets, this one looked very simple, without even a name carved on it.

However, the more inconspicuous it was, the more at ease I felt - my second brother could finally rest in peace here without being disturbed.

I placed it in the corner, along with my second brother's jade pendant.

Princess: Brother, when I've finished everything, I'll come back for you.

The second brother who had reached out to me countless times with gentleness could no longer respond, but I still held onto unrealistic fantasies, hoping for his voice.

Princess: I won't let you down.

Clutching the book in my arms, I looked at the newly carved memorial tablet.

Princess: I'm alone and weak now. Wanting to overthrow the Han family and return to Shengning is just a fool's dream.

Princess: But if I can unravel the mystery in the "Yao Guang Record", perhaps I can gain the power of revenge.

Princess: Qin Hun, one day, I will return to my homeland, my home, to my rightful place --

Princess: At any cost!

Qin Hun knelt on one knee before me, making a lifelong vow to me in the light of countless eternal lamps --

Qin Hun: Qin Hun, will be the Princess's sharpest blade.

Qin Hun: Even if my body is shattered and my bones are ground to dust, I will have no regrets.

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Chapter 7-2

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[montanababe7]

Unshakable: One Woman’s Journey from Desperation to Wholeness in Jesus

Jessica’s Autobiography:

My Story & Devotional

(She was conditioned to believe she was broken. For years, this woman had bought into the lie that her only value stemmed from other people’s perceptions of her. She desperately wanted to believe that she could have a will of her own. Instead, every decision and choice she made while growing up was dictated by her birth mother).

I was depressed and suicidal for years.

Honestly, I didn’t see any other way out. I just felt stuck. The best way I can describe this feeling was picturing a wind up doll with string. Someone else was controlling the movement of the doll. Picture Pinocchio and the evil puppet Meister. He didn’t actually care about Pinocchio or any of the other puppets in his control, all he cared about was the profits he would gain from them and how they would make him look in town. Every accomplishment I ever made was for my mom’s benefit, not mine. I wasn’t even allowed to go into town without makeup on; because God forbid if one of her fellow work associates or potential business clients saw me with her and I ruined her business. At one point, she even told me that no man would ever love or even notice me if I wasn’t wearing makeup or my hair was perfectly dolled up. The song: the real me by Natalie Grant mirrors the sad life I knew while growing up. She even mentioned that my eyes were mouse like without any makeup on and that the guy who said I was butt ugly without makeup make on, but gorgeous with it on had a point. My own mother said this about me. Her words crushed me. What mother would do this to her own child. My father was the opposite, he has always been so loving. He told me that I am a natural beauty and that makeup should only enhance it.

Another sad truth,

One year, the church we attended as a family, they were putting together a young adults group, I told my mom how excited I was to go and make great friends. She told me that I wasn’t allowed to because God forbid I go and meet the wrong one.

So as you can see, it was one thing after the other. I felt like repunzel from tangled. I was wanted to live my own life, but I was her flower to use emotionally. Nevermind the fact that I was dead inside. Every chance I made to succeed in college, she put a stop to. Blackmails and ultimatums were her speciality. It didn’t matter how much mascara I went through. I always ran out. I even gave her my end of the year tax return money out of guilt because of the passive aggression she used to imply I was a terrible daughter for not being grateful to live at the Minnesota home for free aside from endless housework. It broke my heart to see my other siblings flourishing and happy. They weren’t on a tight leash. They were free. Not me. The only comfort I had was my friends over messenger. It felt like I was only a allowed a fake life when housework was perfect by her standards. She even dumped my ex boyfriend through a letter she wrote to him. I didn’t even have a say in that either. So you see, nothing in that time in my life; I had a say in. Let’s not forget, the pitiful lamb of the family garbage. She told me that it was my duty to be the lamb of the family. I was born to suffer and be sick for my family’s sake. That God made weak so my siblings would. be strong. What she told me through those years, was that God would handpick one person from every family to pay the price. That God had called me as a watchman on the wall. One day in college, I told her that I was done being the lamb of the family and it wasn’t my job to intercede for them. She told me that if they died and went to hell; then their blood would be on my hands. That woman was twisting God’s word around for her own gain. Wow. So sad. Looking back, what a sad, pitiful woman who was bent on bringing to others for her own enjoyment. I was a victim to all of it and have been having ugly cry while writing this. I was so broken. It wasn’t my choice. These were the sad circumstances of that time period.

Somehow, miraculously, I never went through with suicide. I kept believing that Jesus had a better plan for my life than my current circumstances had deemed to say for me. Instead, I chose to focus on caring about others and reminding them of their value in Christ. I asked God to give me His heart for people.

Those stagnant years of living at my parents house, thankfully didn’t last forever.

In 2012, I met my future husband. Through months of dating, God worked in Michael to break down all my deep walls of pain. He began praying for me. As he spoke words of life and words of knowledge over me, I began to see myself how God viewed me. One night, depression and suicidal thoughts hit hard.

there was so much control and a man pleasing spirit in that house: I would see demons come through the walls in my old bedroom and my entire bedroom at night was blood red. The night I was gonna attempt suicide, the room was blood red. Both sides in the spiritual realm were fighting for my destiny😭. Jesus wanted me alive. The enemy wanted me dead.

The reason I was ready to end it all, was because-all I saw was a never-ending life of housework and my mother’s control. I wasn’t allowed to have friends, she wouldn’t permit me to date, she acted like God. At that point, I couldn’t see a way out except for death.

God pulled Michael into deep intercession mode for me. He began desperately praying for my life. He told me that God spoke to him, that my life was in imminent danger and he needed to pray immediately. I had planned on committing suicide. His intercession broke through the pain and I wanted to live. With a new lease on life, I began to think on what could be; instead of what couldn’t. All at once I saw an opening I couldn’t see before. Michael loved me unconditionally. His love for me was one without strings being attached. It was a love that was unfamiliar to me. He saw me. The real me. He saw my brokenness. The vulnerability and the rawness of a woman who been caged all her life. She was accustomed to a life of emotional chains. Don’t go here and don’t go there was her old normal. Her life had been completely shaped by a woman who had been bent on usurping her energy and joy. With just once glance from my birth mother I’d freeze. I would go completely numb. Michael rescued me from that emotional prison. I felt a burst of freedom at the thought of finally escaping. He prayed for me when I needed it most. I am forever grateful for all the love he has poured into my life. God knew Michael was everything and more than I could have ever prayed for. Even typing this and doing a mental log of yesteryear, I am looking on this with new eyes shocked at just the travesty of all the hardships I endured and how Jesus held me throughout it all.

A few months later in 2013, Michael and I, got married. I moved away from my childhood home in MN to MT. The impact of being away from the woman who birthed me has been monumental. I not only fully forgave her; but I have also found the freedom to independence. For nearly 16 years, I made every effort to obtain my driver’s permit and ultimately drive away to freedom, but to no avail. (That was in MN). that season was full of brokenness, but there was also so much of God’s beauty that had broken through. Even in the darkest seasons and moments, I learned how strong I really am.

In Montana, I had very little trouble attaining my driver’s permit and driver’s license. But, that’s only the beginning of my well being’s transformation. I have gained a confidence of loving who I am and being comfortable in my own skin. I have begun to discover who I really am. I am a loving wife to my wonderful husband, I have wonderful children, and I am so blessed with amazing friends that I consider family. Today, I see myself as a woman made strong by God’s faithfulness. I am a woman who has been forged through the fire and pain. God has given me a compassion for those who have been made broken, because I know what it means to hit rock bottom and all you can do is to look up and cry out to God for help. I have prayed for friends throughout the night. God has moved mountains on our behalf time and time again. We have moved cross country twice. We have seen God do the impossible. I have cried till I felt there weren’t any tears left. I remember days, when I didn’t know how I would go on. The moments when money was tight; God provided. I have seen God come through for us time and time again. I have grown in my walk with God. I have prayed more and rejoiced more. There isn’t anything our God can’t do. I want to inspire others. Speaking into other people’s lives. Pouring into them the truth of healing through Christ.

I feel like a bird freed from the cage I was in. Looking back, I know I wouldn’t have survived any of those onslaughts without Jesus. If I were someone else reading my story, I wouldn’t have a clue how Jessica had survived all that.

This journey of discovery, has shed years of pain and trauma. I’m on a mission to help others like myself become wholly free through Jesus. I want others to know the beauty of what it truly means to be free through Jesus. I want others to step forward into their best days for the rest of their life. The Presence of Jesus has come in like a flood. Washing away every ounce of heartache and pain. I have asked Jesus to have every access of my heart. Everything is forever laid bare before the Author of all Time. The King of all kings. And the Lord of all Lords. Everyday . Every moment of my entire life. My very existence is His. I’m no longer holding back in fear. I am confident today because of Jesus. He paid the price for me. He made a way for me; even when I was broken.He made a way.

When all hope felt gone; Jesus Christ of Nazareth was right there. He made a way for me. This wholeness in Jesus that I have found, it is my prayer that other people will find themselves breaking free from pain of their past too. The beauty of becoming whole in Jesus is so delicious and is overwhelmingly satisfying. He reaches deep down into your heart. Healing you. Changing you deeply from the inside out and you simply are never the same again.

My prayer everyday, is that I will be the mother that my spiritual children and natural children need me to be. Every day, I want to continually point them to Jesus. I want them to always see themselves through the loving eyes of their Heavenly Father. My prayer for them, is that they will always know what it means to be loved unconditionally by a God who will never stop pursuing them and Who is madly in love with them. Even when I grow old, I pray that my life will be seen as an example of a woman who once felt so low and then God raised her up.

To my readers,

it is my prayer for you; that everyday, that you will discover just how much Jesus loves you. Death is never the answer. It is never the easy way out. God has instilled within you all so much purpose value. You are a tremendous gift. God has forever planted so many beautifully intricate things within you. He wants you to find out who you really are. Your life is not a mistake. You are not a mistake. You are a masterpiece from the very Hand of God. God created you with so much destiny. Begin to ask Jesus to forever reveal your identity. Every person has been born with a calling and a destiny on their life. Wherever you are right now, God wants you to stop doubting your value. He has a good plan for your life. Jeremiah 29:11. You matter. Remember, your mistakes do not define you. Ask Jesus for forgiveness of all the wrongs you have ever made. Allow Jesus to wash them away by His Precious Blood. Ask Jesus to come into your heart and life. Pray with me right now,

Jesus,

I know that I am sinner in need of a Savior. Rescue me. Change me. Save me. Redeem me. Please come into my heart. Be my Savior. Be my Lord. I am yours forever Lord God! Thank you Jesus for saving me writing/recording my name down in the Lamb’s Book of Life. From this day forward, I am a Christian. In Jesus Name I pray, Amen!

My dear friend,

If you just prayed that prayer, your name is forever written down in the Lamb’s Book of Life! You will never be the same again! Welcome to the Family of God! God has a wonderful plan for your life. He sees you and He knows you. Wherever reading this book finds you:

Wherever it be- in a coffee shop, bookstore, shops, or in the comfort of your own home, etc,. I want you all to remember this one thing, You matter to God. You always have and you will always will. That’s the beauty of the Heart of the Father; you will always matter.

Next,

The Holy Spirit is prompting me too speak on inner healing. You might have had bad things to you. Things that were out of your control. The enemy of your soul, wants you to allow hatred and unforgiveness to fester deep. No matter what happened, forgive. I cannot state that enough. Now, ask Jesus to begin to heal you. He wants every broken heart made whole. The Holy Spirit is ministering to you right now. Allow God to take you to the painful places, those places that brought pain. Ask Him to remove the sting of the trauma. He wants to bring healing. He wants your story to help someone else get free. But, you need to be healed first.

Friend, I want to pray for you.

Dear God,

Wherever my reader finds themselves right now, I ask You God to begin to pour Your light upon those painful places; and pull out the sting. Thank you for releasing Your healing balm of Gilead and love over them right now. I thank You Father God that they are forgiving each and every person who has ever hurt them. I thank You Father God that they are submitting every pain and every hurt to the foot of the Cross. They are leaving it there. Thank You Father God for restoring them right now, releasing Your Supernatural Oil of Healing refreshment and peace. I declare in the Matchless Name of Jesus that Your Love is flooding into all those places right now. Thank you Father God for restoring them. Do what only You can do. You are more than able Lord God to restore all. Thank You Father God, that they are inviting You to be on the journey of freedom in Jesus. In Your Precious Name Jesus, We do pray, Amen!

My Dear Friends,

I want you all to know that you truly are never alone. Jesus is the Friend that sticks closer than a brother. I am so excited for all of you to discover who you truly are in Jesus. You all have so much value and purpose. You matter. You have purpose. Remember this, that you and I, are far more than conquerors through Christ Jesus of Nazareth who loves us! You can all things through Christ Jesus who strengthens you! The fact that you are still here and you are reading this book right now, is not an accident. God set you up today. He led you to find this book. Why? Because Jesus loves you and I, everyday and He wants you to discover just how loved you are. You have a purpose. You have a destiny. I want you to shout out for joy; because all those years of heartache, trauma, and pain are all being melted away By Jesus Precious Blood. Can I hear an Amen! Declare out loud with me right now, that you are sound in mind and body. Declare, that God will finish what He has started. Declare, that He who has begun a good work in you; is faithful to complete it. God isn’t finished with you yet! Begin to shout for Joy that Jesus has set you free! For remember, He Whom the Son has set free; is free indeed. You are not your father. You are not your mother. You are you. God already knows the path you will take. He knows where this is going. Nothing ever surprises Him. You are not too far gone for God to love you. You are enough. Say that right now with me:

I am enough through Christ. I matter. I am loved. I am accepted. I am accepted by the Beloved. That can be you today. You can be happy and confident through Jesus. You have nothing to lose! There’s freedom in Christ.

Wherever you find yourself right now, remember this; you are never too far gone for God to love you. Right now, you can feel the Holy Spirit reaching out to you. He is drawing you closer to His side. Despite what anyone has ever told you. You are a leader. You stand out. You Shine. Let go of all of the negative words that have ever been spoken over you. All those negative voices have to leave right now in the Matchless Name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth! Begin to inquire of the Lord God Almighty- what are His Dreams for your life. Design a vision board. Pick up a Journal. Begin penning down what the Holy Spirit impresses upon your heart. There is so much that Jesus wants to speak to you. You are Jesus Beloved Child. You are His Son. You are His Daughter. He loves you and wants to spend time with you.

Spending time with Jesus and reading God’s Word is what got me through high school and some of the most trying times of my life. When my high school friends abandoned me; I clung to Jesus. When my world seemed shattered; I forgave and I set my sights on Jesus. He reminded me that those hard times were temporary and wouldn’t last forever. When I could have turned away from God; instead, I gave God everything. Even in the difficult moments, when life didn’t make sense-Jesus was still there. There have been beautiful moments in my life too. The young people and adults I’ve mentored throughout the years. I have seen countless precious people be completely transformed in the Presence of God. There’s one thing I know for certain. God has always been there for me; no matter what. He’s there for you too!

I pray this book finds you feeling stronger in your faith and in knowing that God will never your side no matter what. No matter the length of this book, it is my heartfelt prayer that you are already better because of reading it. Wherever you find yourself, remember this:

You’re an inspiration to many. God has placed within you indescribable giftings and talents. You’re more loved than you possibly can ever imagine. Ephesians 3:20. Now, Go and change your world for Christ!

Everyday, let a smile rest on your face as you remember God’s Goodness and Faithfulness each and every day! Your journey is as unique as you are. Your entire life tells a story. What are you doing with it? It’s never too late to make an impact on someone. Share with others how much Jesus loves them. I encourage you guys to bring a smile to someone’s face today. Ask God to show you the gold in someone- meaning: bring out the best in others. Be the reason somebody is alive today. You are making a difference whether you realize it or not. Pray for everyone. Love everyone just as Jesus first loved you.

God is healing your heart right now. Those painful ashes of deep pain are being washed away by Jesus Blood. Hold your head up today. Love yourself. Instead of seeing yourself as being unworthy or unloved, you’re a beloved Son of God and you’re a beloved daughter of God is transforming your pauper mindset. Into one of royalty. God is removing your spiritual rags and is beautifully replacing them with elegant ballroom clothes. The finest tuxedo and the most extravagant ball gown. Exquisite with cascading diamonds and other flawless jewels & gemstones. My dear friends, that is how God sees you. And I'l say it again: You are all royalty in Christ. You have just to believe it. When you start viewing others through the heart of Jesus and from the perspective of Heaven: you begin to see them through His Eyes. That’s the Beauty of having a heart of God for others. You begin to cry out for them. What a precious gift it is to get to pour into others through prayer and building them up.

You are leaving behind a powerful legacy for God that will impact countless souls for eternity. This is my journey and I’m so so blessed to include you guys in it! There are some pretty amazing people who have always been there for me and their prayers&encouragement are a huge reason why I’m alive today. They have poured into me . They have prayed with me and for me. They have encouraged me. They have built me up when I’ve been down. I want to say a huge thanks:

First to God-Thank you for always being there.

To my Dad Michael Farnam-I love you so much. Thank you for always having my back.

To my Husband Michael Wolf-You’re my best friend, my lover, and my rock.

To My Camp Girls-you are all amazing! I love and pray for you gals daily!

To all those I’ve impacted over the years-I’ve never stopped praying for you or ever stopped believing in you!

To Carrie Park Sears-You’re one of my best friends, my precious sister in Christ. Thank you for building me up when I’ve need it most. Let’s not forget all the ugly laughter and ugly crying.

To Kelc- for being one of my besties and praying for both of our spouses-many hours of prayer and tears!

To Tisha-To such an amazing sister in Christ, and one of my very best friends, to a fellow infj. So many prayers.

To Kathy-Thank you for being my amazing friend and constant inspiration/role model

To Alyson-I’m so thankful that you’re one of my best friends. Jesus has truly given you a heart of gold. Life can definitely bring many challenges; but we’ve also seen amazing blessings along the way. I’m so proud of who you are

And a many thanks to so many

My final thoughts:

Never let the world diminish your light. Show them Jesus. I’d never be where I am today without Jesus.

Thanks for reading!

-Jessica Wolf

[standwukraine]

My sister was over for new years eve and the news was on and the news mentioned the aid for Ukraine and my sister said something like we need to keep money in our own country. I said no... we need to help them, russia is an evil empire, but I'm not sure I said it right.... convincingly or whatever. It bothers me people don't understand this. I didn't want to just keep arguing bc that can turn ppl away but it stuck in my mind, I want her to understand this. I want everyone to. If I can't get to ppl in my own family... I really have no influence. I have to try tho even if it doesn't work bc how much is at stake!

I sent my sister a message (I don't want to bother her at night but I also don't want to stay silent):

Russia is a large enough country that its expansion IS everyone's problem especially those who have the power to do something about it. It's better its stopped now at just one country rather than keeps going. That would cost a lot more. Ukrainian soldiers are fighting for freedom from not just expansion of a country but the brutality that brings, the torture and rape under occupation, the thousands of children kidnapped and taken from their parents. Putin sees us as the enemy and if we don't put up a strong front he will keep going and confront us sooner or later. Being weak in the face of his power just invites him to keep going. It is a similar situation as world War 2, just as clear cut morally, but thankfully we saw it earlier rather than the occupation of Poland. But now people are weakening and backing away and putin will happily wait us out. Democracies have a hard time understanding dictatorships but they have to stand up to them especially one as rapacious as putins russia. We appeased them too much already and looked the other way and thus it is partly our responsibility. Meddling in a country's affairs is one thing but this is a global issue bc of russia's power and malicious intent (plus Ukraine wants us to help). Russia is literally teaching children to put together guns in school. They're in this for the long haul but the stronger we are the less likely they'll succeed. A few billion is a small price to pay compared with if it kept going with no resistance and we had to send troops if it invaded a NATO country. Ukraine is the shield of Europe rn and paying with their blood. The only other option is bowing to a dictatorship that not only kills and tortures anyone who resists but suppresses any dissent in its own country, imprisons people for years for social media posts. This isn't the kind of thing we want to spread any further.

[augustmoon259]

"Unholy Blood" Pureblood!Fem!Vampire Reader x Hayan Park

Ten years ago, people who could transform into vampires began to appear in Korea. Ever since then, these morphing vampires have been slaughtering people while hiding their true identities. But there's something that people don't know. A secret, that if it got out, would change the world and the way that people saw vampires forever.

Pureblood vampires. Vampires who are stronger, faster, and more powerful in every way. How do I know about them? Because I am a pureblood vampire.

o - o - o - o - o

My parents were both pureblood vampires. They used to live in Korea, before they had me. They decided to move to the US and settle down in a small town.

My life was a peaceful one. Sure, it was hard trying to hide my identity as a vampire, but it wasn't that bad. I was homeschooled, up until I was ready to go off to college.

College was a new experience for me. I had fun making new friends, taking classes taught by different teachers, and being in a new environment. I went home to visit my parents during breaks.

I wish I had gotten to say goodbye to them, if I knew that I'd never be able to see them again.

o - o - o - o - o

It was winter break. I was excited to see my parents again and spend time with them during the holidays. I had plans for movies we could watch together, games we could play, and more.

The bus stopped in my neighborhood, and I got off, still brimming with anticipation. That is, until I saw the smoke.

The smoke was coming from the direction of my family's home. I ran there as fast as I could. When I got there, I saw the firefighters putting out the last of the flames.

Our house was a complete wreck. I frantically rushed past the onlookers and firefighters to dig through the rubble, and search for my parents. I was dragged away, still screaming and sobbing.

Later, the police told me about what had happened. It was reported that two explosions were heard from our house, and then a fire started not long after. The firefighters were dispatched, but it still took a while for them to get from the station to our house. They found my parents' bodies, unrecognizable as they were.

The explosions were written off as gas leaks, since our house was an old one. This may have been a reasonable explanation to anyone else, but not me. I knew better.

We were pureblood vampires.

Any regular vampire that manages to consume the heart of a pureblood vampire would become a pureblood vampire themself. We knew this, but we thought we were safe here in the US, when vampires began to appear in Korea ten years ago.

My parents must have sacrificed themselves to destroy their hearts, along with their attackers.

Our mailbox still had some mail in it. Bills to pay, letters for my parents, and letters for me as well. I expected this. What I was not expecting was the note left in the mailbox, addressed to me.

If you want revenge for your parents' deaths, come to Korea.

I crushed the note in my hand.

Whoever came after my parents didn't succeed, but it cost my parents their lives. Now they're after me. They know I exist.

Fine. If they think I'll be easy prey, I'll prove them wrong.

o - o - o - o - o

Living in Korea was different from living in the States.

I had applied to study abroad, and the university I applied for was Hanguk University. I managed to rent an apartment at a decent price in a modest neighborhood. I heard that there was a nice church in the area, run by a priest who also takes care of orphans from the nearby orphanage.

It was hard enough adjusting to life in another country, never mind one where bloodthirsty monsters come out at night. Lucky for me, I had the distinct advantage of being one of those "monsters".

Admittedly, not only did I feel guilty for not being able to prevent my parents' deaths, I realized what a privileged life I had been living. All my life, just on the other side of the world, there were innocent people being terrorized by vampires.

But now I'm here, and I have the power to do something about it.

I'd find whoever was responsible for my parents' murders, and I'll rid the world of vampires, one bastard at a time.

Between going out at night to kill vampires, and scrounging up information about their secret hierarchy and criminal underworld, I was also busy with my normal, "human" life.

I attended the orientation for my new university.

Yet it wasn't at the orientation that I'd meet the woman who'd change my life.

o - o - o - o - o

The first day of school was always the same: new students rushing to find their classes, old students saying hi to their friends, and teachers making note of who to look out for that year.

I greeted a few people I had met at the orientation, but there was one girl who was going around greeting...everyone. She was quite pretty, with dark brown hair and eyes.

She was so enthusiastic, bowing her head at every person she came across, that I couldn't help but smile.

With her friendly demeanor, I was sure she'd already have made plenty of friends, but I noticed later that she had no one to sit at lunch with. I myself was sitting alone, but that was of my own volition. I debated whether or not to go to her table and sit with her, but I opted not to, in the end.

Over the next few days, I kept seeing her around. She still greeted everyone cheerfully, and had earned the nickname "Miss Popular" around campus. I found it very fitting for her.

Things continued on like this. Her, greeting everyone with enthusiasm but sitting alone. Me, silently watching her.

I decided that I had done enough observing, and that it was time to formally meet her.

Bringing my lunch with me over to her table, I sat across from her. She had started eating her lunch by then, so when I unexpectedly arrived at her table, she choked on her food.

"Hey! Hey, are you okay?!"

I got up from my seat, prepared to do the Heimlich maneuver if necessary, but she waved a hand to stop me, and grabbed a nearby water bottle with the other hand to drink. She beat her chest a few times until she was no longer gasping, and I sat down when I confirmed that she was fine. Other people who had noticed the incident went back to eating their lunches.

We sat there, awkwardly gazing at each other, until she groaned and covered her face with her hands in embarrassment.

"Nice going Hayan...first person who decides to sit with you at lunch, and you make a fool of yourself..."

"Oh no, that was my fault! I'm sorry for surprising you like that...so, uh, your name is Hayan?"

Hayan took one hand off her face, before slowly removing her remaining hand.

"Yes, my name is Hayan...Park Hayan."

I introduced myself, and then we...shook hands. I decided to start a new topic of conversation, before Hayan had an existential crisis.

"Hayan...is it alright if I call you Hayan?"

She nodded her head affirmatively before waiting for what else I had to say.

"I hope this isn't out of line for me to say, but I've sort of been watching you for a while now. I notice that you always say hi to everyone, but you're still sitting alone at lunch? Um, Hayan, do you have friends?"

Hayan looked taken aback for a moment, before hanging her head in shame.

"It's...it's complicated? I've been trying to make friends, and since I didn't attend the orientation, I thought saying hi to everyone would be a surefire way to meet new people, but I haven't had much luck..."

"You didn't attend the orientation? So that's why I didn't recognize you. Hayan, if you're trying to make new friends, would you...like to be friends?"

"Seriously?! I mean, how could I reject?!"

Hayan enthusiastically slammed her hands on the table and jumped up, before sheepishly sitting back down when she noticed people's curious glances.

"Yes! Let's be friends!"

I talked with Hayan until lunch was over, and it turned out that we had a lot in common. Neither Hayan nor I were able to finish our lunches, busy as we were with chatting with each other. We decided to exchange phone numbers to keep in touch with each other.

After that, I wasn't occupied with just school and my nighttime activities. I hung out with Hayan outside of school. We went to cafes and coffee shops to get drinks and spend more time with each other.

She and I were the same age: twenty. When I applied to Hanguk University, I had to apply as a freshman, since not all of my credits from my previous college transferred over.

Hayan was looking forward to a get together that some seniors had organized at a pub. Students from every year would be there, and she hoped to meet other freshman besides me. I wasn't one for drinking, since vampires couldn't get drunk anyway, but I decided to go for Hayan's sake.

Gatherings of college students tend to go south pretty quickly, but it was what happened after that was a disaster.

o - o - o - o - o

The pub was crowded, noisy, and filled with the laughter and shouting of overexcited young adults.

I sat down at a random table with Hayan. When we sat down, I heard someone suggest a drinking game to lighten the mood. Next thing I knew, we were all pointing fingers at each other, and Hayan was the unfortunate person chosen to drink.

Two hours and several more drinking games later, Hayan was still unsuccessful at making another friend. I was surprised to note that Hayan was not a lightweight at all. She had drunk nearly twenty bottles of soju by herself! And If I was being honest with myself, I thought that made her even more amazing than she already was.

"Hayan, do you want to go home now?"

"Ah, yeah, I guess so...It seems my latest plan to make friends failed..."

In my head, I could see the comical tears of defeat in her eyes.

Hayan got up and grabbed her bag, but before we left the pub, a senior announced one last drinking competition. It was between a heavyset senior named Jang and anyone who dared to challenge him. If no one won, the freshman had to show off a talent during our start of year trip.

I knew what was coming before anyone else. I decided to take bets, and when the drinking match was over, I made a nice one hundred thousand won from people who had bet Hayan would lose.

Actually, calling it a "match" would be wrong. It was so one-sided, I almost felt bad for Jang.

Hayan finally got her wish granted. I saw two freshman asking Hayan for her number to join their study group. As I looked at Hayan's giddy face, and the admiring expressions of everyone else around us, I felt happy for Hayan.

Just when Hayan was making a toast to her victory, the sirens went off.

The joy of everyone around us immediately died out, to be replaced with worry and fear instead.

People scrambled to gather their belongings and leave the pub, and I hurried over to Hayan's side.

"Come on, Hayan. We'd better go. The sirens mean that vampires will be out soon..."

"Right! Um, let's go!"

We left the pub, prepared to follow everyone else in order to catch the last bus.

"Hayan! Let me walk you home!"

Before I knew what was happening, there was a random guy standing in front of Hayan. He completely ignored me. If that wasn't enough to piss me off, his condescending smirk and the arrogant way he held himself did. Let me guess, this guy's one of those idiots who try to act macho in front of girls to impress them.

"Um, no thank you. I already have a friend I'm walking home with..."

"A friend? Sure you do. Come on, what are you so afraid of? Me?"

"Hey buster, back off. She already said she's got someone to walk home with!"

I shoved him away. As he recovered from my unexpected interference, he quickly masked his anger with the same infuriating smirk. He gave me a once over, before his smirk widened.

"So this must be the friend you mentioned. Well, I can always walk you both home."

Great. Just great. Not only is he wasting our precious time, he's hitting on Hayan and me.

"Tch. Fine. Clearly you're invested in walking with us, for some unfathomable reason, so I'll deign to let you join us, but only if I'm between you and Hayan."

He seemed to be more interested in Hayan than me, so I thought putting myself between her and him would get him to stop talking. Instead, he kept blabbering on about how vampires are no big deal, and there's nothing to worry about.

He's extremely lucky that we finally made it to the bus stop. Otherwise, I might have punched him.

There were some people running to get on the bus before it left. The annoying guy was still flirting with Hayan, but my attention was diverted when I heard a crash. The three of us turned our heads toward the source of the noise.

It was a man who had been thrown on the ground. The other man standing above him was obviously a gangster, a loan shark out to collect his debt. My intuition told me something bad was going to happen, and not because of the loan shark.

Sometimes, I hate being right.

It happened faster than the human eye could see, but I could discern perfectly with my vision. The man on the ground thrust his arm straight through the loan shark's chest.

As he stood up and shoved the now dead body off himself, the vampire walked closer step by step to Hayan and I. The annoying senior had long run away. He really was just a coward in the end. I would deal with him tomorrow. Right now, I had bigger things to worry about.

Normally, I'd just transform and then kill this no-name vampire, but I had to worry about Hayan. She was digging through her bag, looking for something. If only the bus was still around. Then Hayan could have run away and escaped.

I made a split second decision.

"Hayan. Listen to me. Run away as far as you can and don't look back."

"What? But, what about you? I can't leave you here alone!"

"Damn it Hayan, please just run away!"

"And where do you think you're going, bitch?!"

The vampire lunged towards Hayan and grabbed her hair. Before he could bite her, I transformed and slammed him to the ground. I smashed his head in, and watched as his body scattered into dust.

With the immediate threat out of the way, I checked on Hayan. She had fallen on the ground when the vampire let go of her hair. I helped her as she stood up weakly. Hayan blinked, as she alternated between looking at the crater where the vampire used to be, and me. I spread my arms out to either side, and gazed steadily back at her.

"This is me. This is who I really am. I'm a vampire, a monster that people want dead. Hayan...do you hate me too?"

I waited with bated breath for her answer. The truth is, I could erase her memories. Make it so she never remembered what happened this night. But I didn't want to.

Ever since my parents died, I had no one else who knew the truth of who I really was. I was good at pretending. I've been doing it my whole life. But I needed just one person I didn't have to pretend with, and I hoped that person could be Hayan.

Hayan studied my white hair and blue eyes. She looked pensive.

"No...no I don't hate you. Because you're my friend."

She hugged me, and if I noticed that her hold was tighter than normal, I didn't mention it.

"Hayan...thank you."

I hugged her back.

We remained like that for a while, until I offered to take her home.

"Wait, you want to...you want to carry me?! In-in your arms?!"

"Well, yes. I could also give you a piggyback ride, but since I'll be running and jumping on rooftops, this should be more comfortable for you."

"O-okay."

Putting one arm under Hayan's legs, and the other supporting her back, I made sure Hayan was securely in my hold when I leapt from the ground. Hayan kept her eyes closed the entire time, until I landed with a thump in front of the church.

"Good night, Hayan."

I smiled softly and gave Hayan a small wave, before hurrying home.

o - o - o - o - o

Hayan and I grew closer after that night.

Since I no longer had to pretend I was human around her, I invited her over to my apartment, and vice versa. She introduced me to her "father" and her "siblings".

"It's nice to meet you sir. I mean, Father Michael. Um, Father-Michael-sir?"

As it turns out, Hayan was an orphan. I knew she lived in the same neighborhood as me, but not at the orphanage next to the church that I heard about when I first rented my apartment. The neighborhood ladies were always giggling about Father Michael, but he was more intimidating in person, even to a pureblood vampire like me.

"At ease. You're the friend Hayan has been talking about?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Hayan was fighting back laughter behind me, while I kept on sweating nervously.

"It's good she has a friend like you."

"Thank you, Father!"

I barely held back a sigh of relief that I seemed to make a good impression on Hayan's adoptive father. It was time to meet the younger siblings now.

"Woah! This is all for us?!"

Hayan's adoptive siblings, Yerim and Yunsu, bounced around eagerly when they saw I had brought bread for them. Hayan told me her siblings really loved bread, especially sticky rice bread. I had bought a couple for them from the school dining hall, and then went to a bakery to buy some more bread (mochi, sesame, tapioca, etc.) Since I couldn't eat any of it myself, I bought what was recommended to me by the baker, and hoped for the best.

"Hayan! You need to bring your friend by more often!"

"You are my new favorite person!"

"I thought I was your favorite person?!"

I chuckled as Hayan chased her siblings around in order to catch them and tickle them.

Hayan has such a lovely family. It's no wonder she's also a lovely person.

o - o - o - o - o

It was a normal evening at the university. I had stayed behind at school to work on homework and assignments with some classmates.

The student body was abuzz today with new gossip about the "super senior". He was the senior who had entered college nine years ago, and still had yet to graduate. This was none of my business. What was my business was that he was rude and a bully. In fact, just that afternoon, he had bumped into Hayan and insulted her instead of apologizing. If I saw him, I'd give him a piece of my mind, regardless if his family was well off or not.

After finishing our assignments, I accompanied my classmates on their way to get the last shuttle bus. To my displeasure, we had the misfortune of running into the aforementioned "super senior" Byungsu.

My classmates greeted him, but when he gave them no reply, they said goodbye to me and ran off to catch the bus.

I noticed that he seemed to be in a daze. Hayan did tell me that it seemed like he was sick, and looking at him now, I could tell that she was speaking the truth. Regardless of any beef I had with him, if he was feeling unwell, he should go see a doctor.

"Hey, Byungsu. Do you need to go to the hospital?"

He didn't answer, instead just glaring at me, and clenching his fists. Whatever was going through his mind at that moment was not pleasant. I wanted to ask him more questions, but we were interrupted by a man on the phone.

It was Professor Donggyu Park. He was not one of my professors, but Hayan said he's one of her favorites. He's very dedicated to his job, has memorized all of his students' names, and even speaks to students on days he doesn't teach. It looked like he was in a hurry to get home, judging by how he greeted us quickly and then got into his car.

I was too late to stop what happened next.

Byungsu threw Professor Park's car into the air. It flipped over and landed on its top with a crash. I dashed toward the car to check on Professor Park. He was bleeding from his head and unconscious, but he was still alive.

I was the one who was clenching my fists this time. Well, I had the perfect target to vent my anger out on.

This side of the school was deserted at this time of the night, and the security cameras were down for maintenance today. With no one watching me, I could kill Byungsu.

He was heading this way, no doubt to murder the professor.

I opened the car door, gently took Professor Park out, and placed him on the ground. Then I transformed.

"What the fuck, you're a vampire too?"

"Shut up. You won't be alive for long anyway."

My hand was enveloped in blue flames as I disappeared and then reappeared in front of Byungsu. I grabbed his face, and watched as it melted away. The fire burned everything and left nothing behind, not even ashes.

After de-transforming, I performed first aid on Professor Park and called 119.

When the ambulance arrived, I was questioned by police officers about what had happened. I told them the fake story I made up: I was with some classmates on their way to catch the last bus home, and then we ran into Byungsu. I went back inside the university to get something I had forgotten. When I came back outside, I saw Professor Park's car turned over and him inside unconscious.

I was held in questioning until the police contacted my classmates to confirm I was with them. Professor Park woke up after receiving emergency medical attention, and told the police he had also seen Byungsu. That, coupled with the sudden emergence of footage showing Byungsu had caused a traffic accident and killed the victims, all but cemented the fact that Byungsu the vampire had attacked Professor Park.

Byungsu was put on the national wanted list, and around campus people started calling me "The Lifesaver".

o - o - o - o - o

To recap, since school started, I became friends with Hayan, saved her from a vampire by revealing my secret, met Father Michael and Hayan's younger siblings, and also saved another person from a vampire attack.

My life in Korea had been extremely eventful, and it only became more so with the introduction of Detective Euntae Hwang.

It was another day at the university, and there were students outside of the school protesting the recent vampire attacks. I was irritated, but I could also understand where they were coming from. Recent examples like Byungsu had shown that it was all too easy for vampires to hide on campus.

I was with Hayan, and the two other freshman she had met at the pub.

"Excuse me, are you Hayan Park?"

We all turned around to see a handsome red haired man. I looked at Hayan, and from her reaction, she recognized him.

"Hayan," I whispered to her, "you know this man?"

"Yes," she whispered back, "he saved me and my siblings from gangsters this one time."

Well, if he helped Hayan, he could be a good person, but he could also be faking it...

"Oh, and you must be the other person I'm looking for!"

I pointed at myself in surprise. "Me?"

"Yes, you! Let me introduce myself..."

He smiled, before proceeding to tell us all how about how he graduated from the police academy at the top of his class...and how he was made captain of the criminal investigations unit...and how he was the superstar of the vampire task force....and...

I sighed and facepalmed.

"We get it, you're a detective. Please, we don't need to hear your entire life story..."

"Oh, silly me! I chattered on for too long, huh?"

Hayan's friends said goodbye before leaving us with the detective, blushes still present on their faces. As Hayan and I walked to the dining hall with the detective to continue our conversation with him, I noticed a lot of attention on us. Or rather, the detective.

By the time we got to our destination, Hayan and I had begrudgingly learned more about him.

He wasn't kidding when he said he was an expert about vampires. He had even invented a method to kill vampires: paralyzing them and then burning them alive in a furnace. To create such a brutal method, this man...he was dangerous.

I was on my guard while waiting for what else he had to say. He had ordered an entire table's worth of food, while I ordered drinks for Hayan and I. He insisted on buying food for us as well, but I rejected him quite firmly.

The detective, Euntae Hwang as he called himself, asked us about the vampire who had killed the loan shark. Apparently, that was what Detective Hwang was investigating. The police were trying to figure out how the vampire died, and if it was related to the recent case of Byungsu...

I could tell that Hayan was nervous around the detective. He must be bringing up bad memories of the vampire attack.

Detective Hwang didn't let up in his interrogation though. If anything, he got more extreme. Did he suspect Hayan and I were vampires? Well, that wouldn't do. I pondered how to get out of this mess, when something unexpected happened.

The detective cut his hand with the knife he was using for his food.

It was quite a deep cut, and the blood flowed steadily from the wound.

"Ouch! I cut myself! I guess my fingers were too tense..."

Was he that desperate to reveal us as vampires? I'm glad I had the foresight to order a drink, so that I had something else to focus on instead of the blood. But it made me upset that Hayan seemed to look even more uncomfortable now.

"Detective, why don't you go to the nurse's office and get a bandage for that cut?"

"Are you sure? I can always get a bandage at the police station..."

"No, no, you should definitely go and get that checked out. The sooner the better."

"Alright then. I suppose this is goodbye for now."

'For now?' I hope that's 'forever' instead. The detective left after packing up the rest of his food, and I wanted Hayan and I to go home as quickly as possible, but Hayan insisted on buying some sticky rice bread for her siblings. I was going to object, but caved after Hayan gave me her best pair of puppy dog eyes.

The line for the baked goods was long today. We waited for a while, until we finally bought the bread and left the dining hall. But, we ran into the detective on our way out.

"Hey, we meet again!"

I facepalmed, for a different reason this time.

"Yayyyy...so glad we keep running into each other."

If he noticed my sarcasm, the detective didn't comment on it.

"Well, we'd love to stay and chat more, but Hayan has to go home and take care of her very sick siblings..."

"Huh? But my siblings aren't -"

"Yep! Very sick! Oh the poor little ones!"

I grabbed Hayan's hand and we speed walked away from the detective...

....

....

"It's time for us to takes matters into our own hands! Let's prove that we're not vampires!"

Damn it.

The protestors from earlier were now cutting people in order to prove that they weren't vampires. It was chaos all around us. Some students were willing, but most thought that the student council protestors were taking it too far. I thought about going back inside and waiting for the chaos to die down. There had to be teachers who would stop this madness, right?

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked back to see it was Detective Hwang.

He leaned down to whisper to Hayan and I, "Just start walking." So we did exactly that, until we were stopped.

The student council members were blocking our path.

"Have you done the test to prove you're not a vampire?"

They weren't backing down. Hayan raised a complaint, but that only seemed to make them angrier. One of them grabbed Hayan's wrist, and I prepared to brush it off, but when he pulled back Hayan's sleeve, we all saw the bandage on her arm.

It was still wet with blood.

But whose? Is it...the detective's? From when he cut his hand earlier with the knife? When and how did he get the bandage onto Hayan's arm?

"You see? We already did it. Do you need more proof?"

Detective Hwang was calm and collected as he slid Hayan's sleeve back down. That should have been the end of the matter, but a new obstacle stood in our way: the student council leader.

"She could have gotten that bandage anywhere. I wasn't able to see her do the test, so I need her to do it again."

This was getting ridiculous.

The student council leader made a go at grabbing Hayan's arm again, but Detective Hwang caught him midair.

"It's a crime to go around using a blade on people against their will. Unless you want to be charged, I suggest stopping."

He flashed his police ID at the student council members, which was finally enough to get them to leave us alone. The three of us were able to get away from campus unimpeded.

I was reluctantly grateful for the detective. Hayan and I could have waited inside the university, but then the council members would have kept accosting other students outside. With the threat of police intervention, they'd be unlikely to continue.

"Thank you...Detective Hwang."

"Oh please, call me Captain."

"...Captain Hwang."

He added his number to Hayan and I's contacts, before the three of us parted ways.

o - o - o - o - o

I had gotten a text from Hayan.

I...I need you. Please...please come. I'm sitting in front of the pizza restaurant...

I knew exactly where Hayan was referring to. I grabbed my umbrella and my rain jacket, before quickly heading out to find Hayan. I had no idea why she'd send me such a strange text, but whatever the reason, it sounded urgent.

The rain was pouring, and Hayan was absolutely soaked.

"Hayan! You're going to get sick like that!"

I gave Hayan my umbrella to hold, while I went into the nearest store to buy a towel for Hayan. I came back out and gave her the towel to dry off while still holding onto the umbrella. After she finished drying off, Hayan looked...dejected.

"Can you tell me now why you called me out here?"

Hayan kept her head lowered as she explained what happened to her.

"Father Michael...he...he and I got into a fight."

"You got into a fight...? About what?"

"He...he's not letting me go to school anymore."

"What?!"

I was flabbergasted. Then, my astonishment turned into indignation.

"He...he can't do that! You haven't even finished the semester yet!"

"I know...I tried arguing against it, but he...he's made up his mind."

"Hayan..."

I was still aggravated on Hayan's behalf, but seeing her appear so defeated dampened my mood.

"Maybe you need to spend some time away from Father Michael...that could do both you and him good."

"But...where would I stay?"

"Don't be siily! You can stay with me!"

"Really...? You'd do that for me?"

"Of course!"

I gave Hayan a hug. She was no longer frowning, but grinning in relief instead.

Hayan stayed over at my apartment that night. She went home briefly to get her things and her scooter, and to tell Father Michael she was staying over at my place. That made him more upset, but Hayan didn't care. She was still mad at him.

My apartment was relatively small, so I didn't have a guest room for Hayan to stay in. She told me it was okay, and decided to sleep on my couch instead. I was embarrassed I couldn't get Hayan a more comfortable place to sleep.

The next day, Hayan and I decided to go on a walk in the neighborhood to cool off. It was raining again, and we saw a bunch of people gathered around the street gutters. They were panicking, and when we peeked inside the gutter to see the source of all the commotion, we saw a cat close to drowning.

I wanted to help the cat, but I didn't want to reveal my alter ego. Then, I came up with a brilliant idea.

"Attention, please! Does everyone here know what tug of war is? Yes? We can do something similar! Everyone here line up behind me, and hold on to the person in front of you! Then, pull with all your might!"

They did as I instructed, and with the help of my vampire strength, we were able to pull the lid off of the gutter and save the cat. Someone had called 119 beforehand, but since we all saved the cat, there was nothing left to do but get our picture taken in the newspaper. Hayan and I were one of the people who received the "Good Samaritan Award".

Hayan wanted to go home and tell Father Michael about how we saved the cat. I didn't think it was a good idea, but I conceded in the end. Surely Father Michael couldn't be mad about saving an innocent animal's life?

I was disappointed to find that I was wrong. Hayan came to me in tears. She had another argument with Father Michael. So another night passed where Hayan stayed over with me.

Father Michael called Hayan the next morning to tell her that he, Yerim, and Yunsu moved to another neighborhood. He sounded apologetic about the day before. He told Hayan that he moved her stuff to their new home, and if she'd like to come over to see it.

"Go ahead, I don't mind. You should check up on your siblings too."

I gave Hayan a thumbs up, and encouraged her to go. I'd still be there for her when she needed me. Hayan gratefully thanked me, and went over to check up on her siblings, and Father Michael. She called me later, in better spirits.

"I patched things up with Father Michael. It's still kind of rough, but we're making progress."

"Hayan, that's great news! Why don't you stay over tonight then?"

"Okay...."

Hayan stayed with Father Michael, Yerim, and Yunsu for the rest of the week, while I was busy with school. I had mostly accepted the fact that Hayan wouldn't be going to college anymore, but at least we could still hang out together outside of it.

o - o - o - o - o

I got a request from Hayan to come and watch over her siblings for her, while she went out.

"Thank you so much for coming over! Yerim and Yunsu are in bed, but if they wake up and need anything, I feel much better knowing you're there with them."

"It's no problem at all! But just out of curiosity, what do you need to go out for?"

"Father Michael still hasn't come home, even though it's already night time. He's never been this late before..."

"Oh, I see. You'll be going to the church then?"

"Yep!"

"Okay, I'll see you when you get back!"

I expected Hayan to come back with Father Michael, after dealing with whatever was keeping him busy at the church.

But instead, Hayan came back with a police officer and a coroner.

"Unnie, what's going on?"

Yerim and Yunsu were rubbing the sleep from their eyes after they had been woken up by Hayan.

"As Ms. Park requested, the three of you present, sans Ms. Park's friend, are the next of kin of Father Michael. It is with a heavy heart and our deepest condolences that we announce the passing of Myeongsu Choi on this night. We are sorry for your loss, and offer you all our deepest sympathies."

After the coroner announced the death of Father Michael, the police officer and the coroner left to allow Hayan and her siblings to grieve. Yerim and Yunsu were quiet, before tears started falling from their eyes.

"U-unnie, what did they mean? F-father Michael is dead?"

"Yerim....Yunsu..."

Since Hayan arrived earlier, she had tried keeping up a strong front for her siblings. But as she embraced them in her arms, I saw her shoulders trembling. I enveloped Hayan in my arms as the four of us stood there, the quiet of the apartment interspersed with the sniffles and sobs of Hayan and her siblings.

Three days later, Father Michael's funeral was held. Captain Hwang came, along with everyone in the neighborhood, to pay their respects to Father Michael.

I stayed with Hayan and her siblings the days after the funeral. Hayan and her siblings had to prepare to move out, because of the death of their adoptive father. I helped them pack their things back at the apartment, while Hayan visited the rectory to get Father Michael's belongings.

She later told me about the letters Father Michael had written to her.

"He wrote all those letters...for me....he wanted to give them to me, but never found the chance to..."

'And now he never would', was left unsaid.

"I found this too...a business card from the Red Bomb Club."

"Red Bomb Club?!"

That was a club I had found out about during my nighttime excursions. Vampires frequented the club, and even worse, they lured unsuspecting humans in to become their prey, by posing as a safe haven.

"Why did Father Michael have a business card?"

"I don't know, but I overheard police officers at the funeral say a bunch of them had been stuck in Father's pockets."

"Could this be related? You don't think...they killed Father Michael?"

"Not just think...I know they did."

Hayan looked absolutely enraged.

"What will you do now?"

"I want to get revenge. But there's something I have to tell you first...at the church tonight."

o - o - o - o - o

Hayan and I snuck away to the church after making sure Yerim and Yunsu were safe and sound.

The roof and the walls of the church had burned away, leaving gaping holes for the moonlight to stream in.

"Okay, we're at the church. What did you want to talk about?"

"Remember that day you saved me from a vampire? You were truthful with me then, so I want to be truthful with you now."

"Truth? What truth?"

"I'm...also a pureblood vampire."

Before my very eyes, Hayan pulled her hair free from her ponytail, and I watched as it lost its color. Her eyes that I loved so much turned blue, like my own eyes when I transformed.

"This...this is...."

"I'm sorry for not telling you sooner, especially when you told me first..."

"....Amazing!"

"Huh? You're not betrayed? Upset I kept this from you?"

"Why would I be upset, dummy? You're the first pureblood I've ever met aside from my parents."

"Your parents? You never talk about them..."

"That's because..." I hesitated before forcing out the words. "...they died."

"Oh...would it be alright if I asked how?"

"They died in a fire after sacrificing themselves."

"Just like Father Michael..."

Hayan and I contemplated our losses, and the tragedies that led us to where we were at present.

"Is it okay now if I asked about your life? How did you end up with Father Michael?"

"Father Michael...took me in when I was ten. I had no one and nowhere left to go. I hated myself so much that...I even tried to turn myself in for being a vampire."

"And Father Michael stopped you?"

"Yes...Father Michael became a second dad for me."

"What happened to your birth parents?"

"I can't remember. My memories of before I met Father...are unclear."

"Well, I'll help you get your memories back! After you get revenge on Father Michael's killer."

"Thank you...thank you so much..."

Hayan hugged me tightly, just like the day I saved her from the vampire.

After she and I let go of each other, I took Hayan's hands in mine.

"Hayan...I'll always be by your side. And I'm not just saying this because we're both pureblood vampires. Even if I wasn't a vampire, I'd support you no matter what. You're my friend, and I'll be there for you, through whatever hardships may come."

"And you can depend on me too. You don't have to shoulder your burdens alone."

Hayan and I left the church, our hands still interlocked.

[eldritchqueerture]

One For The Memory

Chapter 7: Turning Page

Chapter Summary: Elias listens to a tape and has a chat with Jon about his refusal to take live statements. Jon’s dreams become more violent as his regrets come back to haunt him. He realizes Martin didn't come through to this world with him, and he remembers the price he’d have to pay to free his assistants from under the Eye’s influence.

CW: Jonah Magnus, smoking, self-deprecation, fainting, suicidal ideation, suicidal thoughts, gaslighting, manipulation, mentions of suicide, emotional abuse, gore, graphic violence, injuries, blood, knives, guilt-tripping, spiders, body horror, panic attacks, mentions of and allusions to eye trauma

Author's Notes: Let the Jon Angst begin 💀 This one is on the heavier side, so please mind the content warnings and stay safe. I also decided to change this work's rating to M because of graphic descriptions of violence.

Work Summary: Jon awakens with a tidal wave of memories that don’t make any sense. In an attempt to go on with his life, he searches for the cause of the turmoil in his mind. He knows, though, that something inside him is waking up.

Likes are greatly appreciated, but please consider reblogging so other people may see it! Thank you 💜

Jonah Magnus pinches the bridge of his nose when the tape player clicks off, and the air of the office is once again filled with silence. He turns the words he’s just heard in his mind this way and that, scarcely letting himself believe his ears. He carefully picks up the device and rewinds the tape, just a little bit.

“…And as the last word teared itself from your trembling, bleeding lips, your eyes flashed with green light, blinding the whole world and extinguishing the sun. The sky ripped itself into a thousand little pieces and from every crack emerged a glowing Eye, ready to take in everything about Its new world. And as the new world created itself from the light, you collapsed on the floor, your eyes bleeding and burned, yet still seeing. Seeing It All.”

Jonah pauses the recording, savouring the tremble in the Archivist’s voice. These are the words of a man who has seen what Jonah longed for almost his entire life; a living and breathing proof that his plan could succeed. Did succeed.

A thrill of excitement travels down his spine and his lips split in an unwitting smile. There are still many unknown variables to this equation, primarily how exactly Jon was able to travel through time, since that’s what Jonah assumes happened, but all of those just pose an additional challenge. Whatever travel Jon has been through, it clearly left him in a severe state of disarray, enough not to be able to organize any sort of plans quickly. Which, of course, gave Jonah plenty of time to investigate, and observe, and make preparations of his own.

Jon’s refusal to take live statements had been a worry at first. How was he supposed to become the Archivist, if he didn’t feed the power in turn? Jonah started considering alternatives; if Jon now knew too much to take those first steps towards Becoming, maybe he should think about a replacement, before it is too late. Sasha would of course be his second choice; she obviously lacked the mark of the Web but her ties to the Beholding were the strongest out of all of the assistants, and Jonah knew her to be impulsive. He had offhandedly instructed her to steer the statement givers away from Jon if the situation looked too similar to that of Ms. Herne, and instead take the statement herself. It wouldn’t be as strong without the position of Head Archivist and Jonah was sort of bending his own rules for this, but the situation clearly called for it. Fortunately, time showed he needn’t have worried. Even without live statements, Jon had started exhibiting signs of being in the Beholding’s favour, with an astonishing speed at that. Supernatural, someone might even say.

Jonah Magnus focused on studying the event the night before the Archivist’s first day in his office. Watched it from different angles; the tear in the fabric of the universe, spreading its strands across the cosmos. Throughout the following months he’d observed the unrest among the followers of the Fears. They all felt it to one degree or another, and most of them were devoid of the tools that allowed them to look at the bigger picture. Jonah watched Nikola Orsinov gather her allies and plans for the Unknowing, convinced that the power she felt was a sign that her ritual was destined to succeed. He watched Oliver Banks, haunted by the dreams of an unknown, dark-skinned man poring over files in the office previously belonging to Gertrude Robinson, whom he got to know so well before her death. The veins took Oliver again down the Institute’s staircase, right to the same desk, where he watched a bloody stain bloom over the man’s heart, stark crimson against the white of his shirt. Jonah watched Annabelle Cane scuttling around the old Hill Top Road, where the tear seemed the most pronounced, with a glint of elation on her face, then again with the expression of utmost despair.

All in all, Jonah Magnus wasn’t getting many answers, but it bothered him only to a manageable degree. It was never just about the answers anyway, was it?

He rewinds the tape again.

“…at the sky – it is dark, deeper than dark, something that would be ready to swallow the Earth in its entirety if only given a chance; but it doesn’t. Instead, it watches. The sky watches with thousands upon thousands of eyes following every little movement and thought. And you know that the Eyes are fond of you. You’ve done them a big service. “You deserve a reward,” the eyes say.”

The tower of his Panopticon was never meant to be a beacon of understanding. It was built in the name of observing the experience, of being here and now, and drinking every little detail, every little thought. A state of utter bliss at admiring the work of fear around him that Jon has helped him achieve once. It is no doubt frightening to him, if the contents of the tape and his poorly concealed anger are anything to go by, but it is a sacrifice Jonah is willing to make. Not for a lack of compassion, mind you; if he knew of a way to achieve his goals without causing Jon this much suffering, no doubt he would take it. The voice speaking on the tape belongs to a deeply troubled man, but Jonah finds that sometimes the most troubling stories make for the most powerful ones.

The next breakthrough came just a few days ago, when that twisted thing calling itself Michael had interfered. Jonah observed developments keenly and could barely contain his satisfaction at Jon’s ability to extract answers. Truly a remarkable Becoming, if it really was one. That’s when he began considering that perhaps, the thing that travelled back in time was not entirely Jon anymore. Perhaps he need not Become, but simply Awaken. From that it’s a short work to conclude that—

Elias blinks out of his reverie at the cold breeze on his exposed forearms. He stifles a sigh of annoyance at the familiarity of it and watches the mist gather in the corner of his office, before it fully forms the bulk of a sea captain with his cap slightly askew.

“You know, for one of the Lonely, you surely pay me a lot of visits as of late, Peter,” he says nonchalantly. “One might think you’ve grown tired of your Patron.”

“With your little eye stumbling to my domain so often, my attention is here far more than I would like,” Peter grumbles, but there is a glint in his eye Elias knows very well. “Which lets me see some pretty interesting things regarding your current pet. One might think your Patron has grown tired of you.”

Elias chuckles.

“I wouldn’t keep my hopes up, if I were you. The Archivist is catching up, yes, but the Beholding doesn’t play favourites. Everyone is equal under the gaze of the Watcher.”

“I’d rather associate that phrase with the End, don’t you think?” Peter smirks. “And I wouldn’t be so sure about favourites. I haven’t heard of any other servants of the Eye making a name for themselves in a good while. And here you are, not only successfully evading Terminus, but also with the Watcher’s Crown well within your grasp.”

“You sound rather infatuated, Peter.” Elias snickers. “Have you come to grovel at last?”

“But now, it seems the apprentice has surpassed the master,” Peter continues, unfazed. “What other explanation could there be for this sudden growth in power? Evidently, the Watcher has found its new Pupil.” He raises his eyebrows at Elias, who scoffs.

“Such a short-sighted view. I wouldn’t expect anything else from you, though. All that fog must be so hard to parse through, after all.”

“I see all that I need to be content.” Peter flinches, which brings a smirk onto Elias’ mouth.

“Only because my previous Archivist foiled your masterfullycrafted plans of…” He elongates the vowel as if in thought, feigning a struggle to remember. “Right. An apartment complex.”

“It had potential!” Peter shakes his head. “Besides, I’m not convinced you have a right to claim Gertrude as yours. If I recall correctly, she was minutes from burning down your Archives when you killed her.”

“History is written by the victors.” Elias shrugs. “And only one of us is alive to tell it.”

“And you suppose you’ll always be the last one standing?”

“Let a man dream.” Elias leans back in his chair and tilts his head at Peter. “Is there a point to your visit, or did you simply grow lonely out at the sea?”

“You have an infuriating way of prolonging the displeasure of talking to you.” Peter rolls his eyes. “I’d much rather grow old and lonely with the sea as my only companion.”

“Yet you keep coming back.” Elias waves his hand in amusement. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“Your little eye disturbs the mists.” Peter’s gaze grows serious. “Uninvited.”

“I thought you were meddling in my affairs to be a nuisance.” Elias raises his eyebrows. “He can’t be doing that on his own.”

“Well, it isn’t me either.” Peter crosses his arms on his chest. “Have you let an unknown player infiltrate your precious Archives?”

“I assure you, Martin isn’t a player,” Elias scoffs. “He has no pre-existing connections to any of the Fears, and that includes the Lonely.”

“He certainly has one now.” Peter shrugs. “I’d appreciate it if you got him under control. If he wishes to associate with my Patron then he may well go for it, but not in my domain.”

Elias joins his hands on the desk with a glint in his eye.

“Isn’t that interesting? No connections to the Powers when I transferred him and now an unexplained ability to access a part of it… Did you perhaps invite him without noticing?”

“Of course not—”

“Or,” –Elias leans forward. “Is the Lonely playing favourites as well?”

Peter narrows his eyes at him.

“Just what exactly are you implying?”

“Your Patron could have given him access.”

“It doesn’t do that,” Peter scoffs.

“Neither does Beholding grant the powers of the Archivist to just anyone, and yet.”

Elias stands up to walk towards a window overlooking the street in front of the Institute. The sky is lightly overcast, and the city is rather quiet at this hour.

“Don’t you understand, Peter?” He speaks. “Things have changed. Jonathan Sims has shifted the stakes, for better or worse, and I intend to see where this leads before I interfere.”

“Obviously,” Peter mutters. “How on Earth did you manage to get me involved in it, though?”

Elias turns to him with a grin.

“Don’t pretend you did not get yourselfinvolved. We both know the misanthropy is for show most of the time.”

“Not now, though.” Peter looks away in annoyance that Elias recognizes as played up.

“It shall be over soon. The circumstances may well be aligning in our favour.”

“I highly doubt that.” Peter shakes his head with exasperation, before dissipating into white mist and then, entirely disappearing.

Jonah Magnus smiles to himself. He is a careful man, placing his bets thoughtfully and with the utmost precision, which usually grants him the upper hand. He cannot afford to be in the wrong, and something tells him this time would be no different.

—

Jon is on his smoke break when she arrives at the Institute. He’s not expecting it, not so soon, but he does have to admit that days have an awful habit of bleeding through his fingers lately. The spring sun is high in the sky, and the temperature has been steadily rising to a comfortable degree. He stands outside in pleasant shade when he hears the back door to the Institute open.

“Hey, Jon.” Sasha gives him a tense smile, and he lowers his cigarette.

“Hey.” The way she searches his face and her slightly too tight grip on the door handle register on Jon’s mind, twisting his guts with worry. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Nothing’s, uh… Wrong, per se, it’s just.” She takes a breath. “There’s a statement giver. In the Archives.”

Jon tenses up.

“Elias said that it’s Institute’s policy or whatever, that only you can take live statements, but I could…?” She bites her lip.

“No,” Jon answers too loud, making Sasha wince slightly. He exhales and stubs out his cigarette with a shaking hand.

“I, uh…” He swallows. “I’ll handle this.”

“Jon.” Sasha puts her hand on his shoulder, and he only flinches a little. She withdraws, but her gaze stays sharp on him. “If there’s going to be a repeat of the Herne incident, I’d like a heads-up.”

“There’s…” Jon grimaces. “There might be. Or—Or it could be worse, I-I honestly, uh… Don’t really know how the Eye will take it.”

“Shouldn’t you take her statement then?” Sasha frowns. “Don’t they… feed you, or something?”

“I’m not—” Jon huffs. “I’m not going to condemn Melanie to nightmares for the rest of her life just because I might need a pick me up.”

“So, instead you’re going to let an eldritch entity hurt you?” Sasha blinks. “Also, I never said her name.”

“I know her,” Jon says quietly with a sigh. “After giving a statement here she started looking into it on her own using our library, and eventually she ended up signing a contract with Elias. I’m going to make sure none of that happens. She doesn’t deserve this.”

Sasha makes a few weak protests, but Jon walks down the corridor with a grim determination. The ache in his stomach grows and the closer to the Archives he gets, the more his mind narrows on the idea of a statement. He doesn’t remember about what Melanie’s first statement was, and his mind burns with the need to Know.

As soon as he sees her sitting next to Sasha’s desk he stops, hands curling into fists, nails digging into flesh. He needs to stay focused. He steels himself with a deep breath and clears his throat.

“Ms. King?” He asks, schooling his voice into that clipped tone he tended to use when his public image still mattered to him. Melanie looks at him warily, although he does not miss the latent fear in her eyes. His stomach tightens painfully.

“That’s me.” She stands up, adjusting the bag on her shoulder.

“After you.” He opens the door to his office and lets Melanie through.

“Maybe I should be there in case… You know,” Sasha suggests quietly, and Jon shakes his head too violently.

“No. Stay here. Don’t call anyone.” Jon takes a shaky breath. “Hopefully, she’ll be out of the door before anything… drastic happens.”

He closes the door before Sasha can form any further comments, and promptly makes his way to the other side of the desk.

“So, you’re Melanie King.” Jon sits down and avoids looking her in the eye. He looks down at the form Sasha had given him instead, staring at the date. Halfway through April already?

“Yes…?” She sounds unsure. Jon fidgets with a pen to hide the tremble of his hands.

“From the… podcast. I presume.”

“A show, thank you very much.” He hears her cross her arms over her chest.

“I wouldn’t really know, pretending to see ghosts in old churchyards doesn’t really interest me.” Jon’s gaze stops on the tips of her hair dyed blue; in the corner of his eye he can see her offended expression.

“Excuse me?”

“We have been subjected to jokes from the members of your community before. I’m not very keen on having my time wasted on your made up ghosts.”

“But the clearly fake bullshit about vampires and mummies is all fine and good?” She scoffs. “We may play it up for the camera a little bit, but we use actual scientific instruments and research genuine, documented cases instead of taking the word of every traumatised, drugged up idiot off the street! Honestly, who cares about evidence, about the investigation, when you can just give a statement to the Magnus Institute!”

“Why don’t you go and tell your story to your colleagues then? Do us both a favour.” Jon raises his eyebrows and Melanie deflates.

“I, uh…” She looks away. Jon drops his pen, forming a tightly clenched fist at the ache in his stomach, and swiftly hides it. “They wouldn’t believe me.”

Jon clears his throat, blinking at the form in front of him.

“And what makes you think I will believe you?” His voice comes out strained.

“Isn’t that literally your job?”

“It is not.” A slight shiver passes through him.

“But you do have to take my statement, right? I need to tell someone what happened.”

“I…” Jon closes his eyes around the stifled groan. “I don’t…”

“Are you okay?” Worry joins the judgmental tone of Melanie’s voice.

“Fuck.” Jon hides his face in his hands, fingers reaching up and pulling at his hair. His glasses slip from behind his ears and clatter on the desk. Blood rushes in his ears, his vision swims, and there could as well be a black hole in the pit of his stomach. “Get out of the Magnus Institute.”

“Uh… What…?”

It’s a light at the end of an endless black tunnel, a door outside in a twisting maze, a pond at the centre of an infinite desert, and he’s dying from thirst. The one thing he needs is there for the taking in front of him, how can he refuse, how can he resist?

“Run, Melanie. Get out of the Magnus Institute,” he breathes out heavily. “And do not ever come back.” He inhales sharply. “This place is—” He doubles over the desk in pain.

Melanie staggers back, reaching for the door and opening it to find Sasha already looking at her with a sort of dreadful anticipation. As soon as she sees the fear on Melanie’s face she jumps up and grabs Melanie’s hand to pull her outside the office. Tim, armed with a first aid kit, exchanges tense looks with Sasha and disappears behind the door.

“I apologise, Ms. King, Jon is… He’s been through a lot lately and he’s not exactly himself,” Sasha says giving Melanie a bit of space to gather herself.

“I, uh…” Melanie exhales, no doubt trying to calm herself. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

Sasha frowns.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“He told me…” Melanie trails off, visibly suppressing a shiver. “A-Actually, I think I should just go.

“Are you sure?” Sasha presses her lips together, her expression inscrutable. “I probably could—”

“No, no, I… I think it would be best if I just… Just, don’t contact me. I wasn’t here. I’m gonna go.”

With that, Melanie turns around and flees the Archives.

“Uh, Sash…?” Tim’s muffled voice sounds from the office. “A little help?”

There’s a thud, and as Sasha storms into the office, she sees Jon on the floor, his eyes glowing faintly as he mutters something incomprehensible. Tim hovers over him with a look of fear, unsure what to do.

Jon wakes up with his head elevated and someone’s hand in his hair. He blinks his eyes open with a groan at the soreness of his throat.

“Jon? Are you… here? Is it you?”

Tim. His concerned face clears in Jon’s vision, lines of tension creasing his forehead.

“Yeah, y-yeah, it’s me.” He whispers. “Who else would it be?”

“Oh, thank fuck.” Tim exhales with relief and helps Jon sit up. “That muttering was beginning to get really creepy, no offense.”

“What… What are you talking about?” Jon looks around the empty office. “Where’s Melanie?”

“You have successfully scared her out of the Institute, if that’s what you were going for.” Tim answers with a tinge of sarcasm Jon can’t really quite place. “You passed out and your eyes went all… green. And you were muttering something about old hospitals, and shadows, and… and skin.”

His voice quivers at the last word, and Jon looks up at him.

“Christ,” Jon sighs.

“You can’t do this every time someone comes in here with a real statement, Jon,” Tim says seriously. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“That’s unavoidable,” says Jon, quietly. “I can at least make sure no one else gets hurt with me.”

“Jon.” Tim grips his shoulders tightly. “I’m not going to watch you let this thing hurt you over and over again and do nothing!”

The door to the office opens and Sasha walks in with an inscrutable expression on her face.

“So,” she starts conversationally. “You’re back, I see.”

“I’m sorry, Sasha—”

“How are you feeling?” She interrupts him and kneels beside him on the floor. Jon sighs.

“Had better days. But I’ll manage.”

“I talked to Rosie,” Sasha starts tensely. “Elias wants to talk to you in his office.”

Jon huffs out a laugh.

“Right.”

“So much for the pretence, huh?” Tim grimaces.

“It’s fine,” Jon says, unconvinced. “That’s fine.”

“Regardless, this cannot continue.” Sasha crosses her arms on her chest. “This is the last time I let you do this.”

“I’m your boss,” Jon chuckles weakly, but it dies under Sasha’s glare.

“A couple of bad dreams isn’t worth this, Jon.”

“You don’t understand—”

“You’re going to seriously hurt yourself if you keep this up.”

Jon meets Sasha’s gaze and curses in his head.

“I can survive on written statements. I have before,” he says hoarsely. “I’m going to get the meeting with Elias over with. Where’s… Where’s Martin?”

“Still in the library,” says Tim.

“Don’t… Don’t tell him about this. Please.”

Tim and Sasha exchange looks.

“Fine.”

Tim helps him get up, and Jon momentarily winces at the pang in his stomach.

“Oh, and, uh…” Jon looks up at them both, trying to conceal the pain in his eyes. “About Martin. He’s… If it really is the Lonely reaching for him, then he needs friends more than ever. P-Promise me you’ll, uh… You’ll be there for him?”

Tim frowns.

“We can all be there for him together, Jon. Right?”

“W-Well, yes, technically, but I’ve been, uh, thinking, and… And if the fog is really there because of me then—then my presence might be making it all worse. And—And if the obvious trigger is gone then perhaps he’ll be able to completely overcome the Lonely.”

Tim observes him with a scrutinizing gaze.

“I don’t think that makes complete sense—”

“Please. I—I need him to be okay. If he has a chance—If you all have a chance at a normal life without all of this then, then I have to ensure you get it.”

“But we haven’t actually established that we do, have we?” Sasha remarks sceptically. Jon wets his lips.

“I… I might be onto something. I’ll, uh… I’ll let you know when I have something more concrete.”

“Look, we’re Team Archives.” Tim tries for a smile, gently nudging his shoulder. “We’ll take care of each other. You too, yeah?”

Jon nods, swallowing through the tightness in his throat. “Yeah.”

Jon climbs the stairs already exhausted, wondering how much Rosie knows about what’s really going on in the Institute. She gave him a strange look when he was passing her desk, and he isn’t sure what it was supposed to mean.

A deep breath in front of the door to Elias’ office isn’t nearly enough to prepare him for the conversation, but it is all he’s going to get, so without further delays, Jon knocks and enters when he hears Elias’ voice.

“Sit down,” Elias says immediately after he closes the door. Jon obeys reluctantly; though he doesn’t favour standing, weak as he is, the couch in front of Elias’ desk has the worst texture he’s ever touched in his life. He wonders briefly if it’s deliberate.

Elias regards him with an air of a disappointed teacher. There is no anger to his gaze, no aggression or cruelty, just… Concern.

“I think it is time for us to talk openly,” he says.

“Melanie didn’t want to give the statement. That’s all there is to it.” The attempt at a lie is laughable even to Jon as soon as he hears his strained voice, and the words tumble out of his mouth too fast. Elias sighs and joins his hands in front of him.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t make this harder than necessary.” He meets Jon’s gaze. “I’m going to put it bluntly, Jon. Are you suicidal?”

Jon opens his mouth, but no words come out.

“We both know you need the statements to survive. We both know you’ve been getting weaker. At one point old statements aren’t going to be enough, and you know this. Especially since your powers are coming on so fast, you need the sustenance. So, are you trying to kill yourself? Because there are easier ways to do so.”

Jon blinks and swallows.

“No.” His voice is hoarse and his throat tight. The rawness of Elias’ words feels like a punch to the gut.

“Then what are you trying to do? I don’t understand the resistance.”

“You wouldn’t, would you?” Jon laughs quietly. “You’ve never cared about your humanity.”

Elias chuckles.

“Ah. Humanity. Such an elusive concept.” He tuts. “Do you really think it’s worth dying for?”

What does humanity even mean? What does actually separate him from the monster in his dreams? From the monster he’s afraid he will become?

He thinks of Martin. He remembers holding his hand while they walked together through a desolate wasteland, different facets of the same, broken world. You are my reason. His reason. His anchor.

What is he without it?

“It isn’t what you thought it would be, is it?” Elias asks quietly as Jon blinks away tears. “Going back.”

Jon takes a shaky breath.

“I didn’t…” He trails off. How much does Elias actually know? How much can he say? “It doesn’t matter.” He clears his throat.

“So, what is your plan, Jon?” Elias tilts his head. “Do you even have one? Or are you planning to teeter on the edge of being human until you starve yourself to death?”

“It’s not what’s happening.”

But isn’t it? How long can he wait for a miracle that will solve his problems, for an answer that will make everything better, bring Martin back, and save this world from the apocalypse? He’s barely just remembered enough to make sense of what’s happening to him, and yet it feels like he’s been wasting all this time chasing shadows.

“I’m not your enemy, Jon,” Elias speaks up. “It really doesn’t have to be this hard. We don’t have to be on opposite sides.”

“You ended the world.” Jon huffs out and closes his eyes, his head hanging low. He’s so tired, so drained. He can tell Elias is trying to manipulate him but he’s almost too tired to care.

“And yet it continued.”

Jon can tell Elias is looking down at him. Is it pity? Contempt?

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “It started torturing everyone.”

“Do you really care?” Elias leans back in his chair and crosses his legs. “What is ‘everyone’ really, if not just a measure you can’t really wrap your head around?”

“I do care.” Jon meets his eyes. “I felt everyone’s suffering. Both all at once and individually. I’ve seen it all.”

“And did you not enjoy it at all?”

Jon looks away.

“Seeing it all, drinking in every little detail… Was the new world not everything you’ve ever needed?”

Jon refuses to answer. He’s thought about it before, and he knows that Elias is right. He did enjoy—The part of him made of eyes, the part that feeds on the statements and pushes him towards knowledge enjoyed it. It drank all the terror in, and he remembers how Martin told him it must be horrible to witness it all in his mind. He knows it wasn’t.

“That’s what I thought,” Elias answers himself gently. “You think that you should care. You tell yourself it’s bad that people suffer because you think that’s ‘the right thing to do’ but you don’t really care about that, Jon. You need to face the fact that this is who you are; it’s not in your nature to live in denial.”

Jon shakes his head; his heart is drumming in his chest, and he feels tingling in his palms.

“If I’m dead, your ritual won’t succeed. Regardless of whether I care or not, I’m not going to let you bring them all here.”

“Right.” Elias nods. “And what stops me preparing Sasha to take over your role?”

“I know how to kill you.”

Elias raises his eyebrows.

“Perhaps you do.” He chuckles. “Really fascinating. Are you aware you’re going to hurt the entire Institute with that? There’s no telling what will happen to them.”

“I know what happens when you succeed,” Jon growls. “Anything is better than that.”

“Alright then. If you’re sure.” Amusement plays in Elias’ eyes and a spark of frustration makes Jon’s hands shake. “My offer of working together is still on the table, though. If you ever change your mind.”

Jon stands up and leaves without another word.

—

The knife, once again, finds home in his flesh, cutting deep into his shoulder, and bringing with it fresh and hot agony. Jon opens his eyes with considerable effort, eyelids stuck together by the quickly drying blood that must cover him head to toe by now. The stab wounds and lacerations on his body bloom with crimson as he lies on the ground, exhausted; blood draining from him yet never running out. His breath comes in ragged, punctured lungs filling his airway with blood, yet still letting oxygen through. Whatever holds him in its grasp won’t let him lose consciousness. Not yet.

The face of his assaulter changes yet again. As his vision stabilizes, he’s met with Tim’s hard stare. Jon can see the ashes of hatred that once used to burn in his eyes, now a cold pile ready to be scattered by the first wind.

“You look like shit.”

Tim towers over him, standing with a knife gripped in his fist so tight, it makes his knuckles go pale. Jon inhales to answer and chokes on his own blood. He can feel his heart valiantly beat to keep him alive, and he can’t decide whether to feel grateful or resentful towards it.

Tim kneels beside him. Jon regains the shaky balance of breathing through his pierced lungs and splutters.

“What a fucking shame. You were my friend once, you know that?”

Jon whines weakly. He’d really think the pain would lessen after all this, that his mind would find a way to numb the agony, but no such luck was granted to him. This is a banquet and he’s tasting every flavour of suffering, making sure to really savour each one, truly get to know them. He feels the Archivist’s gaze on him from afar, or so he thinks, though that thought only makes him want to laugh.

“I wanted to hurt you,” says Tim and a spark of that anger, smouldering somewhere underneath the ashes comes to life for a second. “I wanted to make you suffer so that I would forget what I felt, and the only thing that mattered would be your pain and the fact that I was causing it.”

He lets out a mirthless laugh; the anger sputters out and dies.

“But then I saw you here. Like this.” Tim shakes his head. “It’s not how I imagined it. I don’t feel angry, I just… You’re just too pathetic.”

The cold steel of the knife’s blade touches Jon’s throat. Tim rearranges it so the tip is placed right below Jon’s voice box. Jon swallows unwittingly, feeling the pressure of the sharp point on his skin. He curses his own heart, ushering himself over to the side of resentment. It would do better to give up on him and save everyone the trouble.

“I’m going to end it now. I don’t forgive you.” Tim’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as he grips the handle tighter. “So don’t you dareforgive me.”

His world does not end when the knife pierces through his larynx. The pain disappears as he feels his flesh knit itself back together, and he is once again breathing freely. He takes a moment to enjoy the relief of clear lungs, his body shaking with the adrenaline.

Then, he opens his eyes. He finds himself in the darkness of night, laying down in what feels like a rectangular wooden box. His eyes don’t need long at all to adjust to the darkness, and, with a start, he realizes he lies in a fresh grave. He attempts to rise, but something pulls him down, pinning him to the cold wooden floor. His breath picks up the pace as he struggles against the force; then he stops. There’s a sound of steps on the ground, dirt crunching under someone’s boots, and soon, he sees an outline against the grey darkness of the sky.

He knows it’s her as soon as he sees her, despite the fact that her face is nothing but a blur of skin tones, weaving through each other like paint being mixed. Her body is fluid, changing shape and size in waves, and he cannot recall how it is supposed to look. Her voice doesn’t have a sound to it that he can pinpoint in his mind, yet the words are clear, accusatory, and full of regret.

“You never dream about me,” Sasha says.

“What?” His voice is hoarse and quiet, trembling under the guilt and shame that build up on instinct.

“Not like you dream about the others. Their faces haunt you as you sleep, the past coming back to remind you how it used to be. Do you even remember me, Jon?”

Jon lets out a gasp, wracking his memory in search of the smallest details about his friend that he could recall. Was her hair black? Brown? Maybe it had a ginger tint to it, or—or maybe she had it dyed?

“Did you ever even care about me? Maybe that’s why you can’t remember.” She presses her non-existent lips together. “Do you even remember my name?”

“Sasha,” Jon begs. “Please, I can’t—”

“Do you have any idea how much it hurt? To be devoured by that thing, for it to wear my identity like a new fucking suit? And no one noticed. I watched it parade as me, so obviously false, so clearly, appallingly not me, and you didn’t even notice.”

“I… I tried—”

“Yeah, you did try,” she laughs cruelly. “You set it free. After it ate me under your very nose, you rewarded it by breaking its prison. How could you be so stupid? It was so obvious the table was binding it, a blind man could see it.”

Jon shuts his eyes with pain, the sheer weight of the guilt itself pinning him to the floor of the coffin.

“I can’t take it back.” He whispers, voice weak. “I’m sorry. What do you want me to do?”

When he opens his eyes, he finds himself in a dark room. There’s dust in the air and old cobwebs on the wooden ceiling. Jon sits up with considerable effort and notices kitchen cabinets, a table, and a big, bare tree outside the window, that casts ominous shadows in the faint moonlight. Everything is visibly old and covered in a sizeable layer of dust, and Jon can’t shake the feeling he’s seen it before.

“It’s you.”

He freezes when a voice sounds behind him, striking a familiar cord in his memory – something buried deep in his mind. He turns around and flinches back violently, crawling away until he stumbles into the old cabinets. In front of him sits a boy of about nineteen in an old, tattered sport uniform. There are eight glistening black eyes on his pale face, and additional spindly appendages sprout from his body here and there. He crawls closer a step or two, and Jon crams himself back into the wooden panels of the cabinets.

“I remember you,” the boy says. Jon swallows in terror as the voice finally connects with the barely recognisable face, yet the name eludes him. “What? Little Einstein can’t even remember his friend’s name? Such a shame.”

He crawls up closer, painfully taking his time, and Jon pushes himself back into a corner with a whimper.

“Get back!” He breathes out, unable to find his voice. The boy laughs.

“Or what? You’ll feed me to a giant spider from a book? Oh, wait,” –he crawls up until he’s just five feet away and reaches with two of his black, hairy legs to lean on the wall over Jon’s head. “You already did that.”

“I—I didn’t mean to, I swear, I didn’t know what I was doing—” Jon stammers out but stops with a cry when the boy leans over him with fangs emerging from the corners of his mouth.

“I was just a boy,” he hisses. “And you’re what? A chosen one?” He scoffs. “It should have been you. It should have taken you, and we would all have been better for it.”

Jon presses his eyelids shut, squeezing out tears of terror. His body trembling violently, he anticipates the stinging pain of venomous teeth, but it doesn’t come. He breathes shakily, not daring to open his eyes even a crack. Is the spider torturing him? Trying to make him believe the danger has passed, to relax just a little, so it can strike and rouse the fear all anew?

“It’s over now.”

He flinches at the voice in his head, the coating of static almost pleasant. He can’t open his eyes, though, can’t trust the words. His body is frozen in dread and has lost all connection to the signals of his brain.

“Jon. You can open your eyes. You’re safe now.”

All he can do is shake uncontrollably and breathe. His throat is closed up and he doesn’t think he will ever be able to move or speak. All that matters is that he’s alive right now and the slightest alteration of his position could change that.

“Very well. Take your time.”

The tiniest whimper escapes Jon’s throat with an exhale. Could it be that he’s safe? That the spider’s really gone?

“I suppose I shall watch over you, until you come to.”

Jon can finally feel the tensed up muscles in his entire body. He starts to loosen them, bit by bit, first his forearms, then shoulders. The room around is quiet, save for the distant sound of wind outside. He moves his fingers and curls his hands into fists, only to rapidly unfurl them to relieve some tension. His left hand gives him a familiar ache.

After some time, when he brings back life to most of his body, he dares to open his eyes. The Archivist sits on the floor, some distance from him, and the dusty floor is covered in heaps of magnetic tape.

“What is this?” Jon mouths the words, his voice not yet fully responsive. He clears his throat, but the Archivist understands him.

“You could call it my prison if you wished to, although this place binds far more than just me. It is an end as well as it is a beginning.”

Jon looks out the window at the bare tree, swaying in the wind, the looming shadows swaying with it; long branches reaching across the floor akin to the legs of a spider.

“Hill Top Road,” he whispers.

“We were bound to end up here sooner or later.”

“What are we doing here?” Jon asks, his vocal cords finally starting to work.

“Dreaming, in your case. Waiting, in mine.”

“Waiting for what?”

“Fate, I suppose. I’ve done what I could, and I don’t think…” The Archivist trails off, and its human eyes blink. “The matter is in our hands in the waking world. There’s nothing more I can do for you.”

“I still don’t know how I got here.” Jon hugs himself, bringing his knees up to his chest. “There’s still so much I don’t remember…”

“As long as we are separated, some things will remain forgotten. There are parts of the Becoming a mortal mind cannot comprehend.”

“I don’t think I can do this.” Jon shakes his head, feeling tears gather in his eyes. “It’s just… I can’t. I can’t.”

The Archivist observes him for a moment, the eyes unmoving but for the two natural ones that take in his face, bit by bit.

“The fear seems all encompassing, vast, unending; but it is an illusion. It will fade with time. You may be plagued by the images of the past and the crushing guilt for all your remaining time, but the fear will lessen. It would become mundane if it did not.”

Jon snorts through the tears.

“I’m not sure whether this is supposed to be comforting or not.”

“Do you find comfort in it?”

Jon sighs and rubs at his eyes. “Sort of?”

“Then let it be meant as comforting. Whatever it may be, it is still the truth.”

Jon nods and stares at the tape on the floor, glistening in the faint light from the window. They sit in silence for a moment, his breathing finally stabilizing, and the Archivist as motionless as ever.

“Something went wrong, didn’t it?” Jon says quietly, unsure whether he’s addressing the Archivist or just thinking out loud. “Whatever we did to stop the apocalypse at the end… I think I’ve made a big mistake. Whatever it was, it’s… It’s resulted in this.” He waves his hand half-heartedly. “It must be my fault. This—This guilt couldn’t have come from nowhere.”

“Do you want to know what you’ve done?” The Archivist asks. “The knowledge may be tempting, but it holds many dangers. They say sometimes it is better not to know.”

“Yes. I do want… I need to know.” Jon bites his lip. “Not right now. But I do.”

The Archivist nods almost solemnly, although Jon can’t tell from where he’s got that impression.

“Appropriate, I suppose.”

—

He can barely feel his body. His clothes are soaked through, and his skin frigid and numbed by the delicate mist that coats the landscape whichever way he looks. It’s dark, yet somehow the grey wisps are visible, hanging low and swaying softly on a non-existent wind.

When he begged for relief from whatever nightmare has held him in its grasp until now, it was not exactly this that he had had in mind. Jon lifts himself up from the ground with a groan of effort and a tremble in his arms. It is cold.

Hugging himself tight, he looks around again, searching for anything that might offer him shelter. He has found himself on a shore that looks suspiciously like a secluded part of the beach at the edge of Bournemouth, where he used to sneak off as a kid. It was never a hot spot among tourists, the access to it overgrown and less than comfortable, but the locals were known to be around sometimes. Now, the place is desolate; not a living thing in sight. On an evening like this Jon would expect the cicadas and nightly insects to be well into their regular repertoire of songs, yet the only sound breaking the deadly silence is the gentle sound of waves on the shore.

A full body shiver runs through him, and Jon tightens the hold over his arms. The mist feels oppressive in the air, as if waiting for something. It’s too quiet. After the adrenaline heavy rush of the nightmares, the stillness plants an agitating unease high in his stomach. The trees behind him are but a looming mass of shadows, waiting for him to seek refuge among them, only to devour him before he knows it. Jon thinks he sees eyes glistening amidst the darkness, watching him intently, but the next second they’re gone. He grits his teeth and turns towards the shore.

“Am I dead?” He asks in a whisper so quiet he can barely hear it himself. He cannot feel his heartbeat anymore, and his body is just weight that he needs to carry around. The mist touches his cheek softly, and he briefly wonders how it is possible that he can feel it at all.

“Does it matter if you are?” A sound answers him. It’s not a voice and it doesn’t speak in words, yet the meaning makes itself crystal clear in Jon’s mind.

“No… I suppose it does not.” Jon takes a couple steps on the hard sand. The sea is still a couple yards away from him, yet the beach is hard packed and wet, as if the water of the flow reached here as well. He glances back and sees his footprints fade away on the ever so slightly shifting sand. “This is what you do, isn’t it? Feeding on what’s left of broken souls; like a vulture disguised as shelter.”

Jon sees a set of footprints some distance from him, near the edge of the water. If he squints and focuses on the spot, he can make out a denser patch of fog, but it disperses soon after, the sand as smooth as it was before.

“There is nothing here to feed on you but yourself. No one is speaking but yourself.”

Jon takes another heavy step towards the water.

“Right.” He sighs. “It’s just me now.”

“Maybe always?”

“No, not always.” Pain tightens his chest, and he grimaces, looking out onto the horizon. “There was a time…”

“What was it like?”

Jon looks down and presses his eyes shut, willing the tears away.

“It was… He…” His lips split in a pained smile. “It was like coming home. Like finding a place to really belong. Safe.”

The mist touches his closed eyelids, and Jon shudders.

“It sounds nice.”

Jon chuckles bitterly and kneels on the coarse sand. He reaches one hand to touch the grains that give way under his fingers.

“Where is he now?”

Jon shuts his eyes in pain. His eyes prickle, as if the tears want to gather in his eyes and flow freely, yet something doesn’t let them.

“I killed him,” he mouths the words, not brave enough, not strong enough to say them out loud. “I don’t know how, but I know he’s… And I…” He takes a shaky breath. “It’s my fault. Whatever I did to get here, to get another chance…” He shakes his head. “I think that’s what killed him. Stupid, idiot, selfish—”

“It’s okay,” the mist caresses the outside of his palm, and he feels the gentle waves wash over his knees.

“And now…” Jon continues. “Now it’s after him again, except this time he didn’t… He had a chance to escape. He had a chance for a normal life, it wasn’t… I brought this on him. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

He slumps his shoulders, feeling the cold water take away the grains of sand from under his palm.

“You don’t have to fix anything.” He opens his eyes and sees the mists slowly gather around him, like fluff from a cloud making a bed for him to rest on. “Least of all here and now.”

“This is a trap,” Jon says half-heartedly, knowing he doesn’t really care. He’s so tired.

“Then you’ve set it up yourself. There’s nobody else here.”

Jon closes his eyes and loses himself in the soft sound of waves that caress his numb body. Maybe it’s what he needs; what he deserves. To fade away. To finally rest. To die. To let go.

“Jon. Jonathan.”

He flinches, feeling a presence beside him. The sound of the waves still fills his ears, and the scenery hasn’t changed, but now the Archivist sits to his left, its open eyes on the lower parts of its form unflinching at the contact with the water.

“You’re here,” Jon says, his voice weak and broken with unuse.

“Someone had to wake you.”

“Isn’t this still a dream?”

It doesn’t have any facial features to emote, but Jon can’t shake the feeling it glares at him.

“So, you’re giving up?” It asks, and Jon looks down at the sand.

“I… I don’t know. I shouldn’t. Not yet. Elias…”

“Needs to die. Yes.”

“Do I know how to kill him?” Jon frowns at the calm sea. “Do I actually know anything?”

“All that has to be done is finding his body in the Panopticon.”

“What about the Institute? About Tim, and Sasha, and—and Martin?”

The Archivist closes its human eyes.

“There is a way to get them out. Before you kill Magnus.”

Jon blinks and straightens his back, looking at the Archivist. “What do you mean?”

“If you manage to sever your own link to the Eye, they will be free as well. No more ties to the Institute, or the Beholding.”

“But that would mean my death,” Jon remarks, but the Archivist shakes its head, its two eyes still closed.

“Not necessarily. It’s not something I can Know but blinding yourself should be effective and might be something you can still survive.”

Jon exhales, staring off somewhere ahead. Pluck them out. End it now. You can stop it before it’s even started. Save them. Gouge them out and be done with it. They could be free from the Eye, truly go back to their normal lives. Be happy.

“Wait.” He blinks, drawing a breath. He turns to the Archivist. “Why are you telling me this? Wouldn’t that… Wouldn’t that kill you?”

The Archivist’s eyes bore into him with prickling intensity.

“I…” It’s voice falters in Jon’s head and for a moment, his mind is only filled with static. “I don’t know how much longer I can resist the pull. It’s been getting harder and harder, and I hoped that Martin… He was our anchor. And now, he’s gone.”

Jon frowns and swallows, thinking about his next words.

“But he’s not entirely gone, is he? And—And Tim and Sasha are alive, that’s got to count for something?”

The Archivist’s human eyes stare out into the sea.

“I suppose it’s all about being alone. None of them went through what we did. I can’t bear this guilt on my own. I can’t resist the pull of the Eye like this, and I’d rather die than let them see what will be left of us after that.”

Jon bites his lip. “You’ve never been this honest with me before.”

The Archivist chuckles bitterly.

“Last pieces of humanity, perhaps. There isn’t much time before I fully become the monster you see in me.”

“Used to,” says Jon before he can stop himself. The Archivist looks at him with wide eyes, and Jon clears his throat. “I, uh. I may have changed my mind. You’re… Well. There are worse things out there.”

The Archivist buries its black limb in the sand, and grains of sand land in an eye on its hand. It doesn’t close due to the lack of eyelids, but moisture gathers in it, expelling the sand with tears that sink into the ground. Jon unconsciously mimics the gesture with his hand.

“Thank you.”

—

Jon stares blankly at his sink in the pale yellow light of the lightbulb for what seems like years. He turns the needle in his shaky hands, familiarizing himself with the smooth texture. The metal absorbed the heat of his fingers a long time ago. Jon takes a shaky breath.

“If I don’t make it out of this,” he says shakily to the tape recorder whirring on the floor. “You need to kill Jonah Magnus yourselves. You’ll be free from the Eye either way, so it—it won’t affect you. The tunnels under the Institute are huge and can be manipulated with a Leitner book. I, hah. I think Leitner still has it down there.” Jon takes another shaky breath. “You need to find the Panopticon, and there, in the tower, is Magnus’ body. O-Original body. Killing it should do the trick. If—If you want to be thorough, killing Elias and burning his eyes won’t hurt. I suppose.”

Jon lets out a trembling chuckle.

“I’m… I’m sorry. For everything. This is… I need to do this. I should still be able to survive.” He swallows and looks down at the needle. “Right.”

He looks up at himself in the mirror. His eyes are still brown, with the smallest tinge of green in the retinas; exhausted but wide open in fear. He realizes he hasn’t had the need for glasses in a good while.

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath and brings the needle over his face with a trembling hand. “Okay. Okay.”

---

Author's Notes: I apologise.

Today's chapter title was brought to you by Turning Page by Sleeping At Last :)

[waiting4inspiration]

Ride (Ivar x Reader)

Summary: Ivar only wants the best. And when his search for the best horses leads him to your city and he sees you trying to tame a wild stallion, he ends up wanting something different

Warnings: strong language, SMUT, +18 content, unprotected sex, slight fem!dom, mentions of war, i don’t know much about taming horses but i did the best i could,

Word Count: 3,875

Vikings Masterlist

Ivar only wants the best. The best soldiers in his army, the best ships in his navy, the best horses for his soldiers. He has the first two, now all he needs his horses. Strong, well-bred, well-trained stallions that will ride his army into battle against the Saxons. And there’s only one place in all of Norway that breed and train horses like that. 

The city of Kvia is known to everyone as the Horselands. So much so, that it’s hardly even called Kvia. The Earl of Kvia, Denrin, only gives a team of his best horses to whoever pays the best price. And because Ivar wanted that, his bargaining with the Earl of the Horseland went on all through the winter season. 

Now, it’s time for the king to see his prize. 

It’s exactly as Ivar imagined it to look like. Green pastures far as the eye can see, herds of horses grazing on the luscious grass, some being rounded up by men, others being ridden. It’s only once they pass a certain point that leads them deeper into the land that there is a horse everywhere Ivar looks. 

Denrin meets Ivar at the gates of his city, riding a gallant pale stallion to lead Ivar and his company to the fort-like building that would be Denrin’s Great Hall. The grey stone building, rigid and strong almost contrasts the freedom the green land gives off. 

“We’ve given you a fine team of horses, King Ivar,” Denrin speaks as he leads Ivar and his brothers through the training ground. “All of our horses are trained to look fear and danger in the eye, obey their rider’s command whatever they may be, and might even be the steed that would lead you to Valhalla,” he mentions with a chuckle, but Ivar doesn’t laugh. 

Ivar watches and men and women lead horses between training circles and stables, alternating between feeding stations and drinking wells. The sounds of steeds braying almost overshadow the communication of the people in the area. 

“Even though we breed our own horses, wild horses roam the outer banks of the land. Those horses you saw when you entered the Horselands,” the horse lord states, looking over his shoulder to the visiting party. “We leave them be, unless they have been hurt or cast out of their herd. Then, we take them in and try to tame them,” he mentions, holding his hand out to gesture to a training ring with a single horse inside it. 

The black beauty gallops around the fence, around a single trainer inside and a lunge line connecting them. “It also gives us a chance to breed fresh horses with different blood. And it gives the trainers something different to work on. Breaking a wild horse is not an easy job.”

“Who is that in the center?” Ivar questions right as Denrin stops talking. His eye has been fixed on the woman in the center of the horse’s galloping circles the entire time. 

Denrin smiles as he shifts on his feet. “That is my daughter,” he states proudly, making Ivar turn his head to look at him. “She has been working on taming that horse for weeks. He’s a stubborn thing, only listens to her,” he mentions, nodding to you when you click your tongue and gently tug on the lunge line to order the horse to come to you. 

The horse shakes his head and huffs out as his gallops turn to a canter. With a stern voice, you call the stallion and tug on the line again. And this time, he listens to you. The black steed walks over to you, keeps his head up confidently before nosing the hand you hold out for him. 

“She will attempt to ride him today,” Denrin mentions as he takes a step forward to carry on leading Ivar, Ubbe, and Hvitserk through the training grounds and towards the stables holding their horses. 

The rest of the tour goes by before Ivar can realize it. He is happy with his horses. His trust for Denrin and his horses is much like his trust for Floki and his boats. And even though he thought most, if not all, would be stallions, Denrin said that some of the mares can be just as spirited. They made their arrangements on how and when the horses would travel to Kattegat for Ivar’s use, and then it was time to witness the event everyone seems to have been waiting for. 

The visiting guests didn’t think that someone trying to ride a wild stallion would be such a big deal. But there’s a crowd gathered around the training ring you and your horse were in before. Now, only the black stallion is there, minding his own business. He’s used to the crowd by now because it’s always busy during the day. He’s learned that if he doesn’t mind them, they won’t mind him. 

“Do you think she’ll succeed?” Ubbe questions as he and Ivar find a spot where they can see the ring and the horse perfectly. 

“I hope she does,” Hvitserk mentions as he comes to join his brothers. “I’ve placed a bet on her. A good one,” he chuckles, glancing down at the pocket of coins in his hands before he looks up at Ubbe and Ivar. 

Ivar only rolls his eyes as he turns to try and find you. “She’s Denrin’s daughter. The chance is she learned how to ride a horse before even learning how to walk,” he mutters, smirking to himself at the thought of that. His words mean that he’s sure you’ll succeed in riding this wild beauty. 

Seeing you walking out the stables, a saddle over your arms, and your gaze fixed on the training ring, Ivar shifts in his spot and marvels at the determination in your eyes. Hvitserk laughs to himself as a thought crosses his mind when his eyes wander down your body. “With legs like that, I wouldn’t be surprised if she rode men the way one would ride a wild horse.”

Those words bury themself in Ivar’s mind, making thoughts of his own spark up with him even trying. It makes his eyes fall to see what caused Hvitserk to say those words, and he takes in a deep breath at the sight of your legs. Oh yes, he can see the vulgar image his brother tried to paint so vividly now.

The image of you mounting him, those legs of yours either side of his useless one, hand on his chest to steady yourself above him as his fingers dig into the muscle of your thighs. Gods, what it would be like to have those legs clench around him as he-

You break his thoughts by placing the saddle on the fence with a thud, making him turn his gaze down to the ground to avoid meeting your gaze. Curse Hvitserk for putting the thought in his head. Now, he won’t be able to think of anything else on your attempt to ride the wild horse in the ring with you. 

Walking to the horse, you breathe out a sigh and hold out your hand when he starts to walk to you again. You’ve accomplished this trick to get him to come to you by feeding him treats at first, making him think that you’ll always have something to give him. When other trainers have tried, he doesn’t budge. 

“I know you’re nervous. So am I,” you whisper to him as you stroke his face with one hand, the other resting on the bridle you put on him this morning so that he’s used to it by now. “But, I trust you won’t throw me off and try to kill me,” you chuckle, grab the reins and slowly lead him over to the saddle. 

It’s quiet. Everyone knows this part is crucial. If the horse doesn’t smell the saddle or doesn’t accept it, you won’t be riding him today. So, they all watch in anticipation as you secure the reins to the fence and place a hand on the saddle. 

You know that this wild horse is also a curious stallion. You know he’ll smell the saddle. And when he does and doesn’t back away or get nervous, you smile to yourself and stroke his neck in affection, telling him he’s done a good job. 

Ivar watches intently as you place the saddle on the horse’s back. He watches as you watch the horse closes, looking out for any sign that he doesn’t like this. It’s very, very clear that you’ve done this before. 

With the saddle tightened and the horse still calm, you can breathe out a sigh of relief and turn to look for your father as the crowd softly cheers. They don’t want to freak the horse out while you’re so close to him. Denrin gives you an approving and encouraging nod. This is the moment he knows you’ve been waiting for since you managed to wrangle the wild spirit. 

This isn’t the first time your horse has had a saddle on him, another thing you’ve made sure he’s used to before trying to ride him. It’s only a case of getting him to get used to having someone on his back and controlling him from there. 

With the reins back in your hand and you now standing beside him, everyone holds a breath as you slip your foot into the stirrup and slowly, very slowly, pull yourself up to mount your horse. 

You try to stay calm to keep your horse calm, but you can feel your racing heart in your chest as you sit on top of this strong animal. Patting the side of his neck when he doesn’t freak out, you sigh gently and nod your head as you whisper an approval to him. 

Now, you need to ride him. It’s all good and well mounting him. But you need to take him around the ring a few times for you to be successful. And with a click of your tongue and a light urge from your heels, he starts to walk. 

But you can see he’s on high alert and you make the small mistake of tightening your grip around the reins. 

He startles, kicks his back legs out and whinnies as he shakes his head. You try to calm with him a smooth tone, but he does it again. “Easy,” you sternly say. 

Shaking his head to get you to stop touching him, he breaks into a canter around the ring. When he bucks, an attempt to get whatever’s on his back off, you clench your legs to stop yourself from falling off and tug lightly on the reins. 

Ivar’s mouth falls slightly at the display in front of him, the fight for power and dominance. It makes Hvitserk’s words come back to him and the thoughts he had afterward. He watches how you move your body to accommodate the bucking and rearing motions of the horse, and his mind immediately sees you above him again, rocking your body like that as you moan. 

The horse stands up on his back legs, making people gasp and become more alert in case you fall and get hurt. But, you stay in your place. When the horse is back on all fours, you decide that it’s enough. Stroking his neck and you dismount, you breathe out a deep sigh and shake your head as your lips turn up into a smile. 

The crowd around the ring cheers. You’ve done it. You’ve successfully ridden your wild horse for the first time without being thrown off. 

And you’ve left images in Ivar’s mind that will no doubt make him hard every time he thinks of them, but you don’t know that part. 

He won’t officially meet you until tomorrow, but he wants to meet you. Oh Gods, does he want to meet you. He reminds himself that he is a King. If he wishes to meet you, then he will do just that. 

Which is why he finds himself standing in front of your bedroom doors minutes after your successful ride, his hand just inches from the door to knock. There are horses engraved in the wood, something that keeps his eyes busy for a moment before he eventually knocks. 

“Yes?” He hears your voice from the other side, encouraging him to enter the room. And he does. 

He walks past the door, his hand gripping the crutch at his side tightly when Hvitserk’s cursed words come to mind again. Now it not the time to think of you fucking him, he scolds to himself. 

Then, he sees the bath in the room, wonders if you had just gotten out or if you were getting in. But the sight of your damp hair tells him he had come at a good time. The thin nightgown around your body says it’s a very good time. 

“King Ivar. I wasn’t expecting you to introduce yourself today,” you say as you stand from your seat and take a small step forward. 

It’s because of the journey here. He knows you’ve been told to let him rest before introductions can be made, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help his thoughts. 

There’s a look in his eyes when they return to yours after wandering over your body, an action that makes a shiver roll through your body. Here, a man you have yet to meet, a King, staring at you in awe and fascination. 

“I had to meet you after watching you ride that wild horse,” he explains, making your head nod in understanding as you fold your arms over your chest when he walks forward. “I couldn’t help but see for myself the woman able to tame something so strong.”

You chuckle at his words, bite your lower lip and stare into his eyes as he stands in front of you. You take the chance to do as he had done to you and run your eyes up and down his body. He’s afraid you’ll be discouraged by his legs, but that thought disappears as quickly as it appears when your eyes shoot back up to lock with his as you take another step forward. “You and I both know that is not the whole truth,” you whisper in a low voice as you drop your arms to your sides. 

His face drops and his heart skips a beat as your lips stretch into a smile. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first man to get hard at the sight of me taming wild stallions,” you laugh as you turn to walk away. “Or to fantasize. I understand,” you add, standing beside your bed and to pick up a necklace on the pillow, a medallion of your father’s crest hanging on the chain. 

“Really?” Ivar questions, intrigued about how you know this without having even met you. 

You hum, turn to face him again as you rest your hand on the medallion and turn your body to him. “My mother told me something very important before I became a woman,” you begin, luring him closer as you glance down to your hands and smile innocently to yourself. Ivar can’t help stepping forward in curiosity. “She said that some men like to imagine themselves as the horse a woman tames. It’s the reason my father fell in love with her. Because he saw himself as that mighty steed my mother once rode, trying to make it submit to her, trying to overpower and already powerful creature. And sometimes, that’s what a man wants,” you explain, making Ivar’s skin erupt into goosebumps as he stops right in front of you. 

“She told me, some men want a woman to try and break them. Tell me, King Ivar, is that what you wanted when you saw me?” you ask, taking that final step forward as your hands reach up to rest on his chest. 

He reaches up as well, to touch the side of your face as he leans slightly closer. Shaking his head, he holds his stare with you, making your heart racing like a team of horses as his eyes flicker down to your lips. “No. When I saw you on that horse, I didn’t want you to try and break me. Because I cannot be broken,” he whispers, your bottom lip tucking in between your teeth as he leans closer even more and drops the crutch to the ground. “I wanted the power I saw from you. Your strength, your determination.”

A breath catches in your throat as he moves his hand to rest around your neck, your lips popping out from between your teeth as you smell that warm, earthy smell on him. “I want you to ride me like you ride your horse,” he growls, his breath hitting your face before his lips crash over yours. 

Moaning into his mouth as you let his tongue in, your fingers grip his tunic tightly - like reins - and you turn him so he can sit on your bed. His hands slip under the sheer nightgown and run up those thighs he’s been thinking about since Hvitserk mentioned them. He can feel your muscles constricting and relaxing as you shift to adjust your position, grinding your body against his as you kiss him deeply. 

As you pull the tunic off over his head and break the kiss, you stare into his eyes as you try to catch your breath and calm your racing heart. His hands continue to rise up your body, pulling your nightgown with it before he lifts it over your head, leaving you naked in front of him. 

“I ride rough,” you softly mention as his hands run back down your body, over your breasts making a tingle run through your body. 

Ivar hums as he drops his face in the bend of your neck to kiss your skin, making you breathe out a shaky sigh and grip his shoulders. “I cannot be broken,” he reminds, muttering his words against your skin before biting it. 

Before he can leave a mark, you push him down onto his back and keep your hands on his chest as you stare down at him with the same look in your eyes as you had before walking into the ring to ride your horse. “We’ll see about that,” you murmur, running your hands down to his pants to free the hard cock you’ve felt growing as he kissed you. 

He smiles wickedly up at you, helps you untie the laces of his pants and stops you from pushing them all the way off. Maybe, if he gives you a bit of a challenge, a goal to get him full naked, it will make you come back for more and this won’t just be a one-time thing. 

Wrapping his hand around the back of your neck, he pulls you down for another kiss, this one full of lust and carnal need. Rolling your hips against his, you make his moan at the friction between you and he breaks the kiss to focus on what he wants most. 

Just like he had imagined it, your legs come either side of his as you sit upright, your hands on his chest as you raise yourself above him, his fingers digging into your thighs to slowly, slowly, bring you down onto his cock. 

As you stretch around him, your mouth falls open as you take in a sharp breath, your head falling back as you let out a moan at the feeling of him filling you up perfectly. He watches as a tremble runs through your body before you start to rock your hips, your head falls forward so you can lock your gaze with his. 

He thrusts up into you as he remembers your horse bucking when you rode him moments ago, the action making you gasp and your body to jerk as your nails dig into his chest. The mischievous look in his eyes makes you smile and laugh as you shake your head. “If you’re going to behave like that then,” you whisper, leaning down to press your body to his as you tease his lips with a kiss. 

Groaning as you rock against him, your pace picking up slowly, he grabs a fist full of your tight meat and bucks his hips against you, making a moan fall from your lips. “That’s better,” he says to himself, but you chuckle at his words and push yourself up again. 

Grinding down on him as a way to try and tell him to stop bucking, you feel pleasure starting to grow in your stomach. You almost want to break him. Right now, he could walk out of your room after this and go fuck some other girl if he wanted to. But you want him to stay thinking about you, wanting you. You want him to come to you, just as the horse you trained does. You want him to be yours. 

As he thrusts again, you scrap your nails down his chest, pulling out a hiss from him as he grips your hips tightly. And that’s when he starts working with you. 

Instead of wildly bucking his hips when he feels like it, he decides to roll with your movements. He watches you as you back arches, your riding becoming harder, and your walls clench around him as he scratches your thighs as you did his chest. 

He wants all of a sudden turn you around and fuck you into the furs over the bed. But perhaps he’ll do that later. He wants to carry on with this, with you riding him, moving with his rough hips snaps, moaning out his name and panting in pleasure. He wants to finish dragging your hips in the movement he wants, feel you struggle against him, try to tame him to do what you want. He wants to finish seeing you try to make him submit to your ways. 

“Oh, Gods,” you curse, throwing your head back as your break, letting him decide the pace and going with his movement. Because sometimes, in order to not fall off your horse, you need to go with his movements. 

You feel his cock twitch inside you, ready for his release. And you can’t hold your pleasure back any longer. “Ivar, I-” A moan stops you from speaking as your pleasure explodes inside your, making every part of your feel light. 

Ivar curses at the feeling of your legs clenching as he spills his seed into you, just like how he pictured when Hvitserk made that comment about your legs. Your fucking legs. Now that he thinks of it, he probably wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for that comment. 

Falling to his chest, panting and in a daze, your legs tremble slightly when Ivar softly strokes them with his fingers. Turning your gaze up to his face, you smirk as he glances down at you with a proud smirk to say that he was right to you not being able to break him. 

But little does he know, it takes more than one ride to break a stud. 

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[themousefromfantasyland]

THE GIRL WHO PRETENDED TO BE A BOY

What about a transgender fairy tale for Pride Month?

This variant is a English translation by Andrew Lang of a Romanian fairy tale called Ileana Sînziana. In this long, but fun tale, a powerful new Emperor wants in his court all the male heirs of the Emperors who he already dethroned. Knowing her father doesn't have any male heir, the youngest daughter of an old Emperor decides to dress as man and goes out in a journey.

In the end she is "cursed" to be a man, becoming Făt-Frumos, here translated as Fet-Fruners, a stock Romanian character in folk tales, a knight hero similar to Prince Charming. Făt-Frumos can be roughly translated as handsome infant or child or handsome boy.

Once upon a time there lived an emperor who was a great conqueror, and reigned over more countries than anyone in the world. And whenever he subdued a fresh kingdom, he only granted peace on condition that the king should deliver him one of his sons for ten years' service.

Now on the borders of his kingdom lay a country whose emperor was as brave as his neighbour, and as long as he was young he was the victor in every war. But as years passed away, his head grew weary of making plans of campaign, and his people wanted to stay at home and till their fields, and at last he too felt that he must do homage to the other emperor.

One thing, however, held him back from this step which day by day he saw more clearly was the only one possible. His new overlord would demand the service of one of his sons. And the old emperor had no son; only three daughters.

Look on which side he would, nothing but ruin seemed to lie before him, and he became so gloomy, that his daughters were frightened, and did everything they could think of to cheer him up, but all to no purpose.

At length one day when they were at dinner, the eldest of the three summoned up all her courage and said to her father:

'What secret grief is troubling you? Are your subjects discontented? or have we given you cause for displeasure? To smooth away your wrinkles, we would gladly shed our blood, for our lives are bound up in yours; and this you know.'

'My daughter,' answered the emperor, 'what you say is true. Never have you given me one moment's pain. Yet now you cannot help me. Ah! why is not one of you a boy!'

'I don't understand,' she answered in surprise. 'Tell us what is wrong: and though we are not boys, we are not quite useless!'

'But what can you do, my dear children? Spin, sew, and weave—that is all your learning. Only a warrior can deliver me now, a young giant who is strong to wield the battle-axe: whose sword deals deadly blows.'

'But WHY do you need a son so much at present? Tell us all about it! It will not make matters worse if we know!'

'Listen then, my daughters, and learn the reason of my sorrow. You have heard that as long as I was young no man ever brought an army against me without it costing him dear. But the years have chilled my blood and drunk my strength. And now the deer can roam the forest, my arrows will never pierce his heart; strange soldiers will set fire to my houses and water their horses at my wells, and my arm cannot hinder them. No, my day is past, and the time has come when I too must bow my head under the yoke of my foe! But who is to give him the ten years' service that is part of the price which the vanquished must pay?'

'_I_ will,' cried the eldest girl, springing to her feet. But her father only shook his head sadly.

'Never will I bring shame upon you,' urged the girl. 'Let me go. Am I not a princess, and the daughter of an emperor?'

'Go then!' he said.

The brave girl's heart almost stopped beating from joy, as she set about her preparations. She was not still for a single moment, but danced about the house, turning chests and wardrobes upside down. She set aside enough things for a whole year—dresses embroidered with gold and precious stones, and a great store of provisions. And she chose the most spirited horse in the stable, with eyes of flame, and a coat of shining silver.

When her father saw her mounted and curvetting about the court, he gave her much wise advice, as to how she was to behave like the young man she appeared to be, and also how to behave as the girl she really was. Then he gave her his blessing, and she touched her horse with the spur.

The silver armour of herself and her steed dazzled the eyes of the people as she darted past. She was soon out of sight, and if after a few miles she had not pulled up to allow her escort to join her, the rest of the journey would have been performed alone.

But though none of his daughters were aware of the fact, the old emperor was a magician, and had laid his plans accordingly. He managed, unseen, to overtake his daughter, and throw a bridge of copper over a stream which she would have to cross. Then, changing himself into a wolf, he lay down under one of the arches, and waited.

He had chosen his time well, and in about half an hour the sound of a horse's hoofs was heard. His feet were almost on the bridge, when a big grey wolf with grinning teeth appeared before the princess. With a deep growl that froze the blood, he drew himself up, and prepared to spring.

The appearance of the wolf was so sudden and so unexpected, that the girl was almost paralysed, and never even dreamt of flight, till the horse leaped violently to one side. Then she turned him round, and urging him to his fullest speed, never drew rein till she saw the gates of the palace rising before her.

The old emperor, who had got back long since, came to the door to meet her, and touching her shining armour, he said, 'Did I not tell you, my child, that flies do not make honey?'

The days passed on, and one morning the second princess implored her father to allow her to try the adventure in which her sister had made such a failure. He listened unwillingly, feeling sure it was no use, but she begged so hard that in the end he consented, and having chosen her arms, she rode away.

But though, unlike her sister, she was quite prepared for the appearance of the wolf when she reached the copper bridge, she showed no greater courage, and galloped home as fast as her horse could carry her. On the steps of the castle her father was standing, and as still trembling with fright she knelt at his feet, he said gently, 'Did I not tell you, my child, that every bird is not caught in a net?'

The three girls stayed quietly in the palace for a little while, embroidering, spinning, weaving, and tending their birds and flowers, when early one morning, the youngest princess entered the door of the emperor's private apartments. 'My father, it is my turn now. Perhaps I shall get the better of that wolf!'

'What, do you think you are braver than your sisters, vain little one? You who have hardly left your long clothes behind you!' but she did not mind being laughed at, and answered,

'For your sake, father, I would cut the devil himself into small bits, or even become a devil myself. I think I shall succeed, but if I fail, I shall come home without more shame than my sisters.'

Still the emperor hesitated, but the girl petted and coaxed him till at last he said,

'Well, well, if you must go, you must. It remains to be seen what I shall get by it, except perhaps a good laugh when I see you come back with your head bent and your eyes on the ground.'

'He laughs best who laughs last,' said the princess.

Happy at having got her way, the princess decided that the first thing to be done was to find some old white-haired boyard, whose advice she could trust, and then to be very careful in choosing her horse. So she went straight to the stables where the most beautiful horses in the empire were feeding in the stalls, but none of them seemed quite what she wanted. Almost in despair she reached the last box of all, which was occupied by her father's ancient war-horse, old and worn like himself, stretched sadly out on the straw.

The girl's eyes filled with tears, and she stood gazing at him. The horse lifted his head, gave a little neigh, and said softly, 'You look gentle and pitiful, but I know it is your love for your father which makes you tender to me. Ah, what a warrior he was, and what good times we shared together! But now I too have grown old, and my master has forgotten me, and there is no reason to care whether my coat is dull or shining. Yet, it is not too late, and if I were properly tended, in a week I could vie with any horse in the stables!'

'And how should you be tended?' asked the girl.

'I must be rubbed down morning and evening with rain water, my barley must be boiled in milk, because of my bad teeth, and my feet must be washed in oil.'

'I should like to try the treatment, as you might help me in carrying out my scheme.'

'Try it then, mistress, and I promise you will never repent.'

So in a week's time the horse woke up one morning with a sudden shiver through all his limbs; and when it had passed away, he found his skin shining like a mirror, his body as fat as a water melon, his movement light as a chamois.

Then looking at the princess who had come early to the stable, he said joyfully,

'May success await on the steps of my master's daughter, for she has given me back my life. Tell me what I can do for you, princess, and I will do it.'

'I want to go to the emperor who is our over-lord, and I have no one to advise me. Which of all the white-headed boyards shall I choose as counsellor?'

'If you have me, you need no one else: I will serve you as I served your father, if you will only listen to what I say.'

'I will listen to everything. Can you start in three days?'

'This moment, if you like,' said the horse.

The preparations of the emperor's youngest daughter were much fewer and simpler than those of her sisters. They only consisted of some boy's clothes, a small quantity of linen and food, and a little money in case of necessity. Then she bade farewell to her father, and rode away.

A day's journey from the palace, she reached the copper bridge, but before they came in sight of it, the horse, who was a magician, had warned her of the means her father would take to prove her courage.

Still in spite of his warning she trembled all over when a huge wolf, as thin as if he had fasted for a month, with claws like saws, and mouth as wide as an oven, bounded howling towards her. For a moment her heart failed her, but the next, touching the horse lightly with her spur, she drew her sword from its sheath, ready to separate the wolf's head from its body at a single blow.

The beast saw the sword, and shrank back, which was the best thing it could do, as now the girl's blood was up, and the light of battle in her eyes. Then without looking round, she rode across the bridge.

The emperor, proud of this first victory, took a short cut, and waited for her at the end of another day's journey, close to a river, over which he threw a bridge of silver. And this time he took the shape of a lion.

But the horse guessed this new danger and told the princess how to escape it. But it is one thing to receive advice when we feel safe and comfortable, and quite another to be able to carry it out when some awful peril is threatening us. And if the wolf had made the girl quake with terror, it seemed like a lamb beside this dreadful lion.

At the sound of his roar the very trees quivered and his claws were so large that every one of them looked like a cutlass.

The breath of the princess came and went, and her feet rattled in the stirrups. Suddenly the remembrance flashed across her of the wolf whom she had put to flight, and waving her sword, she rushed so violently on the lion that he had barely time to spring on one side, so as to avoid the blow. Then, like a flash, she crossed this bridge also.

Now during her whole life, the princess had been so carefully brought up, that she had never left the gardens of the palace, so that the sight of the hills and valleys and tinkling streams, and the song of the larks and blackbirds, made her almost beside herself with wonder and delight. She longed to get down and bathe her face in the clear pools, and pick the brilliant flowers, but the horse said 'No,' and quickened his pace, neither turning to the right or the left.

'Warriors,' he told her, 'only rest when they have won the victory. You have still another battle to fight, and it is the hardest of all.'

This time it was neither a wolf nor a lion that was waiting for her at the end of the third day's journey, but a dragon with twelve heads, and a golden bridge behind it.

The princess rode up without seeing anything to frighten her, when a sudden puff of smoke and flame from beneath her feet, caused her to look down, and there was the horrible creature twisted and writhing, its twelve heads reared up as if to seize her between them.

The bridle fell from her hand: and the sword which she had just grasped slid back into its sheath, but the horse bade her fear nothing, and with a mighty effort she sat upright and spurred straight on the dragon.

The fight lasted an hour and the dragon pressed her hard. But in the end, by a well-directed side blow, she cut off one of the heads, and with a roar that seemed to rend the heavens in two, the dragon fell back on the ground, and rose as a man before her.

Although the horse had informed the princess the dragon was really her own father, the girl had hardly believed him, and stared in amazement at the transformation. But he flung his arms round her and pressed her to his heart saying, 'Now I see that you are as brave as the bravest, and as wise as the wisest. You have chosen the right horse, for without his help you would have returned with a bent head and downcast eyes. You have filled me with the hope that you may carry out the task you have undertaken, but be careful to forget none of my counsels, and above all to listen to those of your horse.'

When he had done speaking, the princess knelt down to receive his blessing, and they went their different ways.

The princess rode on and on, till at last she came to the mountains which hold up the roof of the world. There she met two Genii who had been fighting fiercely for two years, without one having got the least advantage over the other. Seeing what they took to be a young man seeking adventures, one of the combatants called out, 'Fet-Fruners! deliver me from my enemy, and I will give you the horn that can be heard the distance of a three days' journey;' while the other cried, 'Fet-Fruners! help me to conquer this pagan thief, and you shall have my horse, Sunlight.'

Before answering, the princess consulted her own horse as to which offer she should accept, and he advised her to side with the genius who was master of Sunlight, his own younger brother, and still more active than himself.

So the girl at once attacked the other genius, and soon clove his skull; then the one who was left victor begged her to come back with him to his house and he would hand her over Sunlight, as he had promised.

The mother of the genius was rejoiced to see her son return safe and sound, and prepared her best room for the princess, who, after so much fatigue, needed rest badly. But the girl declared that she must first make her horse comfortable in his stable; but this was really only an excuse, as she wanted to ask his advice on several matters.

But the old woman had suspected from the very first that the boy who had come to the rescue of her son was a girl in disguise, and told the genius that she was exactly the wife he needed. The genius scoffed, and inquired what female hand could ever wield a sabre like that; but, in spite of his sneers, his mother persisted, and as a proof of what she said, laid at night on each of their pillows a handful of magic flowers, that fade at the touch of man, but remain eternally fresh in the fingers of a woman.

It was very clever of her, but unluckily the horse had warned the princess what to expect, and when the house was silent, she stole very softly to the genius's room, and exchanged his faded flowers for those she held. Then she crept back to her own bed and fell fast asleep.

At break of day, the old woman ran to see her son, and found, as she knew she would, a bunch of dead flowers in his hand. She next passed on to the bedside of the princess, who still lay asleep grasping the withered flowers. But she did not believe any the more that her guest was a man, and so she told her son. So they put their heads together and laid another trap for her.

After breakfast the genius gave his arm to his guest, and asked her to come with him into the garden. For some time they walked about looking at the flowers, the genius all the while pressing her to pick any she fancied. But the princess, suspecting a trap, inquired roughly why they were wasting the precious hours in the garden, when, as men, they should be in the stables looking after their horses. Then the genius told his mother that she was quite wrong, and his deliverer was certainly a man. But the old woman was not convinced for all that.

She would try once more she said, and her son must lead his visitor into the armoury, where hung every kind of weapon used all over the world—some plain and bare, others ornamented with precious stones—and beg her to make choice of one of them. The princess looked at them closely, and felt the edges and points of their blades, then she hung at her belt an old sword with a curved blade, that would have done credit to an ancient warrior. After this she informed the genius that she would start early next day and take Sunlight with her.

And there was nothing for the mother to do but to submit, though she still stuck to her own opinion.

The princess mounted Sunlight, and touched him with her spur, when the old horse, who was galloping at her side, suddenly said:

'Up to this time, mistress, you have obeyed my counsels and all has gone well. Listen to me once more, and do what I tell you. I am old, and—now that there is someone to take my place, I will confess it—I am afraid that my strength is not equal to the task that lies before me. Give me leave, therefore, to return home, and do you continue your journey under the care of my brother. Put your faith in him as you put it in me, and you will never repent. Wisdom has come early to Sunlight.'

'Yes, my old comrade, you have served me well; and it is only through your help that up to now I have been victorious. So grieved though I am to say farewell, I will obey you yet once more, and will listen to your brother as I would to yourself. Only, I must have a proof that he loves me as well as you do.'

'How should I not love you?' answered Sunlight; 'how should I not be proud to serve a warrior such as you? Trust me, mistress, and you shall never regret the absence of my brother. I know there will be difficulties in our path, but we will face them together.'

Then, with tears in her eyes, the princess took leave of her old horse, who galloped back to her father.

She had ridden only a few miles further, when she saw a golden curl lying on the road before her. Checking her horse, she asked whether it would be better to take it or let it lie.

'If you take it,' said Sunlight, 'you will repent, and if you don't, you will repent too: so take it.' On this the girl dismounted, and picking up the curl, wound it round her neck for safety.

They passed by hills, they passed by mountains, they passed through valleys, leaving behind them thick forests, and fields covered with flowers; and at length they reached the court of the over-lord.

He was sitting on his throne, surrounded by the sons of the other emperors, who served him as pages. These youths came forward to greet their new companion, and wondered why they felt so attracted towards him.

[Quick pause. This is a very funny trope that I keep finding in very old cross-dressing stories. The male characters find themselves mysteriously attracted to the female character pretending to be male. Think of Li Shang from Mulan.]

However, there was no time for talking and concealing her fright.

The princess was led straight up to the throne, and explained, in a low voice, the reason of her coming. The emperor received her kindly, and declared himself fortunate at finding a vassal so brave and so charming, and begged the princess to remain in attendance on his person.

She was, however, very careful in her behaviour towards the other pages, whose way of life did not please her. One day, however, she had been amusing herself by making sweetmeats, when two of the young princes looked in to pay her a visit. She offered them some of the food which was already on the table, and they thought it so delicious that they even licked their fingers so as not to lose a morsel. Of course they did not keep the news of their discovery to themselves, but told all their companions that they had just been enjoying the best supper they had had since they were born. And from that moment the princess was left no peace, till she had promised to cook them all a dinner.

Now it happened that, on the very day fixed, all the cooks in the palace became intoxicated, and there was no one to make up the fire.

When the pages heard of this shocking state of things, they went to their companion and implored her to come to the rescue.

The princess was fond of cooking, and was, besides, very good-natured; so she put on an apron and went down to the kitchen without delay. When the dinner was placed before the emperor he found it so nice that he ate much more than was good for him. The next morning, as soon as he woke, he sent for his head cook, and told him to send up the same dishes as before. The cook, seized with fright at this command, which he knew he could not fulfil, fell on his knees, and confessed the truth.

The emperor was so astonished that he forgot to scold, and while he was thinking over the matter, some of his pages came in and said that their new companion had been heard to boast that he knew where Iliane was to be found—the celebrated Iliane of the song which begins:

'Golden Hair. The fields are green,'

And that to their certain knowledge he had a curl of her hair in his possession.

When he heard that, the emperor desired the page to be brought before him, and, as soon as the princess obeyed his summons, he said to her abruptly:

'Fet-Fruners, you have hidden from me the fact that you knew the golden-haired Iliane! Why did you do this? for I have treated you more kindly than all my other pages.'

Then, after making the princess show him the golden curl which she wore round her neck, he added: 'Listen to me; unless by some means or other you bring me the owner of this lock, I will have your head cut off in the place where you stand. Now go!'

In vain the poor girl tried to explain how the lock of hair came into her possession; the emperor would listen to nothing, and, bowing low, she left his presence and went to consult Sunlight what she was to do.

At his first words she brightened up. 'Do not be afraid, mistress; only last night my brother appeared to me in a dream and told me that a genius had carried off Iliane, whose hair you picked up on the road. But Iliane declares that, before she marries her captor, he must bring her, as a present, the whole stud of mares which belong to her. The genius, half crazy with love, thinks of nothing night and day but how this can be done, and meanwhile she is quite safe in the island swamps of the sea. Go back to the emperor and ask him for twenty ships filled with precious merchandise. The rest you shall know by-and-by.'

On hearing this advice, the princess went at once into the emperor's presence.

'May a long life be yours, O Sovereign all mighty!' said she. 'I have come to tell you that I can do as you command if you will give me twenty ships, and load them with the most precious wares in your kingdom.'

'You shall have all that I possess if you will bring me the golden-haired Iliane,' said the emperor.

The ships were soon ready, and the princess entered the largest and finest, with Sunlight at her side. Then the sails were spread and the voyage began.

For seven weeks the wind blew them straight towards the west, and early one morning they caught sight of the island swamps of the sea.

They cast anchor in a little bay, and the princess made haste to disembark with Sunlight, but, before leaving the ship, she tied to her belt a pair of tiny gold slippers, adorned with precious stones. Then mounting Sunlight, she rode about till she came to several palaces, built on hinges, so that they could always turn towards the sun.

The most splendid of these was guarded by three slaves, whose greedy eyes were caught by the glistening gold of the slippers. They hastened up to the owner of these treasures, and inquired who he was. 'A merchant,' replied the princess, 'who had somehow missed his road, and lost himself among the island swamps of the sea.'

Not knowing if it was proper to receive him or not, the slaves returned to their mistress and told her all they had seen, but not before she had caught sight of the merchant from the roof of her palace. Luckily her gaoler was away, always trying to catch the stud of mares, so for the moment she was free and alone.

The slaves told their tale so well that their mistress insisted on going down to the shore and seeing the beautiful slippers for herself. They were even lovelier than she expected, and when the merchant besought her to come on board, and inspect some that he thought were finer still, her curiosity was too great to refuse, and she went.

Once on board ship, she was so busy turning over all the precious things stored there, that she never knew that the sails were spread, and that they were flying along with the wind behind them; and when she did know, she rejoiced in her heart, though she pretended to weep and lament at being carried captive a second time. Thus they arrived at the court of the emperor.

They were just about to land, when the mother of the genius stood before them. She had learnt that Iliane had fled from her prison in company with a merchant, and, as her son was absent, had come herself in pursuit. Striding over the blue waters, hopping from wave to wave, one foot reaching to heaven, and the other planted in the foam, she was close at their heels, breathing fire and flame, when they stepped on shore from the ship. One glance told Iliane who the horrible old woman was, and she whispered hastily to her companion. Without saying a word, the princess swung her into Sunlight's saddle, and leaping up behind her, they were off like a flash.

It was not till they drew near the town that the princess stooped and asked Sunlight what they should do. 'Put your hand into my left ear,' said he, 'and take out a sharp stone, which you must throw behind you.'

The princess did as she was told, and a huge mountain sprang up behind them. The mother of the genius began to climb up it, and though they galloped quickly, she was quicker still.

They heard her coming, faster, faster; and again the princess stooped to ask what was to be done now. 'Put your hand into my right ear,' said the horse, 'and throw the brush you will find there behind you.' The princess did so, and a great forest sprang up behind them, and, so thick were its leaves, that even a wren could not get through. But the old woman seized hold of the branches and flung herself like a monkey from one to the others, and always she drew nearer—always, always—till their hair was singed by the flames of her mouth.

Then, in despair, the princess again bent down and asked if there was nothing more to be done, and Sunlight replied 'Quick, quick, take off the betrothal ring on the finger of Iliane and throw it behind you.'

This time there sprang up a great tower of stone, smooth as ivory, hard as steel, which reached up to heaven itself. And the mother of the genius gave a howl of rage, knowing that she could neither climb it nor get through it. But she was not beaten yet, and gathering herself together, she made a prodigious leap, which landed her on the top of the tower, right in the middle of Iliane's ring which lay there, and held her tight. Only her claws could be seen grasping the battlements.

All that could be done the old witch did; but the fire that poured from her mouth never reached the fugitives, though it laid waste the country a hundred miles round the tower, like the flames of a volcano. Then, with one last effort to free herself, her hands gave way, and, falling down to the bottom of the tower, she was broken in pieces.

When the flying princess saw what had happened she rode back to the spot, as Sunlight counselled her, and placed her finger on the top of the tower, which was gradually shrinking into the earth. In an instant the tower had vanished as if it had never been, and in its place was the finger of the princess with a ring round it.

The emperor received Iliane with all the respect that was due to her, and fell in love at first sight besides.

But this did not seem to please Iliane, whose face was sad as she walked about the palace or gardens, wondering how it was that, while other girls did as they liked, she was always in the power of someone whom she hated.

So when the emperor asked her to share his throne Iliane answered:

'Noble Sovereign, I may not think of marriage till my stud of horses has been brought me, with their trappings all complete.'

When he heard this, the emperor once more sent for Fet-Fruners, and said:

'Fet-Fruners, fetch me instantly the stud of mares, with their trappings all complete. If not, your head shall pay the forfeit.'

'Mighty Emperor, I kiss your hands! I have but just returned from doing your bidding, and, behold, you send me on another mission, and stake my head on its fulfilment, when your court is full of valiant young men, pining to win their spurs. They say you are a just man; then why not entrust this quest to one of them? Where am I to seek these mares that I am to bring you?'

'How do I know? They may be anywhere in heaven or earth; but, wherever they are, you will have to find them.'

The princess bowed and went to consult Sunlight. He listened while she told her tale, and then said:

'Fetch quickly nine buffalo skins; smear them well with tar, and lay them on my back. Do not fear; you will succeed in this also; but, in the end, the emperor's desires will be his undoing.'

The buffalo skins were soon got, and the princess started off with Sunlight. The way was long and difficult, but at length they reached the place where the mares were grazing. Here the genius who had carried off Iliane was wandering about, trying to discover how to capture them, all the while believing that Iliane was safe in the palace where he had left her.

As soon as she caught sight of him, the princess went up and told him that Iliane had escaped, and that his mother, in her efforts to recapture her, had died of rage. At this news a blind fury took possession of the genius, and he rushed madly upon the princess, who awaited his onslaught with perfect calmness. As he came on, with his sabre lifted high in the air, Sunlight bounded right over his head, so that the sword fell harmless. And when in her turn the princess prepared to strike, the horse sank upon his knees, so that the blade pierced the genius's thigh.

The fight was so fierce that it seemed as if the earth would give way under them, and for twenty miles round the beasts in the forests fled to their caves for shelter. At last, when her strength was almost gone, the genius lowered his sword for an instant. The princess saw her chance, and, with one swoop of her arm, severed her enemy's head from his body. Still trembling from the long struggle, she turned away, and went to the meadow where the stud were feeding.

By the advice of Sunlight, she took care not to let them see her, and climbed a thick tree, where she could see and hear without being seen herself. Then he neighed, and the mares came galloping up, eager to see the new comer—all but one horse, who did not like strangers, and thought they were very well as they were. As Sunlight stood his ground, well pleased with the attention paid him, this sulky creature suddenly advanced to the charge, and bit so violently that had it not been for the nine buffalo skins Sunlight's last moment would have come. When the fight was ended, the buffalo skins were in ribbons, and the beaten animal writhing with pain on the grass.

Nothing now remained to be done but to drive the whole stud to the emperor's court. So the princess came down from the tree and mounted Sunlight, while the stud followed meekly after, the wounded horse bringing up the rear. On reaching the palace, she drove them into a yard, and went to inform the emperor of her arrival.

The news was told at once to Iliane, who ran down directly and called them to her one by one, each mare by its name. And at the first sight of her the wounded animal shook itself quickly, and in a moment its wounds were healed, and there was not even a mark on its glossy skin.

By this time the emperor, on hearing where she was, joined her in the yard, and at her request ordered the mares to be milked, so that both he and she might bathe in the milk and keep young for ever. But they would suffer no one to come near them, and the princess was commanded to perform this service also.

At this, the heart of the girl swelled within her. The hardest tasks were always given to her, and long before the two years were up, she would be worn out and useless. But while these thoughts passed through her mind, a fearful rain fell, such as no man remembered before, and rose till the mares were standing up to their knees in water. Then as suddenly it stopped, and, behold! the water was ice, which held the animals firmly in its grasp. And the princess's heart grew light again, and she sat down gaily to milk them, as if she had done it every morning of her life.

The love of the emperor for Iliane waxed greater day by day, but she paid no heed to him, and always had an excuse ready to put off their marriage. At length, when she had come to the end of everything she could think of, she said to him one day: 'Grant me, Sire, just one request more, and then I will really marry you; for you have waited patiently this long time.'

'My beautiful dove,' replied the emperor, 'both I and all I possess are yours, so ask your will, and you shall have it.'

'Get me, then,' she said, 'a flask of the holy water that is kept in a little church beyond the river Jordan, and I will be your wife.'

Then the emperor ordered Fet-Fruners to ride without delay to the river Jordan, and to bring back, at whatever cost, the holy water for Iliane.

'This, my mistress,' said Sunlight, when she was saddling him, 'is the last and most difficult of your tasks. But fear nothing, for the hour of the emperor has struck.'

So they started; and the horse, who was not a wizard for nothing, told the princess exactly where she was to look for the holy water.

'It stands,' he said, 'on the altar of a little church, and is guarded by a troop of nuns. They never sleep, night or day, but every now and then a hermit comes to visit them, and from him they learn certain things it is needful for them to know. When this happens, only one of the nuns remains on guard at a time, and if we are lucky enough to hit upon this moment, we may get hold of the vase at once; if not, we shall have to wait the arrival of the hermit, however long it may be; for there is no other means of obtaining the holy water.'

They came in sight of the church beyond the Jordan, and, to their great joy, beheld the hermit just arriving at the door. They could hear him calling the nuns around him, and saw them settle themselves under a tree, with the hermit in their midst—all but one, who remained on guard, as was the custom.

The hermit had a great deal to say, and the day was very hot, so the nun, tired of sitting by herself, lay down right across the threshold, and fell sound asleep.

Then Sunlight told the princess what she was to do, and the girl stepped softly over the sleeping nun, and crept like a cat along the dark aisle, feeling the wall with her fingers, lest she should fall over something and ruin it all by a noise. But she reached the altar in safety, and found the vase of holy water standing on it. This she thrust into her dress, and went back with the same care as she came. With a bound she was in the saddle, and seizing the reins bade Sunlight take her home as fast as his legs could carry him.

The sound of the flying hoofs aroused the nun, who understood instantly that the precious treasure was stolen, and her shrieks were so loud and piercing that all the rest came flying to see what was the matter. The hermit followed at their heels, but seeing it was impossible to overtake the thief, he fell on his knees and called his most deadly curse down on her head, praying that if the thief was a man, he might become a woman; and if she was a woman, that she might become a man. In either case he thought that the punishment would be severe.

But punishments are things about which people do not always agree, and when the princess suddenly felt she was really the man she had pretended to be, she was delighted, and if the hermit had only been within reach she would have thanked him from her heart.

By the time she reached the emperor's court, Fet-Fruners looked a young man all over in the eyes of everyone; and even the mother of the genius would now have had her doubts set at rest. He drew forth the vase from his tunic and held it up to the emperor, saying: 'Mighty Sovereign, all hail! I have fulfilled this task also, and I hope it is the last you have for me; let another now take his turn.'

'I am content, Fet-Fruners,' replied the emperor, 'and when I am dead it is you who will sit upon my throne; for I have yet no son to come after me. But if one is given me, and my dearest wish is accomplished, then you shall be his right hand, and guide him with your counsels.'

But though the emperor was satisfied, Iliane was not, and she determined to revenge herself on the emperor for the dangers which he had caused Fet-Fruners to run. And as for the vase of holy water, she thought that, in common politeness, her suitor ought to have fetched it himself, which he could have done without any risk at all.

So she ordered the great bath to be filled with the milk of her mares, and begged the emperor to clothe himself in white robes, and enter the bath with her, an invitation he accepted with joy. Then, when both were standing with the milk reaching to their necks, she sent for the horse which had fought Sunlight, and made a secret sign to him. The horse understood what he was to do, and from one nostril he breathed fresh air over Iliane, and from the other, he snorted a burning wind which shrivelled up the emperor where he stood, leaving only a little heap of ashes.

His strange death, which no one could explain, made a great sensation throughout the country, and the funeral his people gave him was the most splendid ever known. When it was over, Iliane summoned Fet-Fruners before her, and addressed him thus:

'Fet-Fruners! it is you who brought me and have saved my life, and obeyed my wishes. It is you who gave me back my stud; you who killed the genius, and the old witch his mother; you who brought me the holy water. And you, and none other, shall be my husband.'

'Yes, I will marry you,' said the young man, with a voice almost as soft as when he was a princess. 'But know that in OUR house, it will be the cock who sings and not the hen!'

[errabundus-nox]

Hello, I wrote a ficlet dealing with my fav daozhang (XXC). The idea of Song Lan fearful of touching XXC after his revival because of his brute strength as a fierce corpse popped into my head while conversating with someone.

Canon Divergence. XXC Revives!

Song Lan / Xiao Xing Chen

Angst(y), T rated.

Biblichor

Song Lan succeeds.

He feels the infinitesimal shift of the pale, still man beneath him. His ears pick up the tiny flutter of heartbeats, the twitch in his fingers.

The breath of air exhaled.

Song Lan swallows a hard lump down his throat, eyes - Xiao Xing Chen's eyes - unblinking. Afraid that this would be the ruin of the phenomenon unfurling before him.

How much time has he spent? Unsleeping and fasting, piecing together Xiao Xing Chen's spirit in this dingy, abandoned shack he had placed his coffin in.

Where demonic talents had failed, and righteous teachings have all but set him up for an unfeasible task, he succeeded.

“Zichen – “his voice like sandpaper rasps.

Beside him, Song Lan’s fingers curled against the edge of the coffin in a knuckle white grip, splintering wood. Seeing eyes zeroed in on the man that had just roused, a white bandage sitting on high and delicate cheekbones, face bereft of color. Xing Chen’s skin was parchment thin and looked so fragile, almost translucent in the glowing embers of dawn. His all-white robes casting an almost distant and ethereal quality to him.

Song Lan fears that he might just break him with a single touch.

“Zichen,” Xing Chen’s raspy voice tries again, a slight edge of firmness to it that washes relief through Song Lan. Xing Chen struggles to pull himself up, joints stiff and body uncoordinated from a prolonged period of disuse.

Song Lan reaches over to his back and helps Xing Chen sit up, with barely any pressure behind his touch. Xing Chen couldn’t help a small shiver as the air moves around him. It wasn’t a cold day, with the rising sun emitting its warmth. Song Lan doesn’t hesitate to remove his outer robes and drapes it across Xing Chen’s shoulders. He reaches out and puts a cup gingerly against cold lips.

Drink this first, Song Lan voices out mentally.

He feels the ghost of his breath pass through his fingers, a soft gasp escaping Xing Chen’s lips.

“Can you – “he sputters, fingers slowly reaching towards his right ear, to confirm his senses where his eyes could not.

Song Lan shook his head before he could stop himself.

No, was his answer.

Xing Chen could still feel the cup pressed on his lip. His fingers moved to grasp it, brushing against Song Lan’s. He takes a tentative sip, feels the prickling discomfort of liquid down his parched throat, and tries not to cough. The second sip is easier, and he empties the contents of the cup on the third.

Song Lan spent trudging up the path to the celestial mountain for many days.

He realizes, quickly, how much the world has changed during his absence.

The war was over, its demonic cultivators quelled all thanks to their heralded heroes but at the price of many. Even the fierce corpses that once plagued helpless villagers seemed to thin and disperse.

He spent days at the foot of the mountain, with each passing moment confirming his denied entry.

But in its silence, he found the answers.

This is the way of the world, that we seek to understand on common ground. To leave, would akin to finding your own answers and give meaning to matters once not understood.

Song Lan stood up, bowed deeply thrice, and made his journey back again.

He finds an abandoned wooden shack tucked just under the foothills, on the outskirts of a small town where the population was sparse. He makes quick work of setting up wards to keep spirits and living beings away, and continued onwards.

Song Lan never feared death. Just like Xing Chen in their ideologies – if they could turn their views into a positive force, to something tangible and of aid, then it would be this very ethos that would keep them immortal in the minds of men, surpassing their physical bodies.

Death was an irony to Song Lan at first. The stench of it made his skin crawl, intensifying the impulse to carve away the spidery veins that marked his skin, making him bear the stigma of something he once fearlessly cut down without a second thought; to cleanse the world of its impurities. Leaving behind wounds that would never heal, never close, yet never fester.

He returned to Yi City once again, knowing that bringing Xing Chen back to life in this forsaken city of dust and corpses would be cruel, and unfair.

It would remind him of Xue Yang’s manipulation and betrayal.

Of A-Qing’s demise.

Of their deaths.

Through actions not by his own hand, Song Lan could never bring himself to blame Xing Chen for the tragic role he had to play.

The villain had been rid, yet the friend he so wished badly to apologize to and atone for was not standing by his side.

Such was the determination of a man who toiled relentlessly, forgoing sleep and sustenance.

Not that these physical needs were needed for a reanimated corpse, no less.

Such were the efforts he took as he labored day and night into bringing the coffin on the back of a rickety cartwheel to the drab and dilapidated shack. The single goal burned into the back of his eyelids as he sat next to Xing Chen’s body lying in the coffin, the almost nothing weight of his soul in a brown pouch scribbled with red insignias between his hands.

The words of an apology repeated in his head over and over again, but failing to come out of his very own mouth.

Song Lan would achieve what others before him could not – by weaving his own consciousness and stitching Xiao Xing Chen’s soul back together again. The price he had to and was willing to pay.

They spend the next month not quite touching – Song Lan fearful of his newfound strength he struggled to control, vicious scenarios conjured at the back of his mind circling around causing unintentional hurt towards Xing Chen and his seemingly fragile state.

Xing Chen ripped from the claws of his self-imposed punishment and coming to terms that his death was not a resignation, but a chance for forgiveness given by others.

Those four walls weren’t quite home, but it sufficed for the both of them who wanted nothing much but only each other.

Song Lan would tend to Xing Chen’s gradual recovery and Xing Chen turned to weaving baskets, working the dexterity back into his fingers. Eventually, they found a pattern together, similar yet completely opposite of what they were accustomed to in what felt like another lifetime.

Nights when terror seized Xing Chen through nightmares, Song Lan would slide into the bed that he had built for them (Xing Chen, mostly) and hold him so tenderly. Xing Chen would wake with blood run tears soaking through his bandages, clinging tightly to the front of his robes, pressing kisses as light as a butterfly flitting through the flowers onto cool, thin lips.

I’m here, Song Lan would soothe repeatedly, a mantra that calmed hiccupping sobs broken by shuddering breaths into deep, even breathing.

In the darkness only illuminated by full moon, laid Song Lan and Xiao Xing Chen in a tender embrace. Separated only by the planes of existence - one, a dead man who walks amongst the living. Another, who's alive but borders so close to death. Song Lan finds it easier to shake off the dread that twists at his guts, that one day Xiao Xing Chen would traipse over the fine line between living and a place where he could barely follow after. Xiao Xing Chen gradually learns to overlook past his mistakes, turning the endless compassion he once had for others onto himself.

Eventually, they would make their way back to A-Qing’s grave. Song Lan was never fully certain if Xing Chen had the capacity to handle his grief right in front of her small, marked gravesite. However, he gave him privacy and a wide berth to grieve alone; knowing that Xing Chen’s newfound purpose would give him the strength to tide through soft anguished cries and blood-soaked bandages.

They take a small piece of rock surrounding her grave back with them, as a memory in honor of the brave girl that so relentlessly tried to seek justice for her Dao Zhang, back to a rightful place where they could settle and finally call home.

[aion-rsa]

Squid Game’s Scathing Critique of Capitalism

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This Squid Game article contains MAJOR spoilers.

From the very first game of ddakji out in the real world with Train to Busan actor Gong Yoo, Squid Game poses the question: how far would you go for money? How much of your body, your life, would you trade to keep the wolves at bay and to get to live the life you’ve always dreamed? Once you start, could you stop, even if you wanted to? And in the end, would it even be worth it? While Squid Game depicts an attempt to answer these questions taken to the extreme, they are the same essential questions posed to everyone living under capitalism: What kind of job, what terrible hours, what back-breaking labor, what level of abuse, what work/life imbalance will we tolerate in exchange for what we need or want to live? Unlike many examples of this genre, Squid Game is set in our contemporary reality, which makes its scathing critique of capitalism less of a metaphor for the world we live in and more of a literal depiction of life under capitalism.

Squid Game’s Workers

At the most basic level, the entire competition within Squid Game would not exist without extreme financial distress creating a ready pool of players. It’s no coincidence that Gi-hun’s hard times started when he lost his job, followed by violence against the workers who went on strike. Strike-breakers and physical violence against striking workers may feel like an antiquated idea to an American audience. South Korea, however, has something of an anti-labor reputation, with only 10% of its workers in unions and laws limiting unions to negotiating pay, among other restrictions. In the US, the anti-labor fight is alive and well, though transformed, where it takes the shape of the deceptively named “Right to Work” laws, which benefit corporations and make it harder for unions to operate.

As noted in our review, (most of) the players choose to leave and then willingly return to the arena, which separates Squid Game from other entries in the genre like the Hunger Games series and Escape Room. This element of volition contributes to the series’ primary critical goal. As Mi-nyeo and others brought up early on, they’re getting killed in the real world too, but at least inside they might actually get something for their troubles. 

As an anti-capitalist parable, the only ways to fight back or upend the game in some small way are through acts of solidarity or by turning down the allure of the cash. The final clause in the game’s consent form states that the game can end if a majority of players agree to do so. After the brutal Red Light, Green Light massacre in the first, they do exactly that. The election might as well be a union vote. It’s shocking that the contract for the game included an escape clause at all, but it seems the host and his ilk enjoy at least allowing the illusion of free will if nothing else. The players who didn’t return after the first vote to leave the game, though unseen in this narrative, are perhaps the wisest of all. 

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During tug of war, Gi-hun’s team surprises everyone by winning. Their teamwork, unity of purpose, and superior strategy help them defeat a stronger adversary, which is a basic principle of labor organizing, albeit usually not at the expense of the lives of other workers. Player 1 (Il-nam) and Player 240 (Ji-yeong) each find their own way to beat the game by essentially backing out of the competition during marbles. In exchange for friendship and choosing the circumstances of their own deaths, Ji-yeong and Il-nam each make their own, ethically sound choice under this miserable system. Il-nam gets an asterisk since he was never going to die, but he still found a choice beyond merely “kill” or “be killed” by teaching his Gganbu one “last” lesson and helping him continue on in the game. 

In the end, Gi-hun confounds the VIPs and the Front Man by coming to the precipice of victory and simply walking away. Under capitalism, this group of incredibly rich men simply could not understand how someone could come so close to claiming their prize, and choose not to. But for Gi-hun, human life always had greater value. Gi-hun followed (Player 67) Sae-byeok’s advice and stayed true to himself, refusing to actively take anyone’s life, especially not the life of his friend. 

Squid Game’s Ruling Class

Since the competition only exists because of the worst aspects of capitalism, it’s not surprising that in the end, it is itself a capitalist endeavor. Ultra-wealthy VIPs, who mostly seem to be white, Western men, spectate for a price and bet on the game. In their luxury accommodations, they lounge on silent human “furniture” and mistreat service staff. In one notable example, a VIP threatens to kill a server (who the audience knows to be undercover cop Hwang Jun-ho) if he doesn’t remove his mask, even though the VIP knows it would cost the server his life. 

Perhaps most enraging of all is what Player 1, who turns out to actually be the Host, has to say to Gi-hun a year after the game ends. It all circles back to the game’s existential connection to economics; on the one hand, there is the unshakeable link to a population in which a significant portion of people suffer from dire financial woes. On the other hand, there is the Host and his cronies, the ultra-rich who are so bored from their megarich lives that they decided to bet on deadly human bloodsport for fun just so they could feel something again, as though they were betting on horses. 

In spite of the enormous gulf between the two, the Host attempts to draw comparisons between the ultra-wealthy and the extreme poor, saying both are miserable. His little joke denies the reality of hunger, early death, trauma, and many other ways that being poor is actively harmful, both physically and mentally. It’s the kind of slow death that makes risking a quick one in the arena seem reasonable. He and his buddies were just kind of bored. Moreover, the Host denies the role of economic coercion in players taking part in the game, insisting that everyone was there of their own free will. But what free will can there be for people who owe millions, with families at home to care for and creditors at their back, when someone comes along and offers a solution, even a dangerous one? Anyone who has taken a dodgy job offer to get away from a worse one, or because they’re unemployed and the rent and college loans are due, knows that there is a limit to how truly free our choices can be when we need money, especially if there’s little to no safety net. 

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Throughout the series, it is clear that someone had to be funding Squid Game at a high level. Unlike science fiction or fantasy takes, the show is grounded in our current reality, so the large-scale, high-tech obstacles and the island locale must have cost a pretty penny. Of course for any who see it as unrealistic, consider the example of Jeffrey Epstein, a man who bought an island from the US government and ran a sexual abuse and human trafficking ring not entirely disimilar (though far more pedestrian in its purpose) from this one. 

The Host is able to pay for everything because he works in – you guessed it – banking. It’s a profession where he gained wealth by moving capital around. Given the Korean debt crisis – South Korea has the highest household debt in the world, both in size and growth – his profession makes him a worthy villain, in the same way the Lehman Brothers were after the 2008 crash. The bank executive calls in Gi-hun to offer him investment products and services, because of course someone with 45 billion won can accrue significantly more money passively, and who wouldn’t want that? Gi-hun’s decision to walk away is a callback to his earlier attempt to walk away from Squid Game when millions of dollars was within his grasp.

Throughout the series, the people running the game actively pit the players against one another in much the same way capitalism pits workers against one another. Whether they’re giving the players less food to encourage a fight overnight, the daily influx of cash every time another player dies, or giving them knives for the evening, the mysterious people pulling the strings want the players to fight each other like crabs in a barrel so they can’t work together to figure out what’s going on or take on the guys in red jumpsuits. Though there are notable examples of the players working together to succeed, it is always within the rules of the system. It is never treated as a viable or likely option for the players to team up and take the blood money literally hanging over their heads or to prevent death, merely to redirect it or choose how they will die. No, to win that, they must play the Squid Game’s rules. 

In our society, this kind of worker-vs-worker rhetoric takes the form of employers telling workers their workload is harder or they can’t go on vacation or get a raise because of fellow employees who leave or go on maternity leave.. In reality, these are all normal aspects of managing a business that employers should plan for, and their failure to do so is not the fault of their workers. Much like in Squid Game, it benefits managers and owners if workers are too busy being mad at each other to have time or energy to fight the system and those who make unjust rules in the first place. 

Squid Game’s Managers

The Front Man insists the game is fair, gruesomely hanging the dead bodies of those involved in the organ harvesting scheme because they traded medical knowledge for advanced intel on the game. However, like capitalism, there are many ways that the system is clearly rigged, no matter what the people at the top insist. There’s the obvious corruption in the organ harvesting ring, but even at its “purest” form, the game is not equitable. Sometimes the managers and soldiers in red jumpsuits stand by when unfair things happen, like Deok-su and his cronies stealing food. At other times, the people in charge intervene in player squabbles, like enforcing nonviolence during marbles and elections but encouraging violence at other times. They especially set things up to their own advantage, such as cutting the lights so the players couldn’t see the glass in the penultimate game, or the way they set up the election. Everyone knew how everyone else voted, they shared the total amount of money immediately beforehand, in an attempt to sway votes, calling to mind Amazon’s scare tactics before the recent unionization vote.

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Ultimately, much like any manager/employer, the Front Man’s insistence on fairness has nothing to do with the actual value of equality, but rather the capitalist need to ensure betters are happy with the stakes and their chance at a favorable outcome. 

Even the workers, soldiers and managers in red jumpsuits, who seem to be in charge, are ultimately only in power (and alive) so long as they serve the needs of the system. Like so many low-level managers, many wield their tiny amount of power ruthlessly, shooting players with impunity or running their organ harvesting side gig. It soon becomes clear that they’re as expendable as players, if not moreso, and the Front Man shoots them without hesitating. A player asks (and it’s too bad we never learned) what “they” did to the people in red jumpsuits to get them to run this game, but it’s not too hard to guess. They seem to be very young men, who likely needed money and wouldn’t be missed if they never returned. 

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The biggest trick capitalism ever pulled was convincing workers it’s a zero-sum game, that anything we want but don’t have is the fault of someone else who “took it” from us. Within the game, that means every player was a living obstacle to the money, and that Gi-hun should kill his childhood friend to succeed and celebrate when he’s done. But as we see after he “wins,” even without taking Sang-woo’s life himself, the money isn’t worth it. The greater success would have been both men walking out of the arena alive.

The post Squid Game’s Scathing Critique of Capitalism appeared first on Den of Geek.

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