#you’re all still ignoring the problem but no one wants to admit their inaction makes them complicit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

itsclydebitches · 3 years

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hello! loved your tbb meta posts (10/10 analyses of the batch and their respective characterizations), but since it wasn't explicitly mentioned -- did you catch the post-s1 interview with jennifer corbett (head writer) and brad rau (exec producer)? their answers about crosshair's chip being out were Interesting (tm) but fairly definitive-sounding, so I'm wondering what your thoughts on it might've been.

Hey there, anon! Thank you—I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed them :D

I’ve heard this info second-hand and ran into one written interview on the topic (idk if it’s the same one you’re thinking of), but my first response is… arguably a reach lol. Not to start off with a tin hat on, but it’s always possible that the writers are lying. Which yes, yes, we have a knee-jerk reaction against the idea of anyone lying for any reason, but in this case, it would be in service of both the writer’s plans and the audience’s enjoyment. Let’s say for the sake of argument that Crosshair’s chip is definitely still in and the entire point of this setup is a double twist: first the reveal that his chip is gone, then the real reveal that it’s actually still in and Crosshair was lied to (among other possibilities). How can the writers discuss him during hiatus without revealing that twist? By playing the current knowledge straight, despite the fact that they know otherwise. Yup, Crosshair’s chip is out. Yup, he chose this 100% willingly. Nothing else to see here, folks! To do otherwise would be to reveal the twist way too early. Even refusing to answer the question, dodging it, would give it all away. Imagine if during a season finale we’re meant to believe that a character is dead and then during hiatus an interviewer asks how the cast will mourn them. If the writer refuses to answer, every fan will realize that Something Is Up and what’s the main possibility here? That they’re not actually dead! Twist spoiled… unless the writer pretends that what the audience currently knows is definitely the truth here.

Taking my tin hat off now, these interviews are one of the main reasons why I’m worried about the writing moving forward. Because despite the paragraph above, I’m by no means convinced that the writers are skillfully keeping up a lie to avoid spoilers. It’s not outside the realm of possibility, but it’s not necessarily likely either. Which leaves us taking their words at face value and that’s… a problem. Because as so many fans have already pointed out, the writing is setting up a twist that, according to these interviews, doesn’t exist. That doesn’t say good things about their intentions for the show vs. what actually ends up on screen and that kind of disconnect becomes frustrating for viewers very quickly. Take the headaches, for example. I’ve seen a couple of fans explain Crosshair’s away using the engine accident: “His face got burned up, of course his head still hurts. You’re reading too much into this.” But imagine for a moment if I’d tried to do the same thing for Wrecker prior to “Battle Scars”: “He gets thrown around and hits his head nearly every episode, of course it hurts. You’re reading too much into this.” Other fans would have—quite rightfully—explained to me how television works and that this repetitive problem is functioning as foreshadowing of a larger problem. With a side of the fact that this is an action show where the characters consistently shrug off their injuries. We’re not supposed to take Wrecker getting thrown around seriously. He’s the brawn of the group, meant to withstand a lot of damage, with any injuries being presented as either #cool (Wrecker shrugs off Fennec’s hits to go after Omega, yeah!) or #funny (Wrecker treats Crosshair shooting him like a badge of honor lol), not something he’s going to have to grapple with in a serious manner. So the audience recognizes the question, what’s more likely? That Wrecker’s headaches are a deliberate visual cue on the part of the writers to tell us that something important is happening, or that suddenly how the genre treats injuries has drastically changed?

It's precisely the same with Crosshair. He’s not the brawn like Wrecker is, but he’s still the action (anti)hero who shrugs off injuries because this is a show interested in more fun, explosive plot, not a deep dive into recovery. (See also: the story doing nothing with Echo’s trauma.) When Crosshair is injured, he’s immediately fighting to get back into a ship and when we next see him he’s passed the recovery stage entirely. There’s only a scar to show that this happened at all. We don’t watch him getting bacta skin grafts, or worrying about his eyesight, or struggling to eat, etc. The point is that he was injured for the purposes of that episode and now he’s not. So why would we think his headaches are a long-term symptom when the show is otherwise not at all interested in writing long-term symptoms? What’s more likely, that this familiar visual cue is being repeated to tell us that this is the chip, just like it was with Wrecker, or that the story is randomly interested in something it never was interested in before?

The audience is right to think that there’s more going on because the show has been written to say, "Something more is going on." The headaches, Crosshair’s refusal to give concrete information, the group conveniently not using Tech’s scanner, the burn scar hiding where the chip’s scar would be, a lack of motivation for the Empire removing the chip, not seeing its removal when the show did include its power being amplified… all of these are deliberate writing choices to set up another reveal. But, if we take the interview at face value and learn that these weren’t deliberate details… then what? The writers are making mistakes? Throwing in “clues” for the hell of it that they never intend to cache in on? Unless there’s some amazing answer here that allows for both these inconsistencies' explanations and the writers’ hard stance—something I personally can’t think up—then we’re left with is a pretty serious flaw in the show. A flaw that’s going to undermine the audience’s trust in everything we get from here on out. The next time we see something that feels like a cool setup/reveal, half the fandom will be going, “Yes! It totally means that ___ is going to happen!!” while the other half will be going, “… does it? Because we thought things were happening with Crosshair and that went nowhere.” Writers have to tackle the implications of what they’ve put on screen. Otherwise, the story falls apart.

So yeah, I’m aware of those hard “His chip is out and this is his choice” statements and, frankly, they make me nervous for season two. Because what the show needs is to engage with what we actually got in the finale: an ambiguous state of Crosshair’s chip, a number of hints that it might still be in there, and an ethical dilemma that, so far, hasn’t acknowledged how much of an influence the group’s decisions have had on Crosshair’s. I tackled most of this in the first analysis, but something I didn’t unpack there was the “choice” of not leaving with them. I mean yes, by all exact definitions—and if we accept that the chip really isn’t there—then Crosshair absolutely had free will in that moment to do as he pleased. But life is way more complicated than that. Imagine for a moment that I put two candy bars in front of you. “You can have whichever one you’d like,” I say. You reach for the one on the left and I glare, hard. I scoff at you. I mutter about your choices, your personality, your flaws, and your mistakes. So you reach for the one on the right instead and I’m… neutral. Okay then. Right candy bar it is. “They could have chosen the one on the left” someone watching claims. “Nothing was stopping them. No one put a gun to their head!” And yeah, the concept of “stopping them” was never that extreme… but the more compassionate, nuanced look acknowledge that some measure of “stopping them” did exist. Insults. Cruelty. A clear indication that one choice was wrong and the other was right. That’s one hell of an influence, even if it's not as formidable as a gun or a chip.

And that’s what Crosshair is dealing with. Yes, joining the Empire is clearly wrong and yes, a non-chipped Crosshair has free will to walk away from it… but walking towards TBB was never presented as a real option for him. He saw that through their inaction when they never came back for him. Then in Hunter’s refusal to admit that they’d made a mistake in leaving him behind. Wrecker putting all responsibility on his shoulders, despite knowing what the chip does to someone. Tech backing him up and framing this situation as stemming solely from Crosshair’s base personality—“severe and unyielding.” It’s seen in the always-loving Omega walking away from him in the barracks, in Crosshair’s hesitation to follow them to safer ground (and boy oh boy, do I have sad headcanons about that), and most especially, in their reactions to him saving Omega. What Crosshair learns in that moment is that they honestly believe that he, not the Empire's chip, but he would shoot Hunter and that saving their little sister is not a point in his favor. It's met only with glares and a need to disarm himself. They don’t trust him and actions that should produce trust are outright ignored, so… where can they go from here? Nowhere, according to TBB’s actions. They’re not giving Crosshair any wiggle room, any hope that these relationships can be repaired, or any acknowledgement that they had a hand in things getting this bad. So when they offer to let Crosshair come with them—which is very significantly presented as an obligation, not something they want—he knows that offer is BS. Whatever their real feelings might be (because the found family show obviously wants us to believe that everyone loves each other), their actions have said loud and clear that they don’t want him. That yes, he could technically walk onto that ship… but that it would be the “wrong” decision accompanied by more insults, scoffs, and pressure to do otherwise. That once he's there, he'll be treated only as a threat with any good deeds ignored. It's an awful offer outside of it being the morally correct decision when it comes to leaving the Empire... so Crosshair reaches for the right candy bar instead.

That very long tangent out of the way, THIS is what season two has to grapple with, along with all that ambiguity and the existence of these "The chip is still here" hints. But the interviews don’t seem to acknowledge that all of this exists, instead framing things as if we’d ended the finale knowing for sure that the chip is out and had watched a season where Crosshair is 100% responsible for everything that’s happened, no Empire or TBB influence involved. The way the interviews frame things doesn’t match up with the text, so I can only hope this is an example of bad communication, or the writers keeping a spoiler under wraps, because otherwise… season two might be frustrating to watch, with fans continually going, “Why are you ignoring that this happened? Why are you pretending that all of this is simpler than it actually is?”

#TBB #The Bad Batch #Crosshair #Star Wars #SW #mymetas

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vannahfanfics · 3 years

Text

If Love Was A Color

Category: Mild Romantic Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Katsuki Bakugo, Ochako Uraraka

Additional Tags: Quirkless AU, Soulmate AU

Katsuki’s red eyes zeroed in on the word outlined in the fine print stretching across the six-inch-thick book in front of him. While many of the students congregating in the library would find the massive treatise daunting— especially considering its contents were as dull as the lightbulbs flickering in their dumb heads— Katsuki absorbed every syllable. Committing laws to memory was no easy task, but he embraced the challenge. After all, one day, he would be Japan’s most renowned prosecutor.

Katsuki’s eyebrows twitched as the loud giggling of girls disrupted his concentration. He glanced over his shoulder with lidded eyes to watch two first-year students clutching coffee cups stroll by.

“So you met your soulmate in Introduction to Biology?” one asked, a pretentious-looking girl whose ponytail looked tight enough to rip off her scalp.

“Yes! He’s so handsome and so dreamy! He wants to be a doctor; I can’t believe I lucked out with someone so smart and driven!” the other squealed as she pressed a hand to her flushing face. Her cheeks darkened as her friend joked that she should just drop out and marry him since he’ll be so rich; the girl laughed and insisted no, she couldn’t, how improper… But Katsuki could see the wheels turning in her head. He scowled as they disappeared behind some shelves, but their giggles floated behind them, clouding Katsuki’s study sanctuary with obnoxiousness.

Katsuki hated the concept of soulmates— or really, love in general. First of all, it was so fucked that there was some predetermined person you were miraculously just supposed to commit to spending your life with. What if they were a bitch, like that girl who would rather slide right into a rich man’s pockets and had no work ethic? What if they were some bum who lived in their mother’s basement? It burned Katsuki up inside, the fact that he was supposed to just accept someone without them earning his approval first. There was no way in hell he would let someone ride his coattails off the pretense of love. He had way too much to worry about anyway, as a college senior.

Still… Sometimes he had to admit that having monochromatic vision was a problem. Although the world adapted to the fact that people were colorblind until they met their soulmates, most people actively sought them— so by Katsuki’s age, most assumed that you had colored vision. He had to continually nag his professors for including color-coded charts and the like in their lectures because how the fuck was he going to differentiate? Still, that problem could be solved just by making waves— and Katsuki was damn good at that.

Ugh. I have a headache now, listening to those two bimbos prattle, he scowled, rubbing his temples as a dull pounding made a home in his skull. He pushed away from the table, leaving the open books and notes behind to walk the short distance to the coffee shop that adjoined the university’s four-story library. As he stood in line to order himself a plain black coffee, silently reciting the laws he’d just memorized in his head, he didn’t notice the door slam open and someone flurry into the small shop— that is, until they plowed into a chair, tripped over it, and slammed right into Katsuki’s back.

“Uwahhhhh!” they screeched. With a surprised yelp, Katsuki reflexively arched his back as their face crashed right between his shoulder blades. Crimson eyes wide in confused, he whirled around to face the clumsy stranger—

and then recoiled because color exploded into his world. He groaned as he staggered back into the display, eyes twitching as his previously inactive rods and cones sprang into life to fill his vision with a million different hues. He held his hand over his eyes, trying to adjust to the thin slivers of color peeking out through his fingers, and watched as a short, round-faced girl with a bob cut slowly straightened up while rubbing her nose.

“Ow, ow, ow,” she whined pitifully before cracking an eye open. Katsuki gawked at the dark, warm hue that filled her irises, the same color as the tables’ rich wood— brown? Was that brown? Her hair was the same color, so if she was a brunette, it would make sense. Slowly, he lowered his hand from his eyes, squinting as the pain ebbed. She raised her head, mouth opening to apologize— and then she inhaled sharply.

“Wow. Your eyes are such a beautiful color.”

Katsuki could feel the heat rush from his toes to the crown of his head. His mother had always told him he’d had crimson eyes like rubies. The girl continued to pore over them, a serene smile blooming on her face before it dawned on her.

“Wait, wait, wait, I— color? But that means we—! You’re my—! Oh gosh!” she spluttered. Katsuki winced as she slapped her hands hard to her cheeks, causing the skin to bloom pink there— pink, yes, that was the color of blushing. She continued to squirm wildly, entirely overwhelmed by the situation, before she managed to squeak out a sentence. “I’m Ochako Uraraka! It’s very nice to meet you, um, soulmate— Oh, that sounds so creepy!” she wailed and tugged at her chestnut tresses of hair. She looked apologetically at him. Her face turned a deep burning red. “Let me try this again… Your name, what’s your name?”

“Katsuki Bakugo.”

The barista called him to take his order, so he turned on his heel and did. As he was handing a few bills over the counter, Ochako scampered up behind him to peek over his shoulder.

“A plain black coffee, huh? You see the type!” she chirped. “I like sweet things— iced coffees with lots of cream, sugar, and flavored syrups are delicious! My favorite flavor is Irish cream— hey, where are you going?” she whined as Katsuki ignored her prattling to take his coffee and begin walking to the exit of the store. He grimaced as she followed after him, swinging her arms and hips a little so that the little planet glitter charm— it was dark, could that be purple?— on her bookbag swung back and forth. “We’re soulmates, right? We should get to know each other, don’tcha think?”

“Sorry,” Katsuki huffed as he pushed the door open. “I don’t do the whole soulmate thing.”

He tried not to think of the pitifully sad look on Ochako’s face as he closed the door right in it— but he found that it stuck in his memory for the next three days until he came to the library again.

She had some determination; he would give her that. She found him in his little nook, leaning his chair back on two legs as he pored over another law book— one that had a blue binding, Eijirou had told him. He didn’t even notice her approaching until he heard the soft tap of a cup, and he looked up to see her standing there, smiling pleasantly as she slid a black coffee towards him.

“You’re a diligent student, I see. Studying pre-law?” she observed with a point at the book cover. Katsuki snorted, half-debating ignoring her again and rejecting the coffee, but he was running on empty. Why refuse free caffeine? Though he loathed small talk, he supposed he could entertain her for a few minutes, as thanks.

“Yeah,” he answered as he picked up the cup and sipped at the steaming hot beverage. The tension melted from his shoulders as the robust flavor of the roasted beans hit his tongue; it wasn’t long after that the caffeine kicked in, giving his dulled senses and attention a nice buzz. He noticed Ochako slip into the seat opposite him, continuing to smile with those big brown eyes of hers sparkling. He saw the purple planet charm— Saturn, he realized— sitting atop her backpack, so he pointed to it.

“Astronomy?”

“Aerospace engineering.”

Katsuki released an appreciative whistle. He hadn’t expected that of the bubbly girl, and despite his reservations, he had to respect her challenging curriculum. She puffed out her chest with a prideful grin and continued, “I want to design rockets!”

“A space case for a rocket scientist. That’s perfect,” he snorted with laughter, making Ochako puff out her cheeks in defiance. Now that he noticed, they looked so soft and round… He almost had the urge to pinch them and feel how squishy they were. Almost.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a little spacey, but it doesn’t matter as long as I can solve the equations, does it?” she retorted haughtily. Katsuki shook his head, muttering a “Guess not,” and she reclined in her seat with a satisfied smirk. Katsuki’s crimson eyes fell back to the law book he was osmosing, and he could see her watching him intently above the tops of the thick pages. “What do you want to do?” she asked slowly. She seemed to be getting the hint that he didn’t want to be bothered for long, but there was a stubborn glint in her eyes.

“Prosecute,” he quipped, not looking up at her.

“Wow! That’s an ambitious goal. It takes a lot to be a government prosecutor.”

“Yeah, it does— a lot of studying, which, if you don’t mind, I would like to get back to,” he huffed with more venom than he meant. A strange sinking feeling washed over him as he watched the girl sink a little into her chair and her smile fold down at the edges. Silently, she got up and slipped her backpack on, mumbling a half-hearted “see you later.” As she began to leave, he cleared his throat.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he added with a frustrating heat rising to his cheeks. Ochako glanced at the half-empty cup, then back to him— and her smile returned a little sliver.

The next time they ran into each other, he was in line to get coffee again. She came in afluster, face scrunched as she pored over a notebook scrawled with mathematical equations; she was so absorbed in her calculations that she didn’t notice Katsuki standing in front of her, nor that he ordered an Irish cream and hazelnut coffee with extra cream in sugar. As he turned around, she shuffled forward thinking he had exited the line and bumped right into his chest. Her round cheeks pinkened and she looked up to squeak out an apology, but it died in her throat when she noticed it was him.

Wordlessly, he held out the coffee to her.

“To pay you back for the other day,” he explained as she took it, looking at him like he’d given her a ring instead of an iced coffee. She hid her bashful smile behind the white lid, slowly turning her body from side-to-side. As they moved out of line, he gestured to the messy array of numbers and letters on the pages. “What’s that? Looks intense.”

“It’s an extra credit assignment. If we solve this equation, we get ten bonus points on midterms… But it’s presenting quite a challenge,” she groaned as she scratched at her scalp with the end of her pencil. Smiling, Katsuki pulled out a chair for her and she automatically sank down, her brown eyes never leaving the paper. It was kind of cute, the way her eyebrows scrunched together and her lips poked out in a thoughtful pout. Katsuki found himself softening as he gazed at her; though it definitely looked like a challenging problem, the sparkle in her eyes indicated that she was rather enjoying it.

He liked that.

Wait a minute, he realized, his train of thought derailing and veering off a canyonside. The gears turning in his brain threatened to overheat and spin out of control as he considered what he had just actually thought. Him, liking Ochako? No. No, no, no. That wasn’t possible. Katsuki didn’t do love, he didn’t do dating, he didn’t do soulmates.

“Good luck with your problem. I gotta go,” he blurted, using his hand to hide the blush creeping onto his face. Ochako looked up with a confused gasp, but he was already marching out the door. Dimly, he could hear her meekly call, “Thanks for the coffee…”

As he stalked down the sidewalk, oblivious to the cloudy gray sky and the pattering rain beginning to sprinkle down from the heavens to dye the white sidewalk a deep slate, Katsuki’s mind was whirling. He tugged at his ash-blond strands of hair with a deep, guttural growl. He couldn’t like Ochako. He wouldn’t like Ochako. He’d always sworn that he’d never fall into that trap; he’d never take stock into that soulmate bullshit. It was just his subconscious; it had to be! He didn’t have a crush on her. It was just the internalization of all that soulmate propaganda trying to trick him into thinking he had to like her.

Right? He didn’t like Ochako. He didn’t like her sweet soft voice, or her warm brown eyes, or her big broad toothy smile her rosy round cheeks complimented so well. He didn’t find that little purple Saturn charm endearing, nor the way she pushed her fingers together when she was nervous, nor her little thoughtful pout and scrunched brows. He didn’t. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Katsuki stopped walking. He tipped his head up to stare defeatedly up at the cloudy gray sky. Gray. He hated that color now. It reminded him of a time when the world was just that— gray and lifeless and dull. Just Katsuki and his law books, all in monochrome.

Now the sky was blue, and so were the bluebirds nesting in the eaves of his dorm. Now the grass was green, as were the leaves that rustled in the trees lining the walking track by the gym. Now the sun was yellow, like the buttercups growing in front of the library. Katsuki’s eyes were red, like Eijirou’s spiky red hair and the apples he insisted on crunching on every morning though Katsuki hated the sound. Now grapes were purple, like Ochako’s glittery Saturn planet charm.

Now hearts were pink, just like Ochako’s warm, squishable, cute little cheeks. If Katsuki had to pick what color love was, it would be pink.

He dropped his head down with a sardonic chuckle. The water dripped down from his drenched hair to run down his face in rivulets. Pink, like Katsuki’s face every time he clapped on eyes on that clumsy, space case, chubby-cheeked cutie who happened to be his soulmate.

Damn it. He was in love with Ochako.

The slick sidewalk squeaked under his tennis shoe as he whirled on his heel to sprint back to the library. He surprised Ochako as she was walking through the double doors, making her compulsively chuck the notebook forward. She gasped and reached out as it spiraled out into the rain; if it landed in a puddle, the black ink on the pages would bleed into incomprehensible smudges, and she’d never get that extra credit she was working so hard to earn. Katsuki caught it as it sailed over his head, slowly bringing it to his chest to shield it with his body.

“K-Katsuki?” Ochako asked uncertainly, looking him up and down. He probably looked a sight, clothes and hair soaked from the rain and his chest heaving from the feverish sprint.

“You wanna know something? The first time I saw you, I couldn’t help but think that your eyes were the most beautiful color,” he whispered. It’s true, he loved the pink shade her cheeks turned— but nothing compared to that warm chocolatey brown that sucked him in and embraced him in warmth.

“I… I thought you didn’t do soulmates,” she swallowed, pushing her fingers together. Katsuki walked forward with a soft smile, holding out the notebook to her.

“I changed my mind,” he said while reaching up to brush a strand of her soft brown hair out of her face. He then grinned devilishly and pinched her cheek, making her squeak in protest. “Can’t resist ya, Cheeks.”

“What happened to Space Case?”

“You’ve been upgraded. Congratulations.”

Ochako blinked at him, then began laughing. She took the notebook back and hugged it to her chest, airy giggles making her shoulders shake a little. Now that he heard them from Ochako, he supposed those girly giggles weren’t that bad.

This soulmate thing… He could get used to it.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#kacchako #bakuraka #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #ochako uraraka #uraraka ochako #my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha

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datenightfright · 4 years

Text

For Science

Pairing: Yautja x Reader

Series: Life Mates

Warnings: The usual I s’pose.

When you spend months playing galactic grab ass with a yautja determined to drive you insane, you learn a thing or two. One of the skills you’re very thankful for, especially now, is your hypervigilance. You know it isn’t right to be so observant, but your reality is different from most, you live with the knowledge that there are bigger, scarier things out in space. Things you didn’t want to piss off.

On your morning jogs, you notice increased activity to the west of town. You knew there used to be a military base there, it was defunct. Now all the activity made sense, an old military base was the perfect place to hide a spaceship. Your theory was confirmed when Big pressed a few buttons on his fancy bracelet and brought up a map of the town, a red dot, the indicator of his ship, right in the middle of the old base.

You can’t use your car, the government agents are all over your house, so you opt to jog, skirting the edge of the town, only stopping at Walmart to buy some gear. You’re happy you made the stop, it’s a cold night, and your sneakers wouldn’t have made the trip to the base.

As you all gather on the side of a hill, the best vantage point for observing the base, crouching low, you felt excited. You have to admit, you missed the dangerous cat and mouse games you and Big played on the reserve. Something within you had fundamentally changed. You felt like a stranger on your own planet. Knowing there were other forms of life out there, and being trapped on this rock had you going insane with inaction. In short, you were having fun.

“Hey, Big Guy?” you put a hand on the yautja, he gave you his undivided attention. “Be careful in there. Guys like these love to get their grubby hands on aliens like you and cut you open for research.” Big snorted, as if, he seemed to be saying. Even so, your concern touched him more than you realized.

“OK, new problem,” Ethan says, interrupting your moment, “saying we do get in there, it’s not like we’re gonna find a map or anything.” Big clicked and held up his arm, pressing a few buttons on his arm band, a fully conceptualized 3D map of the base sat before you, the ship highlighted as a red dot. Ethan mutters to himself for several minutes before nodding. “OK, I got it, let go.” Big looks at you, clearly confused. “He’s not very strong,” you explain, you wince as your brother slips down the slope with a high pitched shriek, “or coordinated, but he’s a verified genius.” You follow him, Big cloaks himself and follows you.

Getting near the base is easy, too easy. There should be guards patrolling the perimeter. You knew they were probably still setting up, but security came first and foremost in all operations, otherwise there was no work to be done. Ethan leads you to the point of entry closest to the ship, that way you all don’t have to spend forever trying to bypass who knows what to get there, greatly decreasing your chances of getting caught. The easy part done, you cock the gun you managed to steal and smile at your team, “Ready when you boys are.”

You all approach the entrance, only to jump back when the door opens and men come running out. Your gun is up, ready for the firefight that never comes. The soldiers all run past you, screaming. They’re followed by a yautja, smaller, and apparently female.

You look up at Big as he decloaks. The two seem to recognize each other. Clicking and chittering, you sweep the area, trying to keep things cleared.

When the female does finally notice you, she snarls, jerks her head towards you. “Who is this?” She seems to be saying. Big puts his hands on your shoulders, shoving you to the front. Whatever he tells her, she doesn't like it. She glares at you, clearly wishing for your death. “Are we going to get your ship back or not?” You ask, suddenly very uncomfortable. Big cloaks himself again and your brother leads the way.

Had this been the first time you dealt with the yautja, you would have been surprised at all the carnage. As it was, you barely blinked at the blood stains on the wall. You had a mission, and you’d be damned if you let something as innocuous as blood get to you.

Ethan is like a bloodhound, leading the way right to the ship, no wrong turns. It’s slow going, as no one is sure they know what they’re going to face, but you know for sure that the female is glaring daggers into your back. She must really hate humans if this was the case. You ignore her, eyes on the prize.

You stop when Big puts a hand on your shoulder. You stop Ethan with a hiss. No one moves. You don’t have to see Big to know he’s picking something up that’s not supposed to be there. You’re sweeping the area with your gun when you see it out of the corner of your eye. This is where the months of being treated like prey comes in.

Maybe it’s natural instinct, maybe it’s your training, you don’t know, you don’t care. You swivel to the blob in the corner of your eye. Not blinking, not screaming, you shoot first and ask questions later. Luckily for you, it takes one hit to bring the thing down. It had its mouth opened, right in your line of sight, so your bullet flew through it’s brain with little to no problem. Everyone looks down at your kill.

“What is it?” Ethan asks, crouching down to get a better look. It’s entirely black, with an elongated head, a long tail, and claws. “I don’t care what it is,” You say, pulling him away from it. “It’s dangerous, and there might be more, so let’s hurry up.”

Ethan takes a few moments to study the thing, then takes point once more, you follow, unaware at just how much your yautja desires you. He was right in thinking that you were his Life Mate, he was sure of that, now more than ever.

Ethan stops suddenly. “What?” You ask, worried. "This door wasn't on the map.” He tells you. You shrug, “Get behind me,” you say, taking point. Big decloaks, stepping in front of you. You roll your eyes. “I appreciate the chivalry Big Guy but the mission is to get you back to your ship alive.” You step out from behind him, cocking your gun, and shooting the panel. The door slides open.

The room is dark, you can only make out strange shapes. You slink into the room, feeling against a wall for a light switch. You find it and flick it on. It took all of you several seconds to process what you were seeing.

It was a horror show. Yautja of all ages lay on gurneys, some opened wide for anatomy practice, some just the limbs severed, neon green blood was everywhere. You swallowed the lump in your throat. You and your brother were too distracted to even react to Big's anguished roar.

"This is so fucked up Sis," your brother chokes, moving out of Big's way as he and the female circle the room, looking at the carnage. Anger fills you. "Is there anyway we can find out who did this?" You ask Ethan. He shrugs, "Sure, but it would take a while, and with whatever things are out there, I think we should hurry." You nod. Walking over to Big, who seemed to be trying to wrap his head around everything. His head snaps towards you when you touch his arm. "Fight now, mourn later," you say managing a smile. He nods, you're right, of course you are.

He rallies the female and you set off again. Ethan, surprisingly without any trouble, leads you all right to the ship. A quick scan reveals no bogies in the area. The only thing stopping them is Ethan, he takes Big's arm, and begins to press buttons. Big is irritated. "Trust me," Ethan says, "I'm hacking into the database here, and downloading it to your ships computer."

"You can read their language?" You ask, stepping up to him to watch. "I can do anything," he scoffs, when he's done, he pats Big's arms, and you all make your way to the ship. Big presses a bunch of buttons on his arm band as you all approach the ship.

Your vigilance doesn't slack, even now, and it saves your ass. You cock your gun, and aim, another black thing coming from the shadows. You shoot, this time it takes several rounds to finish it.

That is the point where chaos rains down on you all. Freaky aliens and gunshots from every direction, screams of agony, you grab your brother and Big, tugging them towards the ship. Big gets the idea, calls the female, who's too determined to fight everyone and everything, ultimately, he decides to leave her.

You miss Big tossing his armband into the fray in his rush to get into the ship and out of the area. All you know is that you're fighting off an alien thing one moment, the next your brother is screaming. In a fit of hysterical strength he manages to beat the monster off you, and shoot it, he wastes the whole clip, but you're happy, surprised but happy.

You both miss the explosion as he flops down next to you, watching the blood ooze through the ship.

"That's not going to mess things up too bad is it?" He asks. "Nah," you say, "ship'll be fine."

#yautja x reader #aliens #yautja

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passable-talent · 3 years

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the jedi code.... isn’t bad, but could be better.

ok here we go! this post didnt get much attention but @fastidious-and-a-mess asked for the essay and what grace wants she gets (this is a long one grace i totally understand if u dont have the energy to read it)

honestly, buckle up. I’m about to sound a little too much like Anakin in my take of the code and what the order should be. im well aware i could pretty easily fall prey to palpatine if he wanted to get me to the dark side. thats how it B sometimes. here are my opinions anyway.

So, first, the Jedi Code as it is recited and held by jedi knights and masters is as follows:

There is no emotion, there is peace. // There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. // There is no passion, there is serenity. // There is no chaos, there is harmony. // There is no death, there is the Force.

Okay, so, the most glaring issue with all of that is of course that “only Sith deal in absolutes.” However there are plenty of glaring holes in that even that statement (would that statement itself not be an absolute? why then does Yoda say ‘do or do not, there is no try’ which is an absolute?) so we can ignore that . It’s a,, light tick mark in the ‘con’ column, though.

As I’ve mentioned in a fic a while ago, I have an issue with all of those mantras, which is that they only serve a monk/meditator/philosopher. it will absolutely not guide a warrior- a jedi who is meant to serve in the clone wars, who is meant to do battle to keep peace, who is meant to destroy the sith. One could argue that a jedi must do all of this battle without emotion, passion, chaos, but i counter this- just because you don’t act on it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

Honestly, though, my main point in this is not suggesting that the Jedi Code is bad, because it isn’t, necessarily.... my main issue is that the Youngling Jedi Code is LEAGUES better.

This code is given to Younglings, who are not yet mature enough to accept the absolutes (!!!) of the Jedi code, and who are not yet ready to detach themselves from emotion (such detachment is another issue i have with the Order, i talk about it a little below). The youngling code is as follows:

Emotion, yet peace. // Ignorance, yet knowledge. // Passion, yet serenity. // Chaos, yet harmony. // Death, yet the Force.

I see the purpose in this code- young padawans who aren’t quite ready to understand that the dead live on in the Force, or who aren’t ready to live without anger, or who still posses some of the ignorance of youth. i see what they’re going for.

but i really do think it’s much more than that.

When I read that code (and that is most certainly the one that i would live by), i hear this:

You feel emotion, and yet you find peace.

You admit your ignorance, and yet posses knowledge.

You live with your passion, and through it find serenity.

You are surrounded by chaos, but you feel harmony.

There is death, yet, there is the Force.

Here’s what I’m trying to say, gals and gays: The Order is wrong to suppress and ignore human emotion. doing so leads to a slew of mental health issues that lead to some very major problems by the name of Anakin Skywalker (if you would like an example).

It is wrong and frankly silly to claim that a jedi master cannot feel emotion, cannot be ignorant, cannot have passion, cannot feel chaos, cannot die. Yoda was ignorant of the rise of the sith, Obi-Wan Kenobi felt all the emotion, Mace Windu was extremely passionate, Luke Skywalker experienced so much chaos, and Anakin Skywalker died long before his death. It is foolish and arrogant to claim that such things are not of the Jedi.

So, instead, turn to what you teach your children, Jedi: That these things can be overcome, can be weighted and yet acted against. Personally, i think there is so much more power to a Jedi who feels inconsolable grief and rage and yet acts with a clear, peaceful mind. As Kenobi did, when he avenged his master, and killed maul. I think there is much more power to knowing that you can be wrong, you can have gaps in your knowledge, and you can still be a very wise Jedi- like Yoda, welcoming the possibility that there were missing planets in the Archives.

To me, it is easy to ignore anger, chaos, ignorance, passion. But it leads to a Jedi too arrogant to sense the rise of the dark side. It leads to a Jedi incapable of doing what’s right out of righteous anger and passion, instead letting darkness rise through inaction, waiting for the senate to make a decision.

It is much harder to feel them, and let them pass, and act with a level head. It is much harder to resist the dark side than to ignore it all together. You can succeed at one. The other, you cannot. Darkness will always be there- you cannot ignore it, lest you allow it to fester. racism analogy

which is harder, and leads to a stronger mind: never ever ever buying or even looking at a donut, or buying a dozen for your roommates and never eating one?

Emotion, yet peace. // Ignorance, yet knowledge. // Passion, yet serenity. // Chaos, yet harmony. // Death, yet the Force.

okay, palpatine, i’ve lost faith in the jedi order. if you’re gonna recruit me, now is a good time ig. i wanna see ani

-🦌 Roe

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thefools-journey · 4 years

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The Tarot in Love

AKA QUICK TAROT META

So. Apparently a lot of Arcana fans don’t understand or know the connection between the LIs and their tarot cards. This will be a quick primer on said tarot cards and how they influence the LI routes. It’s important to note that most cards have multiple domains and influences. The type of reading, the question posed, and the other cards within the reading will determine which domain or influence is being accessed.

Before we start, note that every single LI begins their route on the Reversed Path. A Reversed Card in this game means that the card’s energy is stuck and something is preventing its full expression.

ASRA THE MAGICIAN

The Magician’s main domains circle Action. The Magician knows what he wants and goes after it, damn the consequences. If he is committed and willing, he makes miracles happen. He is the kinetic energy to the High Priestess’ potential energy. As the MC says in the prologue when they pull this card (for Nadia), this card signals that the time to act is now.

Asra begins his route full of inaction. Sure, he seems like he is on the go and doing things but in reality, he is paralyzed. He has allowed his ties to Muriel and Nadia decay in favor of the MC. He hasn’t acted on vital information only he knows. He has lost his purpose, his drive, for knowledge, for love, etc. Some of this is down to his caregiver role with the MC - Asra cannot act or do much of anything in that quarter without risking the MC's health. Most of it is down to the year from hell ™ where Asra learned just how far he will go and just how powerful and ruthless he can be for those he loves. The year from hell ™ demonstrates exactly what the Magician is made to do. Asra scared himself really badly here. So he starts the route in a sort of limbo. Key to his Upright ending is widening his world, making the Magician understand that what he fights for is not just himself, his narrow goals, and loves but something much bigger.

NADIA THE HIGH PRIESTESS

The High Priestess deals in a few interlocking domains. She guards the boundaries between the mundane and the mysterious. She is the great potential waiting to be unlocked. Arguably, she is magic itself. She is the inner voice, that gut feeling, that intuition you cannot explain but know is right. She asks you to trust that part of yourself.

Nadia's route is arguably the best balanced in terms of the magical and mundane storylines. This is no accident. This balance is fundamental to the High Priestess' domain. When her route begins, Nadia trusts no one, not even herself. Thanks to missing nine years’ worth of memories, she understandably feels adrift. She has no idea what is going on and who to trust. Nadia’s only real tethers, and they are tenuous ones, are to Portia and the MC, the latter of whom she hopes can somehow help her. The year from hell ™ even if she no longer remembers it, also played a large role in starting her down the Reversed path. More than once, Nadia admits to withdrawing, emotionally, physically, and mentally, from the outside world as a way to cope. This was not a strategic or necessary withdrawal as her Birthday memory makes clear: together with Asra and Julian, the three of them could have held together and figured out a path forward. It wouldn’t have been easy, of course. But the very real danger in Nadia’s route is her belief that she and she alone must make things right, which goes against the High Priestess’ ways. The High Priestess sees potential in all around her. If Nadia turns away from that part of her which begs her listen and reach out, she is truly lost. Nadia’s Upright Ending requires her to find balance between what she can know and what she must simply have faith in, to be the boundary between the known and unknown. It requires her to learn how to trust not only others but herself again.

MURIEL THE HERMIT

The Hermit is searching for something. Not something from the outer world but something from within. Some mystery needs solving, some understanding needs creating, a higher call needs answering. He turns inward for answers, though he will seek or receive guidance from trusted sources. Through his search, he will create a still center, a solid, unbreakable foundation to call upon in times of high action and stress. Through this struggle, the Hermit can become that guide for others, focusing and directing their own journeys.

Muriel's route is the most fascinating and difficult of the routes because the Hermit's journey is by definition an internal one. Want to know why his route is so wrapped up in taking him out of his every day world and forcing him to discover his past? That’s why; it is a way of externalizing the very internal struggle for validation and focus the Hermit embodies. When his route begins, Muriel very literally has withdrawn from the world. And not just any world, but a world craving his experience and expertise. Of all the characters, Muriel has the most information on what is happening and why, above and beyond even Asra. Muriel holds the keys to so many happy endings and yet, he has chosen to be forgotten and isolated. As with Nadia, this retreat was not a strategic one but one borne of fear. Muriel has the knowledge and allies to handle the challenges which he faces. What he lacks and what he is building in his route is the internal fortitude, the stable foundation necessary to not only survive the challenges which come for him but to thrive and defeat them. The genius of this route’s Upright Ending is that the MC is building this fortitude right alongside Muriel, guiding him and being guided in turn. The MC protects Muriel, guiding him back into the larger world with a caring hand and back to rely on. In turn, Muriel answers the higher calling within himself to face the Devil. He solidifies his foundational revelations and becomes a guide in turn towards the Devil’s defeat. Make no mistake, when the foundation is as rock hard as that pair will be, the fiercest storm is no match.

JULIAN THE HANGED MAN

The Hanged Man is a card of waiting, potentiality, and knowing surrender. Some say it is a card of martyrdom but really it’s a card about sacrificing and letting go, winning through stepping back and allowing things to happen to you. The Hanged Man suspends action, waiting for some unknown or a revelation. Through the paradox of stepping back or surrendering, the Hanged Man finds what he needs to achieve victory. When you see the Hanged Man in a general reading, it’s asking you whether the actions you’re taking are having the opposite effect that you intended. It asks you to let go and step back.

Julian begins his route like he begins most things: with a dramatic flair just before he faceplants. Julian is flailing every which way with no rhyme or reason. Because he has lost so much control over his life, he tightens his grip on what little he can control. He leads the MC on, then unceremoniously drops them before they can drop him or be hurt. He has taken the entire world and all its consequences on his shoulders. Julian feels out of control and unable to slow down, process, and wait. Most of his restless catastrophizing stems from the year from hell ™- he watched countless thousands die, failed to stop it, and woke up with no memory and a murderer’s brand on his hand. It’s only when he begins to let go, to allow people to make their own decisions and minds towards him that things start to turn around for him. His Upright Ending rewards players who reinforce the Hanged Man’ lessons: you cannot control everything, nor should you try, and sometimes it’s doing what feels wrong (in his case, letting others help him shoulder his burdens, just try to count how many times he says something along the line of ‘it’s wrong for others to want to help me’) that leads to victory.

LUCIO THE DEVIL

The Devil is a card about power and control, who and what has it in your life. This can manifest in a myriad of ways, from feeling out of control to obsessing over things and people to actively controlling others. The Devil is usually a warning card, a sign that something or someone has an unhealthy hold over you (or that you have an unhealthy hold over someone). The Devil also deals in materialism and the obsession with status. Again, this goes back to the power and control domains. Some interpretations also add ignorance to the Devil’s domain, which can also be traced back to his control domain. If you are unaware of something, you cannot take control of it. The Devil asks you to reevaluate and reassess what and who you allow to have power in your life. It asks you to retake responsibility for your own destiny.

Lucio begins his route as a literal shade of a man, a shell of his former self, unable to interact with the world he so slavishly desires. This is the debt he has accumulated through a lifetime of irresponsibility, an obsession with instant gratification, and a desperate need to be seen by others as powerful, desirable, and control. In his quest to become the most powerful man on the planet, he has instead wound up with nothing, completely ignorant as to the cause of his circumstances. This is why he is stuck as the Devil's least favorite whipping boy. If Lucio had taken responsibility and come clean, even back when he was dying, he could have avoided the worst of his problems. As it stands, he is still dodging responsibility, allowing his obsessions to dominate his life, and ensuring his mistakes continue to compound against him. That is why getting him to own up and regain control of himself is key to his Upright Ending. It sounds cruel but that hard, grinding self reflection is the only way he stands a chance of fully, utterly breaking his chains.

PORTIA THE STAR

The Star is a card of peace, hope, clarity, and truth. It is that small light in the dark, asking you to endure the night. It tells you that you have the tools to do so. Keep your hope, find your peace, and hold to your truth. The end of your journey is in sight. It is a card of seeing and knowing, not action.

I already wrote a huge meta on Portia's route and how her status as the Star impacts it. Portia begins her route hurting from and hoarding secrets. She wants to find the truth but has given up almost all hope of uncovering it. Despite knowing the costs of keeping people in the dark, Portia continues doing so, a silent observer too paralyzed and overwhelmed to act on the truths she knows. The most obvious demonstration of this is her dealings with Nadia. Portia has worked with her for months but hasn't told her about Julian, her literacy, and her invitation. Telling Nadia these truths would solve several of Portia's problems but she can't bring herself to do it due to fear. Her route is all about truths, exposing them or hiding them. Key to her Upright ending is getting her to act on her truths and bring them to light. Knowing the truth isn’t enough if you aren’t willing to act on it.

-Telos

#the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana meta #asra #nadia #muriel #julian #lucio #portia #the wheel turns #the arcana reversed #the year from hell tm

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jasperwhitcock · 4 years

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equinox | chapter 06 –– “open book”

here is chapter chapter six of my bella as a vampire and edward as a human fanfic inspired by an au that @bellasredchevy posted. you can read the new chapter on AO3 or here. i post updates on AO3 or on tumblr using the #equinoxjw tag. but sometimes it doesn’t work. so. um.

the last time i wrote for this, it was BEFORE midnight sun came out. and now, midnight sun has been out for two weeks (oops...now FOUR weeks), i’ve finished it, i am miserable as a result, and finally, SHOOK. here’s why: in the last chapter, i mentioned esme’s aversion to having her floors ruined by rain. in midnight sun, edward mentioned that multiple times. MY MIND.

everyone reading this is thinking like, yeah, sure “your mind” OR you’re dumb and should not be finding any humor that your lizard brain came up with the same basic idea as smeyer, known racist. maybe esme was just written with hardly any personality so it wasn’t that difficult to end up concocting the same idea. and… okay, you’re right. but in those moments, let me tell you, i was really feeling something. smeyer, you reading this?

to catch up since i’ve been busy, i reread my other chapters. and i really need to go back and edit them. so thank u for being here & bearing with me. hehe

also… the beige… that’s for y’all.

just a lil baby warning: there are conversations revolving around religion in this chapter. i wanted to mention that as a warning for the sake of anyone who has had negative experiences with church/religion (like me!) whom this topic makes uncomfortable. the local doctor and his children are VAMPIRES. you have been warned.

It was entirely unrealistic –– the possibility of running out of time –– but still, I expedited through the forest, the greenery blurring by me in long unfocused streaks. Although if I paid attention, I knew I’d still be able to see every microscopic detail. The fluffy moss growing along the trunks of the ground, the iridescent droplets of rain dotting the ferny leaves, the patterns in the wood of the trees. But I cared little to as I barreled forward, hurtling over uprooted trees and bounding over large pools of rainwater nestled in the muddy forest floor.

I lost a shoe leaping over the last fifty yard stretch of river, so I kicked the other off carelessly in midair. The shoe fell into the water with a powerful splash from the height. Alice could bite me later. I was in too great of a hurry to deal with her chastisement now. If she really cared for this pair of shoes, she could dive for it. Alice! The thought of my sister made me realize a reason I could actually be late. I needed a change of clothes.

As I fell back to the earth, reaching a hand forward to grasp onto a convenient branch, I focused, envisioning my arrival at the house, the flight of the stairs, and the knock on the door of her room. I pictured asking her my request, and though I had no intention of actually following through with these steps, I hoped the thought was enough for Alice to see what I wanted. It should be, because if it wasn’t, I’d have to go into the house anyways, but I really didn’t want to waste time.

I swung lightly onto the bough of another spruce, and nimbly travelled this way from branch to branch, juggling the journal all the while by throwing it into the air between trees and catching it again. I could run fast and delicately enough to avoid muddying my feet, but with how unfocused I was in my hurry, I didn’t want to risk needing to stop to wash off.

If they hadn’t been concerned already, now would really be the time that my family genuinely considered my descent into insanity, seeing me wildly and maniacally swing through the trees towards the house like Tarzan after having only melodramatically left hours prior.

I knew it wouldn’t last, but I felt somehow liberated by the realizations that I’d come to in my wintry jungle. After hours of considering the right way forward navigating my now complicated future, I’d decided to face it head on. To stubbornly confront the problem. I was tired of feeling unlike myself and feeling distanced from my family, though my new resolution might encourage the rift I’d only just mended with Rosalie. Even with my grievances, I still enjoyed this life, the strength I’d found in it. The sense of rightness and belonging that contrasted how I’d felt so weak and out of step as a human. I wanted to bask in that again. I wanted to take action.

I decided the best way to reattain that freedom was rather than leave the boy alone, I’d challenge the vision. Seek him out this morning. Return the journal to him. Sit beside him. And in my ability to do so, I’d then prove his irrelevance to me, his powerlessness over my self control.

And although it was still a ridiculous thought to entertain, if I did find in me some concern or care for him, then that’d be even better. It’d certainly be strange, but it’d also strengthen my resolve to leave him be with his own life rather than make any choices he couldn’t even be knowledgeable enough about to consent to. Then, once I’d done so, I could truly leave him alone for good. I’d toyed with completely ignoring him from the beginning as I said I would, but then I decided that outcome wouldn’t develop from inaction. I was far too headstrong to leave this alone without trying to face it.

I will admit that a part of me was curious about Alice’s vision, curious about a friend or even a partner in this life… But the thought of Edward as that partner made me recoil. He was too irritating –– not the ideal candidate to spend an eternity with.

He was smart, though. And kind too, I noted, thinking of the way he’d cheered up the girl in the hospital… But definitely irritating. I’d have endless time to decode what had made him so relentless and smart-mouthed, but once I’d made the discovery, what then?

I had spent hours turning the little brown journal in my hands over and over, studying the worn leather, the folds and creases, tempted to open it and uncover his secrets. During an hour where I’d been resolved to go forth with pretending he didn’t exist, I’d even considered sneaking back to his house and finding my way in to leave the journal by his side so that I wouldn’t have to give it back to him myself in person. But that –– and also privily reading it without his permission –– seemed indefensibly invasive.

I didn’t mind being a vampire if that’s what I was. But that didn’t mean I had any desire to fulfill some of the creepier of the tropes.

Once I reached the tree closest to the garage, I tightroped onto a thin branch. Then, cautious as to not break it, I gently pushed down and sprung off, diving like a swimmer seventy feet down, the journal clasped between my outstretched hands. The distance was very short, and I landed softly, focusing greatly on doing so in a cautiously tactile way that wouldn’t cannonball me through the building and barreling into the ground. I rolled like a bowling ball to a stop on the vegetative, vine-covered roof in a cluster of silky honeysuckle and tickling lavender wisteria.

Even now all these years later, I felt kind of giddy at the impossible physics of my body’s capability for control, so I couldn’t help but laugh a little. I even laughed a little more thinking again of how my family might see my behavior –– me laughing here in the flowers –– as lunacy in how drastically it differed from the darkness of the personal rain cloud I’d been carrying over me.

From the house, I heard a deep chuckle and the sound of a scoff, confirming that I did have an audience. It must be Emmett mocking the impressiveness of my nosedive. I smiled, feeling very much like myself again.

I hopped off the roof to the ground and entered the garage. Sure enough, Alice had laid out a small pile of clothes for me for the upcoming school day. I stripped, unceremoniously dropping the garments I was wearing into a pile on the floor and reached for the clothing. Then, I groaned.

“Alice!” I hissed her name like an expletive. I thought we’d moved past my sister’s insistence on using me as her personal doll, but it seemed this was her attempt for a revival. Maybe she was determined to punish me for the way I’d destroyed my shoes. Rather than a sensible sweater and jeans, Alice had taken advantage of my hurried need and elected to pick out a cropped turtleneck sweater and a mini skirt, both black. The sweater wasn’t awful in that the crop wouldn’t be exposing with the high waist of the skirt, but the bodycon fit of the skirt, the crocodile print of the polyurethane, and the ludicrous split up the side… Alice was deranged. This had to have come from her own closet.

She had the good sense to include sheer black tights to hide some of the disconcerting flawlessness and freaky whiteness of my skin –– not that that would matter much in how off-putting and contrasting I’d look in all black anyways –– but I’d have preferred converse over the matching black boots. At least the heel of the boot was more reasonable than I’d expect from her. Not more reasonable than converse, though.

I imagined showing up to Edward’s house. Hey, Edward! Here I am to drive you to school, pale and ridiculous. Also, I’m a vampire. Here’s your journal.

I considered the short run to my room in the house, but again, I was already running late…

I tugged the clothes on and hopped into the pearly white car, throwing the journal into the passenger seat. As I reversed out of the garage, I felt thankful for the engine upgrades Rosalie worked on that allowed for the instant rapidity of the acceleration.

I spun sharply, letting the car spin out with an obnoxiously loud screech until I was facing the long drive away from the house. In the rearview mirror, I watched as Rosalie entered the garage, her golden eyes shocked and her mouth open as I sped away.

My reckless driving only warranted a few irritated honks on my way to Edward’s house through the morning traffic –– one dark green Honda specifically gave me a long piece of their mind when I cut them off –– before I was whipping around the corner onto his street.

Just as I pulled in front of the lonely house, I watched as Edward casually jogged down the steps of his porch, his sleek backpack hanging carelessly off one shoulder and an apple in his hand.

His tangle of bronze hair was like a low burning flame against the muted monochromatism of the grey house and the grey sky and the grey pavement. Today, he wore a light tan turtleneck that clung tightly to his chest, slim beige trousers, and a long black coat that ended above the knees. His fancy belt, his long socks, and his suede boots were all black too. I didn’t particularly consider him to be someone who cared much about what others thought about him, but he seemed pretty meticulously dressed. I wondered if he dressed to impress others or dressed for himself. Neither decision particularly mattered, but it’d been so long since I thought about something so human –– the thought process of selecting what to wear and considering how you wanted to present yourself.

The clothes I wore ceased to matter long ago. I never particularly had an interest in fashion, so it was easy to allow Alice to select my wardrobe. And for the most part, she got it right. Only when I found her selections to be impractical, such as today, did I really care. But it was a rarity that she tried to push me too far out of my comfort zone anymore. She’d given up on me, or maybe she had just become more clever about finding the right opportunities to dress me in something absurd… I liked things that I could easily move around in.

Alice would approve of his outfit, I thought. Maybe if he liked fashion, they really would get along. But that didn’t matter because I had no intentions of involving Alice and her freaky little visions in my experiment.

Seeing me parked there, he froze for a moment, before his lips curved into a huge smile. Edward laughed, throwing his apple up in the air and catching it again. He half-jogged forward to meet me. I took a deep, clean breath full of the leather scents of the car’s interior and rolled down the window, leaning forward towards him.

Edward bent over so that his head could duck down to see my face through the window, and he shook his head again, chuckling.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Hello, Edward,” I smiled pleasantly, trying to play nice.

He eyed me suspiciously, but the glint in his pretty green eyes was teasing, the grin that lit them up never fading.

“I’ve come to bring you this, fresh from the scene of the crime––“ I grasped hold of the leather bound book in my hand, raising it up to wave it before setting it back down, “––and to offer you a ride to school. I’m sure it’d be a humbling experience for you to walk, but I felt bad about your pretty car being flattened like a pancake.”

“You’re not irritated with me?” Edward asked, slightly cocking his head to the side.

“Are you irritated with me?” I countered.

“Never,” he beamed.

“Well, then we can call a truce,” I half smiled. “You’re not curious as to why I’m forcing you to carpool, making your getting to school my business?”

“The wasting of finite resources is everyone’s business. But of course, I am curious.”

“As usual,” I mumbled under my breath. Hesitantly, I breathed in. It was like pulling the chord on a hot-air ballon with the way his scent ripped my throat into flames. I was grateful for the distraction of someone grumbling to themself as they turned onto the street, because instead of spiraling, I was able to instead laugh as I realized who I had cut off a few traffic lights ago. I looked in the rearview mirror and sure enough recognized Sara, the sandy blonde, driving the ugly green Honda.

“Hmm… Well, I wouldn’t want to upset your girlfriend––” I bit my lip momentarily to keep myself from laughing, “––so I wouldn’t be offended if you said no.”

“Who?” Edward asked, but his smile had faded as his eyes watched my lips intently.

He looked back into my eyes after a second, blinking as he realized I was staring at him staring at me, then up at the car awkwardly pulling in behind me.

“Oh,” he chuckled as he realized who I meant. “I’ll be just a moment.”

I watched in my side-view mirror as Edward approached Sara on the drivers’ side.

“Hey, Sara,” he said as she cranked her window down.

“Hey, Ed,” she grumbled, kind of irritated. I should have felt guilty for disrupting her plan, but her irritation with Edward instead provoked my nerves. Also, the fact that she called him Ed bothered me too. “I guess you made it out alive. I’d have been here sooner, but Cullen cut me off. I got suck at a red light.”

“Did she?” Edward laughed. “Well, I’m really sorry, Sara. This is so nice of you, but Bella offered to drive me to school today. I’d cancel now that you’re here, but after she saved my life, I’d feel terrible doing so. Is it alright if I see you at school?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she snapped, trying to seem unbothered despite the tightness of her jaw and the edge in her voice.

“I’m sorry again, Sara. I really appreciate that you came here,” Edward smiled a dazzling smile.

“No big deal. I’ll see you at school,” she lifted the corners of her lips once before turning away, her mouth in a tight line.

He sighed watching as she drove past me and away before a crooked smile reappeared on his face as he walked back to my car. I didn’t have time to wonder if he would have preferred to ride with her. It didn’t seem likely.

“…Ed?” I asked as he crossed back to the passenger side.

“You heard that?” Edward chuckled. He slid his backpack off his back, opened the door, and dipped his tall frame into the car. He picked up the journal before settling into the passenger’s side, adjusting the seat to make room for his legs and backpack. “I’m not particularly fond of that nickname. Or any, for that matter. My mother called me Teddy sometimes. I prefer Edward.”

“I do too,” I agreed, breathing in the potency of his fragrance. I clutched the steering wheel tightly and swallowed dryly.

“So,” he began once he was comfortable. “Are you feeling more open today?”

“No,” I answered as I began to drive towards the school.

Edward sighed, but he shook his head, amused. Clearly, he’d decided to play nice too. “Do you ever get tired of ambiguity, Bella?”

Yes.

“No,” I teased, rolling my eyes. “I enjoy being mysterious far too much.”

“Mysterious enough to keep me up at night,” he egged on.

“I’m sure you slept just fine.”

“How’d you sleep?” Edward asked. I looked over at him, ignoring the tingling of my tongue in anticipation of the taste of his sweet blood. I should have thought of a response, but I was too busy fighting off my instincts to think of a lie. His pretty eyes narrowed in thought as he analyzed my face and the dark circles beneath my golden eyes.

Suddenly, I froze, my muscles locking down as he reached forward, his hand gently touching my hair. I didn’t dare breathe as the heat of his skin enveloped me in warmth. His hand lingered for a moment before it pulled back, holding up a broken piece of fern.

“You had a leaf in your hair. How’d that get there?” Edward almost whispered, his lips curved into a half-smile.

A strange electricity throbbed through my body, and the sensation was so odd. Like my heartbeat should be thrumming loudly in my ears. Deafening. But my heart was frozen and dead, so I only heard the beat of Edward’s. We sat in silence for a moment as my mind spun in the dizziness.

“Maybe I should have accepted Sara’s offer,” he joked after a moment, laughing, but I wondered what he made of the affliction I was trying to hide on my face. Around him, no matter my attempts at subterfuge, it felt as though my face was an open book in which he could read all my secrets. I refocused my eyes on the road, too distracted by the warmth of his pale face and the prettiness of his green eyes as the forest flew by in the window behind him.

“Maybe,” I agreed, smiling softly, smiling sadly. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe you should jump out of the car and run before I accidentally kill you.

“But,” he mused gently, trying to keep the mood light and playful. “She probably doesn’t have heated seats.”

His effort to comfort the conflict raging within me that he didn’t even understand worked. I snorted.

I continued driving, thinking of ways to bring up the journal.

“You look lovely today, by the way,” he smiled, appraising me. “Which is not to say that you don’t on any other day, but you do look very pretty.”

I felt oddly incomplete as I waited for reactions my body was no longer capable of. Reactions I’d forgotten. There was another strange sensation in my cheeks as if they should be very warm.

My head whipped towards him in surprise, my eyebrows pulling up.

“What?” He immediately asked in shock, his heart beat picking up. My reaction didn’t totally alarm him though, because his lips were still pulled up at the corners. Edward seemed to always be smiling. Or maybe smirking was the better word. “Do you not get compliments often? I find that rather hard to believe.”

“No, it’s not that,” I relaxed my face. “I was just caught off guard. Lovely…That wasn’t particularly something I’d expect a seventeen year old boy to say.”

“Oh,” he relaxed, easily grinning again.

“Are you even seventeen?” I found myself smiling in return.

“Are you?” He countered.

My mood darkened as my lips dropped immediately, but I fixed the smile back onto my face so he couldn’t see how exposed I felt.

“You know, my mom used to say that I was born thirty five years old, and that I get more middle-aged every year.”

“Hmm…” Edward nodded, his eyes narrowed again as he scrutinized me. I wondered if this clarified some assumption he’d made about me.

I turned into the school parking lot. I saw the gleaming cherry redness of Rosalie’s ostentatious car and desperately hoped she was already inside one of the brick buildings.

“So,” he prompted, his tone mysteriously patronizing. “Did you read this?”

I glanced over to see the accusation in his eyes as he held up the journal, but he didn’t seem angry whatsoever. They were still light. Still playful.

“What? No, of course not,” I defended myself. But my voice was unpersuasive, the pitch coming out a little too high to give my words any credibility.

I parked beside Rosalie. The car was luckily empty, so I relaxed my grip on the steering wheel. Ha! As if my sister would have confronted me here, and I’d have driven away, effectively kidnapping Edward… I scoffed at myself. I clenched the hand Edward couldn’t see into a tight fist, concentrating all of my strength in my fight against temptation into the way my fingers dug into my palm.

I turned my face to look at Edward, whose face was condescending, his thick eyebrows pulled up in disbelief.

“I’m serious! Maybe I look guilty because I considered it, but I didn’t actually follow through.”

His face relaxed into a crooked smile. “Okay, I believe you. I’d have forgiven you anyways.”

“Does that mean if I ask you about the contents, you’ll share?” I asked eagerly. I’d read so many books in my life that this new mystery novel easily became just like another book I was dying to read.

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head, chuckling. Edward reached for his bag, winking at me, and opened his door, ducking his head to get out. I swiftly undid my seatbelt and was out beside him probably much too fast, my backpack slung onto my shoulder. For a moment, I wondered if my siblings needed their useless backpacks too since we typically drove this car to school, but I figured Alice must have rescued them from the trunk after seeing my plans for this morning.

He blinked, looking down at where I suddenly appeared.

“Why?” I inhaled through my mouth, grateful for the influx of fresh rainwater and firs that helped dilute Edward’s scent.

His heart thrummed in his chest, and being so close to him, the sound was like thunder surrounding me as I listened, becoming attuned to it. The splash of puddles as tires hightailed through the parking lot, the slam of locker doors as students got their books, and the chatter of kids as they entered the school all seemed like irrelevant ambiance now.

“Because,” Edward breathed. His breath was shaky, but his face remained cool. The sweetness of the smell washed over my face, and I clenched my fist again. “That wouldn’t be fair whatsoever.”

“And why not?” I demanded.

“You expect me to entrust you with all of my secrets when you won’t trust me with just one of yours?”

He wasn’t wrong. But I couldn’t exactly divulge anything about the accident. I was already breaking too many rules. My own rules. My own promises I’d made to my family.

“How about…” I considered, though my thoughts were headed in a dangerous direction. “If you happen to have any theories, you can share one, and I’ll either confirm or deny it.”

“Just one?”

“Yes.”

“How is that worth the very much intimate documentation of my entire mind, Bella? That’s hardly sufficient.”

“Fine, I don’t care about your stinking journal,” I snapped, stubbornly poking my chin in the air a fraction.

He surprised me by actually throwing his head back to laugh.

“Are you done?” I asked.

“You’ve got a bit of a temper, don’t you?” he considered this for a moment, beaming. “Okay, I’ll accept these conditions. But later.”

“Later?” I demanded, feeling a sense of injustice as I froze in place. He continued forward and took a bite of his apple. The juice spilled out sweetly into the air, but the fragrance was unappetizing and certainly not as sweet as Edward’s blood.

“Thank you for the ride, Bella. I’ll see you in biology.” Again, he winked, walking backwards. He saluted me, waving once with the journal in his other hand and then turned around, clearly enjoying having the upper hand as he and temptation disappeared into the crowd of students.

I stood there, my mouth propped open. The sensation of being watched started to creep up on me and sure enough, I turned to find Rosalie ten yards away outside of the building to her first period. Her eyes were dark, cold, and fierce with betrayal. Guiltily, I looked away and headed off towards my first class.

Throughout my morning classes, I tried not to think about my family’s –– or rather, Rosalie’s –– opinions on my decision this morning. At this, I failed miserably. As I imagined explaining how really if I didn’t stay away from the boy, it would prove that I actually could leave him alone and exercise control against Alice’s visions, I started to find my logic extremely flawed and unbelievable. Maybe I was making a mistake. Maybe I was just too pigheaded. I tried not to think about this too.

Instead, I thought again about the secrets of his journal. Wasn’t this essentially the symbol of everything I’d been obsessing over? All of my wonderings and curiosities as for why he was so annoying and his eyes so perceptive could all be unraveled in that little book. I wondered if I’d be disappointed once the mystery was unveiled. Maybe the journal –– and by extension, Edward himself –– was not as interesting as I thought. I may have just been fixating on this because it was something different. But I told myself it’d be better for me to be disappointed. The sooner I could move on with my life.

Throughout the day, a couple of the braver students asked for details about the accident but became disappointed when I didn’t offer up the dramatics they were hoping for. I felt too shameful to discredit Edward’s accounts, so I irresponsibly dismissed the opportunities to ensure the accident yesterday hadn’t exposed anything unusual about me or my family. Eventually, as my monotonous account of the events spread through the tiny school, kids stopped asking.

I was impatient to get to biology, but before then, I’d have to face my siblings at lunch. When the bell rang after fifth period, I walked much too quickly to the cafeteria, dreading arriving but very much eager to get it over with. As I weaseled my way through the hallway –– which wasn’t difficult because even in the familiarity of the school, we were typically provided a wide berth –– I overheard the conversation of two other juniors. I froze in place as my plans shifted for the day. They discussed the difficulty of today’s biology pop exam, and I realized I wouldn’t have the hour of the day the school allotted to speak with Edward, the excuse I could provide my family in my defense. A freshman nearly rammed into me from behind, not expecting my sudden stop. Whoever it was recoiled immediately.

Well, I wasn’t going to miss out on whatever explanation he planned to provide because of some trivial pop exam. I rearranged my lunch plans, appreciating the excuse to postpone another family confrontation. We could battle it out at the long oval table later if necessary.

I entered the cafeteria and was second in the lunch line, only selecting a glass lemonade bottle so that the emptiness in front of me wouldn’t be unnerving for Edward. I figured it’d be more disconcerting to leave a tray of food in front of me untouched. I headed to a round table in the corner that was typically empty. This wouldn’t surprise my family when they entered. Alice would warn them.

I sat waiting as students filed in, either joining the growing line or meeting at their usual tables with their friends. I avoided Rosalie’s eyes when she entered the room, but I could still feel the iciness of her stare. I listened for Edward’s deep and soft voice to indicate his arrival, then when I couldn’t find it, instead listened for Sara’s to see if she may be with him. Sara was a loud, babbling talker, so it was easy to find her voice in the crowd of the hallway. She seemed to have gotten over her irritation from this morning as she animatedly spoke about some research she’d done the night prior into some potential colleges she might apply to.

I found that although I may feel some irrational resentment of her ability to be so close to Edward, I liked Sara. Maybe we would have even been friends if I was a human. And if her proximity to him didn’t bother me. She was prattling on about her dream of becoming a veterinarian, and her goals seemed so sincere that I almost felt guilty finding any enjoyment in having stolen Edward from her this morning.

But that didn’t mean I didn’t have intentions to do so again.

As I suspected, when Sara walked through the double doors, Edward was by her side. He was actively listening to her words –– always so polite to anyone who wasn’t me –– but once inside the lunch room, his eyes immediately flashed to the table in which my siblings were settling into. His thick eyebrows pulled together in confusion –– and maybe even disappointment? –– at the realization he didn’t find me there.

I was impatient as he purchased his lunch. Once he’d left the line, he still hadn’t noticed me sitting here. Maybe he was less perceptive than I gave him credit for. I felt a moment of awkwardness as I thought about having to get up, walk across the cafeteria, and ask him to join me in front of my family. I would still have done so, but I was immensely relieved when Sara noticed me.

“Are you eating lunch with Bella too?” The sandy blonde asked, her tone suddenly indignant. This time, I felt no pleasure in my thievery. Sara was right to want to reserve Edward to her human world, but I was too entranced with the mystery of his journal and the mystery of his mind to care.

Edward looked up, searching. His sage eyes were bright and animated once he found me here at the table. He held his tray in one large hand while combing the other through his untidy bronze hair. The arrogant confidence in his face made me smirk, and I rolled my eyes, lifting my hand to beckon him forward twice with my finger as if I was reluctantly pacifying a child.

“I guess so,” he laughed a little as he sauntered forward towards the table, leaving Sara behind gawking. I braced myself for the onslaught, inhaling one last fresh breath of air. How habitual this was becoming.

“I’m being gifted your presence outside of our biology class twice in one day? What did I do to deserve this?” He teased once he’d arrived, standing behind the seat across from me.

“Nearly die. I guess that’s a fair enough price to pay for my company,” I played along. If only he knew how true that still was. He grinned, his perfect teeth white and shiny. “Oh, don’t look so smug. I’m only here to uncover a mystery.”

“As am I,” he reminded me. I winced.

“Are you going to sit down?” I asked. He still stood behind the seat, tall and lean, a giant like my brothers. Not quite as towering and much slimmer, but still, I felt small in my seat looking up at him.

Edward leaned down to carefully place his tray on the laminate before comfortably settling into his seat as if we’d done this before. I glanced at his tray, curious as to his selection. A bottle of water, a grilled chicken salad, and a bag of dried fruit. I stared at the food for a moment as if this would provide me any clues about his mind.

“So,” he began. I looked up to meet his eyes and though I knew he’d be looking at me, I felt a jolt pulse through me. He caught something about my reaction, and a crooked smile appeared on his face.

“So,” I continued. “You were going to tell me about your journal.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But I believe we agreed on a condition, did we not?”

“We did,” I admitted. “Go ahead.”

“Hmm… I’m not sure I’m actually ready to, Bella,” he pondered, and I felt odd again hearing him say my name.

“Why not?” I demanded, restless. Of course I was interested in the book, but I was also definitely interested in his theories. I couldn’t believe it had only been yesterday that the accident occurred. It felt like a lifetime ago. The same way that first day in biology did.

“I’ve only been given about twenty four hours to come up with any explanations.”

“And have you?”

“Maybe, but I have a feeling you’ll be very firm on only allowing one theory, so I want to hold out for the theory I’m most confident on.”

I frowned, and Edward laughed.

“Don’t worry though. I’ll tell you about my journal anyways. As long as you promise–– no, that’d be letting you off too easily. As long as you swear to me that you won’t forget your end of the deal.”

“I swear,” I promised, smiling at the silliness of his command. I took this moment to breath in his powerful scent, to wrestle with my desire.

“Hmm… I wonder if it’ll upset you,” his forehead crumped in thought. My patience was wearing so thin that the inexorable cloud of lust for his blood had little impact in comparison to the sudden aggravation at his procrastination.

“Oh, Edward!” I groaned, exasperated. “Would you just tell me? What could possibly upset me?”

For whatever reason, Edward burst into laughter at my outburst and couldn’t seem to stop.

I glared at him, and he tried to choke back his humor unsuccessfully. The irritation in my eyes didn’t deter him or instill any sense of fear in him. Briefly, I wondered if he was mentally sound.

“Okay, well, you can just go eat lunch with your little friends, and I’ll stay here and talk to myself.”

“Don’t be mad,” he pleaded as another laugh escaped. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. You’re just so impatient. And for what? My uninteresting little journal?”

“You’re annoying, did you know that?”

“Maybe, but you’ve chosen to sit here with me, so you must like me for some reason,” he pointed out. For some reason indeed. Once again, he was right on target. My mouth gaped open.

“Okay, I’m getting up––”

“No, please, Bella. I’ll behave myself now. I’ll tell you about my journal. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” His smile was dazzling, and his eyes were fierce, sweet, and sincere. I was mesmerized, stuck in the seat across from him.

“Okay,” I said stupidly.

“My journal,” he began seriously, “is sort of a Bible.”

I waited for him to laugh again.

“No, really,” Edward did laugh but not as though he’d told a joke. “I know that’s kind of strange.”

Religion had never been a major facet of my life. A dozen memories flickered through my mind of the times as a human where my mother Renée had gone through impassioned phases where she attended church, trying on multiple denominations and religions for size. But just like the rest of her sudden and fleeting interests, her spiritual high wore off, and we never spoke about God or church again. Only when I became immortal did religion take a more permanent place in my thoughts. But it was only the proximity to Carlisle that made me consider spiritual beliefs, and even then, it was simply another topic to devote thought to in all the endless space in my head and all the endless time in which to fill it.

I didn’t know particularly what I believed nor if I cared much, but I did know that if Edward was religious enough to tote around a bible at school, he’d definitely not be pleased to know he sat across from an actual vampire.

“You carry around a bible?”

“Well, don’t make any judgments yet, alright? It’s not exactly a bible. It’s kind of difficult to explain.”

“I think I can keep up,” I said simply, feeling slightly awkward but still curious. I glanced down at his untouched food. “But you should probably eat.”

“And what about you?” He asked, eyeing my full lemonade bottle.

I unscrewed the tin cap for his benefit. Following my lead, he opened the plastic container of his salad. I waited impatiently as he slowly ate his food.

I watched him as he ate, but when his eyes flickered curiously up to me, I fixated my attention on the lemonade bottle, tracing the mouth of it with my pinky finger.

After a few moments, Edward spoke up. “What are you thinking?”

I looked up to meet his light green gaze and felt stuck there again, compelled to reveal everything.

“I’m trying to figure out what you think I am,” I admitted only one of my concerns, though even this was much too honest. I thought of the inspiration he could draw from his religious text. The second beast. The Nephilim. Cherubim. Demons. Even though I didn’t have a true understanding of the contents of the book, some of Carlisle’s paintings had provided me with enough of an idea.

“I’m not having much luck with that yet,” he answered.

I laughed, relieved. “Well, you have only been given twenty four hours.”

“What else are you thinking?” he asked again, sensing there was more.

I sighed, feeling uncomfortable under his analyzation. The weight of his watchful eyes was too penetrative.

“That a boy who carries around a bible probably wouldn’t like me very much.”

“Why? Are you a sinner?” He smiled teasingly, but his eyes were soft as he tried to pull me again from the gloominess that seemed to steal me away.

“Something like that.”

“Well, aren’t we all?”

“Not all dogs go to heaven,” I answered. He chuckled at how I butchered the expression.

“Hmm… I’m not sure if I absolutely believe in a heaven, but if I do, I think the prerequisites to make it in are much broader than the Christian faith teaches.”

“You carry around a bible but don’t believe in heaven?”

“I said I’m unsure. And I said it was difficult to explain, didn’t I?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I hardly understand what you mean the majority of the time either.”

We both laughed, and the synchronicity of the moment made me forget my intentions with bothering him in the first place. It made me realize that in a way, I actually did feel fondly of Edward.

“Here, I’ll explain. I’m done eating anyways.” He used a napkin to dab at the corners of his mouth, then pushed it away on top of his lunch tray.

“My mother was very religious,” Edward began. “She wasn’t pious or bigoted or forceful about her beliefs. She was kind… devout. She believed in goodness. Her entire life had been dedicated to caring for other people. She wasn’t someone whose true intentions were to condemn others with the hope to save them from hell. Rather, she seemed more focused on saving someone from unhappiness. A lot of other believers have been known to connect with someone only for the end goal of forcing them to change the way they live for the sake of feeling as though they saved them. She had always been offended by this insistence to control another’s lifestyle, believing that any Child of God should truly only be concerned with loving others.

“I have pages of verses ripped out from her bible stuck throughout my journal. It may seem sacrilegious to destroy a bible in that way, but she’d read through it so many times that it had completely fallen apart. I tried to save it when she died, but there was no hope to. It was too dilapidated and tattered. So in my own journal, I have all these notes I’ve written on the notes she wrote in her bible. All these confusing erratic writings, these scribbles, I’ve been trying to sort out, just trying to figure out how to be a good person.”

At the end of his speech, my mouth dropped open. Quickly, I closed it again.

“So, do you believe in a god?” I asked after a few moments of silence.

“I’m not sure what I believe. If you don’t believe that all this world could have just happened on its own, which is hard for me to accept myself, then a god seems to be just as reasonable an answer as anything else. But I do believe in science as well. And once again, I don’t believe that any higher being who created the entire universe would be so particular and unyielding on such frivolous, harmless human matters as to what you do…or who you love… I’m hesitant to speak about god publicly, not because I fear any kind of persecution for my complicated beliefs, but because I know that the church has caused a lot of damage to a lot of people. And I don’t want anyone to think I support any of that harm. But for innocent believers, I see nothing wrong with wanting a reason to hold onto hope if that’s what religion is for them.”

“Neither do I,” I agreed, thinking of Carlisle.

“I think at the core of any religion –– and I definitely am interested in studying other religions as well –– is the same message. To do good by others and yourself. Of course, historically, religion has been weaponized as a means to take control over innocent people, but in considering people like my mother… I sincerely hope that there is a god. For her sake.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t worry.” Edward smiled his crooked smile. “I’m not about to try and sell you some religious propaganda. At no point will I sit you down and ask, ‘do you mind if I take a moment to speak about our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?’ That’s never been my mission. I’m not entirely certain whether or not I even consider myself religious.”

“So what is your mission then with the journal?”

“Perhaps this will sound a little pretentious, but it’s not so much that I’m curious about the chicken or the egg scenario… Evolution versus creation… I don’t care very much as to how we got here. I guess because my mother believed so profusely, and I consider her to be such a great person, I’m curious as to whether our morality is innate as people, or if all goodness is because we have some kind of spirit within us leading us to want to do right by other people. I think overall, it is innate. An atheistic individual can do wonderful things for the world just as someone who claims to love Jesus can do terrible things. I don’t think anyone who doesn’t believe chooses to do good for God, but I wonder if that innate sense of morality, sense of compassion is ingrained into us because of the fact we do have souls. So the question I’ve been trying to answer all these years is… do we? Does my mother die, fade to nothing, with her body? Or did she live on because she had a soul?”

“Those are big questions for a seventeen year old.”

“Those are big questions for anybody, no matter their age. And questions humankind has been trying to answer for thousands of years,” Edward chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t expect to be the one to stumble upon the answers. More so, I’m really trying to find some purpose in my mother’s life. I do want to honor her, and maybe if I can understand all the things she wrote about people and about God, then I can.”

“So what do you write?”

“I write my thoughts on what she journaled about. And I write about all the good things I see someone do. About the reasons why I think they did them… I study people a lot.”

“Do you ever feel creepy?” I asked.

“Sometimes,” he laughed. “I mean, it’s not that I’d be the type to watch someone while they sleep. But if someone comforts a friend, picks up a stray piece of trash off the ground, smiles at a stranger… I try to take notice. I want to notice people.”

Edward sighed. “I know this must sound arrogant, but I really do believe I’m very sensitive to the thoughts of other people. At least, I try to be. For example, I know Sara must not be very happy that I chose to ride with you this morning, or that I am sitting with you now. I’m not oblivious to her feelings for me. But it’d be very ungentlemanly of me to accuse her of those feelings if she prefers to keep them secretive, so I’ll define a boundary if needed to protect her feelings whenever she chooses to come forth about them. I’d like to retain our friendship, but I still make my own choices.”

“So…” I began, ignoring his point about Sara. “Let’s say we all did have souls. Could someone lose that soul by any chance?”

“Hmm…” he thought, his eyes intent, piercing into mine as though he were trying to read my mind. “Now, that’s a big question for a seventeen year old.”

I laughed along with him.

“Well, I’m not sure whether or not you can lose your soul –– if we have them, of course. Perhaps you could damage the integrity of it or compromise it somehow. Could it be lost in death? If there is something of a heaven, does that automatically imply the existence of a hell? What purpose does hell serve in torturing one’s soul for eternity? Justice? Do some people perhaps deserve that fate? I want to say no, but then you think of awful, malicious people who have done awful, malicious things. Murder. Genocide. Rape. Isn’t the losing of your soul in death, fading into nonexistence too easy of a punishment? Do those people warrant a judge, jury, and executioner? I would hope that there are consequences to evil actions, but I don’t understand the idea that if such a place exists for the most vile of humanity, nonbelievers and sinners would go to the same place as well according to the Christian faith. I would say on that front, the Bible must be profoundly off. That aspect has to be invented by man for a means of control. What creator would wish such a fate on someone so innocent as to simply be uncertain about a god? So does a nonbeliever or sinner simply cease to exist, therefore losing their soul? Or is there some kind of alternative? Like a purgatory in the Catholic faith. That too seems a cruel fate from what should be a loving God.”

I felt slightly uneasy, wondering what he would think of my non-life, if he would consider this to be the alternative for innocent sinners. I wondered if he would believe I had a soul.

Edward softened his expression at my discomfort. His eyes were gentle and kind.

“But I don’t think I believe that. Like I said, I think the division between good and bad, right and wrong, is less black and white than most religious people believe. I think it’s gray, and I think any higher power would realize that too. So if you’re making that face because you’ve sinned a little here and there or murdered somebody, maybe you can make a comeback.”

Edward winked, and I forced myself to laugh.

“So would yesterday earn me some points?”

“Oh, definitely. You’ve practically merited an angel status.”

This time I did genuinely laugh at the thought of me as an angel.

“But again, as for what’s considered sin… I don’t subscribe to the majority of what’s considered biblical canon.”

“You don’t have to continue with the disclaimers. I believe that you’re not judging my sinful ways.”

“Correction, I don’t believe that God themself is judging you for your sinful ways. I never said anything about my judgment of you.”

I bit my bottom lip to keep from smiling at the smirk on his face. “I’m not at all surprised that you have a god complex. That seems about right –– you do come off like the type to be very judgmental.”

“I’m notoriously difficult to impress,” Edward half-smiled. “Are we continuing this conversation in Biology, or are you growing tired of the dark and the heavy?”

“Not yet,” I answered. “But I overheard that we have a pop quiz, so you’ll have to save your pretty boy disciple thoughts for later.”

He chuckled as I stood up from the table, reaching to grab my untouched lemonade bottle and cap to throw away, then stopped me.

“I’ve got it,” Edward placed the bottle on his tray to dump into the garbage. I watched curiously as he pocketed the bottle cap.

“I’d say thank you, but I know you’re only trying to win points in the eyes of God.”

“Anything to get into heaven,” he laughed.

* * *

y’all know i had to make edward a lil christian boy. u know edward is the i wanna church girl who go to church… and reaaaad her biiiible vine. i do want to clarify again… unlike stephenie mormon, i have no agenda in speaking about religion in this fanfic. i’m not particularly fond of labels, but i am more agnostic than anything so… i’m not tryna convert anybody to anything. it just seemed very “classically edward” as rosalie would say.

i hope u enjoyed! i also wanted to say i really, really appreciate the comments! i haven't replied bc... i'm shy but i read them & truly feel very flattered. ♡

#equinoxjw #twilight fanfiction #twilight renaissance #twilight au #twilight #midnight sun #edward cullen #bella swan #edbella

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isabilightwood · 3 years

Text

The Problem With Authority - Chapter 2

[1] [AO3]

Jiang Yanli froze at the sound of Jin Guangyao’s voice. She was nowhere near ready to deal with him, much less the knowledge that they were technically married. She — and Qin Su — needed time before she could hope to successfully deceive him.

And she had seconds to figure out how they were going to get it.

She sniffed, loudly, hoping it would seem like she had only been standing there, crying silently. She tucked A-Xian’s notebook into her robes.

“Oh, A-Su, I miss him too.” Jin Guangyao sounded so genuinely sympathetic that she could scarcely tell the difference, even knowing what he’d done. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, and it was all Jiang Yanli could do not to flinch.

The way Qin Su was practically screaming in her head did not help. She would be little help, this confrontation coming far too soon.

What would a still ignorant Qin Su have done? Jiang Yanli didn’t yet know her well enough to say.

Jiang Yanli wiped her eyes as she turned in his arms, the skin around her eyes still tinted red from learning about A-Xian. That should help sell the ruse, even against a man so devoted to power he had married his own sister.

“I know,” She lied, sniffling again. “It’s just so hard, being here. I keep getting up to check on him in the night —” she didn’t actually know the name of the boy yet, which could be a problem if Qin Su remained incoherent — “And then I remember.”

“I know how you feel.” He said with a sigh. “I keep thinking it’s time to start teaching A-Song his first core formation exercises.”

“I think — I think I need to get away for a bit.” Jiang Yanli whispered.

“Perhaps that would be for the best.” He began rubbing her back, which made her want to sob. “Were you thinking of somewhere in particular?”

Her first instinct was to say Lotus Pier.

Gusu. The Cloud Recesses. Qin Su managed to say.

Of course. There was a healer there, who specialized in recovery from grief. If she were to go on a retreat for recovery, the Cloud Recesses were the logical place. But — A-Ling was in Yunmeng. Every moment away from him was a physical ache in her chest. How was A-Cheng managing, taking care of her son on his own?

He’s been doing fine raising him half the year for six years. Jiang Wanyin is A-Ling’s favorite.

Oh. Jiang Yanli’s heart swelled. It must be difficult, but A-Cheng was doing wonderfully.

It would seem strange if I went to Yunmeng, Qin Su admitted. Unless you want Jiang Wanyin to know?

Not yet, she had to confess. A-Cheng would be overwhelmingly happy to see her, but he would quickly spirit her away and rush off to reveal the truth. Without a scrap of evidence beyond second-hand testimony. Neither of her brothers had ever been logical, when she was even mildly insulted.

“Gusu,” She didn’t have to fake the choked sound of her voice. How long would it be before she could confirm with her own eyes that her son and her baby brother were alive and well?

Jiang Wanyin has A-Ling for the summer, about three more months.

An eternity.

Jin Guangyao’s smile wavered.

A- Lianfang-zun, Qin Su corrected herself, thinks I don’t know, but I noticed him pining after Zewu-jun long before we married. Zewu-jun was here for a week, after A-song — She broke off. He saw more of my so-called husband than I did.

“Why don’t you invite your erge back for a few days while I’m gone?” She suggested. “I know you’re busy, but perhaps he could spare a few days?”

“Thank you, A-Su, that’s very thoughtful.” His smile returned, only now she thought it might be genuine. “I could arrange for you to leave as soon as tomorrow, if that pleases you.”

“Yes,” She said quietly. “I would like that.”

As it turned out, Gusu Lan’s mind healer was useful to both of them for more than merely an excuse.

She had not known what to expect from a healer who specialized in injuries that could not be seen, but it was not Tan Wurui. He was a young man with round, expressive features who wore the plain forehead ribbon of outer disciples.

When he began their first meeting by offering her huamei, Jiang Yanli decided she liked him. Candy was against the rules, outside of festivals, but preserved plums were technically medicinal. She took one, with a carefully weak smile.

Sitting back on her heels, she tried to place why Tan-daifu looked familiar. Finally, she realized. They had been classmates, once. He had lived a few doors down from Jiang Yanli when she was a guest disciple, so he must have transitioned after her stay. He had been friendly and helpful, more likely to correct rules violations than to report them.

“Eat that if you need a moment to gather your thoughts, or you’re starting to feel overwhelmed.” He plucked a plum of his own from the bowl, rolling it between his fingers. “Now, to start, is this the first time you’ve dealt with loss?”

The answer for Jiang Yanli was no, of course. Grief had become almost a familiar friend, since her parents were killed. Yet it had stabbed her in the back as surely as the sword that killed her pierced her heart.

Her loss was different from Qin Su’s. Jiang Yanli’s son was still alive, if out of reach and grown from an infant to a boy in an instant. But she had not had the chance to mourn her husband when A-Xian was stolen as well.

She had no idea, however, whether Qin Su had. And Qin Su wasn’t sharing.

While Tan-daifu waited patiently for an answer that should have been easy.

Jiang Yanli prodded with mental fingers until Qin Su gave up the answer. My mother. But she was… it wasn’t the same.

“No,” She said aloud. “But not like this.”

Tan-daifu nodded. “Are you ready to talk about what happened?”

Qin Su had curled up in her mind since the conversation with Jin Guangyao. Unfurling slowly in fits and starts, only to shrink back at the wrong reminder. As she did then.

Jiang Yanli nibbled at her plum, the spiced sweet and sour flavor spreading across her tongue. As though in response to the flavor, Qin Su startled, cautiously peering out from her ball.

“I thought you might not be.” He offered her a serene smile. “For now, why don’t we discuss how you’ve been coping, and what your goals are in coming here.”

Jiang Yanli conjured descriptions of how she thought the courtiers of Lanling would have treated her, had she lived. It wasn’t difficult to imagine, considering how they had ingratiated themselves when she wasn’t vulnerable. Qin Su confirmed her suspicions, and added on, They wouldn’t let me do anything.

“I felt like I was drowning in Koi Tower.” She concluded. “I haven’t stopped feeling that way. However, there’s… less of him, here.”

Less of Qin Su’s A-Song, and less positive memories of A-Xuan, but more of A-Xian. Happy ones. The last time she could remember him being truly, uncomplicatedly happy.

“Locations can become heavily associated with certain people, or events. If coming here helps you feel a little closer to air, it was the right decision.” Tan-daifu said. “It sounds like you were trapped with your grief, through inactivity. You have not kept up even basic exercises with your sword?”

“The healers in Lanling told me I should refrain from using my spiritual energy.” She said carefully. While in the Cloud Recesses, Jiang Yanli needed to begin learning to use Qin Su’s sword. While Qin Su might not be renowned for her skills like the heroes of the Sunshot Campaign, she was known to be competent. Jiang Yanli could not avoid it forever, when Qin Su trained the disciples.

“Though Lanling Jin’s healers have released a number of revolutionary medicinal treatments recently, they have not yet understood the relationship between the mind and qi.” Though Tan-daifu kept his voice steady, he was no Lan Wangji. A tick in his cheek betrayed his disdain. “Excessive use while recovering could cause a qi deviation. However, light exercise helps rejuvenate the mind and keeps your body healthy and qi balanced.”

With Tan-daifu’s permission, Jiang Yanli was able to practice the Jin sword forms in the private courtyard of her guest house every morning. Twice a week, she met with him. Most of her time, however, was left to her own discretion.

Once Jiang Yanli adjusted to Qin Su’s body, she found that much of her skill had carried over into muscle memory. It was simply a matter of practicing until her mind adjusted to her body’s knowledge.

Cultivation, however, was far more complicated. Cultivation was linked to the spirit, not the physical body, and so Qin Su had to teach her, step by step, skills that junior disciples learned the year they received their swords.

She could not show her by doing. Though Jiang Yanli attempted to retreat within her mind, and allow Qin Su to take control of her own limbs, it seemed Jiang Yanli was firmly rooted within the body they now shared.

Qin Su wasn’t. If she strained, she could reach outward until, for an instant, look down and see her body from above before snapping back inside.

The teaching seemed to help Qin Su more than anything.

Why did no one teach you this? She snapped in exasperation, as Jiang Yanli struggled through the steps of directing her spiritual energy for donation. It was the strongest reaction she’d prompted in weeks.

I didn’t have enough to spare. My parents planned to send me to Dafan, to develop my core without the physical aspect. But by the time I was old enough, the sect had become an ordinary village. No other sect had similar techniques, so she’d had to rely on meditation, talismans, and her brothers.

Oh. You do now. From then on, Qin Su latched onto the teaching like a project. If it did not to make her less sad, it at least made her more responsive.

That would have been enough to keep them busy, but it was critical that Jiang Yanli memorize the changes in the Cultivation world. If she said the wrong thing to a sect leader, or Jin Guangyao, that would be the end. She read through the piles of official documents in the library, with more subjective commentary from Qin Su.

They started with the greatest risk: Qin Su’s family.

Father spoils me, but he still sees me as his baby girl. Jie — Qin Xifeng, the heir — was always busy. It’s Yi-ge we have to worry about. Qin Su explained, as she looked over records of how Laoling Qin’s trade had grown and alliances shifted after their Second Young Mistress became Jin-furen.

Ironically, Qin Xifeng was the only member of the Qin clan Jiang Yanli had met before, when she accompanied A-Xuan to the Sunshot Campaign. She’d found it funny, in retrospect, how awkwardly A-Xuan had interacted with her, considering none of his few close companions were men.

An ache rose in her chest as she remembered teasing him about it, on the night of his cousin Jin Huiqing’s wedding to Sect Leader Hua. Though distantly related, they were his favorite relative. A letter from Luo Qingyang had arrived the same day. Zixuan flushed prettily, and told her that was different. He hadn’t been able to think clearly, through the things Jiang Yanli did to his heart.

She’d grabbed the restraints and climbed on top of him, proceeding to reward her husband for being such a silly romantic. Zixuan had been certain that was the night A-Ling was conceived.

She missed him with her entire being.

Uh. Yanli-jie. Qin Su sounded pained. That’s my half-brother.

She winced. Given Qin Su’s history, that had to be much worse than the time Jiang Yanli had accidentally found A-Xian’s poorly concealed stash. Especially considering how unconventional their sex life had been. Sorry. I’ll work on trying to shield some of my thoughts from you.

Qin Su quickly returned to the original topic. Yi-ge is only a year older than me, so we’ve always been close. He’s been busy setting up the Laoling watchtowers lately, so hopefully we can avoid him until you’re better at acting like me.

Am I that bad? She asked.

Not for most people. But I’m his baby sister, and you’ve always been the eldest.

Jiang Yanli could see how that might be a problem. Are you more ‘A-Su is three’ or ‘go away Ge, no wait, play with me?’

Shock flared from Qin Su. Neither! I just whine a little and he pretends he’s going to say no. What are your brothers?

Damaged. While A-Cheng postured and yelled and hid how much he cared, A-Xian crafted a mask of harmlessness, hiding what he needed. Just as Jiang Yanli had. They hadn’t had much choice.

Qin Su’s silence was its own response.

From there, they moved on to other sects.

So the Luo Sect has climbed back into favor? Though Luo Qingyang had joined the Jin Sect in her youth, as was sometimes done to protect the heir of a minor sect against rivalry, her outspoken support of A-Xian and departure had driven her birth sect to retreat from Lanling. As a result, Jiang Yanli had never met Mianmian’s uncle or cousin, and so had no measure of their character.

The Sect heir is very… earnest. Lianfang-zun likes to surround himself with simple men. I used to think it was because they didn’t poke fun at his heritage. Her more recent conclusions were left unspoken.

Other changes were more startling. Not only had Tingshan He been absorbed into Lanling itself, but there were thirteen sects jostling for territory in former Qishan, most of them vassals to the Jin . Which made sense, as most of the sects had originated as single-town cultivation clans within Lanling. The Jin had been the only sect with cultivators to spare, and taken advantage of the opening.

Sects had only been beginning to spring up in Qishan when she died. Now, they were fully formed, squabbling and jostling for influence.

There was a seemingly endless amount of ground to cover, in the weeks in Gusu.

It surprised her, how little she saw of the main branch of the Lan Clan. During her last stay, she could not have thrown a stone without hitting one.

She had spoken with Lan Qiren only once, upon her arrival. He’d harrumphed and bid her the necessary welcome, and proceeded to ignore her existence. That suited her well enough.

Though Zewu-jun had been expected to return from Lanling a week into her stay, he had been called away to deal with a crisis for Nie Huaisang. That was another shock, Nie Huaisang as sect leader. A-Xian would have laughed himself silly. A-Cheng must be going spare.

Lan Xichen’s continued absence was fortunate. He, unlike any other Lan, knew Qin Su. Enough that he might notice a misstep.

It was Lan Wangji’s absence that concerned her.

If there was anyone who might have mourned A-Xian, it was Lan Wangji, but he was nowhere to be found. Not at meals, and not along the paths of the Cloud Recesses.

Hanguang-jun often travels these days, I’ve heard. Qin Su informed her, with an undertone of surprised curiosity. So he really was in love with Wei Wuxian?

They loved each other. Jiang Yanli had known long before either of them.

It was a shock, the one time she did see Lan Wangji.

On the afternoon Qin Su was ready to discuss her loss, Jiang Yanli knelt on the cushions across from Tan-daifu’s desk, a cup of perfectly brewed tea cooling before her. The usual bowl of plums sat between them.

Tan-daifu smiled pleasantly, waiting for her to begin. And Qin Su froze up.

“Perhaps if we take a walk?” Tan-daifu suggested, when she said nothing.

Tan-daifu led her to the back trails, along the river where Jiang Yanli’s breathing had once faltered as she searched for her brother, and A-Xuan caught her as she fell.

At least this time that’s romantic. Qin Su grumbled, the first thing she’d said since they entered Tan-daifu’s office.

Not really. She remembered how he’d left her behind, the harsh words he’d said.

They tell that story like you were star-crossed lovers kept apart by the Yiling Patriarch. But really, your husband was just being an idiot.

A-Xian punched some sense into him. Remembering the soup incident, she added, Twice.

After a pause, Qin Su hesitantly said, I think I’m ready to talk now.

The words poured from her like a dam had broken.

Jiang Yanli recounted Qin Su’s words verbatim, how she left for a meeting after putting A-Song to bed. How she was accosted the moment she entered the Fragrance Hall on her return. How she fought, desperately, to reach her son, even after receiving a gut wound. How Jin Guangyao arrived with guards, and she finally made it through. How she saw the body of the nursemaid first, sprawled in a pool of blood, and crumbled into denial when she realized her son wasn’t breathing. How she’d had to be sedated to receive treatment for her wound, and refused to believe it for days after.

The words tapered off, and stopped. Jiang Yanli took a plum from the bag Tan-daifu offered her, and popped one in her mouth.

The rest of it could not be shared. But to her surprise, Qin Su did not retreat entirely. She shrank back, but did not become unreachable.

“Thank you, for sharing.” Tan-daifu said. “Sometimes it helps, but only when you’re ready.”

His understanding silence was a pleasant relief.

On the way back, they came across a boy playing in a field of snow-white rabbits. Jiang Yanli stopped, watching with a longing that was not only hers.

She wondered if A-Ling liked rabbits, or if his jiujiu had allowed him to have a dog, as was a more traditional spiritual animal for a young heir.

Jin Guangyao has wanted to give A-Ling a spiritual dog for some time, but Jiang-zongzhu keeps saying no. No one knows why. Qin Su mused.

Oh, A-Cheng. He must be so lonely. Still keeping dogs out of Lotus Pier, as though A-Xian might come wandering back one day.

(And might he not? A part of her whispered, the thought too fleeting for Qin Su to pick up.)

Though she had no doubt A-Cheng had the loyalty of his sect, that the disciples he’d trained loved him and would die for him, he had never learned that letting someone in wasn’t weakness. Without A-Xian, without her…

She wished there was a way she could tell him he wasn’t alone, to hold A-Cheng and A-Ling in her arms, without risking Jin Guangyao piecing together the truth.

She must have made a noise, because Tan-daifu looked at her in concern, and the boy looked up. He set down the rabbit in his lap, and shooed away the others surrounding him with gentle, practiced gestures. Getting to his feet, the boy burst into a run.

When he reached them, he bowed. A model Lan, were it not for the blades of grass clinging to his robes. He was about ten, she thought, if a little short for his age. The cloud embroidery on his ribbon marked him as a member of the main clan. “Daifu! Are you here to play with the rabbits?”

So Lans aren’t born knowing all the rules, after all. Qin Su observed. I thought there might be truth to that rumor.

It was a good thing Jiang Yanli was already smiling.

“Not today,” Tan-daifu said. “Our little radish has already taken good care of them, I’m sure.”

The boy scrunched up his nose, and Jiang Yanli could have sworn it was identical to A-Xian’s. “I’m not a little radish anymore! And the rabbits always want more ear scratches. Will you play with the rabbits, guniang? They always make Fuqin happier when he’s sad, like you are.”

“I-” How insightful. His eyes were wide and pleading, the look of a boy practiced at getting what he wanted by convincing an adult it had been their idea. She would have caved, easily, if a man in white had not come running. He came to a stop, panting, by the boy’s side.

Panting, running, the collar of his robes out of place and his guan tilted out of center. Lan Wangji seemed so little like himself, and yet was unmistakable.

All in white, Jiang Yanli thought with a pang. He still misses him.

“Fuqin!” The boy cried happily, bouncing to grasp Lan Wangji’s leg.

Did you know Hanguang-jun had a son? She asked.

I had no idea. Qin Su was as shocked as she was.

“A-Yuan.” Hanguang-jun stooped to pick him up, a grimace crossing his face as he stood, though he should have been able to lift Lan Yuan with ease. “We have spoken about talking to strangers.”

There was open panic in his eyes, as he glanced at her. She’d seen that look before, when A-Xian was in danger, but never directed at her.

No. Not at Jiang Yanli, but at Madame Jin.

“Put me down! Bobo said you shouldn’t try to lift me anymore.” Lan Yuan squirmed, and was back on his feet. Strange, she didn’t think Lan Wangji had let him go. “And Tan-daifu is here! I wasn’t unsupervised.”

Lan Wangji glanced at her again, his expression back to its habitual blankness. But his distress remained almost tangible.

She bowed. “Hanguang-jun.”

He looked away sharply, taking his son’s hand. “Let us go. It is time for your guqin lesson.”

“Mn!” Lan Yuan hummed eagerly, allowing his father to lead him away, and began chattering about the rabbits. “I think Xiao Yun is going to have babies soon!’

As they walked away, she noted that Lan Wangji’s movements were slightly stiff. A far cry from the graceful Hanguang-jun she’d often glimpsed from afar, fighting back-to-back with A-Xian.

“My most sincere apologies, Jin-furen.” Tan-daifu turned to her and bowed. Before she could ask what for, he continued. “Lan Sizhui was adopted. Hanguang-jun is very protective.”

“I see.” She replied slowly, as her mind linked together implications at the rate A-Xian had jumped from idea to idea.

A boy named A-Yuan, adopted by Lan Wangji. Whose safety he worried about, even in his own home. She couldn’t help a smile, though it made Tan-daifu look at her strangely. It was good to know that one of those A-Xian tried to help had made it.

There was a child in the Burial Mounds? Qin Su was aghast.

Jiang Yanli allowed the recollection of her visit to Yiling to explain as she turned to Tan-daifu. “Is Hanguang-jun injured?”

“Ah.” Tan-daifu stared of down the path, his expression somewhere between regret and wistfulness. “It was brave of you to ask for help. Many do not, even here.”

Only a few days after her encounter with Lan Wangji, Jiang Yanli returned to Lanling. Though Qin Su would have benefited from more time with Tan-daifu, there was little more they could do from afar. The key to removing Jin Guangyao from his position was evidence. The only evidence she would find in the Cloud Recesses was gossip — and Lans did gossip, if less openly — about how frequently he bowed just so Zewu-jun would hold his hands.

Even Jin Guangyao had to slip up sometimes, as he had the day Qin Su learned the truth. Overheard conversations that lead to witnesses or evidence left by a less careful collaborator.

Upon her arrival, Jiang Yanli sent an invitation to Jin Guangyao for tea before she had so much as unpacked.

“I am pleased to see you looking so much better.” He dimpled, but without the usual eager-to-please act. Because he had no reason to think he needed to ingratiate himself with his wife. Or perhaps he was merely too exhausted, the dark purple bags under his eyes the only sign something was off.

“You still look tired, A-Yao.” Jiang Yanli held her sleeve out of the way to pour cups of scalding hot tea. “Was Zewu-jun called away too soon.?”

“Ah.” He demurred, tapping the side of his cup to test the temperature. “I am still having difficulty with a few holdouts. Our vassals have largely fallen into line, save Zhai Qiaoling,” Sect leader of the Baota Zhai, one of the westernmost sects that had formed out of Qishan, “But most of the independent sects are still resistant. My cousin has not yet convinced Hua-zongzhu, even.”

Sympathy for the loss of a child seemed to have worked wonders on the gentry’s approval. But not as much as he’d hoped, it seemed.

Good. That could only make the bait more tempting.

Jin Guangyao’s lips thinned into a flat line. “Apologies, my troubles should not interrupt your recovery.”

Jiang Yanli shook her head. “Actually, I wanted to speak to you about something related. About my role in the future.”

“Oh? If you need more time away, I would understand.” He took a sip of now-drinkable tea.

“It’s not that. In fact, I will go mad if I remain idle any longer.” She stroked the side of her teacup, a nervous gesture of Qin Su’s. “However, there is one duty I’m afraid I cannot fulfill.”

Jin Guangyao took her hand in his. Jiang Yanli did not snatch it back, though her skin crawled. “Please, A-Su. What is it?”

“I couldn’t bear to have another child.” She cast her eyes downward, blinking rapidly, as though to prevent tears from falling. Real tears would have been better, but anticipation was currently stronger than grief.

His shoulders fell as he exhaled heavily. Jiang Yanli read it for what it was: relief.

An innocent wife would not have. She snatched her hand back, to twist them together in her lap. “We have A-Ling to inherit, but I would understand if you want to take a second wife.”

“A-Su—”

She met his eyes, speaking more firmly, with a touch of irritation. “Please don’t insult me by implying I have not noticed you value my company, but not my body.”

“I would never.” Jin Guangyao tossed back his entire cup of tea at once.

Taking a smaller sip, she struck. “Or if you wanted to act on your feelings for Zewu-jun.”

He choked on his swallow, and Qin Su snickered. I’ve never seen him this off-balance. Not even when his father suggested he take remedial cultivation classes with the ten-year-old disciples. Keep going, this is amazing.

Jiang Yanli gently reminded her that the goal today was not to humiliate Jin Guangyao, merely to hand him a distraction in the form of the things he most desired. Nevertheless, she tamped down a rebellious corner of her mouth as she offered him a handkerchief. Jin Guangyao coughed into it, struggling to regain his composure.

“How did you —” His dimples twitched as he broke off, briefly at a loss for words. “Furen, I have been faithful to you. I am not my father.”

No, he was an entirely different kind of terrible.

“I’ve never doubted that. However, I’m not blind. I’ve seen the way you look at each other.” She smiled, reaching for his hand again. This time, he jerked back. “Please, A-Yao. I understand you have feelings for him. A discrete affair with one man, with your wife’s permission, would not be the same as your father’s promiscuity.”

“You really wouldn’t mind?” Jin Guangyao looked at her like she was offering him ascension, but he didn’t trust the offer. He was right not to, but he would take it anyway.

“I wouldn’t.” And that, at least, was true. “I find I have little interest in such things these days, but I respect that you do.”

He let out a heavy sigh, and closed his eyes, simply breathing for a moment. When his eyes opened, he gave a tremulous smile. “If you’re certain, thank you, A-Su. I will speak to him when he visits for the conference next month, then.”

“Speaking of the conference, I would like to be more involved in your projects, if you would be willing.”

“Really?” His mouth hung open, his eyes wide.

It thrilled them both, to know Jiang Yanli had managed to catch him off guard. Not once, but twice in the same conversation. “Your watchtowers are brilliant, and perhaps I could help to smooth the way. Not through public recognition,” she rushed to assure him. “But I am good with finance, and certain sects might be more interested to know that Lanling’s income took a hit in your father’s final years, but has already recovered under your guidance if I am the one telling them. I believe Ran-zongzhu has been struggling to recover income from several years of bad harvests?”

“That —” His jaw worked, soundlessly, before he grinned. “That would be wonderful, A-Su.”

I didn’t know his face could do that. Qin Su said giddily. Maybe we can pull this off.

Jiang Yanli smiled sweetly back, her own mask impeccable.

#the untamed #cql #wangxian #yanqing #qin su #my fic #the sacrfice summon! JYL fic #where the summoner (qin su) sticks around #this time featuring cloud recesses with therapy #and the beginning of jiang yanli's plotting

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swilmarillion · 4 years

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The Art of Life’s Distractions

I write Castlevania fic now, apparently, Join me in the trevorcard rabbit hole. Click the title link to see the tags

“Can you even set foot in a church?” Trevor asked, grinning and fingering the hilt of his blade.

“If you can,” said Alucard dryly, “then I should be fine.”

“Fair enough,” Trevor said. “I should’ve known the bastard would hole up in here.”

“He is a priest,” Alucard said, shrugging.

The church was dark, the doors shut tight. Trevor reached out to try the handle. Alucard put a hand on the door. “Perhaps we should choose a less obvious route of ingress.”

“What did I tell you about big words?”

“It’s two syllables,” Adrian said, rolling his eyes.

“So is coward,” Belmont said, grinning again. “Let’s go.”

He’d regret it, later. He regretted a lot of things, later.

It had seemed so simple at the time. They’d heard rumors of a priest slaying demons with a lance, obliterating them into dust and earning the fear of his congregation. He’d moved onto slaying villagers, meting out justice as he saw fit.

“Sounds like a Belmont weapon,” Sypha had said.

“Sounds like a whole lot of not my problem,” Trevor had said in return.

“If you’re not going to be a Belmont,” she had said, scowling at him, “then at least have the decency to stop other people from pretending to be.”

“I can’t not be a Belmont,” he’d said, rolling his eyes. “That’s not how bloodlines work.”

“Says the monster hunter sitting in Dracula’s castle, drinking Dracula’s wine,” said Alucard, smiling his infuriating smile.

And so he had gone to track down the priest, as much to shut Sypha up as for something to do. He’d never been one for idleness, and the long weeks of inactivity had grated on him. He had actually been looking forward to getting back into the field. Had been, anyway, until Alucard had decided to accompany him.

“No,” Trevor had said, scowling. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m not particularly thrilled about it either,” Alucard had said. “But Sypha insisted. She’s convinced you’ll get yourself killed.”

“I have a hundred percent track record in that department,” Trevor had protested. “And anyway, since when do you listen to Sypha?”

“Please,” Alucard had said, snorting. “Have you tried not listening to Sypha?”

Trevor had had to admit that Alucard had a point. Sypha was nothing if not persistent. Nagging, he would have called it, provided he was sufficiently out of earshot.

Which is how they had come to be in a dark, damp church, chasing down a priest-turned-necromancer who had started raising demons as a way to drum up attendance at his weekly Mass. It should have been an easy task. The man was a priest, for God’s sake, not a fighter. But the man knew his church, knew its nooks and crannies and hidey-holes, and he’d used them all to avoid an outright fight. He knew he was outmatched, and so he hid, flitting from shadow to shadow, striking out from darkness and melting away again in the face of attack.

Trevor had grown frustrated, flinging out his morning star indiscriminately, taking down chunks of the masonry and pews until the air was thick with mortar dust and debris. He saw the priest streak out from the sacristy, and he let the morning star fly. The man ducked and rolled, narrowly avoiding the whistling metal as it pounded into the stone altar behind him. Trevor pulled back, but the morning star didn’t budge. It had lodged behind the pillar of the altar and stuck fast. He wrenched it, pulling the chain tight around his hand until the metal bit into his flesh. It didn’t move. He cursed, desperately trying to tug the weapon free.

Movement caught his eye, and he watched the priest rise, the lance in his hand. The scene slowed, crystalized, running in slow motion as it played out. Trevor was stuck, hands tangled in the chain of the beleaguered morning star. The priest drew back his arm, lining up his shot. The lance streaked toward him, and Trevor swore again, his stomach dropping, fear turning his blood to ice. He tried to drop down, but he knew it wouldn’t be fast enough.

Something streaked in front of him, too fast for his eye to make out more than a pale blur. He heard a yelp of pain and a cry of triumph, and white-hot anger flooded him. He jerked his hand free of the chains and reached for his sword, feet flying over the stone floor and up the stairs to the altar. The priest scrabbled backward, defenseless, and Trevor was on him in an instant, sword whistling ominously as it swung true to its mark.

The priest fell at his feet, headless, blood spreading over Trevor’s boots and spilling down the stairs. Trevor was still a moment, panting, watching the corpse. He had seen too much to trust the finality of death. When the man didn’t move, Trevor finally began to relax. He straightened, wiping his sword on his trousers, and grinned. “See that, Alucard?” he said, sliding the sword back into his sheath as he turned. “Told you I didn’t need your—"

He stopped, words dying as his eyes found Alucard and his brain pieced together what his eyes had seen moments before. The lance had pierced Alucard’s side, traveling clean through and pinning him to a pew. Alucard had one hand on the lance, hissing at the pain of it against his palm, and his other hand on the pew. He wrenched himself forward as Trevor ran to him, pulling the lance free of the wood. He was on his knees, one hand still on the lance, the other bracing himself against the floor. His breathing sounded ragged, pained, and blood dripped steadily onto the floor beneath him.

“Don’t pull,” Trevor said, kneeling beside him. “The head is barbed. It won’t come out the way it went in.”

“Then pull it through,” Alucard said, his voice rasping in pain.

Trevor nodded and stood. He grasped the shaft of the lance and put a hand on Alucard’s back. The man was trembling, his chest heaving, and Trevor hesitated, suddenly unsure. “This is going to hurt,” he said.

“Then make it quick,” Alucard spat.

“On three, then,” Trevor said. “One. Two.” He pulled, taking Alucard by surprise, and yanked the shaft of the lance the rest of the way through Alucard’s side. It was, thankfully, a short length, but it couldn’t have been pleasant. Alucard cried out and fell as the weapon slid free, curling onto his uninjured side. Trevor threw the weapon aside and knelt beside Alucard. He pulled up the tatters of Alucard’s shirt and hissed at the sight of the ruined, bleeding flesh beneath. He watched it for a moment, expecting the quick, unsettling healing he had seen so often before, but it didn’t come.

“Consecrated weapon,” Alucard growled, and Trevor grunted in frustrated recognition.

“Fuck,” he swore. “Will it—will you—”

“Eventually,” Alucard said, trying to push himself up.

“Easy,” Trevor said, a rare softness in his voice. He helped Alucard up to a sitting position, steadying him with a hand on Alucard’s shoulder. “It’ll need to be bound, then.” He stripped off his shirt and laid it out on the ground, folding the hem over the collar and rolling the fabric into a binding.

“Really, Belmont,” Alucard, trying for his old aloofness and almost attaining it. “I don’t think—”

“I’m all for bleeding out vampires,” Trevor said, “but not like this.” He pressed the folded fabric to the wound, drawing a hiss from Alucard at the touch. “Besides,” he said, wrapping the sleeves around Alucard’s torso and tying them sight. “Sypha will kill me if I don’t bring you home.”

“Now that,” Alucard said, “I believe.” He sat for a moment, breathing heavily.

“Are you alright?” Trevor asked.

“Never better,” Alucard said.

“Can you stand?”

Alucard was still a moment more. Then he shifted forward to his knees, wincing at the pull of his broken skin. He slid one foot forward, braced himself, and stood. He stumbled forward, and Trevor caught him. “Right,” Trevor said, ducking under Alucard’s arm. “Looks like you need my help—as usual.”

“Fuck off, Belmont,” Alucard said, but he let Trevor take his weight, resting his arm around Trevor’s shoulders. Trevor slid an arm around Alucard’s waist, careful to avoid the wound at his side.

“Come on,” Trevor said, taking a careful step forward, waiting to make sure Alucard could keep pace. “Let’s get out of this shithole.”

They had left their camp a few miles into the woods. It had, like so much else, seemed like a good idea at the time. “Away from any prying idiots,” Belmont had said. It seemed far less clever now.

To his credit, Alucard walked steadily and without complaint. Still, Trevor could feel the weight of him and knew Alucard needed the help. He breathed heavily, his free hand pressed to the wound at his side. Trevor hooked his arm over Alucard’s, holding it against his shoulder to steady him. He tightened his other arm around Alucard’s waist.

They trekked the miles to their campsite in silence. It was the longest Trevor could remember being alone with someone without speaking. It unnerved him. Banter was his deflection, a stupid joke or quick insult his way of keeping the world at bay. He wanted to poke fun at Alucard, to make light of the situation if only to tamp down his own unease, but he knew Alucard would feel the need to respond, and he didn’t want him to waste the breath.

He was relieved when they reached the site and found their packs waiting, undisturbed. Alucard pulled away from him then, taking a few unsteady steps forward before sinking to his knees. “Easy,” Trevor said, breaking the silence at last. Alucard ignored him, fingers fumbling with the clasp on his pack. “What do you want?” Trevor asked, gently pushing his hands away.

“Water,” Alucard rasped.

Trevor rifled through the pack and found the waterskin. He handed it to Alucard, who drank greedily, tipping back his head.

“Jesus,” Trevor said, snatching it back. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“Best get out of spewing distance, then,” Alucard said, managing a weak grin.

“Idiot,” Trevor said, rolling his eyes. He capped the waterskin and set it on the ground within Alucard’s reach. “What else do you need?

“Nothing,” Alucard said, sitting back on his haunches and easing himself to the ground.

“Don’t be proud, Alucard,” Trevor said, squatting beside him.

“Don’t mother me, Belmont,” Alucard retorted. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“Asshole,” Trevor said.

“I need sleep,” Alucard said, curling on his uninjured side. “That’s all. I think I can manage that much on my own.”

“Too bad if you can’t,” Trevor said. He softened a little, watching Alucard’s hand ghost gingerly over the wound at his side. “Get some rest.”

Alucard’s eyes had already fluttered shut, and his breathing began to slow. “Thank you, Belmont,” he said, the words barely a murmur.

Trevor nodded and turned away.

He busied himself for a few hours, keeping his mind focused on the familiar tasks of setting up camp. He checked his traps and found a rabbit caught in the snare. That was dinner settled, then. He checked the other traps, the ones meant for more worrisome prey and prying eyes and made sure they were in working order. He went back to the camp and remade the fire, letting it burn as he went to refill their waterskins from the stream. He came back and skinned the rabbit, roasting it over the fire as he methodically cleaned his sword.

Only when the rabbit was crisp and dripping did he turn over his shoulder to look at Alucard. The man lay as he had when Trevor had left him, curled on his side, one hand pressed against the binding over his wound. It had grown dark, and Alucard looked paler than usual in the firelight. His hair was a tangle about his head, his shirt a bloodied mess. Trevor watched him for a moment. The man was unnaturally still, and Trevor felt a pang of irrational fear stab through him.

He stood up and crept to Alucard’s side, squatting next to him. He reached out a tentative hand and laid it against Alucard’s chest, his touch light so as not to disturb him. For a moment, he felt nothing, and panic welled up inside him. Then Alucard breathed, and Trevor let out his breath in a sigh of relief, feeling the soft rise of Alucard’s chest beneath his palm.

“Don’t worry, Belmost,” Alucard said, startling him. “You won’t be rid of me that easily.”

“Pity,” Trevor said. “How do you feel?”

Alucard’s eyes fluttered open. “Like I got stabbed,” he said. “With a consecrated weapon, no less.”

“Pretty good, then.”

“Never fucking better.”

“Well,” Trevor said, feeling a little relieved that Alucard hadn’t lost his sense of humor, “I can’t do much for a stab wound, but I do have food and water, if you want it.”

Alucard shook his head. “It’s gotten cold,” he said.

“You can move closer to the fire.” Alucard’s eyes flickered to the flames. There was ten feet of distance between him and the fire. “Come on,” Trevor said, guessing the direction of his thoughts. He slid Alucard’s arm around his shoulders and helped him up, steadying him as he had that afternoon. They walked slowly to the fire, and Trevor helped him to the ground. Alucard sat, knees drawn up, wincing as he settled himself.

“You’re going to be alright, aren’t you?” Trevor asked, eyeing him warily. “Because I can’t decide which would be worse: dragging your stupid corpse back to your asinine castle or listening to Sypha bitch at me for leaving your stupid corpse out here to rot.”

“Fortunately for you, I’m not quite petty enough to die just to make you find out.”

“Seriously, though,” Trevor said, looking him up and down dubiously. Alucard sat hunched, one hand at his side, eyes closed against the brightness of the flames. “Are you going to heal?”

“I’m working on it, Belmont,” Alucard said, opening his eyes to glare at Trevor. “It takes a little longer when there’s consecration involved.”

“Good,” said Trevor, hiding his doubt behind a grin. “Because I’m getting a little tired of carrying your sorry ass around.”

“You weren’t carrying me,” Alucard said, exasperated, turning toward Trevor. “And I told you—ah.” He winced, shifting slightly to favor his injured side. He shivered, and Trevor took pity on him.

“Here,” he said, shrugging out of his cloak and draping it over Adrian’s shoulders.

“Not necessary,” Alucard said, though he drew the cloak around himself with his free hand nonetheless.

“You should lie down,” Trevor said. “Rest some more. We have a lot of ground to cover to get back.”

“For once,” Alucard said, “you may be right.” He shifted his weight gingerly, easing himself onto the ground beside Trevor. He sighed heavily, relaxing against the ground, shifting Trevor’s cloak closer around himself. “Thank you, Belmont,” he said again, eyes drifting closed, his voice barely a murmur.

“Rest,” said Trevor in answer, turning back to the fire.

#castlevania #trevorcard #trevor/alucard #my writing #enemies to friends to lovers #canon typical vampire bullshit

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m00nslippers · 5 years

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Why as a Jason Todd fan, I don’t talk about ‘punishing’ Jason.

I wrote this as a response on one of my other posts but I think it needs to be it’s own post.

I’ve been seeing a lot of ‘discourse’ about Jason fans not talking about the things Jason has done like shooting Damian (twice) and beating up Tim (twice) or railing on Bruce or Dick or whoever. They are annoyed that I and others are not calling for the pitchforks and continue to be sympathetic. I’ve seen some unreasonable people who seem to think no Jason fan will admit (at least to their satisfaction) that Jason has done bad things. Some seem to want me to admit that Jason is a bad person, which I think is unreasonable and untrue. They also think it’s unreasonable for me to hold the bat family responsible for not giving Jason adequate psychiatric care and emotional support.

So here. I’ll explain why I think the way I do.

Do I, as a Jason fan not talk about Jason’s violence that much or hold him as accountable as you apparently do? Maybe not, I don’t know, but if that’s the case then I’ll tell you why.

Jason-Antis see Jason’s violence as something he chose to do with full knowledge, presumably because he just likes hurting people or because he’s so selfish that he’s willing to hurt people to get something that benefits him and only him.

But that’s not how I see it. I see Jason’s violence as a symptom of abuse. The vast majority of the time, Jason’s violence is a reaction out of fear, to escape or prevent himself from being hurt or abused, or prevent the hurt or abuse of others.

Honestly the vast majority of time in society in general crime or abuse is a result of past abuse or other issues like poverty or the person’s needs otherwise being met. You meet the need, you treat the root, the unwanted behavior goes away.

Jason has been conditioned to violence for his entire life, by his upbringing in Crime Alley, by the abuse from his father, by Bruce training him to be Robin, by Talia training him to kill people. Jason’s entire life has taught him to use violence to meet his needs and solve his problems. It’s not his nature, it’s just all he knows how to do. He’s like a dog who has been hit and beat and starved and thrown into dog fights. Of course he’s going to attack people the moment he thinks he needs to. Is that the fault of the dog? No, it’s the fault of the human who trained him that way. So if it’s not the dog’s fault then should it still be punished? No, it should be re-conditioned in a place where it can’t hurt anyone until it’s safe to enter society.

But Jason is not a dog, he’s a human with logic and reason and empathy, you say. Yes, but the kind of systematic abuse and conditioning that someone like Jason has undergone will literally warp your view or reality, will interfere with your ability to use reason and logic and if you are afraid or desperate enough it will overcome your ability to empathize with others too.

But Jason’s actions often seem systematic and manipulative, you say, so doesn’t that mean he’s just hurting people for selfish reasons because he wants something? Not necessarily, Jason is highly trained and clearly makes decisions in a very systematic way. He’s highly intelligent and has a lot of self control, so he channels his fear into planning and strategy, which have been taught to him by others. Most times when he’s been really violent he’s actually been trying to get away/escape capture. Other times when he’s been violent he’s been very emotionally distraught. And still other times it’s in service of his goal to kill criminals–which is born out of his fear and pain of them continuing to hurt him or others. He might seem in control, but that’s only because of his training, and his constant planning and goal in itself is mostly a response to his constant anxiety and fear. He channels it into his revenge/execution plans.

So you look at me and you say, well fine, let’s say for arguments sake all Jason’s actions all stem from his untreated mental illness. But there still needs to be a punishment because what he did was wrong.

But I’m telling you that, logically speaking, no. He actually shouldn’t be, not if your goal is to prevent the behavior–which for Jason absolutely needs to be the goal because clearly punishing him is impossible if you aren’t going to kill him since he keeps escaping prison (which is part of his point, that punishment is either impossible or doesn’t work for some criminals. He is a walking case of his own point.). Punishing him isn’t going to stop him from killing people, it’s not going to stop him from hurting people, it’s not going to stop anything it’s mostly just going to make it worse. Because nothing the bats are willing to do is worse than what he’s already been through, what he’s already built up in his head as the consequence of not killing/hurting people. At this point every criminal he sees is just the Joker and he’s terrified at the thought of him/them walking free to hurt him or hurt others.

The bats tried to punish Jason multiple times, they’ve tried fighting him, they’ve tried imprisoning him, they’ve tried yelling at him, they’ve tried ‘reasoning with him’ (he’s sick, he’s not reasonable). But none of it worked. Jason kept killing, kept ‘acting out’.

But you know what curbed Jason from killing? Roy and Kori. Once he got friends who weren’t telling him every moment ‘you’re a killer, stop killing, you’re crazy’, who were emotionally supportive, who made him feel safe–low and behold he stopped or at least significantly calmed down. That’s honestly how I know that most of his behavior is anxiety/fear based.

And sure you can say, ‘well different people wrote different things it’s just different writers writing him differently you can’t read anything into it.’ Well maybe, but I can and I am. The more I read about him the less I actually want to throw out, the more cohesive it actually feels to me in a lot of ways. And If you are going to hold Jason responsible for everything he’s been written as doing, then you have to take his New 52 change too. You can’t have the first and not the second. Either he beat up Tim and shot Damian and calmed down as soon as he got friends, or neither count because they are both writers writing him ‘out of character’ and there’s not point even bringing those things up.

So to my mind at least, talking about punishing Jason is stupid, it’s pointless, and it’s pointless talking about it. That’s honestly why as a Jason fan I don’t and why I don’t dwell on the fact he’s done “messed up things to his family.”Yeah, I identify with him but I don’t identify with his ‘need for validation’. I identify with his need for psychiatric treatment that he can’t get because his family will not treat it as the disease it is, with the care he deserves. Because that’s been me before, and it’s a reality for a lot of people in the country I live in.

And yes, asking his family to recognize his illness and bring him in, to accept him and help him even though he’s actively hurting them is a lot to ask for the average family. But the bat-family is not the average family. They are geniuses and they have all been trained in psychology and victim treatment, and they are trained physical fighters who can protect themselves against him. If anyone can handle it, it’s them. They know better, they can do better. In a world with non-shitty DC writers they probably would do better. But if we’re taking all of Jason’s shitty writing, then we are taking all of theirs too. And I don’t think they are doing as much as they are capable of.

So that’s a problem which a lot of the anti-Jason arguments that I see. They are solely focused on the bad things he’s done, and saying his fans are ignoring them. They say ‘yeah he’s traumatized, but that doesn’t excuse him hurting people’. And from my perspective that’s missing the point.

And I don’t want to call anyone out or make assumptions about anyone, but this kind of thinking, that people with mental illness and people who commit crimes are responsible for their own actions and no one else is culpable even though their action or inaction resulted in their behavior–feels like the same kind of bullshit I see everywhere in society. This person steals–let’s not address the fact that they can’t afford to eat because they aren’t paid a living wage, let’s just throw them in jail. It’s the same mentality.

Punish the symptom instead of treating the illness. It’s just laziness, in my opinion.

#Jason Todd #Red Hood #mental illness #critical analysis #analysis #psychology #dc comics #batfamily #batman #fan wank #discourse #jason anti

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dreamingdolls · 4 years

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I’m tired

CW: Lots of swearing because I’m done and meh, it’s a coping mechanism of sorts.

Tired. Fatigued. Exhausted. Whatever word you wanna use. A bunch of things both big and small have just been stacking up way too much over the past months and fuck it I need to vent and let it all out.

I’m tired of my mom going full fucking Karen with this pandemic, ignoring all the advice and regulations put into place and just about ridiculing me when I want to make sure I stick to them myself.

I’m tired of this guy in our gaming group constantly making snark remarks and jokes at me because he’s still hurt I dared not name him by name and instead list him as an “etc” (context: We splintered off from our WoW guild to play XIV, and wanted to ask if others wanted to join us, so I listed the people we play with there). You had been inactive for two months dude. I’ve already apologized but you’re still convinced I have some vendetta against you.

I’m tired of this friend who I’ve listened to his problems and tried to give advice to over and over and over still insisting on calling me dude when I’ve fucking told him I don’t want any male-gendered words directed my way. No I don’t care you use it as a “gender neutral” term. I don’t. End of story.

I’m tired of my mother claiming she’s oh so supportive of my being trans because gasp!! She doesn’t outright disown me for it!! Still deadnaming me and telling me I have to pretend for family and her colleagues though. “Oh but I’m only deadnaming you with my friends because I don’t want them to ask difficult questions.” Cool, if it’s all in my best interest, I say stop it, and if they do ask, idk, maybe fucking call them out on their bullshit and actually show you are supportive.

I’m tired of helping people achieve their goals in the games we play only for them to then turn a blind eye when I have a goal that requires group play. When I play with pugs more regularly than our actual group because yall got what you wanted how the fuck do you think I feel.

I’m tired of living in a world where it’s a nightmare to be autistic. The autism isn’t the issue. How people will treat you for it is. I’ve seen fake-progressives going all “don’t use the r-word” then turn around and use autism as an insult instead. Well fucking done. And you wonder why I just stay quiet. God fucking forbid my autism shows.

And on that note, I’m tired of being told shit is problematic and then nobody bothering to explain why. I’m tired of being afraid to even ask questions, because simply asking feels like it’s already going to get you fucking cancelled. Hi. Yeah. I’m autistic. I need shit explained *clearly* in words that don’t keep contradicting each other.

I’m fucking pissed off that I’m always there for people when they get shit news but when my father mailed me some weeks ago he never wants to see me again nobody even fucking bothered to ask me if I’m okay. Hell most people probably forgot because I didn’t make a huge scene out of it. Is that what it takes to get a fucking pulse? Yes I hate him. Have done so for years. But fuck me it’s still my father. It still fucking means I’m now never even going to have the chance of mending anything there.

I’m angry at this group I used to play with, that mine splintered off from, telling me I abandoned them cause I mostly play with my own group. I was literally the only one from the group that once was still trying to keep in touch with you guys and the thanks I get is a fucking “we dont want you back”. Fine. I can see why everybody wanted to get rid of you guys.

I’m tired of getting fucking abandoned by everyone. I can only make plans to play Overwatch with you and have you neglect it so many times. I can only hear you say “oh I’m gonna chill to end the night with these people” this many nights, like thanks, apparently us playing isn’t chill enough. I can only have my hopes raised only for them to be dropped that many times.

A special fuck you to the person who after lots of protesting got me to install LoL to play it with them, then one night after I bit the bullet and played Overwatch with her friend group, total strangers to me, we played my game and she told me I had upset her after accommodating to literally anything she wanted - she wanted to play HotS on US where I don’t have my full character roster despite the fact I played LoL on US for her so she could have her roster, it wouldn’t have made a damn difference for her cause she’d be new to HotS either way, then handpicking mode and what character I should play to best work with her pick and everything - and then just after half a year friendship and entrusting a lot of our personal lives to each other just randomly deciding to remove me off her friend list. Never explained what I had done wrong that night.

Fuck it, I’ll just admit it. With my other groups seemingly having decided they no longer wanted to play together I saw her as my best friend. Maybe even developed a crush. We literally played LoL every fucking night until like noon my time cause of time difference, laughed on voice chat and everything. And then bam. Gone. Just like that. I know she’s not gonna read this but fuck it. I miss her despite the anger I feel writing this.

I’m tired of being nice to people who turn out to be hateful.

I’m. So. Goddamn. Exhausted. And all of this needed to get out. So there.

#personal #Lis is mad at the world

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tryingtobts · 5 years

Text

It’s Quiet Uptown 2/2

Tags: @trumpettay @darkwolfpeanutskeleton

A/n: Oof it’s herrreeee. Thanks for your guys’ unending support. I’ve been inactive due to personal problems and the stress of school but thank you so much for your likes and comments as it makes me happy to write! The moment of truth. Will you be able to forgive them?

Pairing: bts x m!reader

Genre: Angst, fluff Triggers: mentions of mental illness

The Other parts are in my bio masterlist ;3

[Two years later]

Namjoon and Seokjin walked down the quiet street. Casual glances of pity from strangers as they whispered. They ignored it all and walked closer to each other.

“It’s quiet isn’t Jin-hyung?” The younger asked.

Jin only nodded. Namjoon sighed, after (Y/n) left, it was like he took the life of the oldest with him. No matter what the others did Jin never looked happy but they weren’t any better. They just pretended that they were all fine where Jin stuck to reality.

He blamed only himself, thinking he was a bad Hyung who didn’t care enough about his dongsaengs enough so he became more observant and quiet to watch over his remaining soulmates with all he had. He stopped caring for himself, letting his hair turn gray from stress and bags develop from sleepless nights.

Namjoon closed his eyes. He knew everyone had changed. For the better? Probably not. He knew everyone was in denial in one way or the other still. Namjoon, himself liked to pretend that everyone is the same and he’s taking care of them as their leader but pretending can go so far when you here one of your soulmates crying their heart out in the middle of the night or when another looks like he hasn’t slept for days.

A tap on his shoulder made him open his eyes to see tired doe eyes looking at him. Namjoon sighed and smiled at the sight of his soulmates waiting for him and Jin on a picnic blanket in the small garden for the date they planned. Jungkook hugged him tightly and nuzzled his chest and Namjoon hugged back with Jin quietly joining shortly after.

“Y-You’re both late! I was scared something happened.” The youngest replied.

Jin just hugged him tighter while Namjoon shook his head and whispered words of reassurance to him. Jungkook had became more insecure about their relationship after the whole ordeal. Often clinging to one member, if one were to be gone too long Jungkook would become anxious. He was afraid of more people abandoning him and they couldn��t convince him that they weren’t going to leave him ever. It wasn’t as big of an issue now like it was at first but occasionally he’d fall back into a insecure state.

A giggle caught their attention for a moment. They looked at the direction of the sound and saw Jimin picking flowers and whispering to himself. Namjoon just went up to him and patted his head. Jimin looked up in delight and showed him a small bracelet he made for him.

“Joon-hyung! Wear it! (Y/n)-hyung helped me picked out the flowers. Isn’t it pretty?” He asked as he slipped the bracelet on Namjoon.

“Yea Jimin. It’s very pretty.” He said with a forced smile.

They gave up trying to tell Jimin that (Y/n) wasn’t there. He would look devastated and cry when they did and then the next day he would be whispering to his imaginary soulmate again. They just played along with his fantasy when he would bring (Y/n) into a conversation. If he was happy, they wouldn’t dare take away his happiness again. But occasionally at night Jimin would cry, remembering that (Y/n) left. Those nights were the worse because the others could hear his choked out sorrys and promises to do better. Maybe that’s the reason he treats the imaginary (Y/n) like a prince.

Namjoon sighed and sat down next to Taehyung who proceeded to use his lap as a pillow. Taehyung curled up a bit and looked up at the leader’s face with a nervous smile.

“Is (Y/n) coming too Joon-hyung?” He said with hopeful eyes.

Namjoon shook his head, “No Tae, maybe next time.” He said softly.

“Oh, okay. He must be really busy with work.” Taehyung said with disappointment.

Taehyung liked to ask when (Y/n) would come home or if he was coming to one of their dates. When they said no, he would just nod and come up for an excuse for (Y/n)’s absence. Sometimes he would wait for (Y/n) and stay up all night only to be disappointed when he woke up on the couch with a blanket and no sign of the missing man coming to scold him about sleeping on the couch. Taehyung was often the one who played with Jimin and pretended that he can actually see what Jimin sees.

A scoff was heard across from them and Namjoon looked up from Taehyung to see a frowning Hoseok.

“Hobi-Hyung.” Namjoon said in warning as Jin went to Hoseok

Hoseok just glared and took out food from a basket. He had became more angry the more Jimin and Taehyung mentioned (Y/n) coming back or being with them, no longer the sunshine of everyone’s day. The dancer would snap at the two often to shut up or wake up that (Y/n) left and was never coming back. It would often lead to one sided yelling matches in which Jin or Namjoon had to diffuse. Hoseok never got physical, not after he punched Jin in the face from anger. The older just looked at him with a blank face and took him by the arm to lead him to a different room while Hoseok kept screaming at him to let go. After whatever happened in that room, Hoseok would often just scoff or whisper rude things under his breath. But at the end of the day, he would sneak into Jin’s room at night for comfort from the elder.

“Be nice.” Yoongi said on the other side of Hoseok and lightly slapped his leg.

Yoongi more or less stayed the same to Namjoon’s relief. Though he became more talkative to everyone’s surprise. When the mood was too awkward he would try to make a decent conversation. Namjoon thought it was his way of cheering up his dongsaengs. At least he tried when he actually did want to see them. While he was completely nice and civil, Yoongi stayed in his room alone and only came out for food. His guilt blamed everyone and he didn’t want a reminder of that guilt.

“Hyung?” Jungkook asked and tugged on Namjoon’s sleeve.

“What’s up?” Namjoon answered.

“Yoongi and I spent a while in the garden, a-and it was very quiet and pleasant. H-How was your walk from the store.” Jungkook said with enthusiasm and slight nervousness.

Namjoon smiled and took out a banana milk Jin and him bought just for the maknae, “It was lovely and quiet. You know, I never thought I would like the quiet before.” He said.

Jungkook’s eyes lit up, took the milk and happily opened the bottle and drank it. He nodded at Namjoon’s words and smiled at his hyung.

“Hobi are you still taking us to the park after this?” The maknae asked, the question catching the attention of Taehyung and Jimin, both pairs of eyes lit up.

The male in question sighed and nodded, “But you can’t talk about-” Yoongi nudged him in the ribs, “Ugh, (Y/n) can’t come. He’s going out with Yoongi.”

Jimin and Taehyung pouted but nodded while the maknae smiled at his hyung playing along to their fantasy. The bickering and quiet conversations filled the peaceful park and it almost felt normal.

Namjoon sighed, closing his eyes to let memories of the past year wash over him.

All of them exposed the lies that they said about (Y/n) and many of their Army were disappointed with them. Many sent unread apologies to the missing model. No one knew where (Y/n) disappeared, except his sister but she didn’t say a word on where he was, not even to his soulmates, who all bared a burned petal to represent the one they betrayed.

They all decided to move to a quieter town in Korea away from the city where they’re reminded of their mistake. They visited Mina one last time to beg for any hint on where (Y/n) might be. Her eyes held pity for them before she looked away.

“I heard you all retired and moving uptown right? After you admitted to telling the world the truth?” She asked quietly.

They all nodded without hesitation.

She had looked at them and said, “I’m sure you’ll be happy in time then. I heard that it’s quiet there. Give Jimin and Taehyung my best wishes.” She nodded towards the car that held the two members and backed away from the doorway.

They looked sad as she closed her door on them but didn’t dare to bother her more than they already have. After that they packed up their stuff up and left to a new life.

A sudden pressure on his chest and giggling snapped Namjoon out of his daydream. He opened his eyes to see a small bunny on his chest, looking at him and twitching it’s small bunny nose. He looked around to see his soulmates laughing and taking pictures of their leader.

“Isn’t he cute hyung? He hopped towards us during your nap and you missed it chasing around Jungkookie!” Taehyung laughed and picked the bunny up.

Jungkook pouted and turned away, “It’s fucking vicious, don’t trust it hyung.” He pouted making Namjoon laugh softly.

“Oh? This little thing is-“ Namjoon teased before a voice shouted out.

“Kookie! Where are you?! Kookie!” A familiar voice shouted.

Everyone’s head snapped in the direction of the voice. The person in question was looking around with a dog bounding by their side, eyes lit up at the sight of the lost bunny but quickly dimmed at the sight of who held it. The former band’s breath hitches as they recognized the familiar burn on their marks and the person staring straight at them with a mixture of hurt and confusion. It was like their worlds they built for each of themselves began to fall apart once more and they were brought back to reality, the weight of those eyes were too much.

Hoseok was the first to snap out of the trance, “(Y/n)-hyung?” He asked before cautiously stepping forward as if (Y/n) would disappear if he was too brash.

(Y/n) blinked a bit before quickly walking forward and lifting the bunny out of Taehyung’s arms, “Thank you, he hopped away when Tata was distracting me.” He muttered before turning and walking away.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him, “You named them after us?” Taehyung questioned.

(Y/n) tensed and brushed the hand off. “No.” He could feel his long charred mark beginning to burn again.

“Please stay.” A small voice said.

(Y/n) took in a breath. He knew looking at the owner would break his cold resolve but he couldn’t help but slightly turned to the small pleading when the person in question held his free hand and found his once strong Jin-hyung, on his knees silently crying. It was as if someone punched his gut and took his breath away. He quickly turned and saw the others not in any better shape.

(Y/n) shook his head and quietly asked, “What you did, do you really think it’s that easy to forgive?”

The others let out small cries and shook their heads but the only one who didn’t was the leader, “No, we don’t deserve you (Y/n). Not after what we did. We can’t give you back the life we destroyed for you and you need time still. I-I want to believe that we know who our soulmate is and we admitted the truth too late but please let us stay by your side like we were suppose to from the start.“ He said before his voice breaking at the end.

(Y/n) hung his head low, “I know what you did, I read the news time to time. I can’t trust you still.” He stopped at the sound of their anguished cries but continued quietly, “I come here every Tuesday and Thursday, do what you will with that info.”

The lost soulmate walked away from the stunned men with his dog and bunny. It sparked a small burning hope in their hearts. Hope to get their (Y/n) back, to love him like they were supposed to in the beginning.

For the first time in a while, Namjoon saw life come back to his former band mates eyes.

- A few months later -

A group of 8 people walked through the park. One of the seven had a stony face, ignoring the people around him while they chatted happily together. It has been this way for a while but no one dared to call out the male giving the cold shoulder, fearing they’ll lose him again. So they chatted at him but never with him as he gave no response.

Jimin and Taehyung bounded by (Y/n)’s side talking happily with him.“Hyung! Look at the window, there’s a cute kitty!” Jimin exclaimed.

Taehyung nodded, “Hey hyung, do you like it here? It’s almost silent around here, very different from the city right?...Oh! There’s this cute animal shelter Hoseok and I go to often, you should come with sometime.”

Of course, (Y/n) gave no answer, no expression and continued walking to the spot they’ve been walking to for the last few months. They didn’t let that discourage them as they continued to talk. Namjoon was relieved that just (Y/n)’s presence was able to heal them slowly but surly.

Jin had began to smile and joke more while also taking care of himself along with everyone else. Taehyung no longer waits for (Y/n) to come to their events as he now realizes that (Y/n) will only be in the garden. Jimin doesn’t talk to himself and Hoseok smiles and beams with warmth he once had. Yoongi hyung out with all of them more and Namjoon thinks they’ll be okay as long as they never lose (Y/n) completely again.

He smiled at (Y/n) from behind, grabbing Yoongi’s hand, who fell slightly behind and held it so he can follow faster. Once they reached the familiar garden and set up their blanket. They all sat down, Hoseok and Yoongi took the spots next to (Y/n) as they watch the sun descend, quietly taking their turns to tell him what they’ve been doing lately.

The maknae suddenly sat in front of the quiet male with a small bag, said male raised an eyebrow in confusion from the break of routine but ultimately stayed quiet. The maknae smiled a bit before taking out a small frame from the bag. (Y/n)’s eyes widened at the frame as it held a photo of all 8 of them, dogged piled on top of each other when the fans requested they do hamburger pose. Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung on top doing peace signs and hearts, with Jungkook, Yoongi slightly suffering but still waved at the photographer while Namjoon, (Y/n) and Jin suffered on the bottom and too focused on the pressure on them to look at the camera.

(Y/n) slightly teared at the memory and Jungkook said quietly, “I kept this in my room, it helped remind me of better times when you were gone. I-I want to give it to you, you might throw it or burn it but I wanted you to have it.”

With shaking hands, (Y/n) took it and silently took it out of its frame. The others held their breath, waiting for him to tear it up, burn it, something to decide their future together. But the male just took out his wallet and folded it to fit in there.

He gave the maknae a small smile before standing up and walking away silently. The flame of hope and love burned brighter in their hearts, and unconsciously they all touched their soulmarks as if they felt a jolt come from it.

They smiled and quickly joined the male, to walk him home but he stopped suddenly a small rose bush that held 8 growing flowers. (Y/n) smiled back at the flowers and took the two closest people’s hands into his own and said quietly, “It’s quiet uptown.”

They all took a sharp breath as (Y/n) looked back at them with warmth and forgiveness, Hoseok and Jin squeezed his hand back as they all started to let out soft sobs of relief. (Y/n) let go of their hands and held up his arms. They all went to hug him as they all cried together. This is what they wanted for a long time and finally they earned it, their world being fully colored with his warmth and smile.

The (h/c)-ette squirmed from the hug a bit and held up his wrist, “Hey, look.” He pointed out to the others.

They all looked and gasped and looked at their own. Their once burned petals were brought back to life and had color fill it. Just like it was when they first met and they all laugh with joy.

They hugged each other tighter with a promise to never let go and the burning they once resented is loved now represents their fiery hope and passion they hold for one another.

#bts angst #bts fluff #BTS jin #BTS suga #BTS jimin #bts x male #bts x reader #bts #bts imagine #bts scenario #bts jeongguk #bts jeon jungkook #bts park jimin #bts min yoongi #bts rm #bts kim seokjin #bts kim taehyung #bts kim namjoon #bts jung hoseok

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generallynerdy · 5 years

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Our Little Secret Part 9 (Merlin & Child!Reader, Mordred X Reader)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Summary: Despite the fact that Uther’s ghost is temporarily freed from the spirit world, there are bigger problems in Camelot. Mordred and (Y/N) have just been discovered-- and a few people are furious.

Key: (Y/N) - your name

Warnings: violence, choke holds, murder threats (probably joking but you never know), fluff, implied do-the-do, innuendos?

Word Count: 1,915

Note: lil short but it’s fun. sorry for inactivity, i’m at a competition rn.

The anniversary of Arthur’s coronation was always difficult for all parties. The king was grieving while his people attempted to celebrate, especially the knights. They held a large feast every year to celebrate and honour their king, but he was often times absent. He was grieving for Uther, as it was also the anniversary of his death.

Mordred and (Y/N) sat by each other during the meal, discreetly holding hands under the table. They had yet to share their little secret with the others and intended to keep it that way for a while.

“He’s always like this at the anniversary of his coronation,” said Elyan on Mordred’s other side.

Mordred glanced between him and Arthur at the head of the table. “I thought it was a cause for celebration.”

Elyan sighed. “It is. But it’s also the anniversary of Uther’s death.”

When he turned back to the food, satisfied that he’d said all he needed to, Mordred turned to (Y/N). “Did you ever know Uther?”

“Not personally, no, thank God,” she muttered. “He was everything they said about him; cruel, stubborn. But I know he loved Arthur with all his heart.”

“I don’t think that love excuses his actions,” Mordred whispered harshly.

(Y/N) shook her head. “You’re right, it doesn’t. But it does give Arthur a right to grieve tonight.”

“Hey!” came a shout from the end of the table. It was Sir Gwaine, slightly tipsy. “What are you two whispering about?”

“Just the spiders we put in your pillow!” (Y/N) answered before Mordred could stutter a reply. “Nothing to worry about!”

The other knights roared with laughter as Gwaine threw an apple at her, which she went to dodge. Unfortunately, she didn’t have to, as Mordred’s head blocked the projectile directly. The others laughed and she had to admit she did a little, too.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink,” she giggled.

He shrugged, a dorky smile on his face. “Maybe just a little.”

The day after the feast, neither (Y/N) nor Mordred had duties until the late afternoon. So, they both slept in. They had never shared a bed before, but chose that particular night to do so, unfortunately for the both of them.

The morning was quite nice. They both woke early, but ignored the sunlight coming in through the window. Instead, Mordred and (Y/N) drowsily held each other, snuggling deeper into the blankets. Perhaps they spoke in hushed tones every once in a while, but most of the time was spent in silence, both of them dozing away occasionally.

The afternoon was beginning to dawn upon them when (Y/N) opened her eyes with the intent to actually get up for the day. Her awakening was peaceful, feeling Mordred rest his arms around her and the sun streaming in. Well, it was peaceful until something struck the door repeatedly, making a clanging sound.

“Damn it,” (Y/N) muttered, tumbling out of bed and rushing to put on a shirt that lied on the head of the bed. “One moment!”

The clanging sounded like armour, so she assumed it was one of the knights. That said, she could not have any of them knowing about Mordred until both of them were ready to say something. She rushed around the room, grabbing his clothes and putting the necessities on the bed beside his sleeping form before stuffing the rest in a chest in the corner of the room.

“Mordred. Mordred, get up. Someone’s here,” she whispered harshly to her companion, begging him to get up.

He did so in a rush as he came to and realised what was happening. Once he had a pair of pants on, he dashed against the wall where the door would hide him once opened, waiting for (Y/N) to get rid of the visitor.

The second (Y/N) opened the door, she regretted it. Instead of a person standing there, knocking violently on the door, pots and pans were being flung at it, slamming against the wood at full force. She let out a sort of semi-scream and backed away when the door was entirely forced open. Mordred and herself snapped into action, grabbing their swords, though the person causing the disruption couldn’t be seen.

However, (Y/N)’s half hearted cry drew attention from the knights nearby in the armoury, which was attached to the knights’ quarters. One might think the assistance would be a good thing, until one noticed that Mordred was still in (Y/N)’s room and still shirtless.

When Sirs Elyan, Gwaine, Percival, and Leon finally discovered the source was coming from down the hall, they deflected pots and pans before chasing the cause. All went silent and they returned to the room, befuddled that no one had been found. Everyone sighed in relief, especially Mordred and (Y/N).

“What was that?” The latter asked.

Percival sighed. “Probably someone messing around. Bastard ran off before we could catch him.”

(It was later revealed to (Y/N) by Gaius that Uther’s ghost had been released from the spirit world by Arthur and was attacking her and Mordred because they were against everything he stood for when he ruled. This revelation brought her no relief, seeing as the damage it had done to her and Mordred’s little secret was worse than what the ghost itself had done.)

Suddenly, Elyan let out a shout. “My God!”

The others looked at him questioningly, only to see him staring at Mordred with wide eyes. Mordred flushed red instantly and (Y/N) felt her heart drop, cursing under her breath when Elyan looked toward her, too.

“What?” Leon asked, tilting his head.

“Do none of you see this!?” Elyan nearly squeaked. “I can’t be the only one!”

Percival looked him up and down worriedly. “See what? Are you alright?”

“You’re missing a shirt,” Gwaine muttered, frowning at Mordred. He then looked at (Y/N). “He was in your room.”

“I ran here when I heard her screaming,” Mordred quickly answered. “I sleep shirtless, so what?”

“THEN EXPLAIN WHY (Y/N) IS WEARING YOUR SHIRT!” Elyan screeched.

From there, everything erupted into chaos. Gwaine burst into laughter. It was heavy, tear-jerking laughter that no one paid any attention to, because Elyan tried to get his hands around Mordred’s throat. Percival held him back with relative ease while Mordred backed away, fear in his bright eyes at the furious little knight. Leon was red with pure embarrassment, listening to (Y/N) as she attempted to explain herself to him, her oldest friend of the knights.

Unfortunately for Percival, Elyan was a slippery little snake.

“Ow! Christ!” The gentle giant screamed as his tiny friend scratched at his face and ducked around him to get to Mordred.

“Sh--”

Mordred’s curse was cut off by his own feet as he ran around the other side of Percival and out of (Y/N)’s bedroom.

And thus a procession began. Mordred led it, chased by Elyan, who was a mere few feet behind him. (Y/N) followed directly behind them, shouting at Elyan to leave poor Mordred alone. Percival, Gwaine, and Leon struggled to keep up with the three, considering they were all smaller and largely faster than them, but they managed.

“I’LL KILL YOU!” Elyan screamed at Mordred. “I’LL KILL YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

They managed so until (Y/N) caught up with Elyan right in front of the throne room doors, tackling him to the ground with a shout. The others caught up, making sure Mordred was okay and warning (Y/N) not to hurt her victim so much.

She had just got him into a choke hold, his face against the ground, when the throne room doors burst open and four people walked out. The knights of Camelot all looked up with wide and guilty eyes as their King, Queen, Court Physician, and Court Jester caught them all in such a predicament. Of course, the court jester was just Merlin, but that’s what they liked to joke he was.

“What the devil is going on?” Arthur questioned, furrowing his eyebrows at all of them. His gaze lingered a moment on Mordred before shifting to (Y/N) and Elyan.

Gwen scoffed. “Elyan, what did you do?”

“Nothing! This morning--” He started, but (Y/N) tightened her grip around his neck with her arms.

She growled down at him. “Say anything and I’ll kill you, I swear it.”

“What are they on about?” Arthur asked the other three before looking to Mordred. “And why aren’t you dressed?”

Unfortunately for perhaps all parties involved, Elyan was a stubborn bastard.

“MORDRED SPENT THE NIGHT IN (Y/N)’S ROOM!” He cried, crying out in pain when (Y/N) dug her elbow into his back.

She hissed. “Elyan, you little--”

“He what!?” Merlin instantly reeled.

“Everyone just calm down--” Leon attempted, but was instantly interrupted when Merlin took steps toward Mordred.

He laughed darkly. “No, I think Elyan’s right! I think I should kill you!”

“Merlin, I swear,” Mordred said, trying to begin an explanation, trying to defend himself.

However, Arthur stepped in, separating the two with his arms outstretched. He stopped them from killing each other and nodded toward (Y/N). “Let Elyan go. And you two, stop it.”

They all did as he said, though Merlin looked like he wanted to leap right over Arthur’s arms and strike Mordred down where he stood. (Y/N) kicked Elyan in the shin as he stood, which made Gwaine snort as the man whimpered, but soon walked over to Mordred, standing firmly beside him.

“Is it true?” Merlin asked her. “He was in your room?”

“It shouldn’t matter to you!” She huffed.

Arthur sighed. “Alright, alright, drop it.” He looked at Merlin. “Merlin, it seems to me that this is their business. Nobody should get killed over it.”

“You’re serious?” Merlin let his jaw fall agape with betrayal.

Arthur cleared his throat. “They’re both consenting adults and it’s none of our business who they spend their time with.” He then looked to Mordred. “Though I should warn you, Mordred, that we all think of (Y/N) as a sister and if you do so much as make her cry...I will toss you in a cell and throw away the key.”

Mordred searched the king’s face for any sign of jest, but could find none and gulped. (Y/N) glared at both Arthur and Merlin, the latter of whom wore a victorious smile.

(Y/N) let out a huff and grabbed Mordred’s hand, storming off with him in tow. The others watched them as they went, except Elyan, who whimpered in his bruised suffering. Gwen gave him no pity, claiming that he had brought it onto himself, spilling (Y/N)’s secret like that. Meanwhile, Gwaine was in hysterics and Percival attempted to quiet him, but to no avail.

“That was the funniest thing I have ever seen,” he gasped.

Percival sighed. “You’re not the least bit worried for (Y/N)?”

“No, she can take care of herself,” Gwaine said, waving him off. “If he hurts her, we’ll just kill him. He’s outnumbered. And shirtless.”

That started up his laughter again, which echoed across the halls of Camelot. So, (Y/N) and Mordred had been caught. The knights were of no problem to them, nor were Arthur and Gwen. However, they had Merlin to worry about, because he did not trust Mordred one bit.

Merlin Tags: @pearlll09

Part 10

Masterlist

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shinidamachu · 5 years

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Holding On And Letting Go

Summary: he wanted time to pass him by as fast as it could. Fast enough to lose all its meaning until the day he would hold her again. She wanted time to stop. The ghosts of everything she was missing and the irrational fear of being forgotten too much to bear. They had always believed time was on their side. But time turned its back on them.

I was wondering what would be like if Inukag had developed the habit of talking to each other through the well despite knowing there would be no response. This is a compiled of these moments, so is basically a plotless, short story with few chapters.

But I do intend to write the reunion at the end.

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV

Word Count: 1.471 Genre: angst Fandom: InuYasha Pairing: Inukag Format: multichapter AO3 Link: 🌹 Fanfic.Net Link: 🌹

InuYasha would never admit it, not even to the Gods themselves, but he was exhausted like he has never been before.

She would have noticed it, he thought to himself, slowly making his way to the Honekui no Ido. She would have called me a liar to my face when I said I was fine and made me rest either I liked it or not. The only problem was he didn’t need to rest.

He needed her.

And the idea that she may be permanently out of his reach seemed so absurd he couldn’t bring himself to fathom it at all.

InuYasha knew when resplendent lights involved him against his will and saw it on her face as the well abruptly casted him back into his own era. Something was wrong.

Kaede was the one to explain, earlier that day, what happened. The Honekui no Ido had served its purpose marvelously and now that their mission had come to an end, the magic that connected their worlds faded. InuYasha understood that.

Yet he refused to accept it.

So there he was, alone in the middle of the night, claws buried deep into the woodend edges of the well, eyes fixed on its bottom. It didn’t look any different from the outside. Swallowing the lump that had lodged in his throat since he returned, the hanyou jumped inside.

It hurted even more than he had imagined when his feet touched the ground.

He knew it would happen — as if he was fated to watch helpless while she slipped through his fingers again and again — but pretending he could dive into the Honekui no Ido in one moment and be holding her in the next when he wasn’t absolutely certain he couldn’t was the only way to make things bearable. After all, lying to himself was the only kind of lie he was good at.

There was no pretending now, the portal wasn’t there anymore.

He sat there and let defeatense involve him in the dark.

“We finally did it.” He said, in the tone he saved just for her. “Naraku is gone and everyone else is fine. It’s over now. We won.” Without his consent a heavy sigh followed. “Then why do I feel like I lost everything?”

Then InuYasha realized what his exhaustion was about. He could probably fight a thousand youkais one by one at that very moment — courtesy of being a hanyou. But not even demon blood could heal a broken heart.

“No.” He shook his head, jaw clenching in determination. “I’m not losing you. So do what you gotta do and come back, you hear me? I’ll be waiting right here.” As his arms crossed, echoes of his own voice was the only response. “Come back to me.”

Kagome had tried everything.

From resorting to her spiritual powers to praying — and going as far as using her grandpa’s old charms —, nothing seemed to work. No matter what she did, the well insisted on remain as inactive as it was before she turned fifteen.

Even though Kagome had been trapped in her era before, this was a entirely different situation. She could no longer feel the magnetic presence that captivated her soul in ways she had yet to fully comprehend.

It infuriated and terrified her at the same time.

Both hands on her waist, gazing at the wooden structure, she closed the short distance with unwavering purpose. For the fifth time that day, she dived into the Honekui no Ido, and for the fifth time that day, nothing happened.

Frustration clasped her hands into a trembling fist.

“WHY — WON’T — YOU — WORK?” She jumped between the words, letting anger fill the gap among them in a pathetic attempt to restore the lost portal. Realizing flushed cheeks and white knuckles would be her only achievement, Kagome sat on her knees.

“I can’t get back.” The more the phrase resounded through her mind the more it lost its meaning.

It had been days since Kagome had last seen him. She was still not sure of how it happened or why. In one second InuYasha was there, watching as she involved her mother in a cramped hug. In the other, he disappeared and she was left screaming his name and staring to the empty bottom of the old construction.

The well hasn’t worked ever since.

After several minutes being held captive by paralyzing despair, Kagome decided to leave. The last thing she needed was to worry her family even more.

There was no use in staying, anyway. With the jewel vanished forever, no magical happenstance would miraculously save her this time.

“I’m sorry.” Was the last thing she whispered before climbing her way out.

“It’s been weeks and they’re still tiptoeing around me.” Inuyasha let the back of his head fall on the wooden surface and focused on the clouds drifting through the blue sky — even them seemed to have a place to be. “It’s so irritating! Acting so fucking nice all the time and pretending it’s their normal behavior as if I couldn’t tell the difference, telling me you’d want me to be happy as if I didn’t know that already!”

Deep down, InuYasha appreciated the concern of his friends, but there was nothing they could possibly do to make him feel better. They couldn’t just ignore her absence and go on as if nothing happened, but they couldn’t keep treating him with such caution either. Ultimately, it only made him feel like a burden.

That was why InuYasha valued those moments alone in the sole spot in the whole land where he could feel closer to her, when he didn’t have to put up a tough facade or threaten to cut off the head of whoever asked if he was alright. It was almost peaceful.

“In the meanwhile, your scent faded away.” The hanyou informed, trying not to sound too desperate about it. He could either face reality or get smashed by it, and as far as reality was concerned, Kagome’s aroma — both a source of comfort and a reassurance of her presence — was doomed to disappear eventually. InuYasha wasn’t eager to face a world without her smell in it. He had done it before and it positively sucked. “Everything feels so wrong without it.” He made a long pause. “They want to help me? Why don’t they bring you back to fix this yourself?” InuYasha felt his lips curve into a lifeless smile. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

Although the half demon knew he wasn’t being fair to his friends — without them he would be in a much darker place — right then he didn’t care.

Few were the things he still cared for.

“Well, the mess you made in the kitchen was completely fixed a while ago.” Kagome smiled affectionately at the memory of InuYasha destroying her sink in the name of killing a cockroach, but it didn’t last long. “It’s like you’ve never been here.”

Suddenly, the truthfulness of the statement sinked in. It really is like that, isn’t it? She embraced her legs and let her chin rest on her knees.

It was a deeply hidden fear of hers, that someday he would be gone and she would be left with nothing to proof that everything they’ve been through had been real, not just a fairytale with a bittersweet ending that her mind had created out of boredom.

“I still have your cap in my bedroom, though. It was never used before you came along, so I don’t quite know what to do with it. Truth be told, I don’t know what to do with myself, either.”

While in their quest to defeat Naraku, Kagome had so thoughtfully concentrated on the mission that she left to worry about ‘after’ when that moment came. Now ‘after’ was here and it was nothing like she had imagined.

She sighed.

“We didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye.” Always the optimistic, the priestess shook the depressing thought off. “Maybe it’s for the best.” Goodbyes were for people who needed closure and that was the last thing Kagome wanted. Besides, she didn’t trust herself to simply let him go if the opportunity was given. “How could I ever say goodbye to you, after all?”

If her past experiences had taught her something was that the bond they shared wasn’t the type of thing one could merely walk away from. The Honekui no Ido may never work again, but the invisible force that tied their destinies together remained strong. Kagome could feel it pulsing within her veins.

Unfortunately, it didn’t make things any easier.

The sobs came without warning.

“I know you hate when I cry...” She managed to say between short breaths, failing on keeping composure. “But you’re not here, so…”

Unceremoniously, Kagome allowed the tears to pour.

A/N: this is probably not the content you guys would be into. I’m sorry. Just blame it on Ross Copperman.

#Inukag #InuYasha #Kagome Higurashi #Holding On And Letting Go #Inukag Multichapter #Inukag Fanfic #Inukag Angst #Inukag Fic #Sid Writes

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calculatingminutiae · 5 years

Text

And Then He Was A Zombie

Ch. 1/?

You are beginning to regret your life choices. Mostly, you ponder as you sink nearly shin-deep into slowly fermenting brain, you lament your audacious decision to exist.

Not a soul has seen height nor hair of Mituna Captor for weeks, which is concerning considering that he's seldom let you forget about him before. The four sweeps you've known him have felt like a neon-coated, caffeine-laced retro fever dream, and the stark absence of that unabashed presence, that sheer bravado from someone so contemptible is tangible. You.

You don't miss him. Not really. You may have, once, but the long nights of your friendship passed as you grew up on diverging paths, as his unwavering confidence in his abilities (outwardly; you were privileged with the knowledge that his "natural psychic talent" came from practicing with his psi until odd hours of the morning in order to make his anxieties and excess energy recede until he could sleep) eroded at your patience, until his unrepentant criticism of your studies and etiquette (you are most certainly not a "TToTTal fuckiin bulgewrench hiigh off [y9ur] own ego iif you TThiink you're TThe only guy people are giiviin' 2hiiTT TTwo for b2 rea2on2," nor any variation thereof, thank you very much) became so great (why does she have to like him so much can't she see he won't treat her well, not like you can, he can't even treat himself well) that you drifted apart. You haven't spoken in at least two perigees, and even then the last two sweeps have only included game-related correspondence. Even if you find him irritating, even if his "prophecies" and grim predictions are clearly nonsensical and demoralizing, you must admit his abilities are valuable to the team. You are aware he must know that all twelve of you will be at a great disadvantage should any of his several, several deaths stick.

So how dare he? Drag you out here? (#unsanitary, #b9dy h9rr9r, #w9uld it kill you t9 have a deep pers9nal quest that includes air c9nditi9ning?)

Except he hasn't actually dragged you out here at all. His absence has started to concern your mutual friend (his datemate, somehow) to the point of anxious episodes, which you should have known he'd cause sooner or later. Selfish as he can be, you'd almost thought she meant more to him than this, leaving her high and dry in the metaphorical torrent of suspended ambivalence. He could well be fine, could well not. She has no way to know. Neither do you, but you foolishly volunteered to find out. You hadn't exactly thought about the consequences of reconciling, let alone explaining to her, what it is you really find.

Brains. Fire. Case closed. You knew that going in, of course, as did she, but the name of this planet seemed significantly more superficial before you had to smell it.

The air carries the caramelized odor of constant decay, beyond the blood of your own ironically-clad planet and into the territory of viscera you are entirely certain that no soul should ever actually witness outside of a morgue. The smog only makes it worse. Each sweltering, ragged breath is physical pain, and you are certain you've been burned from exposure within the first two minutes of your journey. Cranial nerves serve as pale-pink branches on trees formed from the wet, undulating flesh forming the islands you stand upon as not to plummet into the infernal abyss below. You need to throw out these shoes. Immediately. And your sweater, and yourself, a pitter-patter of droplets from above, finally, r

It's cerebrospinal fluid.

That is definitely cerebrospinal fluid.

God.

Damnit.

And, by the game's logic, it's flammable too, stirring a flare-up of the fires roaring near the borderline of this islet over the horizon, at which point you decide that you can afford to burn all of your clothes after this if it allows you to sit in the dubious shelter of one of these brain-trees and wait out the storm.

The terrain directly in your line of sight is vast, but you feel an incessant need to give your status updates to the group. Calm down. Stare at your phone, your eleven (Ten? It may well be ten now, you consider, a shiver as you banish the thought) remaining followers in this post-apocalyptic wasteland will no doubt praise your perseverance. Even as your fingers become so disgustingly slick with Actual-Fucking-Brain-Juice that you have to give up your comprehensive progress report and actually bother to take in your surroundings.

There aren't any enemies on this island. No imps, no ogres, no basilisks or other "no-thank-you's" which you stopped having a use for long ago, their resources trivial when you consider yourself to have made a rightful living quarters at long last. Finally, no cullers to tell you what to do. Just a meager living, one you miss at the moment as you idly watch the glistening "rain" wash its way over small pale rocks in this sparse savannah.

You'd thought you were walking into woodland, but consider you may have been mistaken. The thick woods behind you beg to differ, however, but you elect to ignore that little fact just as well as you ignore the treads in the ground from what you are positive must have been a battle with more than a few psionic lasers. You must admit, you still aren't entirely sure how he does that.

He's always been psionically gifted, of course, for as long as you've known him, and he's always had the audacity to complain. To be culled by the empress herself, to be of the highest rank in his class, to be lauded and loved and lucky, so, so lucky, and complain. Even his headaches could reveal incredible things, privileged facets of the near-future, while yours. Yours bought you time locked up in your block, bouncing from culler to culler as your health fluctuated, so fragile, you, and nobody cared to deal with you. Nobody listened to your ideas, nobody took you seriously, no matter how hard you tried to become an educated, upstanding member of society on your own. And yet, once, you tried to vet his problems. "Problems," when he'd argue with you at odd hours about rock bands and the oxford comma, or putting on matching socks or not or the heat death of the universe. Problems when you'd stay up, some mornings, just to see when he'd finally run out of steam. Problems when you knew you'd helped him tire himself out and all that pent-up anxious energy released and sometimes you'd smile to yourself for a job well done from halfway across the district.

You find yourself laughing a little. Almost fond.

He'd trusted you with his insecurities, as you trusted him with yours. You thought you weren't tall enough, that your pants came up too-too high on you if you wanted the legs to fit. (He'd told you to wear them anyway;"iiTT'll be a TThiing by nexTT 2weep, The hiigh waii2TT. iiTT'll be, liike, riighTTeous, dude, you're a TTrend2eTTer 2o long a2 you own iiTT. TThey ju2TT don'TT geTT you yeTT." You have, truthfully, under your sweater, in spite of another dear friend telling you exactly how you dress like a travesty. You won't be controlled. Entirely.) He thought he was only ever given a second look because he has his ancestor's face. You.

You wish you would have told him n9, Mituna, y9u're a w9nderful individual as y9u are, but instead, you were too focused on his new co-op partner. The same girl playing some MMO with fanciful hats and discussing legal precedents on forums you'd found in your research, it was far too unlikely to seem true but once you'd made the connection it was inescapable. She'd gone inactive, disappeared because of him. She gave into that anti-intellectual sniveling drivel because of him, a brilliant mind squandered, he ruined your chances with

The flames rise in the forest behind you, driving you into the clearing. At least, if you want to keep your ass firmly un-toasted. You do.

It's strange, anyway, his actual, tangible absence from your life. You're by no means co-dependent, but it doesn't feel quite right. Like a building on your commute's gone out of business, or perhaps like an old tree in the schoolyard has been hacked to the ground, leaving behind the stump where it once joined the ground, it's. Surreal. You find this surreal, but maintain confidence that you will, eventually, get over it. Life moves on. (It is Doom that lingers.)

The rain abates, leaving you temporarily distracted from the direction you were initially headed in and entirely susceptible to tripping over something in this clearing while you idly admire how nice and tan your retinas must be getting from looking at the sky so much.

C-rRck .

A trail of bone shards fly from your shoe, much to your temporary horror, until you realize the crucial factors that A. this skull is not that of a troll and B. it's actually partially buried in the ground, so it may well be a fossil of some kind, you suppose. In fact, it looks as though it's been picked clean by time, or some very efficient fungi. You almost feel bad for this poor ex. . . Snake? This may well have been a snake, at one point, you determine by looking under the hands that prevented you from faceplanting into cerebral cortex and discovering that what you thought were "rocks" are actually the ridges of a very, very large snake's spine. The ridges etched into the surrounding brain matter, truthfully, deviate from the folding pattern of the rest of the ground. There is a stick planted at the head of the site that you hadn't initially noticed, a ruler hastily wedged into the mush. Penance, you ponder, for the additional rocks washed up in this clearing. Perhaps that explains why you have failed to run into any friendly lizard civilians in this place to offer you directions. Surely, you've merely committed a lizard-social faux pas by wandering back-asswards into an Important Game Landmark. Yes. Obviously.

You decide this will not appear in your reports, and press on.

The planet maintains itself, just as before, equally disgusting in its crags and valleys and hills and rivers of you've-stopped-caring-keep-trudging. Really, if she hadn't seemed so upset, you question whether or not you could have brought yourself to look for him. He, by and large, had his shortcomings. Bouts of belligerence in violently vacillating mood swings, calloused comments with so little tact that it was hard to excuse his lack of social etiquette; he hardly seemed to be trying. Verbally belittling himself, constantly, even in the presence of those doing quantifiably worse than him in the same categories. You know social cues didn't come easy to him, he told you as much. You still don't think that's an excuse not to correct yourself the nth time you laugh at a "fail" compilation including serious injuries.

He was as sore a winner as loser, in those days, considering himself accomplished for having posted artwork before and thereby actually knowledgeable on the subject, or at least moreso than anyone who told him that he could not, for the life of him, draw properly-proportioned arms and hands. He'd repeat the same mistakes, content to call them inevitable or very much a choice. He poured himself into his favorite games, between practices, to the point of obsession. To the point of being outwardly off-balance should he be knocked from his proud number-two (for number one, evidently, was for those unskilled enough to calculate exactly where they need to be) spot on the leaderboard. Always in twos. Two different socks, two different shoes, two different bright red-and-blue eyes, always even, lest something go amiss. "The FaTTe2 don'TT liike TTwo be mocked," he'd tell you on the subject of threes and parallelisms during your early-morning chats, though you'd never truly understood his fascination yourself. It's an old legend, in the community of psionic yellowbloods, that three incarnations of fate bestowed them with the powers of electrokinesis and prophecy, "TTwo make 2ure TThe Dyiing are wiiTTne22ed when TThey, liike, reTTurn TTwo TThe bounTTy of co2miic liifeforce and whaTTever. TThaTT 2omeone geTT2 iiTT before you go, yknow?? 2o nobody ha2 TTwo be alone."

You sigh, officially Hopelessly Lost. You take a seat atop some maroon rocks, which you are absolutely confident are actually. Bricks. And scraps of drywall, the rough texture under your fingers as they drift over this cleft piece of what was part of a block, at some point. His block, from the oil pastel staining your fingers. You run like you didn't know you could before, overtaken by a sudden need to know exactly what happened here. The pastel isn't quite baked to the surface yet, and it may not be too late. You hope for her sake, that it is not too late. You hope for your sake, that it is not too late. You need to tell him something before he's allowed to leave again.

Your name is KANKRI VANTAS and you, begrudgingly, have regrets.

The hive is in complete disarray once you find it. You let yourself in, considering the entrance is missing, let alone the staircase to the top of the tower the two of you had built upon entering the Medium. You remember that he didn't want this wall here, or that block there, and his load gaper is still firmly defenestrated and stuck in the ground even though you know he could have put it back by now. It's much easier to look at that than the maelstrom of dirty laundry and magazine pages covered in ambiguous tv-dinner sauce in the main livingsblock, a proper mountain of crushed cans of toxic Appleberry Blast that nearly cancel out the smoke encrusting your lungs. You knew he was somewhat a slob, compared to you, but if the place weren't still standing you'd swear a tornado went through here. Old microwave trays are covered in mold. There's no telling how long this has been this way.

"Mituna…?"

There is no answer. You can't say you expected one, heading further up through the vertical labyrinth.

The floors pass you by in slow motion, blurring into a singularity as you refuse to acknowledge the little things about the remains of his hive. How it feels you've walked into a ghost town, how there's a deep ochre staining the carpet at the bottom of the stairs, how the smell of decay somehow only gets worse as you ascend. Worse, and. Sweeter. Sickeningly sweet, like candied excrement, the tang of touching your tongue to an outlet emanating from a block you haven't seen in a very, very long time.

The roof to his respiteblock is missing. Entirely. It's been blown off, debris around the room, the place soaked from the rains and exposed to the enemy and yet apparently untouched. He did not come up here often, so it seems, the block mostly barren save the diagrams and prophetic scribblings on the walls, a leather-bound book and a pile of broken glass.

You, in spite of your better judgment, take a look at the book.

It's his sketchbook. One with pictures you've seen before, of )(er Radiance and Meenah, younger and almost caricatures of a happy household. It's immediately followed by Meenah's snaggle-toothed grin, by Radiance (dubbed "Radz", in these pages, the marked messy handwriting of a younger child ) and her icy, gaslighting "disappointed" pout. Abstract works, impressions of his old biclops, experiments with colors (always the primaries; he can only trust the primaries, so notes the back of the page, upon learning he is colorblind) and drawings of the psionic roundtable he was forced to sit at. A child sits surrounded by people ten times his age because of his visions of the end of days. He's exaggerated them, made fun of them, save the ones he liked. A childhood spent drawing, trying to capture the likeness of the Archiver, connector of the stars, among other things. The portraits have odd titles. "maybe ii can'TT iinvenTT The iinTTerneTT, bu7 ii'll be 2omeTThiing you'd be proud of."

There are large gaps in drawing quality, from then on, from starting and stopping and meeting new people. You find he's drawn portraits of you, even, and of Latula, so many of Latula. Never flattering ones, either, in the strictest sense; he seems to have poured a lot of time and effort into a drawing you've never seen before, a sketch of her laughing over the webcam during their matches. Her nostrils flair a bit, a few hairs out of place, and yet every freckle on her face has a degree of life to it. He may have held himself to an impossible standard, but this picture you are certain would make her cringe is so thoughtfully put together that you are positive that she has never seen it.

Then you entered the game.

The sketches rapidly deteriorate into scrap paper, holding notes and lists written in a hurry. Prophecies, you gather, in a shorthand reserved for the empress's board of elite psions. A way to convey ideas quickly and efficiently in the confused daze in the wake of a vision (a way to keep anyone from effectively snooping, as you are, since the symbols appear near-incomprehensible to you). The text only becomes sloppier over time, to the point that you don't hazard to guess what it could possibly mean. You suppose he'd distilled the important parts into his reports in the groupchat.

The less important parts are written plainly, without a care for who may see. Notes like "Charon ii2 a liil biiTTch abouTT TThii2 whole que2TT junk, hone2TTly," and "noTT enough iimp2 come by TTwo ju2TTiify TThe TTrap2 anymore." Like "ii2 a popTTarTT really a raviiolii," or "by TThe TTime you 2ee TThii2, ii have noTThiing for you." Scribbled prophecies in purple, drawing your attention to the pink and violet powder of pastel on the ceiling, what must have once been a drawing. A gaze staring directly into his heart, artificial, requiring him to always blink first. Unless he could act first.

The next several pages are stuck together with a highlighter-yellow substance, the source of the sweetness in the air. If you were to peer under his desk, you'd note the glass shards fit perfectly into the shape of an empty jar.

A sprawling note on the next available page, stained by the toxic honey and pale yellow tears. You fail to stomach reading beyond the first line.

"laTTTTiie,

iim 2orry."

You skip to the end. At least, the end of what you can see. It's another portrait, one of an event you recognize, of the first anniversary of your entrance into this hellhole. Meenah baked you all a cake, as you recall. The group quickly split up and stratified, but in this sketch. In this sketch you can stand one another, huddled together around the mystery ahead, in various stages of smiling and excitement. You all were happy, then. Most of you. Most of you were just as happy as he paints.

You realize that, in all of these pictures, including this group shot, he hasn't once drawn himself.

There is the unmistakable sensation of a hand, not gentle nor rough, planted firmly on your left shoulder.

You came to this planet alone.

The shadow looming over you does so by about half a foot, your immediate instinct to tack on "n9 matter what he says" identifying the corpse it belongs to long before you raise your head. You can tell it's a corpse because of the sudden intense smell of putrification in your immediate vicinity, of rot and decay, of something seared and burnt like overcooked grubloaf disposed of with lighter fluid and a careless match. Your epic quest, as shitty as it's been, is over, and your prize is presenting itself to you on a bloodstained, honey-soaked carpet.

It could be looking at you. He, could be looking at you, this thing that used to be a friend of yours. He could be looking above your head, for all you know, or at the glimpse of his psyche you've stolen, claws curled into fists, venom dripping from his fangs, frozen in space and time when you finally look at him. Overgrown bangs obscure his eyes. It wouldn't matter much anyway, considering you can't tell where those hidden eyes point when they begin glowing a bright, bilious green, either.

His bright yellow jacket (you should have known you'd never see him without it, even in death) is singed and slashed to shreds, more obviously steeped in dark ochre than the plain black shirt underneath. Torn jeans can no longer contain a leg broken at such an extreme angle, dragging behind him as nothing more than a counterbalance to the tall, spindly form. His ribs art particularly obvious now, looking as though he should snap in half at the waits with a breeze that, of course, never actually comes, on this planet. A hand (hesitantly?) reaches for your shoulder, calloused and scarred, showing off the kinds of skin-boiling horrors only concealed by the general unassuming dark neutrality of (most of, spare that damn jacket) his attire. Webbing red and blue scars, like veins, like lightning travel up from his fingers to his wrist, creep up his neck, epicenter unknown but almost certainly obscured somewhere in the cesspool of a body lumbering towards him. The figure-- no. The shell of Mituna, advances, pauses, and keeps advancing.

You are aware that he must know. Must know your guilt, your conflictions, the overpowering sense of dread sweeping in with the scent rotting flesh. The bright, bright green light flickers, flickers, and glows. You could swear you see a slight sly smile on his face.

Someone finally understands.

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