#well now i Have to go its a social obligation its Etiquette

[wolfythewitch]

If there was a real zombie apocalypse what would you do and would you survive?

I would die. Like immediately. There is no chance of me surviving I would not even try

Like genuinely? I've thought about this and I have very little will to live, I would rather just get it over with.

[tittyblade]

tumblr etiquette 101

a list that is nowhere near exhaustive, from yours truly.

First off, welcome! Whether you’re a twitter veteran looking for anything but whatever twitter is, or a new user just done signing up, glad to see you in our ranks beloveds! Welcome home. Refer to this quick tour to make sure your fandom experience (or tumblr experience in general) is a positive one!

Disclaimer: I know it’s long, but please try to read or skim through til the end if you’re new here! This is by no means meant to be a rule book (for the most part lol), only a guide to help you get settled easier!

1) Your blog

This is where people will see and interact with you, so put some effort into it!

Try to choose a name (url) that’s simple. You can see it as your brand, it’s how people will perceive you and remember you. If you’d like to interact with other users here (and not use the site just for the content) it’s better to have something short and sweet, preferably without spaces. (Of course, these are only suggestions.) Rest assured, you can change it literally any time you want.

Have a theme. Utilize the tool that lets you edit your blog’s color or the font of your bio! You can make it match your profile picture, or your blog if it has a theme of its own. Make it feel homey :]

Fill in your bio. People will be checking out your profile probably more often than you think. Don’t leave it empty! Put in any information you’re comfortable with sharing and isn’t too personal (like your age if you’re a minor, or other TMI that can be found on other people’s carrds). It’s always better to add a name/nickname people can use to refer to you by, but feel free to use your blog description to shitpost still.

You can have an intro post. More often than not, you’ll see a blog have a pinned post, a post permanently appearing at the top of a blog until you pin another post or unpin it. You can make one of those, if you’d like to introduce yourself in more length, link any other socials or a carrd, and show others visiting your blog how you tag things so it’ll be easy for them to navigate. Not an obligation.

Keep your anonymity and your safety. It should go without saying, but there’s no harm in repeating it just in case. Your comfort, privacy and safety has the utmost importance. Don’t share any information you don’t want to. Don’t share your age if you’re a minor, or any other incredibly personal info. I’d encourage you to go by a nickname that’s not your real name, (blog name, your brand, remember?) since there’s safety in anonymity, and that’s lowkey one of the big deals of tumblr, but that’s up to you still.

Choose what you want to be visible. Your liked posts and who you follow are all things you can set to keep to yourself and hide from the publics eye, how handy! You should go through all the setting while you’re at it, set it to your comfort.

Side blogs are a thing. You can have multiple blogs that you can use for different things (see: different fandoms, art blog, etc) to keep them organized or away from your followers. Just remember that the replies and off-anon asks you send will be from your main blog, as well as where you follow other blogs from.

2) Interacting with others

You’ve set up your account, now comes the fun part!

Follow to your heart’s desire. If you care about others seeing who you follow, fear not! In tumblr, usually only two types of blogs keep their following visible to others: newbies, and big blogs using it to point people on other good blogs’ direction. Just turn it off, and go ham following people.

Customize your dashboard. Gonna mention just two things here: this is another reason why it’s really important that you follow blogs without sparing, your dash will collect dust otherwise; and you should turn off “best stuff first” in your dashboard settings, to have a better community here and all.

Follow tags. You can set it in your settings that posts with your followed tags appear on your dashboard.

You can check the og post for edits and context. When you see a reblogged post you don’t understand the context of (or don’t recognize the character in case of fanarts), click on the profile so it will take you to the original post. From there you can check the original poster’s tags to get the context, or see if there have been any edits made to the post, since when you edit a post it doesn’t update any past reblogs.

Send people asks... This is how you make mutuals, people! Do it off-anon if you’d like them to know your blog, or anon if you’d rather not! (You can still end your messages with a signature to show you’re the same person, -[name] is one example.) Send them nice messages, ask their opinion on something, discuss things, or just straight up shitpost lol. Go wild. The sky’s your limit and it’s definitely more than 280 characters.

...and let them ask you! You can set your preference in the settings, do it on desktop tumblr to access more settings tho! What you can customize on mobile is limited (like letting people ask you things anonymously, that’s only on desktop settings). In my personal opinion, it’s always better to tag their username (or a nickname you give them, if they’re a friend) on that post, since you wouldn’t want your interactions with your friends to get buried in your blog forever.

Comment on posts. If you have something to say but don’t want the post to appear on your blog you can add a comment. The owner of the post will get a notif for it, but for anyone else you need to tag them.

For the love of god, reblog. People will only see your liked posts if you have it visible to public and they specifically go on your blog to look at them. You like something? You reblog. It’s already hard for posts to circulate properly, if you don’t reblog them literally no one will see them. If not for anything do it for the artists. Just hold and drag on mobile to fast rb.

3) Your Posts

Finally here! Don’t be a lurker, post and engage!

Make use of “read more”. If your post is long, add it. That’s what you clicked on earlier to expand this post. On desktop leave an empty line and you’ll see three dots appear, and on mobile type :readmore: on that empty line.

Draft a post to come back to it later. Pretty self explanatory.

Queue your post. Whether it’s your own post or you’re reblogging, make use of the queue feature to a) not spam reblog and fill up the dashboard of people following you and b) keep your blog active while you’re gone. Mess around in the settings, it’s fairly easy to set up.

Schedule your post. Same as queueing, the only difference is you get to choose the exact time your post will go up. Handy if you want to schedule a post for certain dates like april fools, or 5 years in the future for some reason. 

Format your texts. You can do all kinds of fancy stuff here (that’s a link, try pressing on it). Twitter doesn’t have this, make use of it. Changes depending on whether you’re on mobile or desktop. (Desktop has less features.)

Check your stats. If you’re trying to understand the algorithm better or want to look at some pretty graphs you can get your data on that on desktop tumblr.

@ people in comments. You’ll get all the notifs when people comment on your posts but they won’t see your reply unless you tag them in your message.

4) Tags, and tagging a post

This is where my earlier statement “this isn’t a rule book” stops being applicable. It’s not a war crime to go against these, I won’t come chasing you (don’t take my word for this) but you’ll work up a bad rep. Just saying lol.

Do NOT crosstag posts. It’s really tempting to add unrelated tags to increase your posts’ interaction, I know, but that’s not what tumblr is about. Don’t be a dick and make other communities’ experience worse for them.

Always tag your posts with “crit/critical/discourse/etc” if it calls for it. There’s no exceptions to it. This is the reason you see people migrating to tumblr. Let people enjoy things.

Don’t main tag a critical/negative post. If your crit post is about “Thing”, you add the “Thing critical” tag, but not the “Thing” tag. People block crit tags if they don’t want to see it, don’t shove it in their faces by main tagging it. 

If you don’t want to see something, just block it. Another reason why people are able to survive on tumblr. You don’t start discourse, you don’t make call-outs, you block. You can find something for every community you can think of if you go looking for it. The worst of the worst probably won’t ever appear on your dash, but if you’re worried or feel the need for it, you know where the block button is.

Feel free to shitpost or ramble. More often than not you’ll see people rb a post with a comment, and their elaboration will be in the tags. The tags are only visible on your profile and the notifications of the owner of the og blog. Just a thing people do.

Reblog artists’ posts with nice comments in the tags! Commenting on a drawing is usually done through the tags (Not an obligation, again, just a thing people do. Feel free to add your comment on the rb itself if you’d want other people to see it tho!) and leave nice messages for the artists! It’s a win-win for everyone involved. 

If you have more than a single follower, always use the common tw warning tags. You don’t need to tw everything, but tw’ing some common things is the bare minimum human decency. Keep it safe for others. 

Tag a post “long post” if it’s really long. Pretty self explanatory. Don’t make people scroll through all that please lol. 

You can use them to organize your blog. This is more of a pro tip, if you’d like to not miss a post in your blog, cause they will start pilin’ up soon enough.

#Liveblogging is pretty fun. If you’d like to talk to people during streams, don’t forget to add the relevant tags still! Again, you won’t show up on people’s dash otherwise.

Whew! That got out of hand. Hopefully I didn’t bore you too much. Check out blogs like @heritageposts and @hellsite-hall-of-fame to honor our past o7. @mcytblr-hall-of-fame too maybe :eyes:. Anyways, don’t forget the most important rule of them all:

Enjoy your stay! You’re meant to have fun on here while also making friends (if that’s your thing). Just be kind and respectful of others, you’ll get the hang of the rest! <3

[robininthelabyrinth]

A continuation of NHS invites WWX to JYL's wedding, and what happened there? Perhaps about how the estemed Hanguang Jun ended up running off and eloping with the Nie sect heir's intended?

continuation of that short fic, now it’s own fic on ao3

Plus One - Chapter 2

“So,” Nie Huaisang said, sidling up to his brother and his two sworn brothers now that they’d finally gotten to the party part of the wedding and they could all huddle up in a corner to be anti-social together.

Or, well, for Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen to be anti-social and for Jin Guangyao to be forcefully restrained from attempting to perform hosting duties, which he incessantly tried to do - it was like he had no idea what servants were for. Which Nie Huaisang supposed was understandable, given everything, but the way Jin Guangshan encouraged him to do it certainly wasn’t.

“So,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice only mildly ominous in a way that suggested, to Nie Huaisang at least, that he was still finding this whole thing incredibly funny.

Accordingly, Nie Huaisang ignored him. “How much do you think I can milk being horribly dumped?” he asked. “Because I think I’m about to be horribly dumped.”

“By your new ‘intended’?” Lan Xichen said, looking amused. “Really, Huaisang, I don’t know what you were thinking by bringing him.”

“Uh, that he deserves to attend his shijie’s wedding? Obviously?”

“But to bring him to Lanling…”

“He’s my guest,” Nie Huaisang said haughtily, bringing out his fan and doing his best ‘rich young master who is better than this and is most certainly above your petty questions’ Jin sect impression. “You aren’t suggesting that the Jin sect would take back an invitation they freely issued, would they? Or breach the rules of hospitality?”

“Huaisang, Xichen didn’t mean it that way and you know it,” his brother said, sounding annoyed, but in his relaxed run-of-the-mill ‘I hate parties’ type of annoyance, rather than specifically about his behavior. “Obviously the Jin sect won’t do anything about it. Regardless of any other considerations, anything they did would be refusing to show our Nie sect face, and then I’d have to make an issue of it.”

He sounded wistful. Probably thinking about how he could use it as an excuse to storm out and go home early.

“We’re only worried about you, Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao murmured, looking remarkably calm for someone who was definitely (if unobtrusively) being blocked from leaving by two very tall men with excessive mother hen tendencies. “You’re all grown up now, not a child – you need to think about the political implications your actions might have. Aren’t you concerned about your brother’s reaction?”

Huaisang was about to explain that he’d gotten his brother’s permission, but then he remembered that they were in Lanling, full of spies, so he decided to tell Jin Guangyao about that later.

“It’s not my problem that Sect Leader Nie has to think about politics at what should be a happy family event,” he said instead, nose in the air, and Lan Xichen frowned even as Nie Mingjue sighed, probably at Nie Huaisang’s total lack of caring about even the basic obligations of etiquette. Or possibly his reference to their little inside joke, but these were his sworn brothers, so they’d have to figure out sooner or later that Sect Leader Nie and Nie Mingjue weren’t always the same. “Besides, that isn’t what I asked. I asked about how long I can milk my terrible heartbreaking break up.”

“I thought you were getting dumped?” his brother asked, passing him a jar of wine. A good brother, even if he was mocking him.

“Getting dumped leads to a break-up,” Nie Huaisang insisted. “Wei-xiong is a thankless white-eyed wolf who was just using me with absolutely no consideration of my tender feelings.”

“You have tender feelings?” his brother said. “Why wasn’t I informed of this?”

Nie Huaisang kicked him in the shin.

As usual, it had no impact whatsoever on his brother and only hurt his own toes, but it was the principle of the thing.

“Huaisang,” Lan Xichen said, his voice oddly gentle, even softer than normal. “Did you – really – for Wei Wuxian –”

Nie Huaisang, who’d been taking a drink of wine, nearly choked. “Er-ge,” he said, mildly horrified. “Please. Wei-xiong is a very handsome gentleman, fearless and dashing, with all the skills one might ask for in a son-in-law –”

“Brother-in-law,” his brother muttered, as if he hadn’t been Nie Huaisang’s de facto father figure for years.

“– and, yes, I suppose we have similar tastes in drinking, carousing, and pornography –”

“Of course you do,” Jin Guangyao said, looking up at the ceiling as if it would hide how his lips were twitching.

“– but let us not forget: he lives in a trash heap. With Wen sect. I have standards!”

“I thought he was marrying in?” Lan Xichen asked, smiling again now that he had confirmed that there was no actual heart-breaking occurring in the vicinity. “He’d live in the Unclean Realm that way, wouldn’t he?”

“He would not,” Nie Mingjue put in. “I don’t care if they’re all enlightened saints that do nothing but charity all day, no one surnamed Wen is living in my home.”

“You see what I’m up against?” Nie Huaisang said, holding out his hands in appeal to his brother’s sworn brothers. “My da-ge doesn’t understand, he’s only good for swinging a saber! How cruel and heartless must a man be to stand in the way of true love?”

Lan Xichen covered his smile with his sleeve. Jin Guangyao pressed his lips together in such a way that made his cheeks especially round and quivering with suppressed laughter, like a mouse stuffing its face to bulging with rice.

“Er-ge, you wouldn’t be nearly this cruel if it were you, would you?” Nie Huaisang asked, reaching out and tugging said sleeve. “You’d be kind and generous about it – I bet you’d find them a nice little place to live, maybe next to those foothills you’re always saying you want someone to use but that you’re not willing to sell…”

“Were you planning on moving in with er-ge after your marriage, then?” Jin Guangyao asked. He looked much more amused and relaxed now – maybe he’d been stressing over this being some sort of scheme and was feeling much better now that he realized it was actually just Nie Huaisang’s nonsense. His paranoia had always been deeply endearing. “I don’t think your brother will like that.”

“Not me,” Nie Huaisang said, rolling his eyes at him. “But if it was Lan Zhan sweeping him away, er-ge would definitely support him. Right, er-ge?”

“I always support my brother,” Lan Xichen said with a smile.

“Good,” Nie Huaisang said, taking another swallow of wine. “Because he and Wei Wuxian just had a very intense conversation in a secluded corner that ended with them kissing and running off together, so it’s about to become your problem.”

Nie Mingjue choked, Jin Guangyao’s jaw dropped, and Lan Xichen’s eyes got really big.

“Not joking,” Nie Huaisang clarified cheerfully. “Totally serious.”

“Excuse me,” Lan Xichen said, getting up very quickly. “I need to – go see –”

He didn’t even bother finishing the sentence before rushing off.

“Go with him,” Nie Mingjue said to Jin Guangyao, who blinked owlishly at him. “It’s going to be a shitshow, isn’t it? Politically, I mean.”

“Uh,” Jin Guangyao said.

“Really, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said. “The notorious ostracized-by-the-cultivation-world demonic cultivator Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch, is abruptly reintroduced to society as my intended bride, only to be stolen away by the Lan sect’s Second Jade, the second most desirable bachelor in the cultivation world, in the middle of a wedding party thrown by Lanling Jin? I have no idea why you think this would so much as raise an eyebrow.”

“That’s a lot of words to say ‘shitshow’, which is why I didn’t,” Nie Mingjue said. “Meng Yao – Jin Guangyao – oh, fuck it, A-Yao, someone is going to need to keep their head about them and think about the political implications long enough to keep Xichen from getting himself into serious trouble, and you’re better at it than I am. Go help him. I’ll cover for you two here.”

Jin Guangyao still looked torn.

“Don’t listen to da-ge, he’s worrying too much,” Nie Huaisang volunteered his own opinion. “How much trouble can the Lan sect really get into over a matter of love?”

“I’m going at once,” Jin Guangyao said, and ran after Lan Xichen.

A moment later, Nie Huaisang handed the jar of wine back to his brother.

“Well done,” he said, voice much more neutral than it had been a moment before. “Assuming your goal was to deprive Sect Leader Jin of san-ge’s assistance while we define the situation to make it come out the way we want.”

“Couldn’t have done it without your timely assist,” Nie Mingjue said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He did so hate politics, and he hated being good at it even more. Truly there was nothing better, in Nie Huaisang’s opinion, than forcing his brother to relent and give in to the sneaky bastard half of his heritage. “Anyway, Sect Leader Jin is drunk and his heir is the groom, and thus occupied. It’s only reasonable that I, as the person with the next highest status, take charge of dispersing the news.”

“And by ‘dispersing the news’ you mean rehabilitate Wei-xiong’s reputation, get him reinstated in the Jiang sect, and arrange an appropriate marriage between him and Lan Zhan before anyone can complain about an inappropriate elopement, of course.”

“It’s called being efficient, Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said.

“It’s called creating a countervailing alliance to the Jiang-Jin sect connection, getting both the Jiang sect and the Yiling Patriarch to owe our sect a favor – not to mention the Lan sect, too! – and conveniently also undercutting Sect Leader Jin’s authority just at the moment he’s trying to install himself as the new ruler of the cultivation world.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said, finishing off the jar and putting it down. “I’m far too stupid to be considering any of that. Only good for swinging a saber, remember?”

Nie Huaisang sniggered.

“Yes, I remember,” he said. “You won a whole war against a much stronger, more numerous, and more unified force on Baxia’s strength alone, no brains required. How can I help? You want me crying or excited?”

“Whatever you think is best, Huaisang.” His brother solidified his scowling angry face, just the sort of thing a dumb brute might wear when dealing with politics that he was far too ignorant to understand. “Let’s go right some injustices, shall we?”

[riddlecrux]

Miserable together, happy apart: a dive into Elain and Lucien's relationship

This meta is based solely on textual pieces of evidence that can be found through the whole ACTOAR series written by SJM. My observations come from the text and what was given to us, the audience, by the author of the book. Due to the fact that this topic is connected with a raging shipping war, I would like to make an important note at the beginning of this (probably) long comparison post. This meta will be touching subjects such as trauma, forced and unhealthy relationships, being uncomfortable around the other person, and enforced feeling of duty. On that note, it's anti Elain and Lucien relationship.

The starting point of the whole relationship and mating bond begins in ACOMAF, when Lucien contributes to Archeron sisters being kidnapped - leading to them being Made. I'm very concerned with the way how this fandom seems to collectively forget about the trauma that Elain went through when she was pushed inside the Cauldron. After ACOSF we are left with the idea that being Made wasn't pleasant - on the contrary, it was horrible and scary, it left Nesta with psychological scars and mental barriers. So why are people forgetting that, in fact, it was Elain who undergone the same terrifying experience first? SJM had described this whole situation very vividly and painfully detailed. It was there to show us that both Elain and Nesta went through something disturbing and traumatizing. That's why I would like to start with a notion of TRAUMA:

"Elain’s foot hit the water, and she screamed—screamed in terror that hit me so deep I began sobbing."

Feyre is there to witness her sisters being shoved into Cauldron and one can only imagine how terrifying it was to observe such a thing. However, there is no amount of words to describe how utterly frightening it was for Elain to be pushed into the unknown. She was the first one, an experiment for everyone to see.

"More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water. And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown. Her legs were so pale—so delicate. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen them bare."

Elain was a proper lady. She was the one who went along with the prevailing etiquette and rules. Feyre notices Elain's bare skin and how she doesn't even remember when was the last time she saw so much of it in the broad daylight. Elain was modest, she followed the social obligations and we as readers are presented with the fact that all her principles are being violated in front of these strangers and people she knew from before.

"Elain was still shivering on the wet stones, her nightgown shoved up to her thighs, her small breasts fully visible beneath the soaked fabric. Guards snickered."

She was let out in the open after such a traumatizing event. Just after being Made, the first thing she experiences is another form of trauma. She is involuntary stripped bare in front of males, her proper upbringing and modesty ruined as they openly laugh at her nakedness. It's another traumatic event, not even a moment after her whole human life was taken away from her.

"As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain. She cringed away from the coat, from him—"

It's not surprising that she acted that way. He is yet another male who appears out of nowhere, comes at her when she is in a very vulnerable position. Not to mention, that he is connected to the fact that she and Nesta were kidnapped and used as hostages. He plays a role in her trauma, a trauma that is still happening around her. Elain is subjected to watch her older sister going through the same thing she went through.

"Lucien’s hands slackened at his sides. His voice broke as he whispered to Elain, “You’re my mate.”"

I would say that it wasn't a good thing to say at that moment. It's yet another brick in the wall of traumas that Elain just went through. She lost her human life, she was Made, she lost her human fiance, was kidnapped and used as an experiment, ridiculed due to her nakedness and vulnerability, watched her sister being shoved into the Cauldron. Now she is presented with the fact that she was stripped off of her free will, and she still doesn't have freedom of choice. The lack of choice is evident, she just doesn't let it fall upon her as the trauma she had just endured was too great to even imagine how that declaration could shake her already broken heart.

“From my sister’s stories. Her friend.” “Yes.” But Elain blinked slowly. “You were in Hybern.” “Yes.” It was all he could say. “You betrayed us.”

Elain is aware of the fact that he was a part of her trauma. He was there when she got kidnapped and watched her being Made. She acknowledges the fact that he is partially responsible for what has happened to her and her sister. Not only Elain but Lucien as well. Lucien is also very much aware of the fact that he had contributed to her pain and hardship. Those feelings are also very prominent in the way he approaches her and behaves around her. The knowledge that she is that way because of his mistake.

FORCED RELATIONSHIP:

Both Elain and Lucien find themselves forced to "be" together. It wasn't a natural thing that happened between them, not a healthy type of bond snapping in its place. They were put together because of the Cauldron's decision.

She was nothing like Jesminda. Jesminda had been all laughter and mischief, too wild and free to be contained by the country life that she’d been born into. She had teased him, taunted him—seduced him so thoroughly that he hadn’t wanted anything but her. She’d seen him not as a High Lord’s seventh son, but as a male. Had loved him without question, without hesitation. She had chosen him. Elain had been … thrown at him.

Even Lucien, who had loved and lost his previous lover acknowledges the fact that it is something that both of them didn't want. Their bond essentially stripped both of them of their free will. They hadn't chosen each other, they were just put together in a fickle decision of The Cauldron. His previous love story signalizes that Lucien also wants to be chosen, wants to be loved by someone who decided that he is the man that the other person wants to love and spend their life with him.

“I am Lucien. Seventh son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” And a whole lot of nothing.

Lucien has also his own issues - family feud, the fact that his friend betrayed him and in the end, it was him who did the same. He has troubles on his mind that are concerning. He's self-conscious in front of Elain because as Lucien is a reminder of her trauma - she is a reminder of his biggest mistake and another painful ending on his part. She's a living proof of his betrayal, how he went against his common sense and stabbed his friend, Feyre, in the back by bringing her sister into the scene.

The words were a rasp as he instead said, “I know. I’m sorry.” She did not love him, want him, need him. Another male’s bride. A mortal man’s wife. Or she would have been.

He is aware of the fact that Elain doesn't feel anything for him, that she was promised to another and she had planned her life with that person. Just like him in the past - it was his choice to love, want, and need Jesminda. As he's trying to keep his composure the feelings of the bond swirl around, yet Lucien still understands that both of them ended up with something they didn't want.

“When I sleep,” she murmured, “I can hear your heart beating through the stone.” She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. “Can you hear mine?” He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.”

Even though they were "blessed" with this bond, the thread of it is weak and very unlike the other ones in SJM universe. As if it wasn't working properly - they both do not complete each other. Few pages before Elain says that she can hear Feyre's and Nesta's heartbeat and yet her mate can't hear hers? How is that possible? Also Lucien doesn't understand Elain - he sees her as someone who is devastated by her ruined human life, which is true, but right we as readers know by now that Elain was suffering because nobody seemed to realize what was wrong with her. Their first meeting doesn't spark hope for their future. It only showcases how wrong they both are for each other, two wounds plastered against each other.

BEING UNCOMFORTABLE AROUND EACH OTHER: Sadly both Elain and Lucien are pushed together by Feyre and her little meddling - which isn't something that they both want to undergo.

It was the most uncomfortable thirty minutes I could recall. (...) Pretending, while Lucien and Elain sat in stilted silence by the dim fireplace, an untouched tea service between them.

Even Feyre admits that a previously arranged get-together was a mistake. Because Lucien and Elain are wary of their presence around each other, they constantly remind each other's traumas and painful memories. Elain can barely stand his presence and Lucien is aware of that fact - the only thing that keeps him trying to break that barrier is their bond.

She rose to her feet, and Lucien shot to his. “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “What—what was that?” Mor put a hand on my knee to keep me from rising, too. “It—it was a tug. On the bond.”

Even their mating bond isn't a thing of comfort. They can't navigate through it, both of them uncomfortable because of their proximity. Lucien feels as if he has to repay his debt towards Elain, however, neither of them wants to close the distance. Their wounds are still fresh, both of them not entirely healed. They are constantly rubbing their hurt on each other, meeting after meeting.

“Nothing,” he said, and again faced his mate. “I’m sorry—if that unsettled you.” Elain sidled toward Nesta, who seemed to be at a near-simmer. “It felt … strange,” Elain breathed. “Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib.” Lucien exposed his palms to her. “I’m sorry“.

He feels guilty all the time he's around her. He can't navigate through the mating bond as it doesn't work properly. It's uncomfortable, hurtful, and tense. Just like the relationship between them, it is not a good thing. They are basically strangers thrown at each other after seeing the other person at their lowest. It's not a coincidence that the bond between them is a mirror to their rough, strained relation.

Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, “Should we—does she need …?”

Lucien just stared and stared at my sister, as if he’d never seen her before.

Even with the bond, Lucien can't understand what Elain needs. They are basically strangers, yet the bond doesn't do anything to him in regards to helping her. They are constantly uncomfortable around each other, they try to avoid each other throughout the series because of the fact that they both don't want to be in this forced relationship. Lucien feels obliged to keep persuading her due to the bond, whereas Elain wants nothing to do with the said bond. They are in a maze of constant avoidance and unbearable proximity, which is very soundly described in the text and I would like to present some very important passages:

He hadn’t mentioned Elain, or his proximity to her. Elain had not asked him to stay or to go. And whether she cared about the bruises on his face, she certainly hadn’t let on.

Elain, at least, would be too polite to send Lucien away when he wanted to help. She was too polite to send him away on a normal day. She just ignored him or barely spoke to him until he got the hint and left. As far as I knew, he hadn’t come within touching distance since the aftermath of that final battle.

No, as Elain took a step back, hand falling away from the doorknob, she revealed Lucien smiling tightly at us both. “Happy Solstice,” was all he said.

A sidelong glance toward Elain, swift and fleeting. “Both of you.” Elain said nothing, but at least she bowed her head in thanks.

“You’re welcome to stay for the night,” I said, since Elain certainly wasn’t going to. Lucien lowered his hands into his lap and leaned back in the armchair. “Thank you, but I have other plans.” I prayed he didn’t catch the slightly relieved glimmer on Elain’s face.

My sister rose to her feet. “I should get refreshments.” Lucien rose as well. “No need to trouble yourself. I’m—” But she was already out of the room.

I would love to bring attention to the fact that Lucien understands and realizes that their relationships will never work. He acknowledges it in the text, with his own words!

"Give her time to accept it.” “To accept a life shackled to me?”

“Spend time with her.” “I don’t think she’ll tolerate two minutes alone with me, so forget about two weeks.” His jaw worked as he studied the fire.

He shook off my grip and headed for the door. “I can’t stand to be in the same room as her for more than two minutes."

ELAIN'S AGENCY: Throughout ACOWAR, ACOFAS and ACOSF Elain tries to get away from the bond and in conclusion also from Lucien himself. She doesn't acknowledge their bond and time after time she runs away from the fact that they are bound to each other. The thing is, Elain, probably doesn't know how to break their bond - we as readers are reminded in Azriel's POV how important their mating bond is for the Night Court, which makes her a sort of political pawn. It is yet another thing that is taken away from her, which to be honest is a kind of a hypocritical thing coming from Rhys and Feyre. We know that Elain is timid, however after slowly recovering from her trauma she started to voice out her discomfort connected to Lucien and their forced relationship.

I knew I wasn’t truly angry with her, not angry with anyone but myself, but I said, “You couldn’t say a single word to him? A pleasant greeting?” Elain only stared at the steaming kettle as she set it on the stone counter. “He brought you a present.” Those doe-brown eyes turned toward me. Sharper than I’d ever seen them. “And that entitles him to my time, my affections?”

Lucien still makes her uncomfortable, he is a constant reminder of her trauma and lost life. Another thing is that Lucien doesn't even know her, doesn't see her which is something that is very important to her. Everything he does is based on the fact that he is connected to her via mating bond, not by his own free choice. Which, again, is presented to us in her own words in the text:

“No.” I blinked. “But he is a good male.” Despite our harsh words. Despite this Band of Exiles bullshit. “He cares for you.” “He doesn’t know me.” “You don’t give him the chance to even try to do so.” Her mouth tightened, the only sign of anger in her graceful countenance. “I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a male.”

It doesn't help that the one who pushes her forward into this spiral of unbearable proximity with someone she hadn't chosen and don't want to be around, is her own sister. Yet, she stands her ground and sets boundaries. She is her own person and she wants to get to chose. ELAIN AROUND LUCIEN:

I handed Elain the small box with her name on it. Her smile faded as she opened it. “Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment.

I found my sister in the kitchen, watching the kettle scream. “He’s not staying for tea,” I said.

I said to Lucien when we’d settled in the armchairs before the fire, Elain perched silently on the couch nearby.

I handed Elain the small box with her name on it. Her smile faded as she opened it. “Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment.

I found my sister in the kitchen, watching the kettle scream. “He’s not staying for tea,” I said.

I said to Lucien when we’d settled in the armchairs before the fire, Elain perched silently on the couch nearby.

Elain had picked up the teacup, and now sipped from it without so much as looking toward him.

Elain only stared at him for a long moment. And any lucidity faded away as she shook her head, blinking twice (...).

He glanced at Elain, who was again studying her lap.

Elain now watched Lucien warily. Blinking every now and then.

He only glanced at Elain, whose face was again a calm void while she traced a finger over the embroidery on the couch cushions.

Their gazes locked and held. But Elain said nothing. Did not so much as take one step downward.

Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.

Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.

As you can see Elain feels: - uncomfortable - on edge - withdrawn - wary - closed off - silenced (she always loses the will to speak around Lucien, going deeper inside of her) - melancholic (she watches as kettle boil without flinching as if she wandered in the maze of her mind). Elain loses her comfort and courage around Lucien, which is problematic and utterly sad to witness. He is a constant reminder for her of violation against her own free will, but also a living proof of her own trauma. LUCIEN AROUND ELAIN:

Lucien surveyed it all with cool indifference. What he felt about Elain, what he planned to do … I didn’t want to ask.

“I would never hurt her.” A bleak sort of honesty in his words.

He tried to sound casual—comfortable. Even as his heart raced and raced, so swift he thought he might vomit on the very expensive, very old carpet.

He didn’t expect her to answer, and he gave himself all of one more minute before he’d rise from this chair and leave.

Betrayal, queasy and oily, slid through his veins. He’d said the same to Jesminda once.

He wished she’d shoved him out the window behind her.

He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he said nothing, and drained his tea, even as it burned his mouth.

“I think she went through something terrible,” Lucien countered carefully. “And it wouldn’t hurt to have your best healer do a thorough examination.”

Lucien looked to her, then over to me. A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Nothing,” he said, and again faced his mate. “I’m sorry—if that unsettled you.”

Lucien exposed his palms to her. “I’m sorry.”

Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, “Should we—does she need …?”

Lucien silently slid into one of the chairs, before the window, that metal eye whirring as it roved over my sister.

Lucien just stared and stared at my sister, as if he’d never seen her before.

Lucien inclined his head in a bow, the movement hiding the gleam in his eye —the longing and sadness.

“I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort.

Lucien feels: - uncomfortable - guilty - uneasy - confused (especially in the moments where Elain is having visions and he doesn't understand what's happening with her) - apologetic (he is constantly saying sorry to her) - tense

The guilt eats him every time he is around Elain, he is constantly apologizing while battling his inner problems such as remembering his true love. He was stripped off of his choice and even if the mating bond is there, he isn't happy. He is in constant pain just like Elain because both of them are each other wounds, each other reminder of trauma. They can't heal together because they are only happy when they are apart - Elain blooms in the Night Court, as we have read in ACOSF she is coming up with terms of Fae life and her own powers, adjusting her life to the notion of immortality. She is content and courageous and yet everything vanishes when Lucien is around. The same thing goes for Lucien. Lucien was struggling with her around him - he didn't know her, he didn't know what was happening to her as well. They were both strangers thrown at each other without their own say in this whole situation. Not to mention that their meetings were always arranged and supervised by others. When he sets on the journey to find Vassa he finds freedom and belonging - which was something he was battling in ACOWAR, after betraying his friends and his court, after being at odds in Night Court, and after being uncomfortable around his mate. He didn't have that sense of belonging in any of those things.

Elain and Lucien aren't compatible nor perfect for each other. They are constant reminders of traumas they experienced. They will never work out because they make each other miserable while being together, and they feel free and content apart. Their happiness lies with free choice, free will both of them were looking for in their lives. They are bound together against their own, and the only key for them being happy in this farce is setting themselves free. A choice of freedom. I strongly believe that after their rejection of the bond both of them could, perhaps, form a friendship. It would have been some sort of catharsis - to dwell upon the fact that they overcame that obstacle. That they chose to be happy apart, and not be shackled by this miserable bond.

[renjunbae]

resurface; kim jungwoo.

synopsis : all you had wanted was a quiet summer by the beach to relax, escape the oppressiveness of the city, and get your mind off of your last disastrous relationship, but apparently peace was hard to come by, especially when a figure from your past reappears unexpectedly in your life.

pairing : kim jungwoo x fem!reader

genre : beach resort au, university au, romance, fluff

warnings : (very) mild profanities

length : 7.1k

soundtrack : let me drown - deanz ft. andy delos santos; u n eye - boy in space; sun goes down - aiyo

author's note : this is part of the ot23 "resonance beach" collab hosted by @amorajae. thank you so much for letting me participate & go check out the collab masterlist for more addicting summer reads!

Socializing had never been so suffocatingly painful and pretentious.

Clinking champagne glasses, aimless mingling and a forever unending charade of polite smiles that never quite reached one’s eye, they surrounded you like a shroud that made it hard to breathe, a shirt that was too tight and biting uncomfortably at the neck. Much like the very dress you were wearing at the moment; form-fitting, over-the-top fancy, and narrow in all the spots you hated.

Oh, how you wished to change out of it all. Rip off the structured binds around your entire being, take off and away from the repetitive scene that had become more frequent over the past weeks and the main cause of your headaches. But there was nothing you could do about it except stare uselessly at the clock as its hands ticked by at an excruciatingly slow pace, and you hated that fact more than anything else.

“Well then, it has been lovely to meet you, Miss (Y/N). I can see that your parents have done an excellent job raising such an elegant and well-mannered young lady.” The concluding words, along with an outstretched hand, snapped you out of your misery and forced your attention back to the middle-aged man before you. Already, you were struggling to recall his name from the brief—or was it excruciatingly long?—introduction he’d done when he sought to strike a conversation with you twenty minutes earlier. Was he a superior of your father’s? Or maybe a recent acquaintance of your mother’s? You didn’t know, nor cared, really. After two hours of entertaining your parent’s countless associates with answers to their onslaught of questions about which college you attended and other various aspects of your personal life, you no longer had much energy left to spare for further pretense.

For the entirety of the exchange, you’d somehow gotten by with absentminded nods and murmured agreements. Thankfully, your latest companion was too immersed in his tales to notice your drifting focus and lack of interest, at which you almost heaved a sigh of relief. If your parents had received word of your misbehavior, you’d be a goner for sure, and you certainly were not looking forward to another round of their droning lecture about mannerism, etiquette, and public image.

“It was nice meeting you too,” you managed to return with a smile that was just about passable for being semi-enthusiastic, though inside, you were cringing hard at your poor attempts of keeping up the graciously civilized front your mother had always insisted for you to display in public. Forget the crowded dinner parties, forget the fancy evening galas, with every passing minute you were closer to less than a hair’s breadth away from plopping down on the nearest sofa and calling it quits. But you retained your composure and made sure to wave politely as the man stepped away, only letting out a long-held breath after his figure had completely disappeared amidst the crowd.

The room was getting uncomfortably stuffy, and your desire to leave was ever growing as you struggled to get through the throng of chattering bodies for some space alone. Sure, you’d been at a number of clubs and parties with your friends, but they were always on the more laid back and easygoing side of the atmosphere spectrum. You didn’t have to put up a perfect front for others to examine, nor be pressured to uphold your entire family’s reputation. And you certainly wouldn’t be obliged to answer your mother’s calls from ten feet away, beckoning you over to no doubt meet another friend of hers.

It was all the same, over and over. Introductions, small talk, and then going into the personal life of the (L/N)s’ “all grown up” daughter.

“Neo Tech University? The top school in the area? How nice!”

Your father beamed proudly. “Of course, she’s my daughter, after all.”

The adults laughed. You didn’t join them, instead picking at the fabric of your gown until the conversation required your participation again.

“She’s matured so much, I bet she has all the boys at her heels already,” The lady commented, to which your mom immediately responded with a pleased smile and, “Of course, she’s got a boyfriend too. They’re soo cute together. Hey, honey, how come he hasn’t come around in a while?”

God, why? Why, of all things, did they have to bring this up? You felt your insides squeezing together painfully at the mention of the topic, your fists clenched so hard you could feel your fingernails digging into your skin. You’d thought this night couldn’t get any worse than it already was, but you were wrong, it just did. Their gazes were all set on you expectantly, and you hated the attention. Hated being the focus of the conversation and picked apart to the seams.

“We broke up,” you said eventually, avoiding your parents’ eyes.

Your mother's smile fell away to an expression of shock and disbelief. “Why? I thought you two were doing so well with each other.”

Yeah, we were, before he cheated on me, you were tempted to say. To firmly erase any of your mother’s misconceptions that she had even a single idea of what was going on in her daughter’s life. But you just shrugged nonchalantly, as if the breakup was only a trivial matter. If you’d told them the truth, your mother would’ve no doubt considered it a huge blow to her reputation.

“It’s alright, you’ll find someone else who’s worthy of you,” the lady patted your shoulder sympathetically, and you felt your face heat up in a mixture of humiliation and frustration. The last thing you needed was someone telling you that in public.

You figured this was a good time to leave, maybe dig a hole and bury yourself in it. Tonight had been a suitable enough reason. Murmuring a quick apology to the adults, you excused yourself and made your way toward the exit before your mother could intercept. People stared as you passed, but at this point, their hypercritical looks were the least of your concerns. If grown-up life was beyond the point of “childishness” and “selfish acts”, then you’d grown beyond the point of caring.

By the time you’d arrived home, it was already ten o’clock. You and your parents had left for the gala around six-thirty, which meant you’d spent at least a good three hours and a half at the venue, engaging in hollow, repetitive conversations with near strangers. It was exhausting, to say the least, and you found yourself craving a warm bath the moment you stepped through the door. But you had your priorities set straight, and after changing into some casual clothing, you made a beeline for the kitchen to make yourself a pot of ramen. You were practically starving after almost an entire night of strolling around and snacking only on lady-like portions of foreign delicacies at the event.

While the water boiled, you dialed your best friend’s number. She’d told you of her plans—or the lack thereof—this evening, consisting of nothing but binge watching anime and consuming an inhumane amount of triple chocolate fudge ice cream. That was basically an open invitation for you to call her whenever you felt like ranting about old men and how it just wasn’t fair no one else was obligated to chat for hours on end with them about stock market prices, and you accepted it gladly.

Yera picked up on the second ring. True to her word, you could hear the incoherent Japanese shouting of the characters in whatever anime she was binging at the moment.

“How did it go? The gala?”

Just the sound of her voice was enough to ease some of the tension in your shoulders. Your best friend always knew what to say and how to lift your spirits in times like this, no matter how blunt and straightforward she may be, and you were looking forward to her advice.

“Terrible,” you groaned. “Whoever came up with the idea of stuffing over two hundred boring, judgmental business people in a room far too bright and oxygen-lacking must’ve been out of their mind.”

You heard Yera snort from the other side of the line. “Yeah, no shit, sherlock. You know, I’d reassure you it’s not that bad, but I know it’s exactly that bad.”

You shifted your position so that you faced the kitchen window, where a view of the city’s nightscape unfolded before your eyes. The sky was dark, but thousands of glimmering lights made up for it—neon billboards, cars flying by on the busy streets below, office lightings, roadside lamps, and glowing patches of yellow from residential buildings like your own. You stared out at the sea of twinkling sparks, and for a moment, felt so very small amidst the immensely vast world.

“They mentioned him.”

There was only a beat of silence. Yera didn’t need long to catch onto who you were referring to.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, they were talking about boys and then my mom brought up the fact that I have a boyfriend—had, actually,” you sighed, an action you found occurring more often than not lately. “Guess I forgot to tell them he’s an ex now, but then again, they didn’t ask before.”

“Gosh, that must’ve been so awkward.”

“It was,” you shut your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose with your forefingers. “You tell me. I had to leave, right away. I’m just glad it’s over now.”

“Wait wait wait, hold on. How many of these event thingies have you gone to in the past week?”

“Three, not counting the time my mom had some friends over for lunch. They stayed until dinner, actually, and we had to go out and eat.”

“What the heck?? And you let them drag you along?”

“It’s my duty to accompany them, I guess. They’d be mad if I don’t go and let them show me off for a bit. But then again, there usually aren’t this many events. My dad just signed a contract with some important clients, and my mom’s been invited to a bunch of social gatherings, plus the fact that normally, I’d have school as an excuse. There’s just been more of them recently, and it’s not like I have any good enough reason to opt out.”

Yera gasped. “It’s summer. Summer!! That’s all they should need. It’s summer break right now and it’s your time off. They shouldn’t need any more reason than that. And whether it’s the norm or not, you have to know that you are in charge of yourself and that you get to decide what you do with your own life, not them.”

“You have a point, Yera, you always do, but...” you shook your head. “I honestly don’t know at this point. Things are easier said than done. I hate it all, but in a way, it’s part of my responsibility.”

“Okay, oookay. That’s it. No more dinner parties or rich people galas for you, (Y/N). It’s your time off and I’m going to make sure you take some time off. Aren’t you tired of them ordering you around? You’re the one who’s in control of your own life, (Y/N). Go have a nice vacation and stay away from adult business for at least a few weeks, or I’m not letting you anywhere near my mom’s homemade honeycomb brownies again, got it?”

If Yera was bringing her mother’s brownies into the deal, then you knew she was serious. Somehow, despite the situation, you almost felt like laughing. Felt like you were invincible, as if her words brought a surge of confidence along with it. Smiling up at the night sky, you said, “Well, I guess I have to do it for those brownies.”

“Good, now go on and take on the world!”

The world—or, namely, your parents—was clearly not amused when you dragged your suitcase into the living room at eight in the morning the next day, dressed in a flowery blouse, your favorite jean shorts, and a pair of heeled sandals. They’d been eating breakfast at the dining table just ten paces across as you entered, engrossed in a conversation about the latest commercial trends and news of the business world. They looked up at the sound of wheels against the marbled floor, an initial expression of shock crossing their faces as they took in your outfit and the luggage in your hands.

Your father looked almost bewildered as he glanced between you and your mother, who’s brows had deepened into a frown. She shook her head as if to clear away thoughts of disbelief, though you could detect the note of disapproval that was weaved into the action.

“What’s with this?” she asked, her tone stern and commanding, almost as if to compel you into saying exactly what she wanted: “Nothing, mom. I’m not going anywhere.”

It had always been that way. You’d intend to do something, and she’d shut you down before you could even try. But not this time.

“Carrying out my plans for summer break,” you replied and paused before continuing. “Why?”

The lines on your mother’s forehead deepened. “Plans?”

She was waiting for you to either straight up admit what you were up to or give up. You knew that, and you didn’t want to beat around the bush either, so you looked her right in the eyes and said, “Summer vacation plans, mom. I’m leaving today.”

“(Y/N), I thought we already talked about this. You can’t just—”

“Go around and quit my duties? Yeah, I know.”

“Then what are you doing right now?”

“I’m not quitting,” you said through gritted teeth, “I’m taking the break that I deserve.”

“You’re running away,” your mother accused, her voice trembling with incredulity and, despite her apparent effort to keep it controlled, a slight hint of anger. “You’re going back on your promise and you’re not going to do what you should just because you don’t want to. Stop being so selfish and naive, (Y/N). You’re not a child anymore.”

It was something just suddenly snapped inside you, and all your pent up frustration boiled over. “Selfish? Mom, do you ever think about how I feel? I’ve put up with all the things you wanted me to do and I can’t even have a single moment when I try to focus on my own happiness for once?”

“You promised—”

“I’m not a replacement for him!”

Your parents stared, momentarily speechless from your outburst. In the silence, you felt the frustration and anger wear away and bubble down to something that resembled a fevered hurt. The broken pain in your mother’s face seemed to mirror your own, but the words slipped out anyway.

“No matter what, I can’t be him. I can’t replace him. I know that’s what you want me to be, and that if I was, maybe you could think that he’s never gone, but I can’t. I just…”

You could see that your comments had hit their mark.“(Y/N)—” your mother started.

But at this point, you were too tired of arguing to continue. You didn’t wait to hear what she had to say, only picked up your bags and headed for the entranceway. You exhaled as the door clicked shut behind you. Gosh, I’m really going to do this, am I?

Resonance Beach Resort was a nice change from the usual fast-paced schedule of your daily life that was full of unwanted obligations and tasking duties. You'd visited often in your early childhood and teenage years, and had loved the place for its elegant, luxurious accomodations and the spectacular view of a pristine beach that spanned along the resort's outer edge. But since some time ago, all the pressure and weight of your increasing responsibilities had suddenly just came crashing down on you, and you found yourself taking cram school more often than not due to your parents' constant urging. There just simply wasn't any time for you to take the long vacation you desperately craved. Now that things have finally lessened up to nothing but socializing with your parents' acquaintances, this was the first place you'd thought of for the perfect getaway. Just hide away from the rest of the world for a little bit before reality kicks in and you'd sink back into your busying routine. Here, you could finally have some peace and quiet, be able to breathe easier for once. No more business events or get-togethers, no more forced polite conversations over tall glasses of champagne. If you were going to party, then you should at least do it properly. You figured that aside from relaxation and watersports, Resonance Beach Resort had exactly that.

You'd switched over to your spare phone for the duration of your stay. If your parents decided they've had enough of your “childishly selfish acts”, they'd be greeted by a long period of ringing without answer, followed by an irksome beep and the message that, "sorry, the number you've dialed is not available".

The fight still simmered fresh at the front of your mind, and you shook your head in an attempt to brush it away. A small part of you felt almost guilty about your abruptly impromptu runaway, but it was merely a fleeting thought that passed as quickly as it had come. You knew how hard it was for your parents since what had occurred years ago, and that they were afraid of the same thing happening with you. Still, it wasn’t fair for you to bear the burden of two and act in as a mere substitute only to make someone else feel a bit better. Since when did you owe your parents your entire summer break to play pretend anyways? It isn't as if it actually helped you do anything except feed your growing boredom and frustration for hours on end.

You walked into the entrance hall and made your way to the reception area that sat in the middle of the gentle hum of music and red carpets and golden chandeliers. After going through the check-in process, you received your room cards and headed toward your room to drop off your luggage first.

The west-side elevator was mainly empty aside from a few other visitors who, like you, arrived earlier than most do. They’d entered before you and stood along the side panels, each scrolling through their devices for news and texts. Why take the time and money to come and visit, you wondered, if they were going to just be on their phones all the time? But then again, you were glad none of them paid any attention to you and savored the peaceful silence. The back of the elevator was adorned with clear glass panes that overlooked the beachside, allowing riders to gaze out at the scenery below them as they rose high above ground. You stared at the swaying palms and foaming waves in the distance, and thought that—despite being here so many times before—the view had never looked so welcoming before. You couldn’t wait until you could get down there and enjoy the feel of the warm sunshine on your back, hear nothing but the calming hum of the ocean.

There was a short ding! as the elevator doors opened and a middle-aged woman exited. You turned briefly to watch her leave and the doors clang shut once more behind her. Some passengers shifted around to space themselves more evenly upon her departure, but other than that, it was the same, still, silence as before. A few more minutes passed, and the process repeated until it was just you and another man standing by the front. On the controls panel, only one floor button was lit up.

He was handsome in the most traditional sense, tall and fit with tousled dark hair, flawlessly smooth skin and wide doe eyes directed at his phone screen. Although he was only dressed in a simple graphic tee and sweatpants, they looked too expensive for the average person to afford and the look suited him so well he could no doubt pass for the modern-day version of Cinderella’s Prince Charming. You almost laughed at the thought. That had been your reaction too when you first saw your ex, and you fell for him so quickly, so easily, it didn’t take much to convince you that he loved you as much as you loved him. After all, why not? His family had been wealthy and influential like your own, and your parents—mostly your mom—had absolutely adored him. You thought you’d been living the perfect fantasy until it all broke down and your palace had turned into nothing more than rubble and ashes.

In the quiet buzz of the elevator, you could hear as the stranger dialed a number on his phone and put it to his ear. Whoever on the other side must’ve answered immediately, because the man started to talk right away.

“Hey, where are you guys?”

“Okay, just checking that you’re in the suite because I don’t have the key.”

“Yeah, I’m almost there, why?”

“Woo wants another bag of his favorite chips from the convenience store? Seriously? We’re at a fancy beach resort and he wants chips from the convenience stores? God.”

“Yeah, I brought them, don’t worry. I swear he stuffed my trunk full of them when I wasn’t looking because I barely even have space in there anymore. Geez, you’d think he would die if he went a day without those.”

“Yeah, okay. Mm-hmm. That’s fine by me. Sounds fun. See you.”

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop on the conversation, but the slight echo in the space made it easy for you to hear every word the man said. And for some reason, it brought back long-ago memories of you and your brother, having the time of your lives marveling over the elevator’s view. Arguing about whose snacks the ones in the bag were. Roaming around the resort like it was your own home. That wasn’t possible now, of course. He was farther away than ever, and happier. There wasn’t anything you could do except be happy for him, though that did nothing to help the sore ache in you.

Your entire life felt like a train wreck at the moment, but then again, that was why you were here at Resonance Beach Resort in the first place. And as the elevator dinged once more, you were determined to make your summer better. Much better.

An afternoon in the sun seemed to do its trick.

After spending several hours out by the rolling waves, reading magazines and enjoying the spontaneity of doing whatever you’d wanted to on a whim, you were ready to call it a day. The freedom was exhilarating, and though you’d done much less that you would’ve on a typical weekday, you felt much more fulfilled than before. You’d eaten a quick informal dinner down in the dining hall, too tired to spend time on a full-course meal, only stopping by the vending machine on your way back to your room for a drink.

You inserted your money into the slot, pausing for a moment to look at your choices. Ginger ale would be good, you decided absentmindedly, your thoughts already drifting elsewhere. When the drink rolled out of the machine, you stooped to pick it up before preparing to leave. You turned and, not realizing there was someone behind you, ran right into them, your arm bumping against theirs. The impact knocked the can of ginger ale out of your hands and you quickly bent down to pick it up before it could roll away.

“I’m sorry, that was my fault.”

You straightened up to see the man from the elevator. He rubbed his neck sheepishly, an apologetic smile on his face. He was close enough that you could see the curved bow of his lips and the way his eyes crinkled in good humor, the way the tips of his ears were red in embarrassment at having knocked into you.

You blushed at the close proximity between you and the stranger, before remembering your manners and shaking your head lightly, “No, I’m sorry, it was my fault as well. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

The two of you stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say or what to do, until the man’s eyes landed on the room card in your hand.

“Suite 1009? What a coincidence, my friends and I are right next door. Want me to walk you back since we’re—you know—going the same way?”

You gave a little startled laugh, finding a bit of comfort in the fact that even a man as good-looking and confident-seeming as him could stumble over his words in situations like this. You’d pegged him for the type with an air of arrogance, but his voice held a sort of genuine sincerity and modesty along with the charm you’d expected. “Of course, I’d love that.”

As you walked down the corridor together, he seemed to realize something, and started in surprise, “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name’s Jaehyun. Jung Jaehyun.”

“I’m (Y/N),” you smiled. “It’s nice to meet you. Is this your first time here?”

“Well, yes, my friends and I were planning to go somewhere for the summer, and one of my friends recommended this resort. How did you tell?”

“I used to come here a lot, but I haven’t visited in a while. I came back to escape city life, I guess, though I must admit I missed this place tons. The things adult life takes away from you are just plain cruel.”

“I know right? Sometimes I wish I could just go back to seventeen and—”

“Relive that teenage dream?” you finished.

He laughed. “Yeah, exactly.”

“That’s what everyone says.”

“What, don’t you agree?” he looked at you in feigned shock.

You looked up at the ceiling as if searching for the answer in the lights above. “Yes,” you said truthfully, “I do agree.” Though it wasn’t exactly how you felt completely all the time, there was no denying that at least you’d loved the various aspects teenage years had to offer.

“You sound almost cynical about it.”

“Do I?” you shook your head. “Oh, well, personally, maybe, I guess?”

He gave you a weird look. “Think you could sound any more unsure about that?”

The two of you burst out laughing, the sound echoing against the walls of the hallway. As you chatted with Jaehyun, there was an undeniable tingle at the bottom of your stomach, spreading to the tips of your finger and your rosy cheeks. You didn’t know if you were willing to fall in love again, especially after your previous failures and bad encounters in romance that extended beyond your last relationship, but there was no denying that Jaehyun was fun to be around and you enjoyed his company immensely.

So when you both arrived at your destinations, you almost felt sorry to go. You lingered for a second, turning to him almost hesitantly.

Of course you’d see him again, being next-door neighbors for the next few weeks or so, as long as he’s here, but you didn’t want to leave and be all alone by yourself just yet.

Jaehyun seemed to feel the same, and he paused. “So, see you soon?”

You started to respond with a definite yes, but didn’t get a chance to answer. The door next to yours opened slightly, and some inaudible conversing trickled out from the crack. You caught a few words in the back-and-forth as you stood by your room, an amused smile at your lips. Jaehyun rolled his eyes, clearly used to this type of behavior from his friends.

“Oh, don’t mind them. They’re always like this.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, “They seem fun to be around.”

“Yeah, yeah, when they’re not nagging twenty-four-seven at me to get snacks for them.” Though you could see by the teasing grin on his lips that he was only kidding.

Jaehyun’s friend pushed the door open a little more so that the conversation became more distinctable. And then, a sudden recognition made you freeze in your tracks. Your heart dropped. No. No way. The smile fell from your lips, replaced with a rush of confusion and near-disbelief.

Was that…?

You heard his voice before you saw him.

“Jaehyun! You’re back, just in time—”

Brown hair, plump lips, and bright, playful eyes. His boyish features evolved into something more mature but not unlike its younger version, still lined with the same youthful innocence as years before. He was taller too, though in that moment, at first glance, you felt as if it was the only significant change in him. The familiarity jolted awake a feeling you had not felt since long ago, flipping back the pages of yesterday until it landed on a distant memory that seemed so close yet was so far away. It was like the world stopped spinning for a moment, freezing in time that had both given and taken so much from you.

Your stomach twisted with a mixture of fluttering anticipation and dizzy uncertainty.

Why here, of all times and places, did you have to meet Kim Jungwoo again?

Kim Jungwoo, who was your first love, but also your first heartbreak.

It all started the summer before your high school sophomore year, with an ice cream date as friends and a piggy back ride. You and Jungwoo had known each other for years, having met in elementary and developing a close bond over time. Though you each had your own separate friend groups, outside of school, the two of you often hung out together and spent time at each other’s houses. It wasn’t abnormal for you to have dinner at Jungwoo’s place—because your parents often went on business trips and rarely ever cooked even when they were home—and it certainly wouldn’t be a strange sight to see him on your couch, watching TV and snagging snacks from the basket on the coffee table as he waited for you to finish up your homework so the two of you could go out to the nearby park. It was practically routine when, two weeks after break began, he asked you if you wanted to go down to the beach with him and get some ice cream along the way. You texted back a quick “yes, of course” before flopping back onto your bed and blinking up at the ceiling as if in a dazed dream. And for some reason, you thought hard about what to wear.

It was an issue you never had to concern yourself with before. Jungwoo had seen you in your pajamas, bed hair and all, random mismatching clothes you’d thrown on in a hurry, and even ridiculous costumes you wore as a kid. He’d seen you down in your lowest low, face a mess with puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Heck, he probably knew all your embarrassing moments by heart and could recite them on a whim. But recently, you’d started to feel more self-conscious around him, and as days passed, you found yourself standing in front of the mirror more and more, holding up different tops and pants in an attempt to decide which would look nicer. A few years ago, you would’ve laughed at the thought. You? Fussing over clothing for Jungwoo’s sake? Ridiculous, you’d never needed to. But now, it seemed that the fact that he was a boy—and a very attractive one too—just sank in, and suddenly you became all too aware of it.

After shuffling through your wardrobe for ten full minutes, you finally ended up with a closet strewn messily with discarded options and clothing racks and an outfit you dimly recalled that Jungwoo had once expressed his liking for. You’d chosen a pair of thin, spaghetti sandals that were lined with gold, a gift from one of your mother’s shopping sprees, and made an effort to brush your hair neatly to go along with it all. Good enough, you supposed, as you turned left and right to check up on your appearance. Hopefully.

You grabbed your phone and keys, scribbled a note for your parents that you doubted they’d even read, and made your way out the door. Jungwoo was waiting for you at the front, standing casually by his car with one hand in his pockets. Your heart beat faster as you approached, the continuous drumming resonating within your chest and ears.

He’d been looking down at the pavement, scuffling a stray pebble around with his toes, but quickly lifted his head at your footsteps.

“Hey,” he greeted, smiling up at you.

“Wow, looking unexpectedly grown-upish today,” you lifted an eyebrow, trying to mask your nervousness in his presence with the usual snarky remarks. You spoke with a heavy hint of sarcasm, meaning that you were only joking about the matter, but what you said was true in a way—Jungwoo did look nice, though you weren’t about to say that aloud to him. It was as if you’d just noticed how much older he’d become, and how much more matured he looked.

“Really,” he said flatly, though his eyes were crinkled in good humor. “You’re the only one in the dark then.”

You laughed. “Because other people still call you an adorable baby?”

“Haha, so funny.”

You settled into the passenger seat beside Jungwoo and watched as he leaned over to put the vehicle in ignition. His hair had grown longer since his last haircut a few months ago, and they fell over his eyes. He shook them out of his face, reaching up a hand to brush away any remaining strands that stuck to his skin. He turned to grin at you before switching over to your favorite radio station as he started to drive. You tapped your fingers to the beat, and not a minute later, the two of you were singing along to the familiar tune. Jungwoo’s voice soared up and down as he sang in a weird mock accent, and you tried hard to keep your own from trembling with uncontrollable laughter. You both knew that Jungwoo was an amazing singer, but even more so a natural at comedy.

Jungwoo parked the car a few blocks away, deciding that trying to find an open spot in the crowded beachside lots was too much of a hassle. Summer had lured many people out with the promise of good weather, and combined with the dazzling scenery of the sea, who was to say no? The brightness of the skies was all too infectious, your mood soaring like the winds above that cast a blessing of gentle coolness upon the world. It was all so perfect that you’d even surrendered to Jungwoo in a water fight, although quite begrudgingly and continuing to splash in his way afterwards.

The sparkling waterdrops glittered midair like multifaceted diamonds so that although knee deep in water, you felt almost as if you were living in the midst of a glowing fairytale. After spending some time among the rolling waves, the two of you decided to walk around a bit and let the warm air dry your clothes before going to the ice cream store. Morning went by all too quickly, and soon noon had arrived. The sun shone brilliantly overhead, the pavement burning at the soles of your shoes. You grimaced at the heat, hopping slightly to avoid getting scalded and wishing you’d worn something that wasn’t so flimsy and thin. Jungwoo seemed to notice your discomfort, glancing your way worriedly.

“Are you okay?”

“No,” you groaned. “But thanks for your concern.”

He stopped as if to consider something, then squatted down in front of you. “Here.”

“What—” you started in surprise, caught off guard by his sudden action.

“Come on, I’ll carry you.”

You thought your face couldn’t get any redder than it already was, but you swear it just did.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to. It’s my fault anyways. I should’ve worn something more suitable,” you managed.

He grinned up at you. “Yeah, you probably should’ve, but that's what I’m here for, right? Moral and well—physical—support when you make those beginner mistakes.”

“Argh, you bastard,” you half-huffed, half-laughed, whacking his shoulder lightly with one hand.

“Hey! I’m just trying to help here.”

Caught up in the slight back-and-forth, you’d forgotten entirely about the source of it all and let out a strangled gasp when a red-hot pain shot up your feet.

“Yeah, it’s not up for debate at this point. Come on, just get on already. Grab on tight.”

With surprising strength, Jungwoo hoisted you up upon his back, his arms wrapped firmly around your legs to secure you in place. Instinctively, you reached over to cling onto his neck like your life depended on it.

“Gosh, not—this—tight,” he choked out, and although you knew he was half-joking, you mumbled a laughing apology.

You were tense at first, afraid to make a single wrong move. But after a while, you felt tired of staying so still and uptight like a board and relaxed some more. When the sun’s rays stung at your eyes, you laid your head sideways against Jungwoo’s neck, your breaths falling together in the same even rhythm. He hummed a tune you did not recognize, probably another one he’d just made up randomly, and you smiled.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you replied innocently. Just thinking how ridiculously likeable you are.

You wondered if Jungwoo could feel, through the thin fabric of your shirt, the pounding of your heart at his back, the same way you could smell the scent of the salty sea air and his favorite cologne on him. Raising a fingertip, you traced a heart lightly against his skin. He flinched. You held back a laugh. You’d done it right on his most ticklish spot.

He wouldn’t be able to tell, what you’d drawn and what you felt toward him, but at that moment, it felt like a nice secret, nestled comfortably within the confines of your heart. Maybe you’d tell him one day, when the time is right. You’d like to.

The ice cream shop of Jungwoo’s designation was just up the street. Apparently, it had opened just a while ago and, according to Jungwoo, he was dying for you to try some of their flavors. You didn’t have a favorite place you preferred, so you agreed without any conflict. As the two of you neared, you held on for just a little bit longer before hopping off reluctantly and fixing your clothes. You wished it didn’t have to end, that the two of you could stay that way forever, snug in each other’s embrace.

But it all changed when you walked inside the store.

The interior was neatly organized, with pastel-colored walls and light brown tables of different sizes scattered around the semi-spacious room, most of them occupied by other visitors. A long counter spanned the back of the shop, most of it built-in glass cases that displayed a colorful array of ice cream in their silver tubs. A couple workers stood behind it in sky-colored uniforms, occupied with a variety of tasks and tending to customers.

You breathed in softly, taking in the scent of chocolate and vanilla and an assortment of fruit. The air around you was cool, and you were immensely grateful for the air conditioners that made the atmosphere so welcoming after spending a long time in the sweltering sun.

“It’s nice here.”

“I know right?” Jungwoo grinned. “Just wait until you taste their ice cream. It’s the best.”

There was quite a line at the counter, and your skin itched with the particles of sand that had stuck to it uncomfortably. Your hair was wind-blown and a tangled mess atop your head, and you felt conscious of the fact that you probably looked like a mess. “Hey, Woo, I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

“Alright,” he gave you a thumbs-up. “I’ll pick out something for you. I swear you’ll love it.”

“Okay, thanks,” you laughed. “I’ll look forward to it then.”

After fixing up your hair and wiping yourself clean with a paper towel, you felt semi-presentable and headed out of the restrooms to find Jungwoo. You didn’t see him at the tables nor in the line, but in the close distance, almost hidden from view the rest of the shop but clearly visible from where you were standing, caught your attention.

Jungwoo.

Except he wasn’t alone.

A pretty girl around your age stood by him, donning the uniform of the store workers. She seemed to have just gotten off her shift and was loosening her hair from the ponytail she’d previously kept it in. Jungwoo was chatting animatedly, and she laughed at something he said, then shot back with her own response. He reached over and engulfed her in his arms, swaying her from side to side almost exaggeratedly.

There was a familiarity, closeness, in the way they interacted, and as you watched on, you felt your heart slowly clench tighter and tighter until it felt impossibly suffocating. Was this what heartbreak felt like? An ache so terrible and soul-splitting that you couldn’t quench no matter how hard you tried.

At the side counter, they were still going at it. He grabbed at her to kiss her cheek, but she turned away, pushing herself out of his grasp. He made a few more futile attempts, to no avail, and the two of them burst out laughing, her high, lovely one mixing in with his lower, boyish baritone.

You looked down, and wished you could just disappear into a hole. When you returned to the table after you made sure the commotion in the front had died down, Jungwoo was already waiting with the ice cream. One for him and the other, your favorite favor. He handed yours to you, but you found that you didn’t have the appetite for it anymore. You managed to muster up a feeble “thanks” and a strained smile, staring at the cone in your hands.

“What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t see Jungwoo’s expression, but you could hear the concern lacing his voice. As if he wasn’t laughing so merrily just a second ago.

“Nothing,” you replied, staring at the table. “I should probably go now. My parents said we were going out for lunch today.”

“But you said you didn’t have any plans,” Jungwoo said, confused.

“Well,” you shrugged, “It’s really my mom’s. Anyways, see you later.”

The bell jangled behind you as you exited the shop, the sound not as cheerful as it had been just a while before. A rush of hot air greeted you, but the stinging at your feet could no longer compare to that of the pain in you.

“Oh, okay. See you.” You could still hear his disappointed voice, although you couldn’t fathom just why he wouldn’t be glad to have some time with his girlfriend without you there as an awkward third-wheeler.

You didn’t see Jungwoo again that summer.

TO BE CONTINUED.

thanks for reading! send an ask or comment to be in taglist for upcoming chapters!

[candycityy]

Ooh rivetra and 20 or 76 (or both if you want to ;)) for the Drabble prompts pleeeease 🧡🖤

Note: I did both because what can I say, I love a challenge, hehehe. I hope you like it!

References this earlier drabble.

(You can also read this on AO3!)

So here's the thing, right. For all his flaws—and he does have flaws, no matter what the fawning masses think—Levi isn't stupid.

Sure, he's not probably not cut out for the rarefied, upper-crust intelligentsia that Erwin Smith moves in. And sure, certain idiots of the variety of Hanji Zoë might swear on their dying breaths that he's all brawn and no brain, et cetera, but the truth is, he's got enough street smarts and common sense that most people conveniently overlook his awful social skills.

And that means that contrary to popular belief, Levi doesn't totally suck at social events. The Sina elite tend to misread his frosty bluntness and lack of etiquette as a refreshing, man-on-the-street brand of humour. Which, well, whatever works, he supposes.

Unfortunately, as a matter of consequence, that means that even with a hyperactive three-year old at home, Erwin had point-blank refused to let him off for this year's Midwinter Ball. He'd given him leave for the past few since Ava was still far too young to be left alone at home, but judging by the commander's expression, he's just about exhausted his excuses.

"You know the state of our finances, Levi," he'd said, cerulean eyes earnest and entreating. "We need every coin we can get. And, well, you're always quite popular at these balls, being humanity's strongest and all—not accounting for taste, of course—"

"Oi!"

The commander'd smirked, but his expression had faded back to solemnity quickly enough. "We need you there, Levi. I won't make it an order, but consider it...a personal request. Please?"

Levi'd grumbled under his breath. "Whatever. I'll go, I'll go, just stop looking at me like that," he'd barked.

Erwin had smiled. "I knew I could count on you, Levi."

Cut to the present. It's just past six o'clock, the winter sky only now beginning to darken into a somewhat forbidding shade of violet-grey. He's already dressed in his standard black suit, pacing back and forth the small living room, his eyes darting to the clock every few seconds.

Petra, who's in the midst of removing the curlers from her hair, shoots him an irritated look. "Would you calm down," she hisses, "you're driving me crazy. And Ava's going to pick up on it too, you know."

They both glance at their daughter, who's serenely colouring in a picture in crayon at the other end of the room. The three-year-old is Petra in miniature, from her wide eyes right down to her peaches-and-cream complexion. With just one exception: her hair is just a touch darker than her mother's: more cinnamon than honey.

Levi runs a hand through his hair. "Why aren't they here yet?" he says, for the third time that night.

"Because we told them to come at half past," Petra replies, with somewhat less patience than she'd ordinarily have. "Now get over here and help me do up my necklace, would you."

The metal is cold to the touch, but Petra just smiles softly as he clasps the necklace behind her neck with deft fingers. "Remember our first Midwinter Ball?" she reminisces. "That was pretty fun, wasn't it?"

"Fun for you, maybe," Levi says drily. "I was busy dragging Auruo off the dance floor after he puked and blacked out, remember?"

She giggles. "Oh, yeah. I forgot about that part. But still, that was when we danced together for the first time." They fall into a comfortable, nostalgic silence, and finally, he sighs.

"I still don't like leaving her alone," he mutters.

"It's hardly the first time," Petra says gently.

"I know, but it's the first time we'll be so far from her. And for so long, too—a whole night." His eyes turn contemplative. "Maybe I could just ride back, after the ball—if the weather isn't bad—"

"Don't even think about it," she says sharply. "The roads aren't safe this time of year, especially not so late at night, there's too much ice. We'll be back in the morning, Levi. Don't worry so much."

He snorts. "Easier said than done. Why aren't they here yet?" he asks again. This time, Petra ignores him, instead turning back to the mirror and carefully applying lipstick with a practiced hand.

After the final step—dusting her cheeks with rose-tinted powder—she rises to her feet, doing a slow turn in her gown, a sleek, champagne-coloured affair with a fitted bodice and fluted sleeves, cut out of satin and embellished with tiny buttons down the front. Her delicately curled hair falls in soft waves to her collarbone, just brushing the front of her dress.

"What do you think?" she goes. Oblivious to his sullen silence, she juts out a hip and flutters her lashes at him coquettishly, an action which earns her an eye-roll.

"You're going to make everyone stare," he grumbles. She giggles.

"I have to keep your fangirls away, now don't I?" she teases, with a toss of her head. He's about to issue a retort when a knock comes at the door.

"Right on time, as usual," Petra declares. Levi just scowls.

He'd had been reluctant to get them back after the first disastrous incident, but Petra had insisted that they'd done a good job—"after all, Ava was perfectly fine, wasn't she?" As a result, Eren and Jean have become their go-to babysitters ever since. Levi's loath to admit it, but their daughter has warmed up to them. She's already toddling over to the door with a ready beam on her face, as the boys troop in through the door, faces flushed with the cold.

"Eren nii-chan! Jean nii-chan!" she chirps, plump arms outstretched. "Pick me up, pleaaaase?"

Eren breaks into a grin and obliges. His terror of Levi has subsided somewhat, although he still occasionally trips over his feet whenever he walks past, but he openly adores the toddler. Jean's a bit more reserved, but as Ava begins to babble cheerfully, his expression noticeably softens—even though he claims he's not a fan of babies, Levi suspects that he's secretly just as enamoured with Ava as his comrade is.

Of course, that only makes sense, considering that as far as Levi is concerned, Ava Ackerman is the cutest fucking baby on the planet.

Outside the door, there's the distant sound of approaching hooves pounding against cobblestone. Sensing a farewell, Petra sighs and leans over to give Ava one last hug, as Levi presses a gentle kiss to his daughter's cheek.

"We'll better be off," she says reluctantly. "Boys, thank you so much for taking care of Ava tonight. If anything goes wrong, you know what to do."

All four adults exchange grim, silent glances; they know what's coming next. Levi picks up his coat and shrugs it on. Petra wraps a scarf around her neck.

And with a sigh, they push the door open, and wait.

Three, two—

"Nooooo!"

Ava lets out a ear-splitting shriek, one that seems far too loud to come from such a small baby. Her eyes well up with anxious tears as she comes to the awful realisation that her parents are leaving without her, and she struggles desperately towards them, her face screwed-up and flushed with fury, as Eren doggedly tries to keep her from wriggling out of his arms. Beside him, Jean attempts in vain to ply her with sweets and toys, but she won't be soothed or distracted.

"No, no, no!" Ava wails. Her tiny fists pummel Eren's shoulder, who, to his credit, doesn't flinch, just hefts her up resignedly. "No go, no go! Stay!"

Petra sends him a warning look. And even as every atom of his body rebels against the thought of it...

Levi steps over the threshold, and into the wintry night air.

==

"Levi," Petra says patiently, "you're fidgeting."

She places a hand on his thigh, which, apparently, he'd been subconsciously jiggling all this while. Calming Ava down had taken about ten whole minutes, but Eren and Jean had finally managed to distract her with a game of hide-and-seek—her new favourite—and they'd quietly snuck onto the carriage before she could realise their trick.

They're barely more than a mile from home, but already being away from Ava feels like a piercing, physical pain in the front of his skull, a palpable anxiety that refuses to fade. Even Petra's presence, usually so comforting, doesn't soothe him in the slightest.

"Sorry," he mutters. "It's just—it's fucking terrifying, being a parent." His wife touches his cheek in silent commiseration, and they both sit in silence.

It's as perfect a night as it could ever be, in all honesty. The moon is full and bright, its silvery light beaming helpfully onto their path. The road is almost deserted this evening—Levi supposes most people would rather be safely tucked in the warmth of their homes, celebrating the holiday season with their own families instead of with dozens of expensively-attired strangers.

Fuck it all. Sensing his blood pressure rising, he takes a deep breath. The air is cool and dry and calming. Turning to stare out at the window, he listens to the rhythmic clickity-clack of the horses' hooves, their huffed pants of exertion, the metallic whine of the wheels—

Levi frowns. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Petra starts to ask, and then stills—this time, she'd heard it too. That high-pitched, bell-like sound, that sounds disturbingly like...

She swallows. "D-did you just make that noise?"

He stares at her drily. "I don't think my vocal chords could physically manage that."

"You don't think..." Her jaw drops, and she almost leaps towards the driver's seat in her urgency, startling the poor old man. "Excuse me! Stop the carriage, please!"

The horses have barely come to a halt when Levi disembarks from the carriage in one swift, fluid movement. He strides towards the back of the carriage, where, he knows, there's a small compartment built in, just large enough for their overnight bags and gear.

As well as—perhaps—a three-year-old toddler, if she were crouching quite close to the floor. Like, for instance, in a game of hide-and-seek.

His expression is grim as he tugs open the lid of the compartment. Behind him, Petra looks frozen, her face a mixture of trepidation and incredulity and just the tiniest hint of amusement.

The lid comes loose. "Daddy!" their irrepressible daughter exclaims, springing out of her crouching position. She giggles again, that familiar high-pitched, bell-like sound almost unnaturally loud in the silence of the night. "Mama! Ava came along!"

For a second, both parents are struck speechless as they stare at their cheerful stowaway in wordless horror.

Finally, Petra opens her mouth to speak.

"You don't say," she deadpans.

==

By the time they reach Sina, the ball has already started.

Of course, considering how they had to turn back around (much to the chagrin of the carriage-driver), tuck Ava very firmly into bed (it goes easier this time, considering how exhausted she is from the very dramatic game of hide-and-seek), reassure a terrified Eren and Jean that they're not mad (although Levi still isn't sure, to be honest), and allow them to resume sentry duty before leaving, he figures they actually made pretty good time.

Other than the very pointed, self-righteous look the doorman shoots them as they stumble into the hall, they manage to blend into the crowd with relative ease. They quickly touch base with the rest of the squad and collect two well-deserved flutes of wine before searching for Erwin, if only to reassure him that they did, in fact, come.

The commander is, of course, easy enough to spot, what with his stature and all. And although he initially looks mildly disapproving, his expression quickly turns wry once he hears the tale.

"That's quite a story," he says, nodding politely at a passing noblewoman, who blushes alluringly and bats her eyes. "Although, I suppose I should be glad you turned up at all, considering."

Petra giggles. "Touché. Although, maybe next year, we can bring her along. Wouldn't that be adorable?"

"Over my dead body," Levi says flatly. "But maybe next year, you'll let me stay home, Erwin."

The blonde man sighs and casts his eyes skyward. Around them, the party thrums cheerfully, soldiers mingling with nobles, careful words and casual touches exchanged over good dance and better drink. But although the atmosphere is thick with holiday cheer and inebriation, the commander seems wearily immune. "Maybe next year, I'll finally resign."

Levi snorts and lifts his wine-glass. "I'll toast to that."

Drabble challenge!

[dreamer213]

Broken Machines: Lights The Dark

Chapter 8: The Charming Things You Say

Penny was feeling uneasy as she finished up her patrol and began her walk to the station. She had brought up what had happened at the end of her lesson to her dad during dinner that night and expressed her confusion with Whitley’s shift in tone. Once she repeated what she’d said about Weiss and Winter her dad told her that she may have unknowingly brought up some bad feelings for him. When Penny questioned how she had done so Pietro just said “ Well how would you feel if you spoke to one of my colleagues and they only know you were my child but because they found out on their own and not because I told them?”. She thought about it a moment and the idea that her own dad, her only family, would not speak about her to his colleagues made her feel so sad and unloved. He then asked her how she thinks Whitley must have felt actually hearing that and she’s felt absolutely horrible ever since. How could she not have notice how cruel her statements had been. Before she had just thought it was odd that she had never heard about him but after seeing his reaction and her dad’s explanation the truth of the situation was all too obvious.

She was still thinking about during the train ride and in the car on her way to the manor. By the time she was at the main entrance and being lead to a lounge room by a maid, Yuko, she gone over dozens of possible apologizes in her head, trying to come up with something to convey how sorry she was about her callous words. She was determined to make things right but she just couldn’t find the right words to say for something like this. She’s still contemplating when she enters the lounge room where Whitley was sitting on the sofa, waiting for her.

Whitley: Good afternoon Ms. Polendina.

Penny: Good afternoon.

There tense in the air as Penny takes a seat at the other end of the sofa, placing her belongings down by her feet, and pulling out the notepad and pen.

Whitley: Ready to continue from yesterday’s session?

Penny: Yes.

Whitley: Alright then, Rule Number 6, when confronted with someone who’s been continuously rude towards you walk away towards the nearest group of people socializing. If the person persist when they get close question them on why they’re following you and polity ask them to stop. Do this loudly enough that people around you hear. Don’t shout, speak clearly, keep your pitch at a normal range but increase your volume. The negative attention the statement will draw towards them should be enough to get them to walk away. Rule Number 7, never interrupt someone, especially when in a group conversation, wait until they’ve completely finished their story or statement then chime in at the first opportunity. Rule Number 8, take a few breaks during longer events like galas or evening parties. If you chat for too long you’ll seem like a gossiper or just plain nosey. Granted there are people known for that sort of behavior in high society but they’re usually more infamous then famous for it. Now this last rule is of a topic of its own all will most likely take up the rest of-

Suddenly Whitley’s scroll rings. He pulls it out and looks at caller id, it’s Octavia.

Whitley: Excuse me for a moment, I have to take this.

He gets and walk out of the room leaving Penny and Yuko alone. Penny looks around and tweedles her fingers still thinking about how to go about apologizing as Yuko watches over her.

Yuko: Would you like to watch some television while you wait for The Young Master to return?

Penny: Hmm, oh no thank you I’m fine.

Yuko: Then would you like some refreshments? Perhaps some tea and cookies?

Penny: No I don’t need anything but thank you for offering Yuko.

Yuko: Of course Ms. Polendina, please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.

Penny thinks for a moment, Yuko was one of the manor maids and had probably work at the manor for some time if she was assigned to watch over a session. So maybe she knew more about the situation with the siblings and could help her try and fix her mistake.

Penny: Actually, there is something I’d like to ask you.

Yuko: Yes?

Penny: How long have you work at the manor?

Yuko: Five years and seven months. Why do you ask?

Penny: I just wanted to know if you knew anything about the relationship between Whitley, Weiss, and Winter.

Yuko’s eyes go wide for a moment, she hangs her head and takes a few deep breaths before answering.

Yuko: That is a very Very touchy subject, so much so that the Master has forbidden the staff to even mention his daughters’ names unprompted, less they be fired immediately.

Penny: And Whitley?

Yuko: As far as I know Young Master and his elder sisters have never been close. Though he doesn’t share the Master’s visceral reaction to the mention of them, it is still a very uncomfortable subject for him.

Penny: Oh..oh no.

Penny puts her hands in her face and her head in her lap. The situation was far worse than she thought, things were so bad between them that their own father didn’t even want to hear their names anymore. And she had brought it up the first week of her etiquette lessons. As if this weren’t already painful enough.

Yuko: Ms. Polendina? Are you feeling unwell?

Penny: I mentioned it. To Whitley yesterday I thought it was just something she didn’t tell me because we don’t talk to each other much. I didn’t know it was this…this…I feel so mean.

Yuko: (Sighs) Please calm down Ms. Polendina, while it was not wise to say anything about them Young Master is quite forgiving. He’s not the type of person to hold an innocent mistake against someone.

Penny: That’s good because I want to apologize but I don’t know if-

Yuko: Then apologize the next chance you get. Waiting and acting pitiful does nothing to fix the situation so don’t delay it.

Penny pulls her head back up and smiles at Yuko.

Penny: I’ll be sure to apologize before I leave today. Thank you for your help Yuko.

Yuko: Of course Ms. Polendina, I am here to serve.

At that moment the door opens again and Whitley walks back in. He still has his scroll out as he walks directly to Penny. He stops in front of her, a small smirk planted on his face.

Whitley: I have some good news for you Ms. Polendina. I just go off a call with Octavia Foxglove, the daughter of one of your suspects. And she’s agreed to have you at her monthly tea party in a couple weeks.

Penny: Really?! That’s amazing! I’ve only been taking lessons here for a three days and you’ve already found an event with someone so close to a suspect so quickly!

Whitley: Well it’s not a hard task when you have connections with every important person, family, or business in the range. But back to the topic at hand I’ll be sending you some details on the party and your target after our lesson but before we can continue Octavia wants a picture of you in advance. She likes to have custom table settings made for each guest with their face printed on the placement cards. And since she’s not a very patient person we need to send it as soon as possible. Now stand up.

Penny obliges and gets up from her seat, while Whitley takes a few steps back and opens the camera app on his scroll. He points the camera at her face while Penny stands at attention, hands behind her back, and smile on her face. After a few quick snaps the picture is taken but as Whitley inspects it he finds it to be very unsatisfactory. While the picture is clear and Penny’s face is in full focus the wall of the lounge room had been so dark that it made everything look desaturated.

Whitley: This won’t do, the walls are far too dark. It’s draining all the color out of the photo.

Penny: Really?

Whitley turns his scroll around to show her the front screen. Penny eyes widened at the sight, though she rarely saw or took pictures of herself Penny could still tell something was off about it. The walls had indeed made everything look much darker, the worse of it being around every piece of black on her body. It was a half body pic so her bow, collar, and the top of her waist were all blending into the background with little bit of the surrounding green, white, and gold of the rest of her outfit peeking through.

Penny: This does look very bad, how do we fix it?

Whitley: We just need better lighting. let’s go the ballroom, if the currents are drawn it should be nice and bright right now.

Yuko already has the door open while Whitley walks towards it, Penny follows behind him and all three leave the lounge. They make their way to the ballroom where sure enough the currents have been drawn however it’s the mid afternoon and the marble floors seem to have just been cleaned and the white pillars waxed. With the sunlight beaming through the windows, shining on clean floor and off the pillars, the room has become very very-

Penny: Bright!

Penny, Whitley, and Yuko cover their eyes shielding their eyes from blinding light bouncing off the freshly clean surfaces.

Whitley: So it’s fairly obvious that we can’t possibly take a picture in here!

Penny: Yes, the camera lens won’t be able to pick up anything with this much light.

Yuko: Then may I suggest we go somewhere less blinding!

Yuko grabs them by an arm each and rush them out of the ballroom. Soon their back in the main hall and begin searching for a better location. They are headed towards the music room where they run into Mary and Sue standing outside the door, Sue spots them first.

Sue: Good afternoon Young Master.

Mary: Good afternoon Young Master and Ms. Polendina, is there something you need from us?

Whitley: Hello Sue, Mary, we’re passing through to use the music room for a moment then we’ll be on our way.

The moment Whitley utters the words “music room” Mary and Sue share a worried look, Sue starts nervously tap her foot and Mary rubs her temples before they turn back to trio.

Sue: I’m sorry Young Master but we can’t allow you to do that.

Whitley: And why is that?

Sue lets out a nervous chuckle then elbows Mary in the arm. She turns and looks at her pleadingly and Mary decides to give in and do the talking for her.

Mary: There’s been a several accidents throughout the manor today. This morning while cleaning the music room someone waxed the floor while others were still working and a maid tripped while carrying a number of different cleaning liquids spilled onto the instruments and the chemical reaction of the now mixed cleaners caused some damage. The repairs being done so no one can enter the room for now.

Whitley: (Sighs) I see, and the others?

Mary: Some equipment in the dance studio had a short and caused a small electrical fire and Mistress fell ill in one of the libraries after brunch.

Whitley: Meaning you couldn’t get her to eat enough food with her wine this morning and she projectile vomited again. Wonderful. That’s truly unfortunate.

Sue: B-but if there’s anything else you need we’re here to hell however we can do to.

Whitley: It’s fine we just trying to find a good location to take a photo, we look elsewhere.

Sue: A photo of what?

Penny: One of me.

Sue: Oooh.

Sue walks up to Penny, hands crossed behind her back, and pushes her face close to Penny’s. Sue circles around the redhead and looks her over. Once she’s done she returns to Mary with a smug smile on her face.

Sue: With her complexion and colors, she’ll look best in natural light with floral/woodland backgrounds.

Sue makes the camera sign with her index and thumbs in front of her right eye.

Sue: Though city night skylines could work to if the lightings right. But since we probably can’t wait for sunset there’s the only one place in the manor that could work with her looks and that’s the garden. With today’s good weather and the right angle, light, and posing, the green and white of her clothing could look very warm and calming plus the sun on her face could really make that red hair look radiant and her eyes pop on camera.

Everyone but Penny stands in stunned silence and looks at Sue, confused by her sudden musings.

Sue: I’m a photography major.

Whitley: I see…that’s good to know.

Mary: She is right though, the garden looks rather nice this time of day and it’s vacant at the moment, so it would a be the perfect option for this task.

Whitley considers it for a moment. After a while he gives them an approving nod the waves over Penny and Yuko and the three starting walking towards the garden. Sue and Mary hang back for bit, Mary looks down at Sue and whisper to her.

Mary: (whisper) Feeling better now that you’ve redeem yourself for your little chemical spill?

Sue: (whisper) That was 98% not my fault and you know that!

Sue then runs to caught up with the rest of the group while Mary trails on slowly behind her. Once at the double doors of the garden Yuko and Sue take a door each and open them, reveal the beautiful greenery of the Schnee Manor Garden. There’s nothing but flowers and trees as far as the eye could see with a white tile paths lining the ground as they enter. Penny skips ahead to go wondering, entranced by the beautiful of the grounds and all it’s foliage while the others are strategizes a plan for this mini photoshoot.

Whitley: Well we’re here, now how are we going about this.

Sue: That’s the hard part of photography, we need to find the right angle and light to put her under to get the shoot. And we also need to consider what kind of scenery we want in the-

Suddenly Sue stops, she staring at something with an intense gaze. The others turn their heads to see what she’s looking at only to see Penny squatting down with her elbows on her knees, balanced on her toes, and hands propping up her head while she stares dreamingly at a patch of pink crocuses.

Sue: This is it. This. Is. The. MOMENT! Young Master get over there, get out your scroll, get within half a foot away from her, get down to her level , and center the camera directly between her upper body, face, and the flowers! NOW!

Whitley quickly complies and goes over to Penny, while she’s absorbed in the flowers he pulls out his scroll then he squats down awkwardly. He’s lining up the shoot, trying to get the lens to focus and when it finally does he’s awestruck. Through his scroll’s camera he see Penny smiling sweetly and sniff the flowers. The warm glow of the sunlight brightening the curls of her bright orange hair, and gave a soft glow to her spring green eyes. The pink of crocus highlights the pinks of her lips and the contrast made her freckle dusted cheeks more pronounced and cute. She looks so natural amongst the flowers like a fairy lost in her own world of warmth and happiness.

Whitley: She looks peaceful, so happy, so-

Whitley shakes his head, there’s no time for this they’re already falling behind schedule. they need this done now.

Whitley: Ms. Polendina, please look over here and smile.

Penny turns her head towards him and gives him a gentle smile. Eyes glued to her gaze, Whitley is taking a few photos when suddenly he feels his heartbeat quicken and once he’s done he still can’t take his eyes off her.

Penny: Does it looks good?

Her question pulls Whitley out of his trance and he stands up heart now ponding in his chest. He turns his scroll around to show her the photos. While they’re looking over the pictures Yuko sneaks up behind Whitley. She stands about a foot away and starts waving her hand over Whitley’s shoulder and in Penny’s direction. Eventually Penny catches her waving out the corner of her eye, when she cox her head to get a better look she sees Yuko mouths “ Now’s your chance”. She’s confused for a second but then she remembers what they talked about earlier and decides to go for it.

Penny: Whitley.

Whitley: Yes.

Penny: I….I am very sorry for what I said yesterday. I did not know that you’re relationship with your sisters wasn’t good I just thought I wasn’t close enough to either for them to tell me about their home lives. I promise you I would never have said anything about them if I knew it was such uncomfortable topic, please forgive me for my rudeness.

Whitley is once again stunned, her integrity was admirable. It takes a lot of courage to admit fault and apologize, something very few people in his life had the capability or desire to do. To have someone so strong be so vulnerable and sincere with him felt….surreal.

Whitley: It’s fine Ms. Polendina, it was an honest mistake I know you didn’t mean any harm. Besides it not like I speak about them too much either, I suppose it’s just the nature of our relationship. Anyway now that we’ve gotten a good photo we can return to our lesson.

Whitley turns around and addresses the maids.

Whitley: Yuko! We’re done here, time to head back to the lounge. Sue and Mary, thank you for your help.

Yuko: Yes, Young Master.

Mary: Of course, Young Master.

Sue: Thank you, Young Master.

Whitley quickly walk towards the doors, Penny and Yuko follow behind him leaving Sue and Mary behind in the garden. Soon they reenter the lounge room, get seated, notepad out, and they’re ready to continue their lesson.

Whitley: Now that that’s been taken care of we can finally get to the most important topic of today’s lesson. Especially since you’ll need to know this subject well to successful at the tea party. Now this subject is something you probably already do in your day to day life but I highly doubt you know how to do it and use it properly. The topic is……how to compliment a person.

Penny: Huh?

Penny tilts her head a little confused but Whitley just smirks and continues.

Whitley: Now I know this sounds very rudimentary but compliments can be a powerful tool when dealing with elites. This is due to one of the major values in high society, vanity. Most elites are extremely vain and thrive off validation. They need people to know and admire how rich, how classy, and absolutely fabulous their lifestyle is, making most weak to flattery and praise. With a little praise you can make uptight elites feel at a bit at ease with you. However there are some rules you must follow to use this value successfully, the first is timing. The first compliment should be given after the first greeting, if your address a group give a general compliment like “You all look absolutely lovely today!” or something similar. If it’s a single person you can be more specific, which can be rather simple if you pay attention to how the person’s behavior and movements. Those who thrive on this kind of validation will make themselves noticeable by wearing the most eye catching outfit and accessories possible, even at most casual of events, and will show off their new pieces to garner even more attention. They’ll play with their rings and hair, twirl around in their dresses, and anything they can think of to show off what they have. This gives you easy objects to identify and praise, for those who aren’t so obvious look for them over discreetly first then compliment whatever you think took the most time, effort, and money to prepare. Now the second rule is the most important to remember, never give to much at once. While compliments are a good tool it can be a double edge sword, too much and you’ll seem like a brown nose, too little and you’ll seem petty.

Penny puts her pen down and raises her hand, Whitley acknowledges this and points to her hand. He can guess what she’s about to ask.

Penny: What does complimenting someone have to with color of my-

Whitley: Brown noser is the term for someone who give excessive praise and compliments in order to gain a person of high standing’s favor. The “brown nose” comes from the less polite term of ass kisser which is derived from the idea that this kind of people were so desperate to get the approval of someone in a higher position that they’d kiss their rear ends if it might they’d something out of it. The “brown nose” comes from the idea being that close to someone’s rear would get a bit of….well you know the only brown substance human creates down there. It’s just a negative metaphor for someone how praises and flatters someone of higher standing in order to get something.

Penny: Oooh. Ewwww.

Whitley: I know, and in order to avoid appearing like one of those people after you’ve payed your first compliment don’t give another for the rest of the conversation unless they actively try to impress you. For that situation set a limit of five compliments for women and three for men.

Penny: Why is there different amount for men and women?

Whitley: Because men don’t need as much validation.

Penny: Is that true?

Whitley: It’s what social norms dictate and in high society that’s all that matters. Now I’d like to see how much you’ve learned today, I want you to compliment three aspects of my physical appearance using my lecture as a guide.

Penny almost drops her pen at Whitley’s outlandish request. Now there was no lack of things Penny could say about his appearance in fact it was quite the opposite. There was so much she could say about him, from his snow white hair to his elegant figure and jewel like eyes there was almost nothing about him Penny didn’t find beautiful. Penny decides to focus on his instructions, he said to look the person over and comment on what most likely took the most effort. Penny stares over at Whitley, who’s sat on the other edge of the sofa, legs crossed with one arm propping up the other as he rest his head on it as he stares back her, waiting patiently for her to speak. Penny feels the drumming in her chest returning but she powers through and continues to ponder until she gathers the courage to finally speak.

Penny: Your outfit looks very nice, it’s very well put together and formal but casual.

Whitley: Well it should, the vest alone was quite an expensive piece. Continue.

Penny: Your haircut is very neat and your hair itself is very pretty. The color and texture reminds me of silk.

Whitley:.…My stylist is known for their skill and I do best to get it right when I have to.

Penny: That’s not surprising you seem very diligent with the up keep of your appearance. Besides your hair and clothing your nails are also nicely manicure and your skin is soft and smooth without any blemishes. Overall you’re truly a beautiful and dashing young man Whitley Schnee.

Whitley slumps forward and face palms. Penny tries to ask what’s wrong but he puts up one of his hands and motions for her to stop.

Whitley: Would appear that I overlooked an important point in my lecture. Rule three, compliments should be a short statement commenting positivity on an aspect of a person’s appearance or personality. It should never be more then a sentence or two and as a young lady you should never give such detailed compliments to a man of any age. It can come off as flirtatious and that is highly improper and inappropriate.

The information hangs in the air for a moment until it finally sets in and Penny realize what he’s insinuating and her face bright red as she becomes overwhelmed with embarrassment.

Penny: I-I didn’t-I wasn’t trying to-I really don’t know-

Whitley: It’s fine, just don’t make the same mistake again, others won’t take it so lightly. You’re dismissed.

Penny: Okay! Goodbye see you tomorrow!

Penny quickly grabs her things and runs out of the room not even waiting for Yuko to escort her, leaving her and Whitley behind in an awkward silence.

Yuko: That was…interesting. She’s a rather odd girl isn’t she Young Mas- YOUNG MASTER!

Yuko looks over at Whitley in shock, his face, neck, and arms, they’d all gone beet red! Yuko rushes over to him, trying figure out how he gotten this way.

Yuko: Young Master are you alright? You’re breaking out into a fever. I’ll call the doctor down immediately! Please-

Whitley: I’m fine Yuko, I just need a minute to breathe. Please give me some space.

Yuko: Yes Young Master.

Yuko leaves the room, once he’s alone Whitley throws his head into his lap as he tries to contain a scream. How could Penny say such things so earnestly! What was she possibly thinking spouting such praise like that!

Whitley: Why? Why did she say all of that! It was a simple task, “compliment my appearance” that was it. There was no reason for her to go into that kind of detail! Was she trying to act like a kiss up or is that really how she sees me?

Whitley was confused by how anyone could say such things so easily. For most of his life kind words had a few uses. They were used for personal gain and control by most elites, sparsely used by the staff as part of their jobs of caring for the manor’s inhabitants, and almost entirely nonexistent with his family. Yet this girl he’s known for such a short time had chosen to praise him so sincerely. She had been there less than a week and had already proven to be far more odd and unpredictable then Whitley could have ever imagined. However as much as he wanted to be annoyed by her actions a part him can’t help but long for tomorrow and their next lesson.

[yikesimonfire]

Misery Loves Company || Alfie & Mina

Timing: Last week. Location: Residential woods near Dark Score Lake Parties: @drowningisinevitable​ & @yikesimonfire​  Summary: Alfie and Mina have more in common than they realize, but it’s probably for the best. Content: internalized homophobia and mentions of domestic abuse

Ever since Bex showed her pretty little face, Alfie’s life had taken a sharp decline for the worse. It wasn’t her fault — he understood that on some level — but he needed someone to blame. These days, Alfie couldn’t stand being in his own home. Their laughter haunted him from the adjacent apartment, echoing incessantly at all hours; reminding him of how unimportant he truly was. 

Eddie had gone years (their entire time as neighbors, in fact) without dating anyone. Suddenly, she was there all of the time. There was no longer any room for Alfie to be a part of Eddie's life. At least, that's what he managed to convince himself. The truth was that the lovebirds did try to include Alfie. It was he who shut them out, unable to bear being around them. 

Alfie would never admit it, but he was heartbroken. 

What good would it do to confess? What difference would it make? Absolutely none. He was in love with someone who, for reasons beyond their control, would never love him back. Alfie knew he would be forced to make peace with it eventually, but it was all so… sudden. 

He'd taken it upon himself to evacuate his apartment as Bex and Eddie’s sickening coos seeped through the paper-thin walls; seeking comfort instead from the disheveled cabin he'd come to possess. It was an older building, unkempt throughout the span of his life — this life. Twenty-six or some odd years ago, the house was probably in its prime. But rot had since set into the wooden beams. The porch creaked, threatening to collapse under Alfie's weight as he traipsed the threshold. 

By some miracle, the place still had electricity. The water pressure was almost nonexistent; not that Alfie had much of a need for it. However, in light of recent events, the bare minimum was no longer sufficient. 

He intended to stay — at least more often.

With a hammer in hand, Alfie attempted to pry corroded nails from the patio’s dry-rotted boards. The metal fought against him, breaking under the pressure, and left fragments of the rusted nails tightly embedded in the wood. Great. First he can't stay at his own apartment without being reminded of his grief, and now he has to deal with this?!

"Mother fucker," Alfie grumbled, striking the porch with the hammer. "Can't I have one good thing for once? Just one!" The platform quivered beneath him, ignoring his plea, and Alfie collapsed onto his back in a pathetic heap. "Fine. Do whatever you want. I don't care anymore," he told the house. "I could set you on fire, you realize that, right? It'll look like an accident… I could probably collect the insurance payment." An idle threat to an inanimate object was pointless, but at least it made him feel a little better. The house wasn't insured, anyway.

The house was stuffy from disuse, but Mina found that she didn’t particularly mind. She opened up the windows. It would be fine. Her dad, when he first found the place, hadn’t signed the lease for her because he thought it was quaint or because it was modern. It was livable enough, it was close to a water source, and it would be a good base for the two of them when he returned to White Crest for them to set up shop. Well, now, at least, it was still livable enough.

Mina didn’t particularly care about livability. She was just looking for a place to sleep that didn’t remind her of Bex. The house was small and barren, save for a few clothes that she’d left and a tiny amory’s worth of weapons in the spare room. She had the windows open to allow fresh air to come in, and she was sitting at the small kitchen’s counter, sleeves rolled up while she was wrapping bandages around her arm. She encountered a chimera in the woods the night before, some wretched conglomeration of an actual wolf, a cockatrice, and a flederprey that had managed to get a few good hits in before she put it out of its misery. It hadn’t even been hard. She hadn’t even thought about it.

That was kind of the goal, these days. Mina just wanted to work and fight and run until exhaustion took her, sometimes in the middle of the night, crashing face first into a stream. She’d ruined a lot of clothes, recently.

The sound of cursing from the usually empty house next door startled Mina from what she was doing. She pulled her sleeves down and looked outside. It was a young man, about her age, that she’d seen a few times over the last two years. They’d waved but never really talked. He didn’t stay for long. She didn’t mind. She wasn’t overly good at socializing; it had been years since she’d practiced good neighbor etiquette.

But he seemed to be having a hard time. Sighing, Mina headed outside, walking the distance between their little houses. She made sure to make plenty of noise, so as not to startle him too bad when she called out, “Everything alright?”

Alfie hadn’t meant to attract attention from the neighbors. In fact, he didn’t even realize the young woman from the house over still lived there. The few times he’d been over recently, the other house seemed entirely vacant; not that it was any of his business. As the brush crunched underneath her feet, signaling her approach, Alfie bolted upright. 

Nothing was alright, he wanted to state. But the girl was probably less concerned about his personal relationships than his assault on his porch. 

“Oh, sure, sure,” Alfie lied with ease. “Just trying to fix the place up is all. It’s, uh… not going too well.” That was evident from the fact that he was trying to remove a board while he was sitting on it. He had no idea what he was doing. 

A heavy sigh escaped him before he tossed the hammer to the side, maneuvering himself to sit on the edge of the porch. “Actually— that’s not true,” Alfie admitted. “I mean… it is true to an extent. Mostly, I’m just taking out my frustration on the woodwork.” Why did he just say that? She didn’t care. She couldn’t possibly care. Yet, here he was, unloading his baggage onto a complete stranger because he found himself without a single friend in the world that he felt he could air his grievances to. 

“Everything’s shit,” he added with a shrug. After a moment, Alfie realized the weight of his words and offered her a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry, that’s… probably not something I should have shared.” His hand reached behind him, nervously rubbing the back of his neck, as his eyes shifted to her own house. “I haven’t seen you around recently. Didn’t know you were still living there.”

“I see,” Mina said slowly, looking at the young man as he attempted to… she didn’t know what he was attempting, actually. Something with the porch. It didn’t seem to be working in his favor, more a cause of frustration than proper work. And then he got to the problem, and she nodded her head in understanding. “Ah, that makes more sense. Things are actually going quite poorly for me, too, but I’ve been going out most nights in an effort to try and exhaust myself into sleeping.” 

That wasn’t what Mina wanted to say. At all. Frowning, she rocked on her heels a bit. That amount of open honesty wasn’t what she wanted to share with this guy that was practically a stranger, but she hadn’t been able to stop the words from tumbling from her lips in an uncharacteristic overshare. 

“I’m sorry that it’s like that,” Mina said, trying to start again. She rubbed at her arms. “It’s okay. I mean, if you’d like to talk about it, I have no one to tell.” She followed his gaze, looking at the place that she couldn’t call home. Not now, not really. “I’ve been staying with some friends, actually. I got hurt pretty bad a couple of months ago-- fell off a cliff, I don’t recommend-- but.” She felt like she had to physically stop herself from saying too much. She cleared her throat. “I couldn’t stand to be there because it reminds me of someone I miss, and I don’t want to feel like a burden, so I decided I should stay here more often.”

Something was definitely wrong, Mina decided. She couldn’t stop blurting out the truth. “I apologize. Now, ah, I seem to be the one that’s oversharing,” she said, trying to laugh off the intense embarrassment that she felt.

Alfie raised his brows in concern as his pseudo-neighbor shared her own woes. Unfortunately, he understood the lack of sleep all too well at this point. A sad smile tugged at the corners of his lips as she continued. Interrupting her would have been rude. Instead, he nodded along, making minimal eye contact. His heart sank deeper into his stomach as the young woman explained why she’d returned to the little house in the woods. It was all too similar to his own reasoning for being here now.

But then she was apologizing and the emptiness he felt on behalf of both of them mixed with guilt. “No, no!” Alfie quickly interjected. “There’s no need to apologize, really. I, uh… I hate to hear that.” He wanted to assure her that he was going through something similar. That she wasn’t alone in her grief. That he understood how it must have felt that her entire world was falling apart because so was his. But he couldn’t bring himself to say any of it. 

Instead, Alfie scooched over before gingerly patting the spot beside him. He wouldn’t have blamed her for not taking a seat, but at that moment, it seemed like the right thing to do. 

“That’s why I’m here too,” he croaked feebly. “I mean — sort of.” Alfie cleared his throat; his eyes fixed on the ground. It was probably strange, but he felt obligated to share the source of his own misery with her now. “I live— I have an apartment downtown, but… I can’t stand being there anymore.” His brows knit together as a tight knot formed in his throat, threatening to choke him. Before he knew it, his nose stung and he let out a strangled sigh, preceding a sniffle. “Because I hear them, you know? Talking — laughing — and I just… That should be me.” 

Alfie’s voice cracked and he forced a terse laugh. “Sorry… I sound ridiculous, don’t I? Unloading all of this while you’ve got your own things to worry about.” He hadn’t told anyone about this until now. “I’m glad you’re okay. I mean, y’know… after the whole cliff thing. That obviously doesn’t help what you’re going through now, but…” Say it, he mentally berated himself. Just say it already.

“You’re not alone,” he added finally. 

“I usually don’t talk this much,” Mina said. “I seem to be having trouble with-- with my words.” The last time she’d gotten like this, she’d been young, and she’d lied about things to the point of being quite sick, and then she just overshared everything. It had been embarrassing and ridiculous, and she’d had to find new ways to get around the constantly spouting out the truth. She hoped that wasn’t happening now; it would just be the icing on top of the cake of how bad things were going.

She moved to sit beside him, lowering herself onto the porch gingerly. Mina was bruised all over, and it wasn’t broken bones, but she still ached. She ached in her chest, too. “It’s better out here. I’m not reminded of-- of everything.” Of good times and bad times and all the little moments in between. Of sitting by the pool, and doing homework in the kitchen, and falling asleep on the couch. 

Breathing out a sigh, Mina shook her head. “You hardly sound ridiculous. That sounds-- sounds achingly familiar, wanting to be away from somewhere that you can’t stand.” She wondered who these people were that made the young man beside her so sad. 

“Would you believe me if I said the cliff feels like a rather minor thing, all things considered? Which, now, that sounds ridiculous because the water would have killed me, and I can’t even drown but I was drowning.” Stop talking, Mina told herself, but she couldn’t. “But this just feels so much worse because I knew the cause of that pain, but now I’m in pain, and it’s so stupid, it’s utterly stupid because I didn’t think I could feel like this.” She cleared her throat. “Now that’s ridiculous,” she finished softly. “But thank you. I appreciate that.” Even if she was alone. Even if she was making herself alone.

“Yeah, me neither,” Alfie scoffed. For the most part, Alfie preferred to keep to himself. He was meticulously careful about what he said, how he said it, and who he said it to. Not even his family knew much about him. At least, not the developments over the past few years; more than half a decade now. The only two people that could contend this were Nell and Eddie. Even then, there was still a lot he couldn’t bring himself to tell them. 

A deep frown etched into his features as he listened to the other speak. He might not have been aware of her situation, but it eerily mirrored his own. Alfie missed his friend — his best friend. He missed the sound of Eddie’s laugh when he said something stupid, whether intentional or not. He missed sitting beside him on the sofa and the feeling of their shoulders pressed together. He missed hearing the balcony door creak open. He missed Bucket. In retrospect, only a handful of days had gone by since Alfie started pulling away. Bex took everything from him in one fell swoop. 

Alfie didn’t know what the girl sitting beside him had (and was) going through, but it wasn’t unreasonable for her to feel that falling off of a cliff wasn’t as crushing as her current situation. “Not ridiculous,” he spoke finally; his voice small. Her confession of not being able to drown didn’t even register — at least, not in the way she meant it. Alfie was all too familiar with death-by-water that the passing comment hardly struck him as odd. He wanted to comfort her. To let her get everything out. It helped to talk about things that upset you. Or, so he’d been told. But in the same regard, he wanted to selfishly do the same. Maybe he could do both… 

“It fucking sucks,” Alfie emphatically stated as he threw his hands into the air before letting them drop back to his lap with a light thud. “To hurt so badly and know that there’s nothing you can do to make it any better. To not be able to bear being in your own home because everything reminds you of this person. Because you know you shouldn’t love him the way you—” There it was: the precise feeling Alfie tried so desperately to not put a name on. 

Alfie swallowed the knot that formed in his throat. His shoulders drooped, eyes still staring at the ground, and he leaned forward with a sigh. “Not that— I don’t mean that I think you’re hurting because of some guy. I—” Slowly, Alfie dragged a palm down his face before he cupped his chin. “Projecting, I guess.”

“It-- Yes, yes,” Mina agreed because it did. It fucking sucked. “And it’s not like being out of the house helps. Being here is nice, but it’s a temporary solution.” The only thing that truly helped was moving, constantly moving, fighting and helping and protecting and moving until she couldn’t move anymore. She was so exhausted that it was weighing her down like lead, but even the exhaustion didn’t make it go away. The scrapes and bruises didn’t make it go away. 

Mina looked at this guy, this young man that she’d only ever really talked to in passing, and she couldn’t help but think of what a pair they made. But of them so utterly dejected and hurt and unable to feel comfortable in their own homes, both of them aching. 

Leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, Mina shook her head and laughed, but there wasn’t any joy in it. “Not a guy, no, just a girl who I gave my heart to without realizing it.” And she hadn’t realized it because she hadn’t thought it was possible, really, to care about someone that much. She couldn’t. She couldn’t. But she could, apparently, and it just ached. “It just aches,” she said out loud. “And I don’t even blame her for it. I’m not mad, just… I’m not mad.” Being mad would be pointless, and it wouldn’t make this stop. Nothing would. 

“Do you want to talk about this guy that you were trying to project onto me?” Mina asked, trying to keep her voice light but genuinely concerned. He seemed to need to talk, and she didn’t want to risk even more words spilling out without her wanting them to.

Alfie gave a knowing nod. As much relief he found here, there was just as much sadness. To a certain degree, he hated it here more. The weight of his self-proclaimed curse lived within those four walls behind him. At least back at his apartment he had means of distraction. 

When she explained what her own pain was linked to, Alfie’s head turned slightly towards her. They were in the exact same boat. "Yeah," he muttered, an empathetic frown flashing across his features. "Me too." It wasn't Eddie's fault that he didn't reciprocate Alfie's feelings. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't care for him in the exact same way. Eddie cared — of course he did. He offered Alfie friendship without hesitation. And even when Alfie tried to keep himself at a distance, Eddie never relented. How could he possibly be mad about that? If anything, it only made Alfie love him more. 

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” Alfie sighed. His feelings for Eddie were years in the making. Where was he supposed to start? The beginning? The first time they crossed paths as new neighbors? The first time Eddie dragged himself home from a shitty part-time job, pizza box in hand, and offered it to Alfie? The first time he crossed the boundary between their balconies and let himself into Alfie’s apartment? “He’s straight, for one thing. Not exactly fair of me to be as wrecked as I am, huh? I always knew that— that it would never work out.”

“I thought I’d made peace with it until he started seeing someone. A girl… obviously. Since… y’know… straight.” Alfie fumbled over his words, wringing his hands as he spoke. “Then, everything just sucked. I— I knew why it upset me pretty immediately. Not that I could tell him that. He’d probably resent me for it. And besides, it wouldn’t change anything.” Because he’s straight, Alfie almost reiterated. “So now I’m just some gay cliche; pining after my best friend.” Losing him because of it. He’d lose him either way. There was no winning. 

“I’m rather of the mindset that nothing’s particularly fair,” Mina said, her voice dry. It wasn’t fair that she was unable to be comfortable in her own skin. It wasn’t fair that Bex felt like she had to go back to her parents when she wasn’t safe there. It wasn’t fair that Mina was stuck on her when Bex clearly didn’t feel the same. “It’s very hard to stop yourself from liking someone once you’ve started doing it, even if that was never the intention. Not like that, at least.” 

Or maybe it was just that Mina couldn’t stop once she thought it was reciprocated. She’d been able to stop herself before, from caring about people. It hadn’t been hard; no one had ever cared about her. Not like that. And everytime she thought she might be genuinely attracted to one of the younger hunters that she and her dad had worked with, she reminded herself that she couldn’t and that they’d never feel that way about her. It helped when they confirmed these thoughts. They always did.

But Mina allowed herself to fall, hard and fast and reckless, and it had been wonderful, and it had been devastating, and, as soon as she came to terms with it, it had been hell. There’s nothing quite like seeing that the person who you’d do absolutely anything for already in a serious, public relationship with someone else.

“I don’t know much about cliches, unfortunately,” Mina said, “but, if it makes you feel any better, I’m in love--” in love, in love, in love, and even the thought of it ached in its sincerity because there was no lie, “-- with someone that moved on so fast I think it gave me actual whiplash.”

Alfie’s heart ached at her words. He tried desperately to not have feelings for Eddie, but they always crept back up at the most inconvenient times. It was never anything more than attraction, or so he thought. But as time went by and he opened himself up to the other man, it was impossible for Alfie to deny that he’d formed a crush on his neighbor. To hear that this feeling was not exclusive to him was almost comforting. At least, as comforting as two forlorn and pining people could be to each other. 

“You were in a relationship, then?” Alfie asked, trying to maintain a steady voice. That seemed worse than what he was going through. No matter how much physical affection Eddie gave him, it never came with a label. Why would it? That was just how Eddie was; physical. 

Alfie recalled the first time he met Bex and how quickly he assumed she’d spent time canoodling with Eddie on the couch. No matter how much he tried to push the idea aside and brush it off as something that Eddie usually did with friends, he couldn’t help feeling jealous that he wasn’t the only one to receive that sort of attention from him. The moment Bex showed up at Eddie’s doorstep with a gift, Alfie should have known that it would lead to something more than friendship. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how that must feel,” Alfie stated. But he could. He did. All too well, in fact. 

He thought about reaching out to give her a consoling pat on the shoulder. That’s what people did, right? Used physical touch to make someone feel better? Alfie didn’t know much about that. He usually just wanted to be left alone when he was upset. Maybe she shared this feeling, too. Instead, Alfie decided to ask more questions that might help. “Have you talked to her about it? I mean — that’s a dumb question, huh? I’m sure you have if you were in love.” Are in love, he remembered. 

“We… didn’t really call it anything,” Mina said. And they hadn’t. I want you. They wanted each other. Bex had hurt someone for her. “I mean, we kissed and we spent a lot of time together, and I don’t know how to fall asleep without her around, but we never-- We didn’t call it a relationship.” 

Bex was Mina’s best friend. She was one of the most important people in Mina’s life, and she’d worked her way into that position in a very, very short amount of time. It was terrifying, how much Mina cared about Bex. It was terrifying how much she’d do for her. Having a name for it didn’t make it any easier. Sometimes, it made it worse.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize.” It hurts. It hurts. Mina said, “It hurts, but I don’t think I would trade it? I wouldn’t trade it, actually.” It was devastating, but there was a part of her that was in awe over the fact that she could feel something that she just hadn’t thought was possible for her entire life. It made the hurt worth it.

“Absolutely not,” Mina said. “She doesn’t-- We’re not really talking. About that. Any of that. I don’t know if I could, really, at this point. It’d probably just make this worse. That tends to be what I do, most of the time. Make things worse. It always feels like I make things worse.” She swallowed back words, all of them too much, just wanting to spill from her throat without her permission. She changed course instead. “I didn’t introduce myself. I never have, actually, despite how long it’s been. My name is Mina. Wilhelmina Fitzroy, actually, but that’s rather long, isn’t it? Just Mina is fine.”

“Oh,” Alfie said, pretending to understand how two people could kiss without “calling it anything”. It was normal, right? One night stands. Friends with benefits. Then again, he supposed those were labels. Maybe there was a label that applied here — not that it was any of his business. Just because he liked to assign words to things didn’t mean everyone else had to. 

Whatever their relationship entailed, it baffled Alfie. Clearly, she was emotionally suffering. Why wouldn’t she want to trade that if she could? Given the chance, Alfie would have easily traded his feelings towards Eddie for a normal friendship with him. That’s what Eddie wanted, after all — for things to be normal between them. For his best friend to not disappear the second his girlfriend came around. If he could give Eddie that kind of friendship, he would; even if — especially if — it meant no longer having feelings for him. 

Alfie frowned when she mentioned feeling that she had a knack for making things worse. Admittedly, he doubted that was true, but he couldn’t exactly tell her that she didn’t. He didn’t know her, aftall. So when she offered a proper introduction before he had a chance to find the appropriate thing to say, Alfie was grateful. “Mina,” he repeated as he flashed her a smile and extended his hand for her to shake. “Alfie,” he stated simply before elaborating. “Actually, if it makes you feel any better, my full name’s Alfonzo Ramirez. Just as much of a mouthful. But, uh… It’s a pleasure to officially meet you, Mina.”

“She was my best friend,” Mina said quickly, the words coming out in a desperate attempt to try and explain. “And then she was more, and now she’s everything and nothing at all.” And that’s somehow what Bex had become. Because Mina would still do anything for her; that hadn’t changed. But Bex was unreachable. Even if they still talked sometimes. Even if she still acted like she cared, sometimes. 

Did the explanation even help? Honestly, Mina didn’t know. It didn’t change anything. It wasn’t any sort of revelation that finding out that she was actually in love had been. It was just undeniable truth. She knew it to be true like she knew mathematical theory, like she knew most of Einuadi’s pieces by heart, like she knew the sting of cold iron slashing and burning through skin. She knew it intimately. It wasn’t a groundbreaking thing, to say the words out loud. It just made her sad. 

“It’s nice to meet you, officially, Alfie,” Mina said, shaking his hand. It was warm, hot, even. She wondered if he had a fever, but he seemed alright. “I wish it was under better circumstances for both of us, though. “What about you and your friend?im sorry about the girlfriend, and all of that, but… I don’t think you should be so hard on yourself, for falling in love with him, or for feeling like you can’t be around him. If he’d resent you for your feelings, then I don’t know if he’s a good friend at all.”

Who knew a simple phrase like “she was my best friend” could hit Alfie so profoundly? Eddie might not have been anything more than that — his best friend — but the sentiment resonated more than Alfie wanted to admit. Would the same ring true for their friendship soon enough? Would Eddie somehow become “everything and nothing at all” for him? He didn’t want that. He wanted his best friend. No girlfriends. No boyfriends. He just wanted Eddie. Why couldn’t it be that simple? 

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Alfie assured before releasing Mina’s hand and wiping his palm against his pant leg. He hadn’t realized how clammy he was until his skin came in contact with hers. With any luck, she didn’t notice — or if she had, he hoped she wasn’t completely repulsed by him now. The fact that she continued the conversation by asking him more about his situation was probably a good sign, right? “My friend,” he reiterated with a forced chuckle. 

“It’s complicated.” Far more complicated than Alfie knew how to put into words. As it turned out, Eddie didn’t resent him for having feelings for him. It would have been easier if he did. No matter how hard Alfie tried to pretend that his relationship with Bex had little to no effect on him, he failed. Miserably. It didn’t take long at all for the other man to piece everything together; he read Alfie like a book. Eddie still wanted to be friends, that much was certain, but he needed it to work out with Bex. Whatever that meant. It would be good for him. It was what he wanted. So, Alfie had to accept it no matter how much it killed him.

“But, uh… thank you. It means a lot, really. It’s not that—” Alfie allowed himself to trail off, his shoulders drooping once again with a deep sigh. “He doesn’t resent me, though. I wish he did, but… He’s a really good guy. He doesn’t get enough credit for just how good he is, actually. In fact, I don’t think he even realizes it. I should have told him more, y’know? Before… before all of this. And from what I can tell, she’s a really nice girl.” As he spoke, Alfie’s eyes wandered further away from Mina, deciding that the tufts of grass, dirt, and leaves around the porch were somehow interesting. “He deserves someone good — someone like him. I was always shit to him, anyway.”

“Complicated is… familiar,” Mina murmured in response. Because things had never been not been complicated. There had never really been a moment when things had been going well. There had always been something. Warden ex-boyfriends, out of control werewolves, homicidal selkies, houses falling down, a mother that treated her daughter like prey. Nothing had ever been easy. And then it was gone, and all that was left was feelings and hurt and dreams that lingered and shifted themselves into nightmares. So Mina tried not to sleep much. She was always so tired. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” she said quickly. Even if Mina didn’t know how to twist people’s thanks into favors, it was better to play it safe. “Please don’t. Thank me.” She glanced over at him, tired and as sad as she was, and she rubbed at her injured arm hidden under her sleeves. “I’m glad he doesn’t resent you, and that he’s kind and good, though I know that doesn’t lessen your pain. Trust me, I know.” She knew all too well. She knew what it was like to just want someone to be happy.

Alfie’s words were cutting, even if he didn’t realize it. Mina also thought that Bex deserved someone good. And the Youtube guy (Eddie, his name was Eddie) seemed good. He seemed kind. He was funny and probably really easy to be around, and he probably didn’t keep things from her. He was probably human. He could probably give Bex more than Mina ever could. “I--” Her voice was higher than she wanted it to be. She cleared her throat. “I get that. I do.” She did. She did. She did.

Eddie’s goodness did not, in fact, lessen Alfie’s pain, just as their conversation the day after the fateful karaoke night hadn’t. Everything was confusing. He’d never been more uncertain of anything in his life and he’d… well, he’d lived more lives than he cared to admit. He wondered if it was ever simple for him, but highly doubted that was the case. 

On the other hand, Mina asking that he not thank her was also not something that Alfie was able to successfully process. “I mean it, though,” he continued with a gentle smile. “Talking with you… it’s been nice.” He hadn’t even been this forthright when it came to talking to his sister, Leah. She knew more specifics than Mina did, but until now he hadn’t allowed anyone to really know how the entire situation made him feel — Eddie didn’t even get an actual confession. 

“It’s gonna get better, Mina. Things suck now, but it’ll get better. For both of us. I promise.”

Mina managed a small smile. “It has been nice. All the same, you shouldn’t thank me. It’s-- This has been nice for me, too, in a weird, kind of painful way. There’s nothing to thank, truly.” And maybe that was a bit more information than was needed, but still. It was true. Of course it was true. All she could manage was the truth.

Eyes widening at the promise, Mina stood up. “No. I release you from that promise. Don’t promise things like that.” There wasn’t much of a chance that things were going to get better than they already were. Not for her. She was stuck like this for the rest of her life. It was luck that she’d managed to do it once, fall in love. She didn’t want to do it again. She couldn’t do it again. She couldn’t. 

“I hope… I hope it gets better for you, Alfie. I really do.” Mina gave him a sad smile. “But you shouldn’t make promises to people that can’t be kept. It’s dangerous. Especially around here.” Especially with people like me. “I-- It was really nice talking to you. I appreciate you talking with me.” 

Alfie should have known better than to go around making idle promises to strangers in the woods, but here he was. As soon as Mina interjected, giving him a proper scolding all the same, Alfie’s eyes widened. Fae — she had to be. No one could grow up in the Ramirez family without learning how to keep themselves safe from all harm. Nevermind how disappointed his parents would have been if they knew, Leah would be upset enough for the both of them. The thought made him chuckle, although his timing wasn’t so appropriate.

“Sorry, sorry… I— mmm…” Alfie pursed his lips together as he carefully rose from the porch. The less he said the better, right? “I hope everything works out for you, then.” Were wishes a fae thing? Shit, he couldn’t remember. Even so, that couldn’t have counted as a wish, right? “Sorry,” he murmured again. Fae or not, she seemed alright in his book. Granted, his knowledge was far more limited than other studious members of his family. For all he knew, Mina would sneak into his cabin while he slept and turn him into a tree. 

He almost reached out for a parting handshake but instead gave a timid wave goodbye. “Yeah, of course.” Anytime, Alfie stopped himself from saying. “It was, uh… a pleasure to meet you, Mina. Maybe I’ll see you around, neighbor.” Even now, while he was desperate to escape his life outside of these woods, the word didn’t sound quite right. He wouldn’t last the night in this cabin.

[sebspocketsquare]

Quarantine 7

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (online)

A/N: Heya guys! Here’s part 7! I hope you enjoy it ;)

Warnings: Flirting, language, quarantine, feels, fluff, moments of sadness, storms 

[J:] So.. Saturday at 5:00. Sound good?

[You:] Sounds perfect :) Let’s hope this weather clears up before then..

It was late afternoon, you were eating your first meal of the day.

A bowl of your favorite cereal.

[J:] I really enjoyed our date last night, by the way.. 

[J:] Sorry I was pretty nervous at first..

You smile, setting your bowl on the coffee table as you respond.

[You:] Oh, you don’t have to be sorry at all.. I was just as nervous as you were :)

[You:] First dates are always weird, J..

[You:] Ours just happened to be a little weirder than most. :P

[J:] I really really REALLY hate first dates…

You’re about to respond, tell him you feel the exact same way, but…

[J:] And yet, I still love ours.

[J:] And I’m really looking forward to the next one. :)

His text has your heart fluttering like a swarm of butterflies, and you decide to change the subject.

[You:] Speaking of our date..

[You:] I believe we made a deal, didn’t we?

You can see him start typing, erase it and stop, and then start typing again.

This pattern repeats four times before an actual message comes through.

[J:] You first.

You knew he was nervous about this part for some reason, so you had no issue with obliging this request.

Luckily you had brushed your hair today when you first woke up, put on your moisturizer and a bit of mascara. You weren’t as dolled up as you could be, but you thought it was better this way.

If quarantine had taught you anything, it was how to be comfortable with your bare face, to fall in love with some of your natural qualities.

Taking a seat in a chair by the window, you open your camera and take a few selfies from the more flattering angles you’d looked up on pinterest.

They’re pretty enough, but not what you’re looking for.

With a sigh, you look out the window at a lone, common starling sitting on the branch of a tree. He looks to you and cocks his head, as if to say ‘hello’. Your lip curls into a half smile, and at that moment, your thumb slips and captures an accidental photo.

It would turn out to be the perfect one.

It takes you exactly six and a half minutes to actually gain the courage to press send.

As soon as you do, you put your phone screen down on the table and groan, hiding your face in your hands.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuuuck. Why did I send that one?” 

You suddenly regret not putting more makeup on, not editing out the tiny blemish on your chin, not being certain that your hair wasn’t frizzy.

What if this was it - the beginning of the end?

Your phone buzzes from its place on the table.

Once.

Twice.

Three times, before you pick it up.

It’s a string of texts from J, with more coming in with every moment that passes.

[J:] Doll

[J:] Goddamnnnnn…

[J:] You are seriously the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

[J:] Like… are you real??

[J:] How did i get so goddamn lucky?

[J:] Your eyes are so gorgeous, holy shit.

If you weren’t warm in the face before, you were now.

[You:] Don’t stare too much. :P

[J:] Too late for that. I can’t stop.

He’s silent for a few minutes, and you’re sure it’s because he’s staring at your photo again.

[You:] I do believe it’s your turn, Sarge. ;)

It takes him even longer to reply this time.

He starts typing, stops, and then starts again in a vicious cycle.

[J:] You don’t wanna see me, Doll.. I haven’t shaved in like three weeks…

You can’t help but pout a little bit.

[You:] We made a deal, J :(

[You:] Don’t hide those pretty blue eyes from me.

Hopeful that your playful attempt at comfort would be convincing enough for him, you set your phone back on the coffee table and head to the kitchen to wash your dishes.

When you return five minutes later, you’re happy to find that you have two new messages.

[J:] Alright, just.. I hope you’re not disappointed.

[J:]

Your jaw goes slack and you can’t tear your eyes away from his.

They were beautiful. 

The way the deep blue of the outer edge surrounded the light blue-grey iris reminded you of crashing ocean waves, and you wanted nothing more than to get lost in them.

You can’t tell if time has slowed down or if you just weren’t breathing correctly anymore, but you can hear your heart beating in your ears as you look him over.

He’s gorgeous. The glittering grey hairs throughout his beard only made him even more attractive and for some strange reason, all you wanted to do was run your fingertips through it.

Was he even real?

[J:] Doll…?

You don’t even realize it’s been fifteen minutes since he’s sent the picture.

[You:] Sorry, it’s just..

[You:] You know you’re gorgeous, right?

[You:] Like.. Probably the most beautiful man in the history of like.. Ever??

You’re well aware you sound like a bit of a fangirl, but so what? He was breathtaking.

[J:] You’re just being nice.

A scoff escapes your lips as you respond.

[You:] Um, no. 

[You:] I meant it.

[You:] I can’t believe you’ve been hiding those eyes from me for so long.

[J:] You’re too kind.

You decide to tease him a little.

[You:] Are you blushing, Sarge? ;)

[J:] I just might be, doll.

The rest of your day is spent chatting back and forth. J said he had to do some assignments for work on his computer, so he couldn’t game until really late that night, but it didn’t bother you.

It gave you a chance to relax and watch some TV for a while.

The first channel that comes up is the news, and you’re about to turn it off, but something catches your eye.

They’re interviewing Captain America, a fluff piece of him telling you what you can do to help your community - proper social distancing measures and proper handwashing etiquette.

He’s wearing a mask, so only the bottom half of his face is visible, but he looks oddly familiar.

It takes five minutes of watching it to realize who he reminds you of.

Sam. J’s Sam.

You pick up your phone, deciding to share your thoughts.

[You:] So.. I was watching the news..

[J:] Yikes.

[You:] Yeah..

[You:] Have you ever noticed how much Sam and Captain America look alike?

He takes ten minutes to respond, and by this time, the interview with the Captain is over, and you’ve moved on to a re-run of one of your favorite shows.

[J:] Uh, no…

[J:] Why?

[J:] What makes you think that?

All three texts come in quick succession, almost as if they were sent out of panic.

Two more show up on your screen in the same spirit.

[J:] Besides, haven't you seen Sam’s arms? He’s got fucking bird arms.

[J:] Captain America is super buff. No way they’re the same person.

You think back to when Sam came to your apartment to install your security system, and you specifically remember thinking how nice his arms were..

But the fact that J seems to be a little uncomfortable with your observation has you feeling weird too, so you decide to drop the subject for now.

[You:] I guess you’re right. My mind must be playing tricks on me.

[You:] I blame the quarantine.

The reply you receive is only three letters long, and it doesn’t sit right with you either.

[J:] Lol

SUNDAY, 4:15PM

You’ve been awake since noon, which is early for you nowadays. 

It’s been nearly hailing all day, and it was beginning to also put a damper on your mood.

You had to cancel your second date due to the storms, and your make-up date with J was supposed to be in forty five minutes, but there was no way it could happen with the weather in its current state.

It’s be surprising if the whole city didn’t lose power at this rate.

[You:] I think we’re gonna have to cancel again tonight, J.. 

[You:] It’s just getting worse as time goes on.

It breaks your heart to have to cancel on him twice in only a matter of two days, but the cons outweigh the pros in this situation.

[J:] But… our date

[J:] :(

Releasing a heavy sigh, you send back a sad face of your own, chewing the inside of your cheek in an attempt to not let your emotions get the best of you.

[New photo message from J. To view image, unlock device]

The message appears on your screen moments after you’ve begun packing away your date set up. Something in your gut told you he wasn’t going to listen to your recommendation to stay home.

When you open it, you’re not surprised at what you find, but you are absolutely smitten.

 [J:] I’m on my way, doll. Don’t give up on me just yet.

[J:]

You get so distracted staring at his lips, his goddamn perfect, beautiful lips that you don’t notice when twenty minutes has passed since he sent the photo.

He’d be here sooner than you expected, and worse, he was walking in the rain to do it.

What were you going to do with a man who’s stubbornness matched your own?

You decide to set a blanket outside, along with a thermos full of hot coffee.

The sky is dark grey, almost black in some spots, and the fact that it was only 5:00 only made it that much more obvious how nasty of a storm this was turning out to be.

You hoped he was okay.

Back against the door, you sit and wait for him.

Within half an hour, his signature sound of arrival hits the door in quick succession.

Knock. Knock Knock. Knock.

Always in time with your heart.

“How bad was your walk?” You ask immediately, to which you hear a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “That bad, huh?”

“The thunder was pretty loud. Made me jump a few times.” He finally confesses.

Your heart drops, “J.. I told you not to come. I know you wanted to have our date, and I.. I really did too, but.. It’s freezing and raining. You could get sick.”

Concern is dripping from each and every word, and you miss the way his entire face lights up. His heart flutters at hearing how much you care for him. About him.

“Yeah, well, doll.. You’re worth it. Thanks for the coffee by the way. Good call.”

You hear him set his backpack down, followed by his jacket rubbing against the door as he sits. He lets out a half sigh, half hiss when his jeans hit the concrete beneath him, and you’re sure he’s completely soaked to the bone.

Outwardly, you say nothing. Silence. 

He’s not sure if you’re upset or angry. Or maybe just lost in contemplation.

Inwardly, you’re facing a battle. 

A battle between letting a man whom you had surprisingly strong feelings for sit out in the rain and catch a cold, and letting said man inside your apartment during a nationwide quarantine, never having met him face to face.

The lights flicker on and off. On and off again.

The thunder rumbles and you can see the sky flash through your curtains.

J lets out a soft, “Doll?”

Your windows fill with a quick, bright, white light for a moment, before the loudest crash of thunder makes your body tremble.

Your apartment goes black and silent in a matter of seconds, and J releases a quiet, “What the hell?”

Your hands are quaking, and your heartbeat kicks into overdrive as you make your final choice.

TAGS: (I wasnt sure who to tag, so if you dont want to be, I’m sorry!! Just trying to get this out there. ALSO if you wanna be tagged INBOX ME! I tend to miss people in the tags :(  ).  @mindingmyownbusiness​ @plumfondler​  @buckybarnesappreciationsociety​ @loricameback​ @tinaferraldo​ @geminimoonbeamx​  @preserumsteverogers​ @moderapoppins​ @lowkeysebby​ @buckyshattergirl​  @jayattemptstoruletheworld​    @the-observant-fangirl​ @moondancewrites​ @moonbeambucky​ @trinityjadec​  @stevieang​  @bionic-buckyb​ @eyecandybarnes​ @propertyofpoeandbucky​ @promarvelfangirl​ @ballyhoobarnes​ @bucky-plums-barnes​ @cate-lynne​ @witchymarvelspacecase​ @imaginingbucky​ @theimpossibleg1rl​ @babygurl8840 @wonderlandmind4 @buckysthing​ @formulafun​ @curvybihufflepuff​ @fanficsformarvelkillme​  @shadyskit​ @lostinthoughtsandfeelings​ @reading–mermaid @fuckmestan​ @siliverin​ @verygraphicink​ @sallyp-53 @thatsbucknasty​ @steadyphantomcat​ @booktease21 @kiki5283 @lostinspace33 @drayshadow​ @theperditioncrasher​ @mmyepic​ @feelmyroarrrr@alien-beans @heartsaved​ @sideeffectsofyou​ @dreamingofonceuponatime​ @just-a-littlebit-of-everything​ @bluerorjhan​ @tarynsnotokay​ @jamdropx35 @turquoisekokiri​ @pinknerdpanda​​ @starkrobb​ @marvelgirl7​ @unscriptedtimetraveler​ @fangeekkk​ @wonderlandmind4​ @pinkisokay​ @mrsdaamneron​ @rynabarnesrogers​ @wish-i-had-something-better​ @stanning-seb-stan​ @oilersgirl35​ @vaisabu​ @paranoid-borderline-insane​ @bonkywobble​ @vikki-rogue​ @witchymegg​ @a--1--1--3​ @margetastic33​ @stuffandstuff-stuff​ @broken-hearted-barnes​ @elementec​ @thummbelina​ @booktease21​ @the-murder-strut-murdered-me​ @haileystudy

[cafeinthemoon]

To Where the Water Take Me - Chapter II

Title:  To Where the Water Take Me

Genre: Fanfiction | Fantasy!AU

Pairing: Tobirama Senju x Yua (Ofc)

Rating: Teen | up

Word count: 2703

Chapter (s): 2/?

Warnings: minor injury

Read the previous chapter here: Chapter 1

Symbols: ⭕ | ➕ | 💛 | ▶▶

Chapter 2 - Gratitude

The seaman explained the situation in a deep, clear voice that both surprised and interested the girl.

- I am not afraid of you and I can perfectly understand what you are saying, girl of the land. I am grateful for what you did for me despite not having the obligation to do so. However, though I am aware of its unsettling appearance, this injury in my chest is the least of my problems. It was a result of an altercation I had with someone of my own people, and with this seaweed I managed to find during my escape it could be properly treated. But… – he then seemed to regain his courage and looked the girl in the eye – My face was also injured during the fight, as you can see, and I cannot take off my protector and treat the bruise until I go back to the deep sea and find a quiet place to do it in particular.

Even with the strangeness of the situation, Yua could sense through his tone and manners that he was not joking; despite her lack of knowledge about his people’s standards regarding education, it was clear that he must have received the finest one. Among her people, he would be certainly taken as a noble man; it was obvious that he wasn’t from the lower classes, if such thing existed in his world.

Still, she didn’t understand why he would need to find a hideout just to treat an injury on his face. That was illogical in all senses.

- I’m sorry – she started – But I don’t understand why you cannot take it off here and now. We could treat your injury as we did with the other.

He stared at the girl with something between embarrassment and annoyance, as someone who had to explain something obvious like as a social rule to someone but then remembered that the person came from another land where the said rule didn’t exist.

- In fact, I could not expect that someone from the land would know about such things – he sighed – Listen. I serve as Commander of the regiments responsible for guarding the gates and the territories connected to our Village, hidden in the depths of the sea. My forehead protector is a symbol of honor, a reminder of my purpose. I hope you do not feel offended by the way I am going to put things, girl, but it cannot be taken off in front of any people. I can only show myself without it to the closest people in my life, or to my own reflection.

She reflected on this.

- The closest people in your life… such as your relatives, or a spouse?

- Exactly.

Yua thought of this for a moment. So, not wearing that protector was like being naked in front of a stranger. It wasn’t something she would submit herself to; so why would she demand such thing from him, even though the rules of the sea didn’t apply to the land? But he still needed to treat that bruise, and his current conditions wouldn’t allow him to go too far without help.

The girl decided to reasonate with him.

- I wouldn’t want you to do anything embarrassing, of course – with her fingers, she put her hair behind her ear – But you see, we are alone here, and for all purposes and intents, your social etiquette is strange to me, so it wouldn’t make a difference if I saw you without your protector.

He frowned and his cheeks’ skin changed its tone to a green shade. Judging by the color of his blood, she understood that as a reaction equal to the human blush.

- Are you saying this because you are really oblivious to our culture – he started in a harsh tone – Or is it an excuse to satisfy some fetish of yours?

Yua opened her mouth, but no words left it. Did she really hear what she thought she heard? A sudden irritation grew inside her, and with much effort she managed to not give him a rude reply.

- I just did you a favor and this is what I receive for it? Suspicions? – she sighed and then hoped her own cheeks would not blush with what she was going to say next – Just to make things clear, whether you are wearing your forehead protector or not doesn’t make any difference to me because I am seeing everything I could expected to see from you right now – and looking at him up to down, to the edges of his tail – To me you are already naked.

If the seaman was already embarrassed before, now he stared at Yua with a scandalized look. In a nervous gesture he shook his tail, splashing wet sand and salty water to all directions; the girl protected her eyes with her hands.

- How can you say something so outrageous?! – he almost screamed in indignation – An honored individual of the sea people would never leave his house without being properly dressed!

Yua was still confused.

- But you are wearing no clothing at all!

Now the merman was about to lose his hope in her and her people.

- It seems that I will have to explain everything to you, then – his exasperation couldn’t be hidden.

- If you don’t want it, you don’t have to – she replied, not hiding her impatience.

But he explained it anyway.

- It might not seem like this to you, but the scales the cover the lower side of our bodies work as a natural protection. They are extensions directly grown out of our sensitive skin. It spares us from injuries, the damage of extreme environments and the inconveniences that bother you men of the land, who have to cover yourselves up with fabric, sometimes taken from other living creatures.

Yua stood in silence for a moment. In those words there were much information for one to process at once. First, the concept of being naked was something completely different to their people, even more than she expected. Second, while she knew nothing about his species regarding this, he seemed to have a reasonable knowledge of hers. That didn’t sound fair to her.

- Well, excuse me if I wasn’t expecting to have my people’s habits discussed and judged by the person who I just helped – she gathered the remaining seaweed and offered it to him – You can take this back now. Since you don’t need me anymore, you can just go back to your home and take care of yourself.

He didn’t take the plant, though. When Yua raised her eyes to him, she saw no more irritation in his traits now. When he spoke again, his tone was low and composed.

- Well, you are right. Perhaps I was too rigid towards you and your people. Allow me to apologize for my behavior.

And before the girl could find proper words to respond, she held her breath.

The sea man, so proud and secure about himself just a moment ago, bent down and put his hands on his face; when they moved away, they were holding the protector. He washed the blood on the sea water and looked at her. Yua could see his entire face for the first time. And it left her speechless.

Looking at his face was like looking at the sea itself if it had the face of a living being; it was a physical manifestation of the ocean. Despite the similarities with a human face, calling it human felt wrong, inappropriate, for the more she looked, less humanity she saw in him, this one being replaced with something else, for which she couldn’t find a name.

The red lines on his chin and cheeks were longer than she first imagined, almost touching his jawline, both steady and delicate in its shape as a combination of the wild and the rational sides of his nature, and the same pattern was found in the rest of his traits: his eyes, with their narrow, perspicacious format, his firm nose and his mouth with fine lips, almost as pale as the rest of his skin. The seaman was both old and young, abstract and sentient, unique as an individual and part of the water.

All of this was sensed by Yua in an instant. But she didn’t have enough time to deliberate: the new stream of blood falling from the injury and staining his skin shook her out of her contemplation and urged her to work. She took the seaweed and with the same gentleness as before, she covered the injury, which was more superficial than the one on his chest judging by the less frequent hisses from his part. She waited for a wave to approach them, put her hands under the water and cleaned the remaining drops of blood from his face.

Finally, she stated that her work was finished. Nothing lasted from the medicine that time. The girl washed her hands when a new wave reached their spot and shook them before trying to dry them in her already soaked clothes.

She observed in silence while he put back his protector, hiding the treated injury. When he asked if there was something wrong, she startled a bit, then smiled.

- Nothing. It’s just that… You’re beautiful.

He stared at her in silence; if trying to assimilate what she just said or surprised with the girl’s honesty, only he could tell. However, the bluish shade that came up to his cheeks convinced her that he was experiencing a combination of these two feelings.

The seaman looked away, affecting irritation.

- A silly concept of beauty, this one. It’s always expected that the highest ranked representatives of our Hidden Village’s Security show themselves in a presentable way.

At that point, Yua was no longer willing to argue over superfluous matters. It was obvious that this man had an elevated opinion of himself and that his current circumstances must have been a strike in his pride, which explained his salty manners since their first words were exchanged. From now on, his mood would be appeased as his injuries heal. In the end, she even started to find it funny.

- If it’s something so silly, there’s no use in getting irritated over it, right? – she laughed, then sighed – It was just a compliment. Why don’t you just accept it and move on?

He looked at Yua as if her suggestion was something that he could never think of by himself.

- Well, if it makes you content – he nodded in a ceremonial way – I accept your compliment. Thank you for finding me… beautiful.

The girl laughed even harder at his formality. But that time it didn’t seem to bother him.

Her apron, still in his hands and once white, was now entirely blue. He raised it and apologized for the staining it. She assured him there was no problem and explained that she had others as good as that one at home.

- You can keep it with you or get rid of it. Do as you please – she shrugged.

He glanced over his shoulder, to the sea, and raised one hand. It didn’t go unnoticed to her that the gesture made by him was similar to the common hand seals used by human shinobi. So the use of those arts were familiar to the people of the sea too?

At his gesture, a significant amount of water separated itself from the waves and ran toward them. Yua considered standing up and moving back, but the water calmed down even before reaching them. It raised to his hand’s reach, covered it and fell off, blending with the small waves as a part of them and leaving something white, shiny on it. He covered the object between his palms for a second, then he showed it to the girl.

It was a shell.

- I cannot remove the stains of your piece of fabric, but I can make amends for it – he offered the shell to her – Please, accept it as my apologies.

When Yua looked closer to the shell, she noticed a small pattern upon its polished surface. It was a mark. She turned to him, seeking for an explanation.

- I’ve put one of my seals on it. This seal is an essential part of my teleportation technique. If you ever need my help, you can hold it under the sea water. I will sense the seal’s location and come for you.

The girl didn’t know what to think of feel about that. She did nothing but a small favor to a person in need. Was her gesture worthy of such a debt?

She decided to refuse the offer.

- I’m sorry, but I can’t accept it – she showed her palms to punctuate her refusal – I’m happy that I was able to help you, but that’s too much! I can’t demand something like this from you!

He insisted.

- Listen. We, who live in the depths of the sea, have experienced war and violence during our whole recent history. Because of this, moments of peace and kind gestures like yours are valuable to us, and we do what we can to keep them in memory. This shell is a sign of our philosophy – he held the shell out to her for the second time – It is the appropriate way to show my gratitude for your time and effort in taking care of my injuries. So, please, accept it.

Yua looked at the shell again. She observed its elegant shape, the white bright on its surface dividing itself in thousands of colored rays at the pale light of that cloudy morning, and imagined what it would look like if it was directly touched by the sun. She had to agree with him: that single jewel of the ocean, so small in his hands, was indeed the perfect representation of one’s gratitude; if gentleness could be transformed into something concrete, it would certainly resemble that shell.

The seaman, seeing her hesitation, smiled.

- It is just a gift – and repeating her own words – Why don’t you just accept it and move on?

Finally, she raised her hands, her palms turned up, and let him put the shell upon them. She looked at it for a moment, then turned to him again.

- I can’t even describe its beauty. We don’t see things like this everyday on the land – and with a smile – Thank you.

He nodded, as if he felt that he could finally be in peace now that she said yes to his offer.

Yua looked ahead of him, to the waves.

- So… Do you need help to go back to the water?

- No – he looked over his shoulder, and part of the grin on his mouth was visible to her – I am not dead yet.

- What are you going to do? – she raised an eyebrow.

When he looked at the girl again, the grin turned into a genuine smile.

- I am going to ask you to stand up and take a few steps away from the water, girl of the land. It is for your own good.

She obeyed, despite her confusion. And what she saw made her feel glad that she did it.

The seaman united his palms and closed his eyes. The small, calm waves rolling near his spot started to rise and combine with each other, forming a large swirl that revolved around his spot.

It was an impressive sight. The air surrounding the swirl became so agitated, spreading salty drops to all directions, that she was forced to cover her eyes for a moment. When she was able to look again, she saw the seaman’s face through the water wall and opened her mouth in surprise: the image was clear; there was no sign of the blurry that should be expected when one sees something through agitated waters.

Yua didn’t hear anything but the sound of the swirl, but she could swear that the seaman’s lips moved to form the words “thank you” while she was looking, right before disappearing behind a wave.

[things2mustdo]

It is often said that chivalry is dead, but why is that so and who is mourning? A recent article lamenting the rarity of the gentleman within the millennial male populace would seem to provide something of an answer to that question. The author of the piece, Hope Rodriguez, contends that millennial men are severely lacking in gentlemanly traits, and explains to us why they should “man up” and correct these errors.

1. Elevator etiquette I don’t care how big of a hurry you’re in, or how slow she may walk, if there is a female or five on the elevator with you, you hold your arm in the door and let them off first.

2. R-E-S-P-E-C-T (sing it to the tune of Aretha Franklin) If a female walks past you, for God’s sake, do not turn your head and stare at her behind. If she is talking to you, don’t stare down her shirt. If you’re driving down the road, don’t honk or yell “hey sexy!!!!” Gross. Undressing a girl with your eyes is one of the most disgusting and degrading things you could possibly do to her. Don’t worry about getting a date, you’ve already ruined it by being a pig.

3. Give up your seat. Whether she is old, young, pregnant, active, fat, skinny, whatever; if the bus, classroom, etc. is full, get up from your chair and offer your seat to a female who is standing. If you chose to stay in your seat and force ladies to remain standing, make sure you remember to take off your maxi pad on the way out. (oops, did I just say that?!)

4. Pay attention to the fact that the world is more threatening for females We are automatic targets everywhere we go, especially at night. I don’t need to get into the subject of rape. Walk your female coworkers to their cars at night. Just watch out for the women around you, they’ll definitely appreciate it.

5. Be polite. Compliment a lady today. They aren’t going to automatically assume that you want to have babies with them just because you said they look nice today. You would be surprised by what can make a woman smile. Little things, men. Little things.

6. Hold the door. If we are pretty far behind, we don’t expect you to hold the door open for us. It makes us feel like we need to hurry to the door. However, if there is a woman walking behind you or relatively close behind you, do NOT let a door shut on her.

7. Driveway etiquette My son will know that he will NOT drive up to a female’s house and honk the horn or shoot her a text that says “I’m here, come get in the car.” If a guy comes to pick my future daughter up for a date, and he honks the horn or texts her to pick her up, I’m going to walk outside and tell him to go home. Walk up to the door, knock on the door, and then walk her to your car. At the end of the night, walk her back to her door. I don’t care if you’re just friends or you’re married. It’s what you’re supposed to do.

Guys: man up. Bring back gentlemanly behaviors. It would definitely be appreciated.

Unfortunately for this author, her requests are simply incompatible with the notions of gender equality that our society has embraced wholeheartedly and integrated aggressively into its legal and social order.

For example, the modern man on an elevator with women has been raised and conditioned to respect those women as his equals. Equals do not receive special consideration over other equals on the basis of gender or any other marker. Equals are treated… equally. Providing the benefit of this etiquette to women simply because they are women would fundamentally contradict notions of equality that we’re heavily invested in as a society. A man who truly believes in equality and all of the values that it represents is going to practice that elevator etiquette with everyone he meets regardless of gender. He will be polite to everyone. He will respect everyone. He will practice driveway etiquette with everyone, and he will hold the door or give up a seat for anyone who actually needs it. He will not engage in these behaviors selectively on the basis of gender because he has been taught not to discriminate in that way.

A few of Ms. Rodriguez’s other statements betray outright ignorance, naiveté or both. Take these, for example:

…Walk your female coworkers to their cars at night…

… Compliment a lady today. They aren’t going to automatically assume that you want to have babies with them just because you said they look nice today…

The first statement sounds like an excellent way to invite a sexual harassment suit or attract potential discipline for violations of workplace conduct. Your typical corporate millennial females are unlikely to tolerate this unsolicited “escort” on the part of their male coworkers, much less appreciate it. Unless they have already been deemed attractive by these females (most men won’t be in this category), the men attempting to provide this escort will be labeled “creepy” at best, and accused of stalking at worst. No good can come of this.

The second just sounds naive: any man who has interacted with modern millennial females for any period of time will understand that many of them will jump to precisely that conclusion, and will also sometimes react negatively upon doing so. Hope Rodriguez is not a man and so could possibly be forgiven for not understanding these things at the outset, but she needs to change that if she hopes to have any advice she writes for men taken seriously.

That brings me to my next point: Ms. Rodriguez seems not to grasp the true nature of the chivalrous ideals she yearns for or the environment in which she currently lives. The concept of chivalry required men to be perfect gentlemen in their conduct, but said behavior was not intended for every female they met. It was more specifically designed to govern male conduct with ladies. Chivalrous codes of conduct required a gentleman to execute them, and a lady to receive them..

Ladies had their own rules to follow, and it was only through the adherence to those rules that they could qualify for the receipt of chivalry from a gentleman. Chivalric codes of conduct traveled on a two way street: the gentleman cannot exist without the lady, and vice-versa. Both genders were required to adhere to certain standards in order to engage in the chivalric exchange. The gentleman and the lady are like the yin and the yang.

Ms. Rodriguez is probably right to note that an ideal chivalrous gentleman would be more measured and restrained in his observation of an attractive female that he had not yet been acquainted with. He probably wouldn’t be too forward with her to begin with, and would remain exceedingly polite during his first interactions with her while avoiding overt sexualization.

In order to get that treatment, however, a woman would need to be the ideal lady. Ladies in the age of chivalry were modest in their conduct. They were not particularly sexually suggestive in their speech, dress or dance, and this made it relatively easy for a gentleman to approach and engage them in a more polite, less overtly sexual manner.

Most modern millennial women do not adhere to the codes of conduct inherent to the lady. Their dress is often highly sexually suggestive, designed to invite overtly sexual approaches and draw the very suggestive gazes that Ms. Rodriguez scolds millennial men for wielding. Their dance is often even more sexually suggestive, roughly approximating the act of intercourse itself.

Modern millenial females express their sexuality more openly and freely than any lady of a bygone age would have been expected to. A lady expecting to keep that label and thus benefit from the chivalrous conduct of a gentleman could not engage freely and openly in casual sexual relationships with multiple men while unmarried. She could not engage in simulated sex on dance floors with men she didn’t even know well (or even men she did know somewhat well). She could not walk around in clothing designed specifically to expose and draw attention to the more sexually alluring portions of her body. The modern woman can do all of this, however, and very often does. Why?

Because she wants to, and that’s alright. Women have spent generations fighting for the ability to remove social limitations on their sexuality, and they now enjoy the fruits of that effort. Don’t get anything twisted here: I have no problem with this and neither do most millennial men. Women are free to dress as they like, dance as they like and fuck as they like. I’m certainly not going to stop them, but there’s a price to pay for all of this.

As noted before, the gentleman and the lady come together. One cannot exist without the other—the code of chivalry was designed with this understanding in mind, and it dealt with that understanding by creating standards of conduct for each gender seeking to participate in the chivalric exchange. When we freed women from the obligation to adhere to those standards of conduct, we necessarily freed men as well.

How can we change this and bring back the missing gentleman Ms. Rodriguez so desperately desires to interact with? Well, gentlemen require ladies. If you want more gentlemen in the traditional sense, you’ll need to create more ladies in the traditional sense, and that would require a re-imposition of the same social and legal restrictions on female sexuality and expression that women have fought so hard to eliminate during the last few generations. There would need to be a rescission of the legal progress females in our society have made toward true equality.

To further illustrate just why this is, consider the way in Ms. Rodriguez’s suggestion that men give up seats and hold doors (among other preferential and somewhat deferential things) specifically for women solely because they are women. Such behavior was once common, but why was this?

Because women were seen as the weaker sex. This notion of the inherently “weak” female governed the discriminatory legal and social landscape in which the code of chivalry was born and practiced. Men did all they did for women because of the implicit understanding in society that women, by virtue of their being women, were not equal to them. They were weaker and needed assistance and men, by virtue of their being men, were stronger and therefore obligated to provide that assistance.

Men are no longer behaving this way because they have been raised to understand that their female counterparts are not weak, but strong. They’re not dependent, but independent. They’re not inferiors, they’re equals. Our modern legal system takes these statements as fundamental, unassailable truths and uses the force of law to ensure that they are treated accordingly. This will, in turn, prevent men from doing many of the things Ms. Rodriguez would like them to, as they have become increasingly unable to see women as their true inferiors.

If Ms. Rodriguez wants the chivalric code to make its way back into the mainstream, she’ll need to bring back the old view on gender relations that gave rise to it. Modern notions of gender equality will need to go out the window.

That is unlikely to happen, however. For all of her yearning for the “chivalry” of yesteryear, I doubt that Hope Rodriguez or any other modern woman would like to see the return of the social mores necessary to sustain it. Millennial women live in what is undoubtedly the best time to be a female in the history of humanity. At no point in human history have women been as wealthy, as free, as respected and as influential as they are today. The return of te social norms necessary to sustain chivalry in the traditional sense could only inhibit their enjoyment of all that, and they know it. Women have made their voices heard loudly and clearly: they will not tolerate this.

Hope Rodriguez seems like a nice girl and I’m sure she’ll find a man to treat her well sometime soon (if she hasn’t already), but she’ll not succeed in bringing back the ways of a bygone age. Chivalry is dead and, at the end of the day, that’s just the way that most millennial women want it.

https://www.returnofkings.com/28660/the-concept-of-chivalry-has-been-distorted-to-create-subservient-men

From Wikipedia:

Chivalry, or the chivalric code, is the traditional code of conduct associated with the medieval institution of knighthood… It was originally conceived of as an aristocratic warrior code… involving gallantry, individual training, and service to others. Over time its meaning has been refined to emphasise more ideals such as the knightly virtues of honour, courtly love, courtesy, and less martial aspects of the tradition.

The term “martial” here, of course, means relating to war: the code was originally meant to guide medieval warriors– not peasants, aristocrats, or even lords. And certainly not modern day men, living in the world we do today.

This fact alone sheds light on why the code has changed over time. Warriors slashing each other with swords simply don’t exist today. Yet chivalry has stuck around. So has its meaning been refined? Or completely distorted? Let’s take a look at its conception.

The first noted support for chivalric vocation, or the establishment of knightly class to ensure the sanctity and legitimacy of Christianity was written in 930 by Odo, abbot of Cluny in the Vita of St. Gerald of Aurillac.

This passage sheds more light on its intended purpose. The knights, and their chivalric code were meant “to ensure the sanctity and legitimacy of Christianity.” Take fearless warriors like these knights, put them in wartime scenarios, and what do you get? Things like rape and pillaging come to mind, and are commonplace in wars even to this day. Chivalry was meant to ensure that the Christian values that these knights were supposedly fighting for were observed, even in battle.

But as time went on, the application of this code began to encompass more areas of a warrior’s life. Below are the three fronts that chivalry embodied as the middle ages went on:

1. Duties to countrymen and fellow Christians: this contains virtues such as mercy, courage, valor, fairness, protection of the weak and the poor, and in the servant-hood of the knight to his lord. 2. Duties to God: this would contain being faithful to God, protecting the innocent, being faithful to the church, being the champion of good against evil, being generous and obeying God above the feudal lord. 3. Duties to women: this would contain what is often called courtly love, the idea that the knight is to serve a lady, and after her all other ladies.

The first two areas mentioned here represent the origins of the code. Knights were to uphold the Christian values of mercy, courage, protection of the weak, and service to god as they carried out their battles and crusades. The third point, however, is what we are most familiar with today.

This is the expansion of the code into court life where the knights were expected to respect and serve women. But not all women 0nly to Christian ladies of the court, i.e. noble women. The same way these courageous warriors were to protect the weak, they were meant to protect and serve women. In addition to their primary wartime purposes, of course.

Today

What does chivalry mean today? Apparently, now that we don’t have a defined knightly class to battle with swords and protect Christianity, it has expanded to mean that all men should follow it. But not the whole thing. Just the part about serving women.

And there’s nothing wrong with this. A manly man opening the car door or carrying a heavy load to help a feminine women out is a great and attractive thing. This at least resembles the traditional dynamic of a knight protecting and serving a medieval lady. But when you remove some key aspects of this dynamic, does it still apply?

If you take a bratty, drunk girl who’s whining and complaining to her man, does it still apply? What about a girl who is so committed to being on her own and free of dependency on any man that she always tries to order them around and flip the script? When a poor beta man rushes ahead of her to open the door, is that chivalry?

I think not. I think she just made him her bitch.

So is chivalry alive today? In the modern sense of a man protecting and serving women it certainly can be. The strong, confident alpha male who takes it upon himself to treat women as medieval ladies and take care of the manly tasks like carrying heavy bags or walking on the outside of the sidewalk to protect her is a shining example of chivalry in its true sense.

Unfortunately many modern men aren’t like this. They are weak and timid. When you combine this with a women who’s susceptible to taking advantage of such a man and the idea of chivalry, you have the makings of a disaster. A man like this going out of his way to serve all women is only going to further damage his sense of self worth. Rather than being her “knight in shining armour” he becomes something that more closely resembles a servant or a slave.

In the end, it all depends on the context. Chivalry only applied to the knightly class in medieval times. Today, it’s become something that all men are encouraged to follow, whether alpha or beta. While it certainly is an attractive and acceptable behaviour of the alpha, it only serves to further emasculate the beta.

[ships-for-you]

For the darling @ogcyberhoe

This fine tumblr user requested for a Black Butler and Kamisama Kiss matchup. Quite frankly, it was difficult for me to to properly think of a suitable match from Black Butler as I found that a lot of them would have taken some sort of interest in you in one way or another and it all boiled down to one character. Thank you for being patient love, now on with it!

Requests are open lovelies!

For Black Butler, I would match you with Charles Grey!

How dreadful, being paired with the earl Charles Grey? Honestly, you would rather be paired up with anyone, absolutely anyone else, to accomplish this fast-paced mission that Jeremy formulated in the attempts to capture the uninvited guest. It wasn’t the first time you had been paired with earl Grey and it will most definitely not be the last. If you were completely honest, this was not how you pictured “getting along” with your fiancé would be like although, you didn’t exactly plan to have one to begin with. How did you manage to wind yourself in such a compromising position? Well, why don’t we step back to a few nights ago.

Being the Marchioness Prescott by your own right, you were under the position of The Queen’s Cat and were tasked to offer and swear your utmost loyalty to her, as your father had before you. Once he had become far too weak to continue his duties to Her Majesty, you were quick to abide, and took your father’s place. You had been training for this your entire life as you had quite a strict and sheltered upbringing however, this did not mean you were ignorant.

For your age, you were quite agile and skilled with the sword and so doing the Queen’s dirty work was barely a problem for you. You’ll admit, you were quite...demanding, as most of your subordinates would say. You prefer to have certain things done in a certain fashion and do not particularly enjoy it when people do not follow your orders and execute it in the way you had explained. Having been raised in a household such as yours may or may not have been the cause of your stubbornness and impatience as you had been expected to follow the rules. Being the lady of such a high-ranking family, the rules of proper mannerism and etiquette were enforced upon you although you would abandon it all once you were in the vicinity of potential suitors. You had trained so hard and worked your body to the bone to be worthy of your title as Marchioness, and you surely aren’t relinquishing your freedom to a man who hasn’t done a hard day’s work. Honestly, a man who can’t do anything without his servants’ aid isn’t worth his salt.

Needless to say, a woman can only preserve their availability for so long before potential suitors no longer take interest in them. If a woman dies unbetrothed, their family will be shamed for having had a daughter that was “repulsive” enough to not have a husband and consequently, not have the capability to bear an heir to continue the family’s legacy. And you cannot have that, you will not soil your family’s name. As your father was still alive, he shall be responsible for choosing your husband-to-be although that wouldn’t be so cruel as he respected your taste for men and would find one befitting of his only daughter. Arranged marriages were common and so were consanguineous marriages, which you were glad you did not have to participate in.

Not even a day after you were monologuing and reflecting upon your achievements in life, you were woken up by your personal servant earlier than they usually do. As they moved the cart that locomoted your morning tea, they began a rundown of your schedule, as per usual. As you were about to take a sip of your English breakfast tea, you almost burned your lips as you accidentally lifted the cup higher than it should have due to the surprising news. “Um, excuse me, could you repeat the last bit?” The servant cocked their head to the side a bit in question as you never said anything but, “please” and “thank you” to them before however continued. “You shall be meeting your betrothed at the Queen’s palace, I had took it upon myself to wake you preliminary to your usual, Miss. It is necessary for a lady to put the utmost effort into her looks to attract a proper hu—“ they halted upon seeing the scowl that adorned your face. “T-Terribly sorry Miss, I’ll be taking my l-leave now.” They said quickly, bowed, and took wide strides to your door. You sighed and placed your cup upon its matchup saucer that resided on your bedside table. ‘Honestly, what a headache inducing news to wake up to.’

And there you were. In the palace’s throne room, awaiting to meet your fiancé. The corset you were wearing was positively tight and the bustle of your skirt heavy on your hips. “Ah, Lady (Y/n) of the Prescott household, we have been delightfully expecting your arrival.” Queen Victoria had said as she made her way to rest upon her rightful place. She had been accompanied by two men dressed in a pristine white, the very same color was their hair, that situated themselves beside her. You bowed deeply and greeted her in return. She had asked you about your progress and you had answered befittingly. “Now, my dear cat, I trust that with your new ally you will have the ability to accomplish your tasks more efficiently.” This had sparked your curiosity. “Forgive my rudeness, Your Majesty, but who might you be dispatching me with?” You stood straight up and smoothen the creases on your skirt. She merely looked to her left and gestured to you. The man to her left descended upon the elevated platform to situate himself before you. “You shall be paired with the Earl Charles Grey as he has requested. I trust that your intimate relationship as his betrothed shall not abstract you from your duties.” The man in front of you merely grinned deviously at your confused face however, you shook your head slightly to clear your thoughts. “Yes, Your Majesty.” You bowed and she dismissed you albeit not before instructing you to accompany the Earl along with a German guest that would be arriving later in the week.

As he was escorting you to your carriage, he bid you goodbye and placed a soft kiss upon the back of your hand. “Looking forward to the party, Mrs. Grey.” He winked and you scowled in return and withdrew your hand. “Do not call me that, I am not your wife and that is not my name.” You spat, his playful attitude irritating you. “It is now. The life you lived before you become my wife, forget it. You belong to me now.” He whispers lowly in your ear as he ended. You clicked your tongue in annoyance and got in your carriage. ‘Men, the patriarchal society we have doesn’t quite showcase the sophistication of London. They don’t deserve their place.’

In four days time, you were to be fetched by your fiancé and escort the Lord George von Siemens. You had been prepared by your servants, as per usual, and were given a dark grey dress with minimal white lace accents. The fashion of London seems to have a wave effect, changing the styles within a decade each and simply cannot continue having your dresses remade in different shapes. Once the earl had arrived, he was told to stay in the entryway and await your arrival. As you descended down the stair and into his line of sight, he could not help but marvel at your beauty, your figure, although not much, still stunned him. Your dress perfectly complimented his own and he almost felt ashamed he had not dressed up more, it was as if you were welcoming your new position as his betrothed. Of course, the earl Grey is not one to be caught off-guard and so he simply kept on a straight and sunken exterior. Once you had met him at the base of the stairs, he felt as if it was an obligation to compliment you.

“Didn’t know you could clean up real nice, yeah? You look...” “Beautiful, yes. Can we move on?” You walked past him to get into your carriage. You were still quite salty about his comment from days ago, and you were not letting it go until he apologized. “That woman’s beauty completely fades once she opens her mouth.” The earl muttered and sighed as he took his seat adjacent to yours. ‘But maybe that’s why I chose her in the first place.’

The ride seemed to pass so fast as you were zoning out for most of the duration of it, aside from greeting the guest von Siemens and discussing the plan with him once more. Before you knew it, you were on the Phantomhive’s lot and were about to dismount from the carriage. Suprisingly, your fiancé had held out his hand to assist you as you did. Perhaps he wasn’t quite the douche, although that doesn’t renew your respect for him quite yet.

The party had commenced and as how you would at any other time, you interacted with many of the other guests, socializing does indeed help to further your status and to create new connections after all. You enjoyed yourself for the most part, excluding the part you were almost molested by the very guest of honor you had escorted to the manor, although you didn’t enjoy feeling like a damsel in distress. Either way, your fiancé had helped you separate from him. You couldn’t say the same for the Earl Phantomhive as he received quite the dunking. A fight almost broke out until the Butler diffused the situation by displaying a rather skilled choreograph of stunts to create a champagne tower. Drinks were passed around and jokes filled the air along with lighthearted banter despite most of you lot being inebriated. It was more fun than you ever experienced at parties.

However all good things come to an end. When a commotion had caught yours and the other guests’ attention, you knew what would come next. You knew that this was the part where you had to act calm. You knew what resided in that locked room before they kicked it down.

Ah, what a wonderful chain of events will commence.

For Kamisama Hajimemashita, I would match you with Kurama Shinjiro!

“What have you done!? My guitar’s on fire!”

“Just a little, I’m sure you can still use it.”

“That’s not helping!”

Ah, the classic kitsune and tengu dispute. What a happy couple you two are! Having two awfully energetic characters constantly fighting for the spotlight is just what the ladies need! A little spice in their life. As much as it pains your friends and colleagues, this is what went down behind the scenes.

You and Kurama met on a shoot for a new romance series called, “Goodnight Call.” Wherein the leading male character named Naoya Kamihara, was one of the cool and silent “Untouchables” of Furinkan High School, while the female lead named Hisaku Yoshikawa was just your average docile school girl who was childhood friends with another untouchable. How ironic that either of you got these roles, isn’t it? These two characters never should have met and yet they ended up becoming roommates in what was a suspiciously cheap apartment rental place. Being roommates with one of the three Untouchables isn’t as easy as it sounds, especially when Hisuaku gains the attention of the  student “guards” at school. This predicament leads to the main female becoming the sole victim of these three female students. Luckily, Kamihara comes in to save her after hearing rumors spread around the campus and gaining information directly from Yoshikawa’s friend, Maaka, who is romantically interested in him. Which leads us to the scene you were about to shoot.

The Storage Room Scene

You and three other actresses were asked to gather up in the school setting’s gym storage room where the female lead would be tied up and berated. Just before the cameras were set however, one of your colleagues leaned down and whispered into your ear, “Your role was supposed to be mine.” Just as you were about to retaliate, director shouted action and you had no choice but to keep quiet. You thrashed about as your hands and ankles were being tied up, as per directed, and you simply demonstrated a look of humiliation with tears forming in the corners of your eyes to make it more convincing. As your colleagues were babbling their lines out, you suddenly felt a blooming sting on your right cheek. “A slap. Huh, that wasn’t part of the script.” You thought and were debating whether this was a violation of your rights or simply one of the actress’ impromptu to make the scene more convincing. You then felt one of them grab a fistful of your hair and yank it backwards and another unbuttoning your school uniform costume. You really did try to free yourself from their grasp however with the restraints you had hindering you from moving, you could barely do anything. 

Being helpless in a situation was never enjoyable to you. You didn’t want anyone’s help and you really would like to act and save yourself bur perhaps admitting defeat would get you out of this situation, if only your pride had allowed you to do so. Having been humiliated, in front of everyone to see and the camera capturing everything nonetheless, your inner struggle had shown externally as small tears were dripping down your face. Pain had always infuriated you which would ultimately lead you to cry for being so unaccustomed to it. Being a kitsune and all, you could have taken these humans down however the cameras were still capturing everything, making your escape dependent on when your co-star would enter the gym setting. “Damnit, where is that crow?!”  The door to the storage room opened with a resounding bang as Kurama made his entrance. Having not anticipated such a sight, his eyes widened however quickly narrowed in anger and directed a glare to your colleagues holding you. He was not expecting your face to have been flushed for whatever reason and most certainly was not expecting the small rivers that flowed down your face. He understands at once how humiliating this situation must have been for you, an already low-class kitsune demon reduced to an even lower position for not having the permitted  ability to retaliate against these humans. It was also obvious that the actresses weren’t expecting their co-star’s face to be displaying such a sour expression. “K-Kamihara-kun—” One of them began to continue with the script.

“Oi, what do you think you’re doing?” The tengu said, attempting to remain his cool for the character he was playing however realizing it was futile as he couldn’t seem to remove the remaining tension on his face. “She was acting so familiar around you, Kamihara kun. She was acting selfish, hogging both you and Isshikawa-san, keeping you both all to herself, isn’t that unfair?” The other continued, her character as one of the bossier of the three showing through. “Isshikawa-san is her friend, can’t she hang-out with a friend?” He retaliated, approaching you and the girls. He walked closer and closer as the last of them delivered her line. “Then how about you Kamisama-kun? What’s your relationship to Yoshikawa-kun?” She taunted, his face so near to hers. You merely kept silent as one of them still had a grip on your hair until she tugged once more and you let out a barely audible whimper which the tengu heard. He untangled the girl’s fingers from your hair, knelt down, removed his blazer and placed it on you to cover yourself a bit. He removed the restraints in your ankles and wrists quickly before replying, “She’s my girlfriend.” And just like that, he tugged you to stand up and held you by your wrist, dragging you out of the room.

“And... Cut!” The director shouted over the megaphone and congratulated everyone once the last scene of the day was finished in one take. Once the cameras stopped filming you yanked your wrist out of your co-star’s hand, threw his blazer back at him, and walked away. “Oi, where’s my thank you?” He stated, a smug expression blooming on his face as he chased after you. “D..t...k..t.m..” you mumbled. “What was that? Is the high and mighty princess actually going to thank me?” he pestered, egging you on. “I said, don’t look at me! You, filthy pervert!” You giggled and ran away, all the while fixing the buttons in your uniform. His face reddened and his eyes widened as he realized that your blouse was still open all the way to your stomach. It didn’t help that the all of the staff was now spectating your shenanigans again. “Hey, I helped you get out of the situation, didn’t I? You were crying!” He desperately tried to reason, hoping that the situation wouldn’t worsen and take it out of context. “What can I say? I’m an amazing actress, and you should be lucky to be co-star!”  Ah, definitely not the most romantic of endings, but he will come after you soon. And he will make it romantic for you have stolen his heart with your spitfire and determination, just you wait.

[blackarmyslave]

Masquerade [IkeRev]

Pairing: Ray Blackwell x Alice

Fandom: Ikemen Revolution

Notes: really trashy writing oof

Pshh dont act so suprised its another ray thing

Alice hated masquerade balls.

She hated them with a passion. There was just something irritating about them... how those disgustings pigs, commonly referred to as men, often tried to lure her into bed; or how, every time she talked to women, their conversations would almost always end up in gossips about her family's riches that were acquired with bloody hands, and how they killed countless people under a single man's orders, not knowing the person they were talking to about it is part of said family. Yet despite her loathing for occasions like these, Alice would still have to attend, for it was the only way she could fraternize with others. Her family was shunned by society for being such a hideous and brutal one. But here, in masquerade balls, she can wear a mask and pretend to be someone else and mingle to her heart's content. Nobody would know it was a girl from a bloody household.

Once or twice, Alice had danced with a few nobilities she considered decent enough for her. Those who weren't pedophiles, she conversed with. Those who were purely sober, she'd bonded with. But it was way past midnight now and she had gotten bored of the ball. A woman can only take so much soulless dancing and meaningless political talks. Not to mention the rough mask that hid her face from bashers, was starting to irritate her sensitive porcelain skin.

With a forced smile, the young descendant of the country's most infamous household excused herself from the festivities and went to the garden. Truly, it was a beautiful garden. The flowers were in full bloom and the breeze was refreshing. Alice stretched, in a way that was very undignified. Yet she couldn't care less. Her muscles were sore from keeping up a flawlessly upright posture all this time, and she was bored beyond measure.

The itch on her face that was long there reached its peak, and Alice couldn't take it anymore. She moved to dispose her mask until a voice warned her, "It's rude to take off your mask in a ball like this."

It was a man's voice, smooth like the waves and light as the garden's breeze. Undoubtedly, it had belonged to a young man... a cool young man. But Alice despised people who dared talk to her so fondly. She swirled around to reprimand whoever it had been.

"I don't recall holding responsibility to oblige," she retorted, her prissy tone leaking with every syllable. One corner of the man's lips slowly curled upwards in an amused smirk.

"Then by all means, go embarrass yourself."

Alice scoffed with irritation. Who does this man think he is? Yes, it's true that taking off your mask is a big no in a masquerade ball, but--

Oh.

She suddenly felt like smacking her forehead. If she takes the accessory off, she's to reveal her identity. And no doubt receive countless ridicules. And Alice didn't want that, especially from a man like him. Her cheeks flushed in realization. Suddenly the girl wanted to keep it on and couldn't feel the itch anymore.

"You're from the infamous Bright household, aren't you? Alice Bright, if I'm correct; twin sister of Edgar Bright, the Jack of Hearts and known as the Gentle Demon." surprise mf

Alice took her time studying the man. How had he known about her? What gave it away? What had she done to inform him of her identity? Most of all, who is this bastard? He was handsome, without a doubt, even with a mask on; black hair and intense emerald eyes, containing a youthful aura, but at the same time holding himself with such composed regality. His body was carved to perfection. He wore a simple yet dazzling dark sapphire mask with round diamonds literring it, the suit on his body looking ridiculously expensive.

Dark and regal... only one name clicked in the girl's head: the popular and widely loved King of Spades.

"I take it you're King Ray Blackwell...?"

The man rolled his eyes distastefully at the attached title. But he made no move to deny his identity, something that's against tradition. 'How hypocritical,' Alice thought dryly.

"Forget the King part, it's too preppy for my tastes," he said. "Just Ray is fine."

Alice rose a thin eyebrow. For a king, Ray Blackwell was too casual. She's always depicted him as cold and dignified, with no intention of fooling around; just like the opposing King of Hearts. Yet here he was: the Black King himself who didn't give a horse's muck whether people found out about his identity or not, speaking informally as if he'd known Alice all their lives.

'Charming-- I mean, preposterous! Ghastly!'

Well... what can she say? It's her first time meeting a man like Ray; someone true to himself and didn't stumble foolishly in a vain attempt of becoming the perfect gentleman.

But no. In the Bright household, emotions were a mortal sin. It was the biggest crime. And Alice grew up all her life believing it.

Naturally, she ignored her fluttering heart.

"So," Alice walked around the garden with Ray. She hadn't even noticed how her irritation with him had suddenly faded after witnessing his genuine personality. "The King of Spades is a fan of balls, then?"

Ray snorted. "Heck no. What makes you think that just because I attend 'em, I like 'em? Isn't everyone only here for the sake of making connections?"

"Probably." Alice would be damned if she voiced her agreement. "And does that rule apply to you as well, sire?"

Ray gave the girl a disgusted look. She only blinked, urging him to voice out what took him aback.

"Okay. One, it doesn't. I'm just here to let loose for a bit. Second... Cut that formality out! It's creepy." "Why so? Do your soldiers not address you that way?"

Ray's green orbs took on a fond light, giving Alice the answer right away, as if his memories of his subordinates were all warm and cozy. One could tell he was a good leader and a true king by just a glance of that. And maybe, she thought, he was a brother, too; a brother to the rest of his army. Alice wondered how they treated each other... did they eat at the same table? Did they disregard ranks and fraternized comfortably? Was it like a home in the Black Army's headquarters?

"They address me as a king during official business, yes," he replied. "But we're just ourselves around one another for most of the time. Parties every week or so, lots of laughter and pranks... it's like a brotherhood."

The faintest trace of a smile ghosted the girl's lips. "It sounds lovely."

From there, it went on and on. Ray asked Alice what was her favorite animal, to which she replied cats for they were elegant and had the cutest little mewls; and much to her surprise, Ray shared her thoughts. She, in return, asked him what he thought about table etiquette, and he laughed at just how preppy Alice was being. Nevertheless, he answered her, saying "I think dining fancily's fine if serious stuff are going on, like funerals or oathtakings. It's a way of showing respect. But people shouldn't be judged by how they act at the table. In fact, class shouldn't even be a social judgement or something. 'Course, this is just my opinion. And I think table manners should be kept to a minimum. People deserve to enjoy their food and time without fear of being critiqued of how classy or polite they are. They should be able to be just themselves in a table, because after all, that honesty's bound to form really tight relationships real quick, no?"

A bit more of talking and before she even knew it, it had been past 3AM now. Alice never thought it would be so fun to converse with the king. He was honest and frank, yet still respectful and even funny. They shared a lot of opinions about several topics, and one's answer changed the perspective of the other. The Bright lady wished to the twinkling stars high above she'd get another chance at talking with Ray in the future.

Now, Alice knew she shouldn't be rooting for the opposition. Her household is a Red through and through. In fact, her brother's the Jack of Hearts himself! At the back of her head, the ever-obedient little prodigy of the Bright family screamed at her to get away and cut off all connections with Blackwell. 'What do you think you're doing?!' a part of her screeched.

But right now, she wasn't really a Bright. She was just Alice. Little ol' Alice, who came to a masquerade ball in hopes of being able to talk to whoever she wants without her status bothering her. And she wasn't ready to throw that away just yet, and return to her uptight lifestyle.

'Just not yet, please,' she pleaded with her own self.

Suddenly, a slow, hopeful, smooth tune took on. It was faint and distant, coming from the ballroom many yards away. Yet she and Ray both heard it, the melody carried by the wind to their ears, and Ray took the cue.

"May I have this dance, Alice?" He asked her, the gentlest, most handsome smile on his lips, offering her his hand, and the girl's heart skipped a beat.

Had it been any other man; a pretentious, try-hard fake gentleman or a drunk bastard, she would've slapped. But no... not this one. He was a bastard, yes, the feisty part of her claimed, but he was a good bastard. A modest, decent, alright bastard.

Alice let her face be lit up by a grin. It had been her first in so long. She placed her hand on top Ray's and they both started dancing to the slow, almost-romantic music, everything else fading and all they could feel was this blossoming warmth in their souls.

And long after the song was over, and all was said and done, they still remained in one another's embrace. Red and Black forgetting their blazing feud for even just a moment; even in just a masquerade ball. They're just Alice and Ray, each silently praying dawn never comes and they'd never have to say theeir goodbyes.

Alice giggled under her breath. She'd decided. Maybe masquerades aren't so bad after all.

[wolfpawn]

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

Previous Chapter

Chapter Summary -  Paige does an interview at the BBC with a host who very much wishes to see if she can pry information from Paige regarding her relationship with Tom but Paige is aware of such.

Tag, @wolfsmom1 @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @nonsensicalobsessions@damalseer   @standing-onthe-edge

anyone else who wishes to be added to the tags, just ask :)

Paige tried to settle her nerves. She had done so many interviews before, this would be no different. Yes, they could mention Tom, in fact, she was sure they would, but she had prepared herself for almost anything they could throw at her. Though most of the time, her work in media had been to do with her books, something she was well versed on, she decided to study her new topic of conversation that she was certain she would have in Tom. She read his interviews, she recalled his mother's comments, his conversations with her on different matters and compiled what would be sure-to-be asked questions and appropriate answers that she would need to know to keep up the pretence of a relationship with the actor.

She smiled as the radio station manager showed her where to sit in the studio and offered her some water. “Please, if it’s no bother.”

“Of course.”

She looked at the headset in front of her and took a deep breath before readying herself more.

“Ms Winters?” She looked to the side to see the radio host, Davina Curren looking at her. “Hello, thank you for your time. I can imagine you are a busy woman.”

“Please, just Paige. I am more than happy to oblige. I haven’t been here in over two years. You were in the evening slot then, weren’t you? I remember I used to listen to you on the Underground on the way home from different things. I loved your piece on Aristotle you discussed with the College Professor from London.”

Davina’s face became more animated on hearing Paige knew her work. “Wow, thank you. Yes, that was an interesting piece. Well, as Mike, the manager here would have told you, we will discuss mostly your work and if there is time at the end, some other bits and pieces.”

“Yes, he said. We’ll see what we get through.” She smiled politely.

“Well, we start in three so we will get ready now.” Davina indicated for her to put on her headphones before sitting in her own seat and doing the same. “You put the volume to a level that suits and please remember to speak clearly into the microphone, you can adjust it as required.”

“Okay.” Paige did so to allow her close to the microphone with comfort.

When the light flashed for thirty seconds, she readied herself.

“Can you hear me?” Davina checked.

“I can indeed.”

“Perfect, let’s begin.” The light ceased flashing and turned on fully. “Good morning, Britain, Davina Curren here with you again on this lovely Thursday morning, and my guest today is a woman that has been in a few of the celebrity headlines of late but whose name has been gracing the more prestigious world of literature for the better part of the last decade, Britain's very own Paige Winters, author of many pieces but most known for ‘Rumour Has It’, the Costa book of the year in 2016. Paige thank you for joining us in the studio here today.”

“Thank you for having me.”

“So, we will start at the beginning, what got you into writing?”

“Well, there’s no straight forward answer to that.”

“Surely you had some inkling, even in school?”

“Interestingly, when I was doing my GCSEs, I had this teacher who literally told me I had no right to be doing English. I could not comprehend the work and if I passed, it would be a miracle.”

“Really?”

“No, honestly. She had no faith in me. Thankfully, she retired that summer and the most incredible teacher, Benjamin Shakespeare, no relation to the playwright we checked, came in to fill the void and honestly, I would not be in this profession today had he not sat me down one day and talked to me about why I wanted to keep on English with such mediocre grades. Being honest, I loved English, I loved literature, but that other teacher drained my love of it but on her retirement, I hoped I could regain my love for it. Thankfully, he was able to see I had some potential and allowed me to remain in his class.”

“And that was it?”

“Sort of. I did a piece the summer before and sent it into a competition. I didn't think anything of it, I thought at the time I didn't send it to the right place or it was not good enough, in fact, I did and on the 8th of February, 2005, Blue Peter published my story as part of their short stories book. I knew then that I wanted to write and see my name on the cover of books.”

“That's amazing.”

“Yes, I still have the original Blue Peter book I was sent for writing a contribution to it, my mum has it safe at their house.”

“So you have a Blue Peter badge too.”

“Yes, I do. It is in my jewellery box to this day.”

“That's lovely. So, can I ask, your books, they're not conventional love stories, are they?”

“I personally don't class them as romance if I'm honest. They are stories that have romance in them, yes, it's true, but that is merely a part of it, not the entire basis of the story.” Paige explained.

“Is that how you see life in general?”

“Well, yes. Romance is not the reason to live but an enhancement of the act of living, in my opinion.”

“And your characters are always strong women.”

“Every woman has her own strength, it's not always conventional muscles and power strength. Strength is different things to different people. A person who is kind, even when others are not kind to them. Someone who suffers some form of pain and stands straight again after. I try to display that in my work so women of differing personal strengths can relate to the situation at hand. In writing, you need to make the character relatable for it to resonate with the reader.”

“People seemed to resonate with an alien ice-being with magic more than actual human characters before.” Davina pointed out.

Paige knew she was clearly referencing Loki. “Yes, because of the portrayal of said ice-being and how well the character was acted out. People gravitate towards characters that are well portrayed and in that case, the most relatable and likeable character was the abandoned ice baby, raised on lies who, on realising it was all a lie was acted with anger, resentment, feeling incredibly inadequate, these are things that people feel empathy for.”

Davina looked at her for a moment before returning to other questions. “What book would you say would be a personal favourite of yours that people would not usually agree with?”

“Of my own or of another author's work?”

“Another author's.”

“People are startled when I say this though it is a very common choice but Pride and Prejudice.”

“You don't seem the type for conventional romance stories.”

“But you see, that's the thing. It's not conventional, or it wasn't, not in its day, it was groundbreaking in many respects. I was asked before at a gathering of friends if I could time travel just once into the past, when and where would I choose, and why. I said England, 1813, a week or so after that book was published and my reason being; that for a woman of no significant name, wealth or titles to decline the hand of a man of such considerable wealth and standing and citing her reasoning for such at a time where to do so was unheard of would have been an incredible experience. You know men were appalled by it, women of a certain mindset would have been scandalised by it and amongst them all, young women flabbergasted and enthralled. It would be called feminism in the modern age.”

“But she went and wed him in the end.”

“Yes, once both put aside their pride and prejudice. In it, you also see Elizabeth grow, acknowledge her own faults and become a better person too. I think a lot of people need to realise we all have negative faults we need to look at in ourselves too and Austin married it accordingly in her main characters, but also that people do change or at the very least, acknowledge themselves they are not perfect and work on it.”

“And you have faults?”

“Find me a person who claims they are without fault and I will show you a liar.”

“What would you say is your greatest fault?”

Paige thought for a moment. “I don't know which would stand over others, but I would say that I often lack social etiquette in particular situations. I don't believe in entertaining ideas of grandeur and in my world, many would argue that to be a considerable fault.”

“Many would commend that too.”

“Most people say they like an honest opinion until they receive one they do not like.” Paige countered.

“True.” The radio presenter agreed. “You pride yourself in never having to do too much publicity to sell your books, so I have to ask, do you still feel that way now, in your current situation?”

“I don't follow.”

“Well, since you went public with your current relationship, as I stated at the beginning of the show, you are now in the celebrity news for being with one of the most eligible men in Britain, surely you've noticed the increase in sales for your work? That is mostly due to the publicity of your relationship.”

“Well, I would argue it was not as though it was decided to go public since it was a photographer taking a photograph of a private brunch that alerted the world to this information, not a conscious decision to declare it publicly that made this information known, but yes, I am aware of the renewed increased sales and I have little doubt that that has been in part due to people hearing my name for what is, to them, the first time and deciding to see if they like my work resulting in these figures.”

“Do you think you will become a charity shop book now?”

“I have no idea nor do I have a say in it. I cannot force people to like my work, nor would I wish to force it as I believe in 'a pat on the back, not a pat on the head’. I want to be acknowledged for my work and it's quality, not because of the company I keep or who I may choose to be in a relationship with.”

“So you are not upset that many of your newest followers are only discovering you by these means?”

“Not everyone discovers the same people at the same time. Some only learn about certain authors, actors and singers after they have been around a while, for whatever reason, this is the very same. My soon-to-be sister-in-law only heard of Saoirse Ronan from her part in Mary Queen of Scots even though she has been the lead role in many movies and has been around since Atonement. That is not something to ridicule. People are only hearing of me now because of whatever reason, I am delighted they are and truly hope the like my work.”

“You are close to your family, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I consider family the most important thing in my life, my brother, his fiancée, my parents, they are so precious to me.”

“It must also be hard being in your current situation, supporting your significant other in a role centred around being betrayed when you, yourself have a similar experience.”

Paige shifted anxiously. “Well, I do not dwell on the past, it’s not a healthy way to live life.”

“But you were cheated on by your fiance, weren’t you? And to be with a man now that in many people’s eyes split up a music couple, how do you marry that?”

“I am not sure if that sort of drama-fishing warrants an answer if I’m honest. The only people who need to take account of their actions are those who are the guilty parties, namely, those who elect to cheat, I am told there was no infidelity there and until such time as I am led to believe otherwise, I would not speculate to such.”

“Do you like her, Taylor?”

“I don’t know three things about her. I never really found myself listening to her music, I never was overly into pop, so that is not a slight on anyone. I know the name to hear, of course, I don't live under a rock but I don't know her in any manner that would cause me to form an opinion on her as an individual.” Paige stated diplomatically, uncomfortable with the situation.

“And have you been to the play?”

“I have actually, yes. I quite enjoyed it too.”

“You seem somewhat startled by that.”

“I stated in the not too distant past that I did not feel it to be the best of Pinter's work due to him writing it with the aspect of the one being cheated on as a main point when he clearly cannot comprehend the sensation. The actors and actresses that put their hearts into the roles, the stage crew, everyone backstage, they put everything into this and it shows. I cannot commend them enough, they brought it to life brilliantly.”

“So what is next for you?”

“I am not sure really. I find I am asked that and indeed, asking myself that a lot of late. I still scribble a few things down, to keep myself fresh, but of yet, nothing is really coming to me.”

“Do you think it is partly because of a content home life? Having another you can depend on surely makes you complacent in many ways, I know when I got married, my husband’s income really gave me the security to try and get the job I sought.”

“I think there is a considerable difference between someone leaning on their spouse for support and leaning on those they are not so bound to. I always prided myself, since the day after my A-levels, of having my own income. My parents assisted me until then, I would never deny it, something not everyone is lucky to afford, and I don’t ever plan on that changing. I think it is imperative people have security in themselves if possible when doing something like writing a book. I wrote four pieces that were outright ignored before I ever even got a hint of interest from a publishing house. While doing that, I needed to afford to live and that meant housing that I am fairly sure dogs in a kill shelter reside in, because this is London, after all, and two jobs, one as a receptionist and one in my local all-night cafe. Even now, I make sure I am smart with my finances and this is the life of a writer, I would very much want others to understand, not everyone turns to JK Rowling with millions, or in her case for a short time, billion, in the bank. Even George RR Martin is not as wealthy as people think and though it affords him a comfortable life, writers rarely are that well off and if you are expecting others to fund you, especially in this world, you may be a long time looking.” Paige could see the presenter didn’t like her going off course slightly, but she used a technique to volley the conversation into a more impersonal and vague area.

Davina frowned as she realised Paige would not say or do anything controversial as a guest, to which Paige smiled politely back. “Good sound advice there. What do you think of Tom’s online fans, they are enthusiastic and protective of him, aren’t they?”

“I do believe so, yes. I am not a big fan of social media myself. I don’t do Instagram or Twitter and my Facebook is dormant for nearly two years at this stage. I think personally, I am more at home in a less technological era. I would have done well back in the eighties, I think.” She laughed. “With regards fans, people gravitate towards some people. They hold your attention more than others do and some for the wrong reasons, some for some very right ones. Some people light up the room they are in, they smile and are wonderful people and of course, people would want to be around that and wish to project towards that, I cannot blame them. It is great and alluring quality.”

“You don’t seem to mention Tom by name,” Davina noted.

Paige laughed slightly. “I don’t seem to have to really, do I? I think people will know who I am referencing, those who care for such things, those who do not will be glad not to be bombarded with it.”

“Not really no.” Davina looked at Paige’s polite smile. It was clear Paige was studying every question before answering, making sure not to say anything that could be construed as controversial. “Finally, is there any advice you have for young aspiring people, not just in your own field, but in general?”

“Well, I suppose the best thing I can say is not something I personally have said. But I think it is a great quote. ‘Never, ever, let anyone tell you what you can and can't do. Prove the cynics wrong. Pity them for they have no imagination’.”

*

Tom huffed slightly as he listened to the words Paige spoke on his phone, Luke beside him.

“What’s so funny?” Luke asked curiously.

“That’s something I said.” Tom pointed out.

“She’s done her homework. Oscar said she is thorough, I didn’t realise how much so.” Luke commended. “She handled that perfectly.”

“She’s an incredible and intelligent woman.” Tom agreed.

Luke studied his friend/client carefully, noting the manner in which he smiled as he listened to Paige speak.

[itsmarjudgelove]

It doesn't get much better than this ca.1892-95 studio portrait by T. ENAMI showing some of the accouterments of a "Japanese Ancient Warrior" --- as Enami himself titled the image --- No.581 in his old Catalog of 2-D images.. And I must say, what a meek, mild-mannered, milk-toast sort of guy he appears to be. One photo-historian even remarked about old "Samurai Photos" that the subjects appeared to be women posing as men. My own three daughters (all born and raised in Okinawa) tell me that, with only some notable exceptions, Japanese men are the most effeminate men in the world --- an evaluation no different than that offered by Commodore Matthew C. Perry after dealing with the Japanese in 1854. So, what's up with that ? We'll get to it. But first...check out that great Fan he's holding. JAPANESE WAR FAN This Enami studio photo is undoubtedly the best 19th Century image of a Japanese War Fan. ".......Gunsen (軍扇) were folding fans used by the average warriors to cool themselves off. They were made of wood, bronze, brass or a similar metal for the inner spokes, and often used thin iron or other metals for the outer spokes or cover, making them lightweight but strong. Warriors would hang their fans from a variety of places, most typically from the belt or the breastplate, though the latter often impeded the use of a sword or a bow...... en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Japanese_war_fan There are other close, classic Meiji-era views of Samurai --- taken by other famous photographers of the day --- that fall into the above class of fine portraiture. However, photographer T. ENAMI appears to have been the only one who gave prominent display to the War Fan. The above glass plate photo with its hand-applied colors is about 115 years old. It is highly possible that this is the same armor T. ENAMI used for his own self-portrait seen here : www.flickr.com/photos/24443965@N08/2383039735/ More about the Armor and the Photograph is mentioned farther below. But first, here's a bit of controversy to keep your history balanced and complete : QUESTION for HETEREOSEXUAL MALES : Can a gay guy kick your ass ? ANSWER : You're damn right ! Especially when he's a SAMURAI ! THE GAY LIFE in OLD JAPAN These days, when we talk about or visualize the Glorious Samurai, our mention of them is usually devoid of something important. The world's social and religious aversion to homosexuality has worked to separate and sweep under the rug this once-understood and accepted facet of the Samurai. In its place, we are left with a group of men who have been "cleansed and sanctified" in the minds of Westerners who have been raised in a nominally monotheistic religious culture, giving us a conservative republican Samurai Warrior with Western, Judeo-Christian family values, living with a so-called "honorable" code of ethics that makes for the stuff of macho dreams found in testosterone-fueled Hollywood movies. Time to set the record straight : CONSERVATIVE STATEMENT from the WEB : skeptics.stackexchange.com/questions/13853/was-homosexual... Samurai --- Virile, Strong, Warriors among Men, and Fighters after the Spirit of Bushido --- The Last Samurai of Hollywood fiction --- ALSO CARRIED THE BANNER OF HOMOSEXUAL LOVE INTO BATTLE WITH THEM, AND PRACTICED HOMOSEXUAL LOVE AS AN HONORED AND TRADITIONAL WAY OF LIFE. Therefore, if you are a fan of "all things Samurai", you better not be anti-homosexual, and you better not be a GAY BASHER. The real Samurai held GAY LOVE in high esteem, and encouraged it. Gay love and relationships were considered beneficial for the youth, teaching him virtue, honesty and the appreciation of beauty. WIKIPEDIA ARTICLES on the WEB, CULLED FROM HISTORICAL SOURCES : "........Shudō is the Japanese tradition of age-structured homosexuality prevalent in samurai society from the medieval period until the end of the 19th century. The word is an abbreviation of wakashudō (若衆道), "the way of the young" or more precisely, "the way of young (若 waka) men (衆 shū)". The "dō" (道) is related to the Chinese word tao, considered to be a structured discipline and body of knowledge, as well as a path to awakening. The older partner in the relationship was known as the nenja (念者), and the younger as the wakashū (若衆). en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shudo PEDERASTY or BUST !!! The practice was held in high esteem, and was encouraged, especially within the samurai class. Their homosexual lifestyle was considered beneficial for the youth, teaching him virtue, honesty and the appreciation of beauty. Its value was contrasted with the love of women, which was blamed for feminizing men. With the rise in power and influence of the merchant class, aspects of the practice of shudo were adopted by the middle classes, and homoerotic expression in Japan began to be more closely associated with traveling kabuki actors known as tobiko ( 飛子) , "fly boys," who moonlighted as prostitutes......." en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pederasty MILITARY SAME SEX LOVE ".......From religious circles, same-sex love spread to the warrior (samurai) class, where it was customary for a boy in the wakashū age category to undergo training in the martial arts by apprenticing to a more experienced adult man. The man was permitted, if the boy agreed, to take the boy as his lover until he came of age; this relationship, often formalized in a "brotherhood contract", was expected to be exclusive, with both partners swearing to take no other (male) lovers. This practice, along with clerical pederasty, developed into the codified system of age-structured homosexuality known as shudō, abbreviated from wakashūdo, the "way (do) of wakashū". The older partner, in the role of nenja, would teach the wakashū martial skills, warrior etiquette, and the samurai code of honor, while his desire to be a good role model for his wakashū would lead him to behave more honorably himself; thus a shudō relationship was considered to have a "mutually ennobling effect". In addition, both parties were expected to be loyal unto death, and to assist the other both in feudal duties and in honor-driven obligations such as duels and vendettas. Although sex between the couple was expected to end when the boy came of age, the relationship would, ideally, develop into a life-long bond of friendship. At the same time, sexual activity with women was not barred (for either party), and once the boy came of age, both were free to seek other wakashū lovers. Like later Edo same-sex practices, samurai shudō was strictly role-defined; the nenja was seen as the active, desiring, penetrative partner, while the younger, sexually receptive wakashū was considered to submit to the nenja's attentions out of love, loyalty, and affection, rather than sexual desire. Among the samurai class, adult men were (by definition) not permitted to take the wakashū role; only preadult boys (or, later, lower-class men) were considered legitimate targets of homosexual desire. In some cases, shudō relationships arose between boys of similar ages, but the parties were still divided into nenja and wakashū roles......" en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homosexuality_in_Japan YES, THE SAMURAI COULD, AND DID MARRY --- In spite of the fact that PEDERASTY WAS THE RULE when the men were doing their soldering and war-mongering, they did marry women under carefully observed social rules. However, this was not for mutual love and family relationships as Westerners would normally define marriage between a male and female. For the Samurai, sexual relations with a woman was more along the lines of a "necessary evil" to procreate for the purpose of making more little Samurai to keep things going. WHY THE ANACHRONISTIC USE THE WORD "GAY" IN MY SAMURAI CAPTIONS ? Some will call these guys "BI-SEXUAL", but for the sake of this caption, I'm sticking to "GAY" --- a 20th Century transformation of the word that used to mean PARTY-TIME HAPPY --- an in "The Gay '90s" --- but is now used for men who have a sexual preference for other males. I am retroactively applying the modern "Gay" tag (in a performance sort of way) to liven up the discussion. If the Samurai were alive today, and "doing their thing", we would all be calling them "The Gay Military of Japan". Actually, it is almost as ridiculous as some goofy Westerners saying "....the RAINBOW symbolizes the LGBT community....", thus causing conservative Christians to scramble in an effort to remove all Biblical Rainbows from pictures of Noah's Ark. Any other appeal to "historical and cultural social context" to say these men were not homosexual (or that "Gay"and "Homosexual" are two different things) --- in spite of the Samurai's conditioned sexual preference for male intercourse --- is just a lame misdirect by modern-day Samurai lovers who are chagrined by the fact that their "warrior heroes" preferred the joy of porking other men instead of porking their wives. I say "pork", because in old Japan, sexual relations between men and women were not anything close to what we call "making love". So, even while "makin' babies" under the "stuff we don't really want to do" rule, the Samurai continued to hold the sexual love and bonding with males as the preferred and highest highest love, and the "necessary evils" of being "joined to a woman" as an obligatorily social headache. As we all know, there are plenty of Gay men living in many countries of the world today who, for various social reasons (including the threat of death), emotionally and sexually live in the same situation --- loving men, but setting up house with women --- some resolving the emotional predicament better than others. ****************************************** THE ARMOR and THE PHOTOGRAPH The man in the photo is not a Samurai --- at least not when this photo was taken. The Samurai were banned in the 1870s, and did not exist as a functioning social entity --- militarily, politically, or personally --- at the time Enami took this photo in his Yakohama studio in the 1890s. While he might be a male model or Enami's assistant, it is also possible that --- if he is in his 30s or 40s --- he could have been one of the last Samurai, or a Chugen before the ban came into effect, and he is now donning his old Armor and displaying the War Fan simply for this photograph. It is also possible that the model's father was a Samurai, and the armor belongs to his family. Such speculation about the man in the image is simply that --- speculation. There are many on flickr who know more than I do about the various parts and pieces of armor on display. Yet, even though I know basically nothing when it comes to these things, my uneducated eye can still appreciate what looks like a finely made arm guard (Leather and links?) and the contoured hand and knuckle guard seen wrapped around the back of his hand. As already mentioned, the War Fan is impressive --- the dark-red Rising Sun on a black-lacquered bamboo and iron fan. It is rarely seen in photographs, if at all. The skilled melding of function, form and art by patient craftsmen over the centuries is evident in everything from the unseen swords nestled in their sheaths, to the black curved line of the darkened helmet interior that mirrors the arc of the opened fan. As for that charging "lion dog" on top of his helmet, is it actually alive ??? When all else is pin sharp, why would only the golden lion have blurred ? Perhaps there is some Meiji-era magic at work here --- something lost with the passing of the last Samurai...... ******************************************************* ABOUT THE PHOTOGRAPHER : www.t-enami.org/ TECHNICAL PHOTO COMMENTS : Like many of my T. ENAMI posts, this is taken directly from an original glass slide. The slide was placed on a small light box (5,000K), copied with a hand-held LUMIX camera (done right, no keystoning), cropped in PICASA, and bordered with MS PAINT. The bound slide is 3 1/4 inch square --- originally a French format, but used all over Europe during the Meiji and Taisho eras. The actual image area of the Samurai on the glass is about 2 inches by 2 1/2 inches, and colored by hand in Enami's studio by artists using magnifying glasses and fine brushes --- some as thin as a single hair. If you look at my other T. ENAMI SLIDE sets, you will notice that a majority of them have painted back drops. However, some of his earlier portrait work was done against a white back drop --- including full studio groups. The above background appears WHITE because Enami's slides are made with a silver-gelatin emulsion on glass, which gives pure whites in the highlights --- of course, this background on the slide is not white; it is clear glass. The "white" is actually the surface of my light box seen through the clear glass --- just as "white" on a movie screen is really the light from a white projector lamp shining through the clear portions of the movie film. However, when Enami printed his earlier portraits on paper, the emulsion was made from albumen (egg whites). Albumen prints have a tendency to yellow over time depending on how ell they were processed, or if they are subjected to less than ideal conditions over time. All things considered, the background of the above Samurai image is the "whitest" I have seen so far, and to be honest, part of me would have preferred some kind of patterned or natural background to the white emptiness. On the other hand, it is a slide, and it would have been "seen on black" (as we say here on flickr) in a room darkened for the purpose. I imagine that when this portrait appeared on the screen, it had an instant impact on the audience gathered to see the slides. Most slides of Japan in any show would have been filled to the frame with various objects, color, and shadow. Therefore, in a darkened room or hall, the sudden flood of white light coming from around this Samurai must have caught the attention of any on the verge of sleep or boredom. ! Certainly, this is an interesting image on many levels. For other examples of Enami's earlier studio work using a blank back drop under various intensities of sky light (consider both weather and processing that would result in various shades of "white to gray") compare all of the images on this page : www.flickr.com/search/?w=24443965@N08&q= In any case, a photo on glass will always be much hardier than a print on paper, helped along by a piece of cover glass that adds further protection to the image. Such is the above, still looking nice after over 110 years or so. All of my posted ENAMI sets are here : www.flickr.com/photos/24443965@N08/collections/7215761388... For more on Enami himself see : www.t-enami.com/ *************************************** PS. Last post for a few days. I've got a sore forearm that flickr member "numonous" says might be an over-used trigger finger on the mouse. Another flickr poster, "filippadevries" will probably beat me to death with a wet soba noodle if I don't go see a doctor about it ! ;-) So, I'll give it a rest for a few days. See you next week..... * * * RANDOM SOBA : www.flickriver.com/photos/24443965@N08/random/Tried this Pin?Add a photo to show how it went

[snootysith]

Summary: Ru’s first encounter with the Voices of Nerat and Graven Ashe comes long before the events at Vendrien’s Well.

Fine etiquette was expected for all vassals under the Adjudicator’s banner. Even court pages like Ru. Scratch that, especially court pages like Ru. He'd been left to his own devices before he could count his age on one hand, making a living stealing anything that wasn't nailed to the ground. He still wasn’t sure what stayed Tunon’s hand after The Incident but there must have been something worth keeping if he had him learning letters and numbers and parading him around in trappings fit for a noble's son, not a street rat.

Rhogalus told him this was what it meant to be part of Kyros’ Empire. Nunoval told him to make the most of the cards he’d been dealt. Calio told him Tunon must be challenging himself.

(Ru liked Calio best. Not that he'd ever give her the satisfaction of knowing that.)

Court life ran like clockwork but today was different.

Today marked the Overlord’s victory over the Northern Kingdom, and petty strife in the Capital let up to make way for celebration.

From up a high window, Ru watched revelers stream past, laughing and chittering among lantern lights and music as Kyros’ emblem fluttered overhead. Vendors lined the street peddling their wares to everyone, sometimes a dazzled visitor from a far-flung corner of Terratus, sometimes a curious Archon surrounded by their retinue. Tunon was, officially speaking, obligated to attend certain social functions to exert his authority and maintain relations with other Archons. It was strictly political, and Ru suspected it greatly annoyed him to be dragged out his courtroom. He went and sent nearly every able-bodied Fatebinder out to keep the peace and the dormitory was notably quieter for it.

Court pages were excused from their daily lessons but that was all Tunon was willing to permit, expressly forbidding them from leaving palace grounds and partaking in festivities. Naturally, a few brave souls snuck out when the guard rotation changed. They invited Ru along but the lingering ache in his palms from a few hard swats of a ruler was a keen reminder of the price for playing hooky again. It wouldn’t be long until a Fatebinder caught them, rendered due punishment, and dumped them back here anyway. They'd content themselves with a board game or something until a more sympathetic Fatebinder smuggled in toys and treats and that was that. The holiday would come and go, and court would resume as usual.

Life was hard being ten-years-old.

Something soft and heavy dropped on top of Ru’s head. He pulled it off with a frown and stared at the rich, pinstripe red tunic in his hands for a moment before he looked over his shoulder. Calio leaned against the bedpost of his bunk bed wearing her best uniform and a wry smile.

“Spruce up,” she said. “We're putting those court manners to the test.”

Calio was on track to succeeding the Fatebinder of Balance and Ru looked forward to seeing her every day when she became a fixture under Tunon’s dais. For now, she navigated the ballroom with the ease and grace of a Fatebinder twice her age, engaging all manner of conversation with a clever quip and pacifying any argument before it escalated. She and Ru were only a decade apart but the disparity was enough to make him feel hopelessly out of depth.

That Tunon let him roam outside the Palace of Justice should be exciting but this place, with its shameless opulence and its dignitaries who, like Tunon, were Not-Quite-Right, made Ru’s stomach squirm anxiously. He hovered by Calio’s elbow for a time, scraping and bowing, suffering pats on the head and pinched cheeks, but it soon became clear that he was the only non-adult in attendance. The shadows were welcome reprieve and, hoping against hope, Ru waited for them to contort into Mark's familiar shape, but they never stirred. Disappointed, he latched to the banquet table, content to stuff his face with candied nuts and fruit until he got sick.

Then something caught his eye.

A handkerchief poking out from a woman's purse, shimmering silk, the color of the deepest sea, ripe for the taking.

He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t.

Ru popped one last candied nut in his mouth, sharp spice bursting on his palate, and chewed slowly, letting the idea steep in his mind while the sensible part of him (that curiously possessed Tunon’s voice) railed desperately against it. Tunon floated slightly above the crowd but that could work to his disadvantage with Ru’s short stature. Even if Tunon wasn’t preoccupied with a gaggle of courtiers, it would be easy enough to slip behind a pillar or duck under a table if he altered his line of sight. If Ru tackled each area cross-wise from Tunon’s position at all times, then surely he'd reap the most rewards with minimal danger. Calio wouldn’t mind— unless he got caught. She liked him but not that much.

Ru swallowed and smirked.

The evening passed without a cry of alarm, just a few mutters of clumsiness and forgetfulness so far. Good. There was always a small thrill in giving people the slip, like he'd won a game. The opponents used to be district guards and, admittedly, he'd lost a few rounds to them but he always wriggled free one way or another, so it never counted. But as he targeted his next mark, he felt a prickle down the nape of his neck, a pin of a stare almost identical to Tunon’s, and he whirled around to find its source, noticing a strange... something lurking just beyond the crowd.

Never once did it occur to him that this thing, green incandescence wrapped in tattered red rags, was anything more than another eccentric Northern decoration. Some cantrip given human form. Maybe a novelty lamp. It stood in the shadow of a crumbling statue completely motionless save for the bronze helm that swiveled lazily above the flaming cavity of its neck. Hanging from its threadbare belt was a small pouch of curious marble balls that glittered like stars.

No would notice if one disappeared.

Ru approached the strange apparatus, curiosity compounding his intent as he looked it up and down, puzzling over how the inferno did not consume the very fabric that contained it. It was a passing fancy, however, and he made a swift grab towards the pouch.

Only for a hand to clamp on his wrist, flames biting at his tender skin.

Recoiling with a yelp, Ru clutched his arm to his chest and stared up at this thing— this person incredulously.

“A bold stroke! How charming. How terribly stupid.” Its helm snapped in place on the smiling visage and it bent low until they were face-to-face. A chuckle echoed in the chamber of its head when Ru scrambled backwards into a pillar. “You would have fared better pilfering another Archon. One with less eyes. Might we recommend Graven Ashe? We hear whispers he hides a treasure trove in that beard.”

“A-Archon?” This was it. This was how Ru died. A wet smear across the face of Terratus with pulpy bits of him still clinging to Tunon’s gavel. His eyes darted to the dark shape of the Adjudicator hovering across the room. Mercifully his back was turned to him but it wouldn’t be long until he sniffed out guilt like blood in the water. Getting caught robbing an Archon a second time wasn’t going to end with him pledging fealty again.

“You’re one of Tunon’s!” It emitted an odd, reedy laugh as it took notice of the object of Ru’s attention. “Surely not! You actually have character. Does he know how naughty you are?”

Ru played along. He must. Even if this Archon made his skin crawl it had yet to drag him before Tunon so he'd take what small mercies he could. “He does,” Ru admitted. “I’m... a work in progress.”

“Ah... he seeks to fix you. Such a waste. Were you under our care, you would have been allowed to embrace your talents. As it is, they need refinement. Don’t think your misadventure around the ballroom escaped our notice. Your pockets must be bursting at the seams! You even managed to lift a vial of Bane essence from the Archon of Entropy! Not that you really knew what it was, of course. You wanted it only because you liked how the cut of the bottle sparkled in the light.”

How did—

“We collect voices.” It flicked a finger against Ru’s forehead almost playfully. His skin stung. “Especially those unheard. Your mind is still young and untrained. We will forgive your ignorance just this once but you ought to know your betters. The Voices of Nerat do not answer to ‘it’.”

Ru’s face warmed. "Forgive me, my lord. Please don't tell Tunon about all this. I'll stop. I'll put it all back, I swear.”

“Oh? But he’s just over there...” Nerat took a step in Tunon’s direction and Ru’s heart leapt to his throat.

“Please! I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” Nerat’s voice positively oozed with vicious glee. “Have a care with your promises, court page. Were you any older, we’d have asked for something far beyond the pale. However, our recommendation still stands.”

"What?"

“Ashe’s beard! We want you to plunder its mysteries!”

“What?”

Ru found himself drifting towards the Archon of War as if in a daze. He was in over his head. It would have been easier to fall on his own sword than doing this. Faster even. There couldn’t possibly be anything in Ashe’s beard but beard and more beard but what was a court page to do? Confess his crime to the Adjudicator and hope for the best? There was a limit to Tunon’s mercy and Ru had no intention of overstepping it.

How was he going to do this? Good evening, my lord, might I search your person? Purely professional, I swear. You see, section twenty-three of article one of the fourth chapter of Kyros' Law mandates all beards must be inspected for contraband. We understand each other, right? Ru wouldn't be surprised if he met the business end of the Archon’s mace for that.

Ru glanced over his shoulder and flinched away from Nerat’s leer. Had to be quick. Had to look like an accident. He bent and surreptitiously plucked loose one of his bootlaces, keeping an eye trained ahead on Ashe's position in the center of the room. He needed to face him directly and find some way to bypass the ring of Iron Guards surrounding their great general. Figured that they'd selfishly hoard his attention even here, but they were still only human under all the glossy purple armor and it wasn’t long until a platter of finger food compelled them to break formation. That was all he needed.

“Whoops!” Ru stepped hard on his shoelace and propelled himself forward, reaching for that mighty beard with both hands. Time seemed to slow on the descent. Ashe turned slightly at the sound of his voice, his brow furrowed. An Iron Guard shifted in front of Ashe to shield him, but Ru grit his teeth and awkwardly angled his body to the side, dodging them. He was so close he could practically—

Without warning, Ru’s momentum stopped dead and he hung in the air like a puppet with tightly wound strings. Heat crept up his neck as Ashe and his Iron Guard stared at him but the humiliation was short-lived. There was a sound of approaching footsteps behind Ru, and Ashe’s expression darkened.

“Clumsy, clumsy, clumsy!” A familiar voice rang out. “How fortunate that we caught you when we did. Wouldn’t that have been terribly embarrassing!”

Ashe scowled. “What are you doing here? Come to slander my name again?”

“You do that well enough yourself,” Nerat drawled, coming up beside Ru’s stock-still body. “Such cheek! One would think you’ve no arrogance left to spare after the Overlord put you in your place. You see, court page? Look at what a bit of poking will get you.” The power gripping Ru’s body abruptly relented, and he well and truly fell over, sprawling on cold marble with a grunt of pain. The Iron Guard eyed him as if he'd gone and pissed on their boots on the way down. Ru blew a lock of hair out of his face and favored them with a glare as he pushed himself off the floor.

“Leave it up to you to poach a child from the Adjudicator.” Ashe hardly so much as glanced in Ru’s direction.

Nerat crossed his arms. “Please. The two of us are bosom friends! Isn't that right, boy?” Uh. “What’s wrong with a perfectly innocent game between us?”

Ru wasn’t entirely convinced at this point and apparently neither was Ashe. No sooner did Ru find his footing when he found himself directly in the warpath of Ashe’s advance, bouncing off his gleaming armor and narrowly avoiding the scalding blaze of Nerat’s form as the distance closed between both Archons.

“Whatever scheme you’ve concocted to ruin me, to involve this foolish child—” Ashe growled.

“Oh, it’s always about you, isn’t it?”

“— remember just how I came to earn my place. Were it not for Kyros, I would have put you in the ground right next to that savage beast, Blood Echo.”

“At least your predecessor had a sense of humor. You’d think we’d gone and gobbled up your children the day we met.” Nerat’s helm wiggled in amusement. “Hm... did we? So difficult to keep track of all these voices from time to time...”

Ashe’s face turned a brilliant shade of red.

Their heated argument stirred to a frenzy, Ashe practically roaring over Nerat’s collective voices and shrieks of laughter, and Ru found himself in the unfortunate position of being wedged directly between them. Neither Archon paid him any heed as he squirmed to avoid flames and callous iron alike. He attempted to speak, to beg their leave or even one iota of their attention, but he would have been better served screaming into a hurricane.

It was a cold comfort when the commotion finally attracted the whole ballroom’s attention. Everyone gave them a wide berth but circled around them as if they were nothing more than a sideshow spectacle and it was starting to feel that way. Ru spotted Calio at the edge of the crowd, her expression alight with surprise, but she vanished before he could call out to her.

Then she returned with Tunon.

A hush fell over the crowd and they parted before Tunon as he glided towards the center, black smoke billowing in his wake, Calio flanked at his side.

“Archon of War. Archon of Secrets. Have the terms of Kyros’ directive been made unclear to you? All hostilities must be suspended until morning’s light. You would subvert her will so brazenly?” Tunon’s voice remained perfectly level but it reverberated in the room and down to Ru’s very bones. Power crackled in the air, setting his teeth on edge. Ashe and Nerat haven't failed to notice either. They stared up at the Adjudicator in the stretch of silence that followed and Ru seized the opportunity to break free, nearly stumbling into Tunon as he did but Calio was there to snatch him back, keeping an almost painful grip on his shoulders.

“Hostile is such a strong word, Adjudicator!” Nerat’s voice dropped to a cajoling simper. “We were having a spirited conversation! We do so love children and may have gotten rather excitable about the prospect of meeting one of your own. Isn’t that right, Ashe old chum?”

Ashe’s jaw clenched but he nodded.

“Have you anything to add to these claims?” Tunon asked, turning slightly to face Ru.

Ru awkwardly stood at attention under the room’s scrutiny. “I... um...” His gaze slid away from Tunon to the other Archons behind him. Ashe’s fingers subtly tightened around his mace but his face was otherwise impassive. Nerat’s spinning helm came to a stop on a scowling visage only briefly but his warning was clear as day. Whatever the outcome, neither Archon would forget this.

“I am addressing you, Xiaoru.” Darkness rose from behind the Adjudicator, a silent warning.

“I...” Ru wavered, uncertain and fearful. His education didn’t prepare him for this yet.

“Your Honor, perhaps it would be appropriate to move this discussion to a private venue,” Calio interjected.

“Your objection is noted,” Tunon said coldly. “However, I would collect his testimony without granting him time to embellish it.” Damn. The Adjudicator clung to a grudge tighter than a miser with rings. “Speak plainly, court page.”

The combined weight of Ashe and Nerat’s stares pressed even harder on Ru’s consciousness.

Ru took a deep, shuddering breath and dropped his gaze to the floor. He'd do what he did best: skulk around. “The Voices of Nerat introduced me to Graven Ashe after I fell down. Both were worried I would be taken advantage of, which led to a... passionate discussion in defense of children like me. I didn’t mean to start trouble but if I have then I humbly apologize.” Calio squeezed his shoulders only once and he remembered himself, pulling free to bow deeply at the waist like a Good and Proper Court Page, hoping Tunon didn’t notice how he trembled or how his pockets jingled. "I submit myself to your mercy, Your Honor." Again.

Tunon contemplated the matter in total silence and the ballroom seemed to hold its breath. “Do you both accept Xiaoru's apology?” he asked at length.

Ashe opened his mouth to speak but Nerat beat him to the punch. “But of course! Let bygones be bygones.”

“And you, Graven Ashe?”

The Archon of War gave Ru a long look with that impenetrable scowl on his face. “I am satisfied, Adjudicator.”

“Very well.” Tunon lifted his gavel and Ru braced for it to strike down upon him but a singular note resonated in the room as he merely tapped the floor. “I will deal with my page accordingly but do not forget: Kyros does not suffer dissidence in any way, shape, or form. Be mindful of your place. All of you.” His gaze swept across the crowd and it dispersed in a flurry of nervous mutters. Somewhere, a lute tentatively picked up the dance number again and other instruments gradually followed but for all the gaiety in the bouncing notes, there was a heaviness in the air that refused to budge.

Ashe retreated to a balcony outside with his Iron Guard in tow but Nerat lingered. He considered Ru with a curious tilt of his helm and dared to draw near. “Children can be terribly fickle but truth will out, yes? It'd be such a shame if something were to happen to this one. He made for a splendid diversion.” He aimed his words at Tunon, but Ru felt heat lick the inside of his skull and it made the hair on his neck stand on end. A voice not his own insinuated itself into his thoughts. Now wasn't that exciting?

“I did not expect to find you on familiar terms with my page,” Tunon said slowly. Ru swallowed nervously around the lump in his throat and kept his eyes trained somewhere above Tunon’s mask, silently pleading for a miracle as he felt the intensity of Tunon’s gaze boring into his skull.

“The holidays are a time for camaraderie,” Nerat crooned. “Don't you agree? We wished to bestow a token of our appreciation before we depart.” He plucked a marble ball from his pouch with two fingers and pressed it into Ru’s cupped hands, lingering there perhaps a few seconds longer than necessary. “Keep us in your thoughts, court page. We will most certainly keep you in ours.”

On the ride back to the Palace of Justice, Tunon prodded Ru for a more thorough account of what exchanged between him and the other Archons, but words failed Ru. He rolled the marble between his fingers, finding calm in the simple, repetitive motion and the rumble of Tunon’s voice. Calio said something in response to Tunon’s question but Ru had long shut away complex thought for the evening. The caravan bumped and rattled along the road, but he rested his head against Calio’s shoulder all the same and stared listlessly at the floor where air dragged the tail-end of Tunon's smoke out past the floorboards.

It was only once they finally arrive home that Ru realized the marble ball in his hands looked back at him.