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doc42 · 10 months ago

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"The dragon is too far away to save you."

The fandom misunderstands the sad, wistful tragedy of Jon Connington chasing the dream of placing Rhaegar's son upon the Iron Throne when it considers only ever that its end must be to have big bad woman who is Rhaegar reborn fly down and burn him and the lad.

Seventeen years had come and gone since the Battle of the Bells, yet the sound of bells ringing still tied a knot in his guts. Others might claim that the realm was lost when Prince Rhaegar fell to Robert's warhammer on the Trident, but the Battle of the Trident would never have been fought if the griffin had only slain the stag there in Stoney Sept. The bells tolled for all of us that day. For Aerys and his queen, for Elia of Dorne and her little daughter, for every true man and honest woman in the Seven Kingdoms. And for my silver prince. "The plan was to reveal Prince Aegon only when we reached Queen Daenerys," Lemore was saying.

King Stannis is Jon Connington's kin from the "slayer of lies" sequence of visions from the House of the Undying and his foreshadowing for choosing to burn a kid to save the realm is he literally talks of burning a kid to save the realm:

"I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well. I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning . . . burning, Davos. His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash. Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means? Or you?" The king moved, so his shadow fell upon King's Landing. "If Joffrey should die . . . what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?" "Everything," said Davos, softly.

Jon Connington's foreshadowing with the backstory of the Battle of the Bells is equally straightforward: he's thinking he's willing to burn down a town if it means getting rid of the Usurper's line. Because he missed his chance getting rid of Robert Baratheon in Stoney Sept, so he won't miss it again.

Others might claim that the realm was lost when Prince Rhaegar fell to Robert's warhammer on the Trident, but the Battle of the Trident would never have been fought if the griffin had only slain the stag there in Stoney Sept.

For years afterward, Jon Connington told himself that he was not to blame, that he had done all that any man could do. His soldiers searched every hole and hovel, he offered pardons and rewards, he took hostages and hung them in crow cages and swore that they would have neither food nor drink until Robert was delivered to him. All to no avail. “Tywin Lannister himself could have done no more,” he had insisted one night to Blackheart, during his first year of exile. “There is where you’re wrong,” Myles Toyne had replied. “Lord Tywin would not have bothered with a search. He would have burned that town and every living creature in it.

The road ahead was full of perils, he knew, but what of it? All men must die. All he asked was time. He had waited so long, surely the gods would grant him a few more years, enough time to see the boy he’d called a son seated on the Iron Throne. To reclaim his lands, his name, his honor. To still the bells that rang so loudly in his dreams whenever he closed his eyes to sleep.

Death, he knew, but slow. I still have time. A year. Two years. Five. Some stone men live for ten. Time enough to cross the sea, to see Griffin’s Roost again. To end the Usurper’s line for good and all, and put Rhaegar’s son upon the Iron Throne.

Connington cares much and more about how he's going to be remembered. This is the reason he tried to face Robert honorably in single combat and this is why he promises doom to Lord Varys:

The shame of the lie still stuck in his craw, but Varys had insisted it was necessary. “We want no songs about the gallant exile,” the eunuch had tittered, in that mincing voice of his. “Those who die heroic deaths are long remembered, thieves and drunks and cravens soon forgotten.”

Death had robbed him of his ears, his nose, and all his warmth. The smile remained, transformed into a glittering golden grin. All the skulls were grinning, even Bittersteel’s on the tall pike in the center. What does he have to grin about? He died defeated and alone, a broken man in an alien land. On his deathbed, Ser Aegor Rivers had famously commanded his men to boil the flesh from his skull, dip it in gold, and carry it before them when they crossed the sea to retake Westeros. His successors had followed his example. Jon Connington might have been one of those successors if his exile had gone otherwise. He had spent five years with the company, rising from the ranks to a place of honor at Toyne’s right hand. Had he stayed, it might well have been him the men turned to after Myles died, instead of Harry Strickland. But Griff did not regret the path he’d chosen. When I return to Westeros, it will not be as a skull atop a pole.

A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering crowd . . . mother of dragons, slayer of lies . . .

What does a eunuch know of a man’s honor? Griff had gone along with the Spider’s scheme for the boy’s sake, but that did not mean he liked it any better. Let me live long enough to see the boy sit the Iron Throne, and Varys will pay for that slight and so much more. Then we’ll see who’s soon forgotten.

Because Varys the Spider dared to decide how Jon Connington must be remembered. But now Lord Jon Connington is ready to be remembered as a butcher if he must:

Men and boys, babes at the breast, noble knights and holy septons, pigs and whores, rats and rebels, he would have burned them all. When the fires guttered out and only ash and cinders remained, he would have sent his men in to find the bones of Robert Baratheon. Later, when Stark and Tully turned up with their host, he would have offered pardons to the both of them, and they would have accepted and turned for home with their tails between their legs.” He was not wrong, Jon Connington reflected, leaning on the battlements of his forebears. I wanted the glory of slaying Robert in single combat, and I did not want the name of butcher. So Robert escaped me and cut down Rhaegar on the Trident. “I failed the father,” he said, “but I will not fail the son.”

The tragedy isn't that their choice to go to Westeros alone have turned Daenerys against them as the second dance of the dragons, the Blacks versus the Greens reborn and the final Blackfyre rebellion. The tragedy is they were so close. History does not repeat itself exactly.

Despite what the fandom says about Quaithe of the Shadow prompting Daenerys to go against the mummer's dragon with prophecy, Daenerys literally forgets all about the kid and confuses the mummer's dragon with herself, which is the most funny and charming thing you could find her thinking in the spot in the narrative the fandom designated as "Daenerys is up in arms ready to go to war with the mummer's dragon." But she thinks to herself she might have married Aegon VI had he lived just as these guys choose to stop chasing the dragon's tail and decide to go to Westeros alone.

There would have been a sixth, but the Usurper's dogs had murdered her brother's son when he was still a babe at the breast. If he had lived, I might have married him. Aegon would have been closer to my age than Viserys. Dany had only been conceived when Aegon and his sister were murdered.

That's the tragedy, the road not taken. They were so close. She would have come to them in Volantis had they waited.

"As you say." Tyrion grinned. "If I were Volantene, and free, and had the blood, you'd have my vote for triarch, my lady." "I am no lady," the widow replied, "just Vogarro's whore. You want to be gone from here before the tigers come. Should you reach your queen, give her a message from the slaves of Old Volantis." She touched the faded scar upon her wrinkled cheek, where her tears had been cut away. "Tell her we are waiting. Tell her to come soon."

Farther on she came upon a feast of corpses. Savagely slaughtered, the feasters lay strewn across overturned chairs and hacked trestle tables, asprawl in pools of congealing blood. Some had lost limbs, even heads. Severed hands clutched bloody cups, wooden spoons, roast fowl, heels of bread. In a throne above them sat a dead man with the head of a wolf. He wore an iron crown and held a leg of lamb in one hand as a king might hold a scepter, and his eyes followed Dany with mute appeal.

Smiling, he seized his dragon, flew it across the board. "I hope Your Grace will pardon me. Your king is trapped. Death in four." The prince stared at the playing board. "My dragon—" "—is too far away to save you. You should have moved her to the center of the battle." "But you said—" "I lied. Trust no one. And keep your dragon close."

What Tyrion says with the cyvasse game is Aegon is going to lose if he does not move Daenerys to "the center of the battle."

King's Landing is called "the center" by GRRM himself when describing the designs of his world:

Well, of course, the two outlying ones — the things going on north of the Wall, and then there is Targaryen on the other continent with her dragons — are of course the ice and fire of the title, “A Song of Ice and Fire.” The central stuff — the stuff that’s happening in the middle, in King’s Landing, the capital of the seven kingdoms — is much more based on historical events, historical fiction.

Aegon is moving to King's Landing without the dragon piece.

“The demon road is death. We will lose half the company to desertion if we attempt that march, and bury half of those who remain beside the road. It grieves me to say it, but Magister Illyrio and his friends may have been unwise to put so much hope on this child queen.” No, thought Griff, but they were most unwise to put their hopes on you. And then Prince Aegon spoke. “Then put your hopes on me,” he said. “Daenerys is Prince Rhaegar’s sister, but I am Rhaegar’s son. I am the only dragon that you need.” Griff put a black-gloved hand upon Prince Aegon’s shoulder. “Spoken boldly,” he said, “but think what you are saying.” “I have,” the lad insisted. “Why should I go running to my aunt as if I were a beggar? My claim is better than her own. Let her come to me … in Westeros.”

Note how Griff here puts his black-gloved hand upon his purported son's shoulder just as Prince Aegon chooses the most unwise course of action. This is an omen of doom.

"Your death is with us now, my lord. Give me your hand." "My hand. What do you know of my hand?"

Jon Connington signs his letter to Dorne as "Hand of the True King", and Death spreads through his hand. His hand, and greyscale spreading through it, the very reason that made him accept this course, because time's running out for him to reclaim the dream. He is trying to reach the star he once failed to grasp, his green light, but what he brings to Westeros is death.

“Pirates and adventurers, we heard at first,” said Valena. “Then it was supposed to be the Golden Company. Now it’s said to be Jon Connington, the Mad King’s Hand, come back from the grave to reclaim his birthright. Whoever it is, Griffin’s Roost has fallen to them. Rain House, Crow’s Nest, Mistwood, even Greenstone on its island. All taken.”

And as I sat there brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Gatsby’s wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy’s dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night. Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further… And one fine morning— So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

Prince Aegon Targaryen was not near as biddable as the boy Young Griff had been, however. The better part of an hour had passed before he finally turned up in the solar, with Duck at his side. “Lord Connington,” he said, “I like your castle.” “Your father’s lands are beautiful,” he said. His silvery hair was blowing in the wind, and his eyes were a deep purple, darker than this boy’s. “As do I, Your Grace. Please, be seated. Ser Rolly, we’ll have no further need of you for now.”

The foreshadowing of their defeat due to the dragon being too far away to save them is no different than the foreshadowing of King Stannis' defeat to Renly's ghost at Blackwater, doom equally straightforward and for a very precisely written reason:

Melisandre saw another day in her flames as well. A morrow where Renly rode out of the south in his green armor to smash my host beneath the walls of King's Landing. Had I met my brother there, it might have been me who died in place of him.

It is binding. King Stannis is indeed defeated by Lord Renly riding out of the south in his green armor to smash his host beneath the walls of King's Landing, or so it seemed.

They plunged through Stannis like a lance through a pumpkin, every man of them howling like some demon in steel. And do you know who led the vanguard? Do you? Do you? Do you?” “Robb?” It was too much to be hoped, but… “It was Lord Renly! Lord Renly in his green armor, with the fires shimmering off his golden antlers! Lord Renly with his tall spear in his hand! They say he killed Ser Guyard Morrigen himself in single combat, and a dozen other great knights as well. It was Renly, it was Renly, it was Renly! Oh! the banners, darling Sansa! Oh! to be a knight!”

Aegon's defeat shall be because he did not keep his dragon close, leaving Daenerys behind him in Essos, the girl thinking she might have married Aegon VI had he lived. Of course, Stannis did not die at Blackwater, so while the boy king may be doomed, the fake Rhaegar's son that he is, the young dragon, Jon Connington ironically despite his greyscale may still live long enough to meet the true Rhaegar reborn of the tale, his silver prince shining from afar.

Alone in the tent, as the gold and scarlet rays of the setting sun shone through the open flap, Jon Connington shrugged off his wolfskin cloak, slipped his mail shirt off over his head, settled on a camp stool, and peeled the glove from his right hand. The nail on his middle finger had turned as black as jet, he saw, and the grey had crept up almost to the first knuckle. The tip of his ring finger had begun to darken too, and when he touched it with the point of his dagger, he felt nothing. Death, he knew, but slow. I still have time. A year. Two years. Five. Some stone men live for ten. Time enough to cross the sea, to see Griffin's Roost again. To end the Usurper's line for good and all, and put Rhaegar's son upon the Iron Throne. Then Lord Jon Connington could die content.

She could smell home, she could see it, there, just beyond that door, green fields and great stone houses and arms to keep her warm, there. She threw open the door. "… the dragon …" And saw her brother Rhaegar, mounted on a stallion as black as his armor. Fire glimmered red through the narrow eye slit of his helm. "The last dragon," Ser Jorah's voice whispered faintly. "The last, the last." Dany lifted his polished black visor. The face within was her own.

#Daenerys Targaryen #A Song of Ice and Fire #ASoIaF #Jon Connington #Aegon VI #The Great Gatsby #GRRM #the green light

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saltyr3mix · 8 months ago

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ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD: Winnie HCs?

BITES YOU BITES YOU BITES YOU

Ok- so ok- I'm excited I'm gona go off prompt a bit because he's my second favorite character in the show and it's wonderful.

One thing I'd like to state for the record, in most of my aus he's actually a good guy. Or a good man in a bad situation. There are a few exceptions. Yluid Winnie is definitely not a protagonist and he's probably committed a lot of violence in the hero au- and you know what!

Because my Winnie head cannons change depending on the au I'm just going to talk about all my different versions of him!

To learn from the tragedies: what? He's in that au!? Yes<3. Not until book two but he comes into play. Sara basically has to build this like full out summoning circle and bam! They have Carlos back on their side. But not fully. I haven't decided where he lies in terms of memories yet but I know he's going to be a pain to everyone no matter who's side he's on.

Shattered dreams: SD LORE IN 2024!??! yes. Sd!Winnie is so special to me guys he commits unethical sciences, he falls from the celling, he tears out peoples worst insecurities, he hates him self, he has the largest ego, he's just a guy, he's the biggest threat these guys have ever faced, he'll try to be nice to one set of kids but the second they get out of hand give up trying. He's so- just imperfect. If I were to have finished the fic he would have eventually been swayed over, likely for a silly and dumb reason but ends being a super valuable ally in the final battle and what not.

Swap au: NOT the shuffle au, the skating in silence one. It's never mentioned but in that au Carlos takes the place of alison. I find this to be the funny thing known to man. Imagine, your savior, your light as your dying,the one who's guarding and protecting souls with an incomprehensible power. AND ITS CARLOS NICHOLSON. even funnier if wiatts the main protagonist and nearly died only to have his grandfather next to him like "get up kid! We still have work to do! I didn't raise you to die you idiot! Are you going to save your Twink or not?!!" Idk I find it just- harious I'm sorry -

I will make them create my world: he's uh- he's the Brights royal advisor of War. (Did I do this just so I could make Owen a general......no- shut up- don't look at my other hyper fixation)

Buried masks: ohhhh this one's fun. Uhm. You'll see him around. He's a doctor in this au. Really good friends with Litho, they like go golfing together. Knows the main cast pretty well. Buddies with Eric, teases founder trio and wiatt, gives the kids 15 dollar gift cards on their birthdays and has the best Halloween candy, he always gets full sized candy bars. Uhmmm yep. And he doesn't do anything morally wrong or questionable at all ever. Nope why would you say that about him. Accusing him of horrifically preforming inhumane procedures on kids in order to save his grandson?!? Pfff- what- ha! Never...... Don't ask where the supplies keeps going.

Superhero au: haven't fully developed him yet, he's a retired villain. Rich and has beef with Damien. (Everyone has beef with Damien in this au.) Probably the owner of whatever company Wiatt works for and is sort of in the background that people go to for funding or just to reference past villains. i think his powers had something to do with cameras. haven't entirely decided because it hasn't come up yet.

Steven Universe au: Hesssssssssss participating in evil experiments again. Hes Saras pearl but also just, actually enjoys the messed-up sciences and doing the test and experiments. he likes being her assistant. he likes the power that comes with it. he just helps her with the smaller finer details on her works and so, Acrimony's and Damien have a lot of trauma form in. He probably played a role in some of the triplet's issues as well just from being mean. but overall he's just sort of a threat to get around.

Super-Secret Oc Au/ Mine and Dangers au: So consider chat, Carlos Nicholson and Carly Gale forming a toxic, slightly dependent relationship after a lot of stuff goes down. Did Winnie kill her loved ones and then....not tell the truth about it? yes. Did he also by accident end up providing her comfort and helped her grieve though it? yes. he tried to help her. she just.....kept asking questions in the wrong direction and now their both upset because Winnie was finally able to have someone not hates him and understand that his hand is being forced here. Anyway, Carly stole his house and now lives in the abandoned arcade building and uses Winnie to help get information on how to handle the dreamworld situation. (The only reason Carly isn't Dead is because Vivian is instead) Winnies relationship with Norman in this au is also fantastic and deserves a shout out, i nearly wrote out a one-shot scene from this au about Norman and Morris and angst between them but it ended up spiraling into Norman and Winnie Nonsense and then i didn't want to write the original idea anymore because they were too silly. AND HIM AND DOT. OH BOY I DONT KNOW IF I WANT TO GET INTO THAT RIGHT NOW BECUASE THATS ITS WHOLE THING AND YEAH. I'll let Theater explain that one if you're curious. You'll live until i die, and other canon typical one shots: i try to follow canon for these but i think i make him ever so slightly meaner, but not in a...like evil way? more in a game host or like a dramatic way. he uses more insults than actions. but is also just not able to be taken seriously at points. One of my favorite times ive ever written him is a scene in YLUID between just him and ben and he has one single piece of information he needs, but physically cannot help himself from being as cryptic and threating as possible to the point it nearly completely backfires and the thing hes trying not reveal gets revealed. the best way i can describe this interaction is Winnie rolling three nat ones in a row while trying to have a conversation and its hilarious. Also in that au he does actually get defeated and beat up! he is so pathetic <3

Anyway, i think that's Winnie. that's my guy! i have a key chain of him and a friend....Void, who was the asker of this wonderful comment. Painted him for me that i have hung up in my room because i think he is one of the funniest failures of all time and he has a special place in my heart for that.

#salt answers!#welcome to dreamworld #wtdw #salts stories #Winne wtdw #This was fun #i wonder if i should do this for more characters just to see the different ways they can be taken and explored and presented.

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aeliesa · 5 months ago

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IN THE MIDST OF TRAGEDY

Synopsis: Your existence has never been put to question; everyone knows you're a traveler. No one pays much attention to the answers you give on trivial and common queries. However, there are those who are skeptical of your presence. To the Conqueror of Demons, you are something to be wary of— a bringer of chaos? Calamity? Perhaps a miracle? He himself can’t figure out a thing or two about you. You may appear as a harmless traveler, but there is still something about you that keeps his senses on guard.

Through the illuminating moonlight across the seven countries of Teyvat, in the country that lies in the east, you step foot, and it causes an uproar to the calm and collected Adeptus who does everything to honor the contract he made with the Geo Archon. By means of protecting the nation, the Vigilant Yaksha will deduce the walking enigma, but how? If he himself cannot put an end to his suffering?

• Relationship: Xiao x female reader • Content: Angst • previous chapter

four.

“To what extent do we have to suffer?” you murmur softly right after Xiao leaves you on the shore. Before you return to the Inn, you calm yourself and remind yourself of your plan.

This is not the moment to focus on things irrelevant to the plan.

The Rite of Descension is around the corner, and you need to be at Liyue Harbor before the event, or your plan will be in vain. Hence, while the Yaksha hunts the evil, you continue your stay in Liyue.

There are no travelers or locals along the path, as the evil's power is stronger at night: it isn’t safe for travelers, especially mortals. On top of that, you need to move faster now that the Guardian seems wary of your presence. There are things that could worsen his perception of you, which could jeopardize your goal — the last thing you want to happen.

The darkness surrounds you, fireflies hover over the wilds, the distant croaking of frogs fills the air, and the trees and grass rustle with the wind. These things ease your mind, and they are one of the reasons you prefer to travel in the dark.

You're not particularly good with geography, but you're sure that the Yaoguang Shoal is within view. You think it’s the perfect place to venture for a while, but as you realize that you’re in the Guili Plains, you decide to change your direction. It seems fitting for what you’re thinking. You continue towards the shore, hoping there aren’t any hilichurls nearby. Thankfully, there are fewer hilichurls when you reach the shore. You know who is responsible for this.

You take out a certain flower from your small bag, one you obtained during your venture in Bishui Plain — Qingce Village, to be specific.

The blue flower that only blooms at night is still fresh. You inhale its fragrance, and it reminds you of the good old days with someone who helped you remember your memories. You gently toss it into the tranquil, cerulean shoal, and the water seems to understand the meaning of your action.

Satisfied with your moment of reflection, you resume your journey with a serene mind. The Guili Plains are wide, and traveling along the shore fills you with nostalgia in the best way.

Back on the main road, you slow your pace as the emotions that embrace you linger. There is melancholy, but it doesn’t bring pain. Maybe traveling isn’t such a good idea after all. Nonetheless, the mix of emotions brings you a sense of harmony.

“Isn’t it safer for a mortal like you to wander in the morning?”

You halt in the middle of the road, hearing the voice of the Adeptus. Since the surroundings are dark, you make no effort to locate him.

“Isn’t it odd that there is no guarantee of safety for an adventurer, yet most think it’s safer to wander when the sun is up?”

“Fair enough,” Xiao appears in front of you, catching you off guard for a second. He shows no expression, and the lack of emotion is almost too much to handle. But you continue to meet his gaze with the same intensity.

“I told you I’m not like most travelers who need protection,” you declare, staring directly into his eyes. He looks at you with suspicion, but you let it slide. “You don’t need to fret, Xiao.”

As soon as the Yaksha blinks, his gaze shifts from your face to the sky. “Bold of you to assume I’m worried about your safety,” he explains.

“Isn’t it safer for a mortal like you to wander in the morning?” you repeat his earlier words and smile triumphantly, even though he’s still looking at the sky.

“I watch over Liyue. You — Traveler, whose life is about to end, should not wander as if you're free from the death that awaits you,” he sneers, shifting his gaze back to you. “I suppose the purpose of interfering in your petty journey has been made clear in your mind.”

The Adeptus is right. In his eyes, you’re still a fugitive — a bringer of destruction. But the fact that you remain ambiguous in his judgment has stopped him from ending your life — at least for now. Having Xiao as an enemy would complicate your reasons for attending the significant event in Liyue.

“I guarantee I’m just a harmless traveler,” you say, though you know it’s futile to try convincing the Adepti about your intentions.

Xiao stays silent, watching you with pure suspicion. It’s enough for you to understand that he doesn’t care about your explanations. You know that in his eyes, you’re just another part of the evil he protects Liyue from. Changing the subject would be the best course of action.

“Despite your judgment of my intentions here, I suppose you won’t stop me from attending the event dedicated to the Geo Archon? I respect that you honor your promise to him, but you must understand that I have to be there, whether Celestia likes it or not.”

Your demeanor shows no reluctance to follow his decision, and the firmness of your tone surprises the Adeptus. He does a good job of hiding his astonishment. He’s always been bothered by your identity since the first night at Wangshu Inn. Each moment of your stay in Liyue and each interaction with him has irked him.

He cannot grasp a single truth about you. Worse yet, you manage to take control of the discourse with him. The existence of Xiao has spanned thousands of years, and he knows when someone means trouble.

But you are on the fine line between evil and goodness, and that makes him wary of you.

The Yaksha clears his throat before answering, “You said it yourself, I have no control over the lives of those I protect.” Xiao turns his back to you and walks a few steps ahead. “Do not rejoice, Traveler. You may have the freedom to participate, but I shall be watching you from afar.”

The thought of him watching your every move spooks you. For years, you’ve never experienced anything like this. Perhaps it’s time for you to learn what it feels like?

You don’t like it.

The Guardian begins to fade, but you speak, “How about...?” You pause, pondering for a moment as the Yaksha turns to you, waiting for you to finish your sentence. “You come with me to Liyue Harbor?”

Silence follows. The Adeptus doesn’t expect such a suggestion from you, the traveler he accuses of ill intentions. He doesn’t want to answer such an absurd request, but your eager expression makes him reconsider.

Xiao narrows his gaze, his expression unreadable in the darkness. As you expect, he looks repulsed. “I detest indulging mortals. I don’t wish to burden myself with your presence,” he responds with disdain.

Xiao — the Vigilant Yaksha, the Conqueror of Demons, appears calm and collected. But you aren’t convinced that he’s polite. The way he interacted with the chef at Wangshu Inn might have seemed polite, but the disinterest was too evident. By your observations, people back at the Inn regard him highly, considering how he protects their land.

“I was merely suggesting...” you respond, clearly annoyed by how easily he emphasizes his distaste for company. “It wasn’t necessary to reveal your dislike of having someone accompany you.”

“It’s absurd for me to hide what I truly think, especially since I’ve already made my opinion clear to you.”

“I was hoping it might help my situation, as you could monitor my movements more closely,” you explain. “Have the Adepti always been so rude to those they protect?” The words slip out quickly before you can stop them.

The Yaksha scoffs with mockery, causing you to frown. “Mortals have foolishness in countless forms, don’t they?”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re a fool to believe I’ll treat you kindly. Whatever your intentions are, all of you are the same to me.”

He’s right. His treatment of you is no different from any other traveler he’s encountered. You’re certain of that, because he’s Xiao — the Adeptus who embodies indifference.

“You do have a point,” you concede, which causes a half-smile to form on the Adeptus’ lips. “And I wonder what foolishness you might have...?” You feign ignorance, meeting his gaze and smiling innocently, though you’re mocking him.

Had you not been focused on your plans, you might have acted impulsively. You almost let everything slip. The worst thing to do. So, you quickly shift your demeanor to one of politeness.

You tighten your grip on your small bag and clear your throat. “I apologize for the impertinence, Xiao.”

“Nothing,” he mutters flatly, ignoring your apology. “You and I are far different, Traveler. Aside from our existence, your nature is inferior to mine...”

He moves closer and studies your face for a moment. “Stupidity has long been etched as the nature of mortals — an attribute an Adeptus cannot acquire.”

“I see.”

Though your tone is tinged with disdain, to Xiao, it’s a trivial matter. He’s watched over Liyue for millennia, and he’s used to being alone. He never wanted company.

“You have your answer now, Traveler...” he says, his voice laced with indifference. He turns his back to you. “I cannot allow another soul to become a collateral for my burden.”

His words leave you speechless. Xiao stands still for a moment, and you process his statement.

“I’ve existed long before you were even aware of me. Don’t worry about how I do things. I’ll find the truth about you in my own way. As you continue your journey...” He turns back to face you, his polearm in hand. “If you ever find yourself in danger and cannot fight back, speak my name.”

“Will you be there?” you can’t help but ask.

“Yes.” Xiao’s response is quick and firm, without hesitation. Then, without another word, he vanishes into thin air.

You sigh in defeat, staring at the spot where Xiao stood before he disappeared. “Figures.”

It’s unusual for you and the Adeptus to have such a conversation, especially considering Xiao’s apparent hatred for your presence. Perhaps there are unexpected things destined for the both of you — emotions of wonder, under the same sky with the Adeptus. The same night, when you both are so close to each other. Maybe it’s some form of pity granted by the gods?

“A portent for the worst of the worst?” You glance up at the breathtaking sky and smile faintly. “Will happiness be impossible for the damned?”

No answer comes to your question. The calmness of the night eases the burden in your heart. The sudden appearance of the wind, ruffling your hair, makes you smile. It’s as if Barbatos, the god of wind, is comforting you.

“The storm will soon end,” you say tp yourself, taking a deep breath. The sadness that once lingered in your expression is gone, as if it never existed.

You’re not the type to dwell on emotions right now, so you continue your journey, hoping your plan will change the fate of those involved. You hope that your aim will come to fruition and that you’ll be able to challenge destiny.

In every nation you’ve visited, you’ve found something to appreciate. For Mondstadt, it’s their cider wine — exceptional, even for the mundane to create. You’ve had pleasant chats with the tavern owner, who, despite sharing a similar demeanor to Xiao, is much livelier and softer than the apathetic Adeptus. He even gave you a discount for all the drinks you had during your stay.

As for Liyue, you’ve become captivated by a certain flower — the translucent white qingxin flower, found only in Liyue’s elevated regions. It’s rare and hard to attain, but it’s worth every bit of effort. You make a mental note to obtain one when you step into Liyue.

“I’ll surely get one,” you say to yourself as you think about it.

The darkness begins to recede as you near the last statue of the Geo Archon, marking that you’re close to the Harbor. You pause to pay your respects and take a moment to rest. However, as the excitement slowly creeps inside of you, you sense a group of people in the distance.

There are seven — no, ten — people, trying to sneak up on you, but they’re not subtle. “Treasure Hoarders,” you curse under your breath. You dislike fighting and avoid harming anyone if you can.

You pretend to be lost in thought, leading the approaching enemies to believe they’ve succeeded in sneaking up on you. You wait for the right moment to strike, mindful not to cause unnecessary bloodshed — knocking them out will be enough.

Suddenly, you think of Xiao and the conversation you had earlier. As much as you want to end this dilemma yourself, you don’t want to summon him. Is he used to slaughtering mortals with no exception? You make a mental note to ask him the next time you meet, though you already know the answer.

As the Treasure Hoarders prepare to attack, you position yourself, ready to strike. But before you can land a blow, someone intervenes in the battle.

.prev .next

#genshin impact xiao #genshin impact #xiao x reader #xiao x you #fanfic #fanfiction #female reader #genshin impact angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #xiao genshin x reader #xiao x y/n

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cheezecakeee · 1 year ago

Text

txt as taylor swift songs🫧 (angst ver.)

main masterlist | txt masterlist

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

➜ Yeonjun : loml

"If you know it in one glimpse, it's legendary. You and I go from one kiss to gettin married. Still alive, killing time at the cemetery, never quite buried, in your suit and tie, in the nick of time, you lowdown boy, you stand up guy. Holy Ghost, you told me I'm the love of your life, you said I'm the love of your life, about a million times" "You shit talked me under the table, talking rings and talking cradles, I wish I could un-recall, how we almost had it all. Dancing phantoms on the terrace, are they second-hand embarrassed that I can't get out of bed? 'cause something counterfeit's dead" "Oh, what a valiant roar, what a bland goodbye; the coward claimed he was a lion. I'm combing through the braids of lies, "I'll never leave"... "Never mind". Our field of dreams, engulfed in fire, your arson's match your somber eyes and I'll still see it until I die, you're the loss of my life"

➜ Soobin - All you had to do was stay

"People like you always want back the love they gave away and people like me wanna believe you when you say you've changed. The more I think about it now, the less I know, all I know is that you drove us off the road" "Here you are now, calling me up, but I don't know what to say. I've been picking up the pieces of the mess you made. People like you always want back the love they pushed aside but people like me are gone forever when you say goodbye" "Let me remind you, this was what you wanted. You ended it. You were all I wanted but not like this. Not like this" "Hey, all you had to do was stay, had me in the palm of your hand, then why'd you have to go and lock me out when I let you in? Hey, now you say you want it back. Now that it's just too late, well, it could've been easy, all you had to do was stay"

➜ Beomgyu - Maroon

"When the morning came we were cleaning incense off your vinyl shelf, 'cause we lost track of time again. Laughing with my feet in your lap like you were my closest friend, "How'd we end up on the floor anyway?" You say "Your roommate's cheap-ass screw-top rosé, that's how". I see you every day now. And I chose you, the one I was dancin' with in New York, no shoes" "The burgundy on my T-shirt when you splashed your wine into me and how the blood rushed into my cheeks, so scarlet, it was maroon. The mark you saw on my collarbone, the rust that grew between telephones, the lips I used to call home, so scarlet, it was maroon" "And I lost you, the one I was dancin' with in New York, no shoes. Looked up at the sky and it was maroon. And I wake with your memory over me, that's a real fucking legacy, legacy. And I wake with your memory over me, that's a real fucking legacy to leave"

➜ Taehyun - So long, London

"I didn't opt in to be your odd man out, I founded the club she's heard great things about; I left all I knew, you left me at the house by the Heath. I stopped CPR, after all it's no use, the spirit was gone, we would never come to and I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free." "And you say I abandoned the ship but I was going down with it, my white knuckle dying grip, holding tight to your quiet resentment and. My friends said it isn't right to be scared every day of a love affair, every breath feels like rarest air when you're not sure if he wants to be there" "So how much sad did you think I had, did you think I had in me? How much tragedy? Just how low did you think I'd go? before I'd self-implode, before I'd have to go be free" "You swore that you loved me but where were the clues? I died on the altar waiting for the proof, you sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days and I'm just getting color back into my face, I'm just mad as hell cause I loved this place," "For so long, London, had a good run, a moment of warm sun but I'm not the one. So long, London, stitches undone, two graves, one gun, you'll find someone..."

➜ Heuning kai - I bet you think about me

"Well, I tried to fit in with your upper-crust circles, yeah, they let me sit in back when we were in love. Oh, they sit around talkin' 'bout the meaning of life and the book that just saved 'em that I hadn't heard of. But now that we're done and it's over, I bet you couldn't believe when you realized I'm harder to forget than I was to leave. And I bet you think about me" "You grew up in a silver-spoon gated community. Glamorous, shiny, bright Beverly Hills, I was raised on a farm, no, it wasn't a mansion just livin' room dancin' and kitchen table bills. But you know what they say, you can't help who you fall for and you and I fell like an early spring snow, but reality crept in, you said we're too different. You laughed at my dreams, rolled your eyes at my jokes" "Oh, block it all out, the voices so loud, sayin' "Why did you let her go?" Does it make you feel sad that the love that you're lookin' for is the love that you had. Now you're out in the world, searchin' for your soul, scared not to be hip, scared to get old, chasin' make-believe status, last time you felt free was when none of that shit mattered 'cause you were with me" "I bet you think about me when you're out at your cool indie music concerts every week. I bet you think about me in your house with your organic shoes and your million-dollar couch. I bet you think about me when you say, "Oh my God, she's insane, she wrote a song about me". I bet you think about me"

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

Text

Polyphonic

Chapter 3 ao3 (alt: tumblr pt 1, pt 2)

Lan Qiren wanted to speak to Wei Wuxian about everything they needed to do, but it would have to wait: the moment they arrived, they were immediately swept up into the political mess that Jin Zixun’s ill-fated ambush had caused.

Jin Guangshan was there in the blink of an eye, despite normally taking his time in seeing anyone, and Lan Qiren didn’t like the way he started making excuses for his nephew’s behavior from the very start. It was to a certain degree understandable, as everyone would first incline towards defending their family, but the haste with which Jin Guangshan sought to sweep it all under the rug was disconcerting, and Lan Qiren thought it was almost suggestive of some level of premeditation. Even more distasteful, however, was how he sought to twist the entire event into being yet another reason Wei Wuxian ought to surrender the Stygian Tiger Seal to the Jin sect: for his own good, of course, in order to avoid being made into a target on account of the disdain of the cultivation world –

“Sect Leader Jin, your words are in poor taste,” Lan Qiren said sharply.

He could hear Jiang Cheng, who ought to be defending Wei Wuxian and was trying his stuttering best to do so, starting to waver; the boy had a pleasant rippling melody by nature, forced into a fierce allegro by his parents’ endless disputes and his later tragedies, and the weak foundation meant that he was too easily buffeted by uncertainty and doubt, as Jin Guangshan undoubtedly knew.

“Let us not speak in abstraction,” he continued. “It was your sect, your nephew, who launched this particular ambush. You ought to be making a formal apology to Wei Wuxian and thinking of reparations to repair the injury to your sect’s reputation, not acting like a thief complaining to the magistrate that his victim failed to hand over his property quickly enough to prevent violence!”

Jin Guangshan’s eyes narrowed in irritation, though he fought to keep the expression off his face as if it could disguise the swell of bitter rotten music that accompanied him wherever he went. “Teacher Lan,” he said, striving for composed and charming but mostly coming off as stiff and wooden. “Come now, I must be misunderstanding you. Surely you are not accusing me of being a thief.”

Historically, as Jin Guangshan well knew, this was when Lan Qiren backed down, mindful of his position as interim sect leader – his sect granted him much of the responsibility but not the full measure of power that typically accorded with the title, and he was conscious, always, that his role was to ensure there was something preserved for his nephews to inherit.

Perhaps Jin Guangshan had forgotten that Lan Qiren was no longer interim sect leader.

“I am describing the facts as I see them,” he said icily, straightening his back and levelling his best teacher’s glare, refined by years of troublesome students. “And they are this: by the agreement of the cultivation world and through his own powers, Wei Wuxian was inviolate and unbothered as long as he remained in the Burial Mounds. Despite this, he willingly chose to emerge in response to an invitation issued by your sect, only to be attacked by your sect – and when he comes to you for justice, rather than grant it to him, you suggest that he hand over his most prized possession to prevent any similar attacks in the future. Unfamiliarity may require me to consult my sect’s texts to be sure, Sect Leader Jin, but only to determine if I should be calling it extortion, blackmail, or outright thievery!”

“Teacher Lan!” one of the smaller sect leaders gasped, even as Jin Guangshan went utterly florid with rage. “You’re not suggesting that Jin-gongzi was involved in the ambush!”

Lan Qiren had been Jin Zixuan’s teacher and knew him well – he had been a shy, introverted boy whose awkwardness came off as aloofness, and would never have done anything like this. Even less so would Lan Qiren suspect such a thing of the man who had been steadied by war and responsibility into an adult with a firm moral foundation.

“No,” he said, and met Jin Guangshan’s eyes directly. “I believe Jin-gongzi’s invitation to have been wholly sincere.”

For a moment, Lan Qiren thought Jin Guangshan was actually going to strike him, his aura lashing out violently like a clash of cymbals, discordant and biting, and he braced himself, but in the last moment etiquette prevailed and Jin Guangshan refrained, although his fists were clenched so tightly that his veins stood out from the backs of his hands.

That was when Wei Wuxian opened his mouth.

Lan Qiren silenced him with the muting spell before he could get out a single syllable.

Jiang Cheng sent him a thankful glance and cleared his throat. “This is a serious matter,” he said. “It requires a full investigation; we won’t be able to solve it all talking now. Both Wei Wuxian and Teacher Lan have traveled a long way – I have no doubt that they need some time to rest and refresh themselves.”

A convenient way to stop anyone from starting a fight, and implicitly excusing Lan Qiren’s rudeness as a mere symptom of exhaustion, resolving the whole thing without losing any more face for anyone. The Jiang sect’s boy was picking up this whole politics business quite well, the poor child.

“I concur,” Jin Guangshan said, recovering a little of his poise. “There are rooms ready for you both.”

Lan Qiren inclined his head as well. “An excellent idea,” he said, and then, because he could now, added, “We can discuss reparations for the ambush later.”

“And what about the curse?” Jin Zixun hissed, clearly done with holding his tongue the way everyone had been so obviously instructing him with their eyes. “Am I to simply suffer while that criminal walks free and unharmed?”

“When I said there would be an investigation, I meant it!” Jiang Cheng snapped. “I doubt your curse is so advanced that it can’t wait another day, and if it is, then you should have brought it up earlier!”

“Why you –“

“Sect Leader Jiang has spoken,” Jin Zixuan interrupted, his voice hard. “Zixun, don’t forget that you must also answer to me as to what you did to my guest in my name without my permission. I think it might benefit you to ‘rest and refresh’ as well. One of the servants can take you to see a doctor.”

Jin Guangshan seemed on the verge of objecting, but Jin Zixuan seemed not to get the hint, already turning his face away.

“In the meantime,” he said, saluting politely, “Sect Leader Jiang, Wei-gongzi, would you come with me? A-Li is waiting to see you both.”

Lan Qiren allowed himself to be whisked off in a different direction to settle down, which in all honesty he did need to do. He hadn’t flown such a distance in years, had been in better health when he’d done so, and he had been tired even before all this excitement; some rest would do wonders for him, even if it did make him feel a bit like he’d become a doddering old man or an invalid. Before he could settle down, though, he heard a sound approaching – a little uneven, sometimes too fast, sometimes too slow – and despite the fact that Jin Guangyao had never been anything but polite to him, he felt his back tense up at the reminder of why he was here in the first place.

“Honored teacher,” Jin Guangyao said, smiling and saluting deeply – more than he should, really, given that Lan Qiren was neither a sect leader nor had ever been his teacher. “Welcome to Jinlin Tower. I regret that your arrival was marred by such unpleasantness, and hope that the remainder of your visit is calmer.”

It’s not Jin Guangyao’s fault that Lan Xichen likes him, Lan Qiren reminded himself. Your suspicions, and your family’s terrible luck at love, are your own burdens to bear. They should not be put onto others.

He nodded to Jin Guangyao.

“It would be good to see a peaceable resolution to today’s events,” he said neutrally. “I appreciate that you have come to check on me personally. It is truly going above and beyond the call of duty.”

“Your nephew is my sworn brother, Teacher Lan. How could I fail to honor you as my elder?” Jin Guangyao said smoothly. “Let me know if there’s anything we can do to make you more comfortable.”

“A bath before dinner would be nice. Has my nephew arrived yet?” Lan Qiren privately hoped that he hadn’t, and was relieved when Jin Guangyao shook his head, confirming it. “Let me know when he does.”

“Of course,” Jin Guangyao said, and saluted again. “I’ll inform the servants; a bath will be made ready for you by afternoon.”

The moment Jin Guangyao left the room, Lan Qiren traced the pattern along the hem of his robes that shook off the dust of the road, returning them to being as clean and pristine as always – not a long-term solution to laundry, but very effective in the short-run, and one that he’d only refrained from doing earlier in order to drive home the point regarding how he had also been victimized by Jin Zixun’s ambush.

It was a profound relief to be clean again.

Once he could no longer hear Jin Guangyao’s familiar chords, he relaxed, which unfortunately these days meant coughing. He rubbed his chest when he was done, sighing, and settled down with his guqin to start playing a little, hoping to ease his nerves. Lan Xichen would be on his way already, he knew, and would probably move even faster once he got word regarding Lan Qiren’s presence. He’d made rather a lot of trouble for his nephew…

The door slammed open, and only years of experience with troublesome children, along with the warning echo of a song free and clear, full of shining righteousness, allowed Lan Qiren to remain unmoved by the cacophonous crash.

“So I have questions,” Wei Wuxian said. “Many, many questions, and I’m going to want answers to…uh, are you all right?”

Lan Qiren ignored Wei Wuxian’s rush, finishing the stanza he was playing and letting his hands still over the guqin. “Sit, and I will answer your questions to the best of my ability.”

Wei Wuxian closed the door behind him and put up a talisman for privacy, like the ones they used to use during the war, before coming to sit across the table from Lan Qiren. He was frowning. “Honored Teacher Lan, your lips are red,” he said cautiously. “Were you coughing up blood just now?”

“An old injury from the war,” Lan Qiren said, unable to resist recalling the memory of Wen Xu’s wild smirk as he’d deliberately smashed his ribs into pieces, grinding his palm against Lan Qiren’s chest to force the broken pieces to pierce his lungs. Nie Mingjue had executed Wen Xu only a few months later, a matter that had greatly eased his nightmares…truly Lan Qiren had to get to the bottom of this mystery as soon as possible; once Lan Xichen’s name was cleared, he could focus on trying to devise a solution to cleanse Nie Mingjue of the spiritual poison. “It can be aggravated by excess choler. Do not concern yourself about it.”

Wei Wuxian looked like he was concerning himself about it. “But you nearly –” Lan Qiren glared until he dropped the volume of his voice significantly. “You nearly got into a fight with dozens of cultivators back at the Qiongqi Path on my behalf! Wouldn’t that have aggravated it even worse than just getting angry?”

“Much worse,” Lan Qiren agreed peaceably. “My talents in battle are not especially notable, although better with the guqin than the sword. Regardless, the effort expended would almost certainly result in a severe backlash later.”

Wei Wuxian gaped at him. “Then why did you do it?”

“Was there an alternative?”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth opened and closed a few more times.

“How are your shijie and shizi?” Lan Qiren asked when it appeared that Wei Wuxian was not going to force any words out of his mouth any time soon. He folded his hands together in an appropriate manner – he, at least, knew his etiquette, and would continue to model it in the hope that Wei Wuxian might one day catch a hint. “Well, I trust?”

“Uh, yeah, they’re great. Jin Ling is perfect, shijie is wonderful, the peacock doesn’t deserve either of them, though he’s gotten better, I guess,” Wei Wuxian said, then shook his head as if to clear it. “And I wouldn’t have been able to see either of them if not for you.”

Personally, Lan Qiren didn’t think one Jin Zixun and any number of his friends would actually be able to stop Wei Wuxian, preplanned ambush or no, so he just hummed noncommittally. “You said you had questions?”

“Yeah, and now I have even more,” Wei Wuxian grumbled, but he seemed to settle down a little. “Let’s start with the fact that you said you needed help on a musical issue, but that it is also somehow an attempted murder. What’s that about?”

Lan Qiren grimaced. “Serve tea,” he instructed Wei Wuxian, and waited until he was midway through the process – and thus not staring straight at Lan Qiren – to start talking. “I have reason to believe that Nie Mingjue has been poisoned with spiritual poison.”

Wei Wuxian nearly spilled the tea, but managed to stop himself in time. “Chifeng-zun? Impossible!” Then he frowned. “I’d heard his temper was getting far worse, of late. Just mentions of it in passing…you think it’s because of that?”

“It may be. The Nie sect is prone to encountering qi deviations; a spiritual poison, especially one that specifically targets choleric feelings such as irritation and rage, would be particularly insidious when aimed against them. Should he die, everyone might be inclined to assume that the cause was hereditary rather than external.”

“A perfect murder. What type of poison?” Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows went up. “Wait – you think – musical poison?”

“My sect is renowned for using musical cultivation as healing techniques,” Lan Qiren pointed out, not sure why it seemed to come as such a shock to Wei Wuxian. “Antidotes grow alongside poisons, and all that can heal can also hurt – anyway, isn’t what you do a type of musical cultivation as well?”

“Good point,” Wei Wuxian said ruefully. “All right, that makes sense. That definitely seems like a real problem…but why do you need my help?”

“My health is poor, and I do not know what such an investigation will require,” Lan Qiren said. “And I cannot ask anyone in my sect to assist me.”

“Why not?”

“Because the primary suspect,” Lan Qiren said heavily, “is Xichen.”

Wei Wuxian stared.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a few long moments of blank gawping. “Please forgive me, honored teacher, but I think I misheard you. Are you saying that you think Zewu-jun is poisoning Chifeng-zun?”

“I hope dearly that he is not, of course,” Lan Qiren said. “In fact, part of the reason for my desire to investigate privately is to assist in clearing him of suspicion –”

“No, no, hold on, don’t move on just yet,” Wei Wuxian said, holding up his hands. “You think Zewu-jun – Lan Xichen! – might be capable of poisoning his sworn brother and, as far as I know, best friend? Your nephew?”

“Yes.”

“You really think he’s capable of something like that?”

“I have done my best to raise him to be the sort of man who would not be,” Lan Qiren said, and thought suddenly of his own brother – their father had treasured him, cared for him, valued him above all else. Would he have ever imagined that he would do what he had done and end up living out his life in seclusion, only to die pointlessly at the hands of the Wen sect? “And yet, who’s to say?”

“Uh, me? All the cultivation world? It’s Zewu-jun! He’s one of the most upright people I’ve ever met! You might as well suspect Lan Zhan – you don’t, do you?”

“No,” Lan Qiren said. He appreciated the righteous crescendo in Wei Wuxian’s voice, particularly when Lan Wangji was mentioned – unfortunate as it might be to find that Lan Wangji’s seemingly hopeless affection might actually be requited, since it remained a terrible idea – but it was a little inconvenient at the moment. “But equally I cannot burden him with the duty to suspect his brother. It would only hurt him.”

Wei Wuxian quieted down at that. “I can see that,” he said, grimacing. “But…why would you suspect Zewu-jun?”

“The evidence is – suggestive.” Lan Qiren shook his head. “To be clear, while I will of course value the truth above all else, I am not looking for evidence of Lan Xichen’s guilt. I am hoping to exculpate him.”

Wei Wuxian leaned forward, now frowning in earnest. “All right,” he said. “I still don’t really believe it, but other people might, and that’s bad enough. Even unfounded rumors can make for real trouble. Tell me what you know about it.”

“My nephew has been helping Nie Mingjue to ease the symptoms of his familial tendency towards qi deviations by playing him one of the strongest and most secret Lan sect healing songs,” Lan Qiren explained. “The spiritual poison I have observed in Nie Mingjue’s body is precisely a variation on that healing song – only instead of the pure version, which is designed to calm and heal disrupted qi, it is intermixed with another song that deliberately encourages spiritual turmoil.”

“All right. I suppose playing for Chifeng-zun gives Zewu-jun opportunity, but that doesn’t mean he’s the only one who could’ve applied the poison song.”

“The Song of Turmoil is a rare import, hidden away in one of sect’s forbidden books. Only very few people have access to that part of our collection.”

Wei Wuxian arched his eyebrows. “And yet you can immediately recognize it?”

“I enjoy studying obscure musical texts as an aid in composition,” Lan Qiren said, mild censure in his voice. “Would you dare claim you do not do the same?”

“…fine, fine, good point.” Wei Wuxian waved his hand. “Okay, fine…still, I’m not convinced. Even if the only source of the song is the Lan sect’s library, there was a lot of chaos these past few years. Someone else could have picked it up, couldn’t they?”

“It’s possible,” Lan Qiren admitted. “Unfortunately, the tune had the same starts and stops that are characteristic of Xichen’s playing.”

As a musical cultivator, even Wei Wuxian had to concede that the unique quirks of playing style were difficult, although not impossible, to replicate, and moreover that one would have to wonder why anyone else would bother doing so, especially in a spiritual poison they presumably hoped would go entirely undetected. He rubbed his forehead, clearly thinking it over. “So, wait, are you saying you heard this musical poison getting played? Were you affected by it? Why didn’t you interrupt in order to stop it or to find out who was responsible?”

Lan Qiren shook his head. “I did not hear the playing, only the effects.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “I don’t understand. If you didn’t hear it get played, how do you know that the playing had Zewu-jun’s idiosyncratic characteristics?”

“I’m very familiar with how Xichen plays. How would I not notice it? Even if I only heard it intermixed with Nie Mingjue’s own base tone, the sound is distinctive enough to recognize.”

Wei Wuxian was staring at him, looking blank again. A moment later his brow furrowed as if he’d just had a thought that seemed strange to him. He said, “Honored teacher, a question. When I said I wasn’t the one who cast the curse on Jin Zixun, you said that the person who cast it played the guqin, not the flute. I’d been wondering…how did you know that?”

“The curse has the sound of a breaking guqin string, which does not accord with Jin Zixun’s own music,” Lan Qiren explained. “The person who cast it was moderately powerful and very well-trained, although this represents an overreach on their part. I think it is likely that they incurred a backlash due to the casting –”

“You just heard it?” Wei Wuxian interrupted. It was rather rude, but Lan Qiren supposed he’d signed up for that. “You just looked at him and heard the curse that had been placed on him?”

Lan Qiren nodded.

“You can hear what people’s spiritual energy sounds like?” Wei Wuxian was growing pale.

“Not spiritual energy directly,” Lan Qiren said, a little puzzled by what seemed like an outsized reaction. Not only was Wei Wuxian’s face pale, his fists clenched, but his song, normally so free and clear, had become suppressed, tense, tightly strung. “More in the nature of the sound of a person’s spirit itself. Your Ghost General, for instance; he has a very gentle melody, very soft, but the underlying base is harsh, jagged, thick with resentment, less playing than dying – he needs to learn to marry those two parts of his spirit together, or else he’ll have trouble finding peace. That’s why I offered to take him as a student.”

“What about me?” Wei Wuxian asked. He was almost vibrating with the need to know. “What about my music? Has it – changed?”

“It’s gotten a little more sober, which is not uncommon with tragedy,” Lan Qiren said, and felt as though he were on the edge of some terrible revelation. “But no, fundamentally you remain the same person you always were.”

Wei Wuxian exhaled, hard. A trill of relief.

“Something happened that made you think it would change,” Lan Qiren deduced, reaching up to stroke his beard thoughtfully. He watched as Wei Wuxian’s eyes flickered one way, then another. “Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian looked at him.

“Are you unwilling to return to orthodox cultivation – or unable?”

There was a world of difference between the two: one was arrogance, relentless and unrestrained, looking down at the truths the cultivators of the world and their ancestors had worked so hard to unearth, the other merely a depressing practicality – who wouldn’t choose to cultivate something if the alternative was nothing at all?

And yet…how could it be?

And why would Wei Wuxian be so terrified of letting others discover it?

“That’s none of your business,” Wei Wuxian said, teeth set in a bitter smile that was more of a grimace than anything else. “I agreed to help you, Honored Teacher, but my business is my own.”

“But –”

“Another question,” Wei Wuxian said. “Different subject: I know you don’t lie, and earlier you said…what you said. So tell me, what Lan sect girl has her heart so set on me that you decided to come tell me in person that I wasn’t allowed marry her?”

Lan Qiren blinked. “I only meant to advise you that it was a poor match for you both; it was not meant as an insult to you,” he objected, a little offended. “If you and Wangji insist, I will not stand in your way.”

He shook his head and sighed a little, regretful; he would not pursue the matter Wei Wuxian was hiding any further. He wanted to help, curiosity itching at him, but Wei Wuxian was right – it was none of his business.

“As long as your reliance on demonic cultivation does not impede your assistance in my investigation, I will not bring it up again,” he concluded. “How do you propose we begin?”

“…Lan Zhan?”

Lan Qiren frowned. “I already explained to you why I do not wish to involve Wangji, and that I do not suspect him. Why would we start with him?”

“Not for the investigation,” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, his face bright red. “About the – marriage!”

#mdzs #lan qiren #wei wuxian #jin guangshan #jin zixuan #jin guangyao #my fic #my fics #polyphonic

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i-am-literally-deranged · 3 years ago

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I don't doubt that a big part of his narcolepsy is trauma and also his burnout and his whole young parentification thing. But now I'm wondering if a factor that played into this is all the smoke he inhaled the day Nageki burnt down the medical center

That's a fascinating interesting idea. My interest in Hitori has caused me to do like, an unholy amount of research into Narcolepsy in an effort to answer the question of why young Hitori didn't have the condition, but current day Hitori does.

So the way that Narcolepsy is developed, usually you will have a genetic fault that's sort of like a "seed" that can be activated under certain circumstances. These circumstances being a bad run in with the flu, hormonal changes such as puberty or menopause, a sudden and extreme disturbance in sleep patterns, and (this is the most relevant one) major psychological distress.

Given that he was able to attend all of Kazuaki's classes for him and generally take care of him without this being too heavy of a burden, and also considering the fact that it's never mentioned in the doujin, Hitori probably didn't develop narcolepsy until AFTER he stole Kazuaki's identity.

So I think that paints quite the distinct picture.... After taking on this new identity, Hitori had more time to himself than he ever had before in his whole life. And he received all this time in the wake of some of the greatest tragedies of his life. The traumatic loss of Nageki, and the loss of his own innocence when he took his first life. I'd also be willing to bet that he hadn't thought about or processed the loss of the Hatoful House yet either, instead throwing himself entirely into caring for Nageki and never giving himself a moment to breathe so he didn't have to think about it. And now he had nothing to do but to think.

Hitori is an ambush predator. He lies in wait. Hitori patiently, so patiently waits for Shuu to trust him, to begin to see him as part of the background, to ignore him, all so that when he opens the door to the old medical facility once again, he won't know what hit him when Hitori finally strikes. It's a fantastic strategy. But it is also a very very slow one. With far too much room to think. Hitori has never lived slowly before. He's always had more responsibilities than any one person should ever have, always been running on fumes to take care of everything. Balancing jobs, school, caring for the house, and raising nine kids, Hitori was NEVER forced to just sit in silence and face himself head on. There was always something else that needed his attention, something else he could focus in on. But at the end there, after he killed Kazuaki, the only thing left was to wait. There was nothing else he could focus on, because ever person he'd ever cared for was gone. What else is there to do to pass the time but to sleep? Sleep like he had never had the time to do over years of having far too much on his plate. It beat thinking. It's better than having to look himself straight in the eye and process ANY of this. So he sleeps. He sleeps and sleeps and sleeps. Years of sleep debt, and years of waiting and trying to hide from how loud the silence around him was.

That's major psychological distress, and a side of serious sleep pattern disturbance. Sounds like a road to activating a genetic predisposition to narcolepsy to me!

I'm not sure if the trigger was the stress of taking a life, or if it was that Kazuaki's sedentary life and the nature of Hitori's vengeance plan that gave him too much free time and forced him to finally process all of other shit that had happened. Probably a combination of the two.

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meggannn · 2 months ago

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yes you're absolutely right!

i didnt even want to get into my thoughts about verso in the op because i'd be there forever but i don't think he fully appreciates that he is using these people for his own ends, his VERY sympathetic ends! but his ends will also mean destroying the world for the sake of his own healing, just like renoir. part of me is like, well if i respect that verso has the right to die on his own terms, i think maelle/alicia does too. "but verso has lived a full life!" and maelle/alicia has lived two short lives and decided that's enough. the tragedy of course is not every character gets what they deserve, and the lumiere citizens certainly never will.

anyway i keep getting off-target. my feelings on verso are that he knew from the start all of this was fake, but that prevented him from believing any of it ever could be real. it does not surprise me at all he turned out to be who he was, but his tragedy kind of became a self-fulfilling prophecy. he was always going to find some way to die, and if he didn't do it naturally by destroying the canvas then he'd force the issue himself (like he does at the end). him impressing "you have to go home/stop living in a fantasy" to me is him trying to believe there's some good coming out of the death he's been chasing, like, if he has to die then GREAT at least he can die saving maelle, that is now his Cause! but just because he's kinder to maelle in their goodbye than she is to him (imo) doesn't mean he hasn't mistreated her and isn't reaping some of his own consequences now. we have NO idea what could've happened, what they could've achieved, if he'd come clean sooner. but he's just not that kind of person.

(small writing complaint, part of me is still actually a little frustrated the writing didn't allow for a more substantial grilling session with verso after confronting renoir at the manor in act 2. i guess i was supposed to read verso going "none of your business" as him deflecting all of their questions? but even if lune had gotten over the initial shock verso had lied about being renoir's son, maelle still overheard renoir and verso talking about a LOT of juicy stuff, and she just... never brings it up herself? never says "hey parental issues aside, what was that about"? it felt like the writers kicked the can down the road to queue the drama up for Maximum Shock value later when it didn't make a lot of sense why the crew wouldn't start questioning him IMMEDIATELY in act 2 on what the hell renoir was talking about. in act 3 when they all turned on him again i was like "guys you've known he's been lying on a lot of shit, i'm glad you're with the program now and turns out he was hiding even more, but couldn't lune have pieced some things together before if maelle had shared what renoir had said at the manor???" like i guess i just have to accept some of these plot holes for Drama but that one bothered me lol.)

finished clair obscur!

please note i have just finished the main game but haven't done all of the side content yet, don't spoil for any story stuff in the open world exploration! (like i know there's stuff about clea in the sky islands?)

really enjoyed it, though i'm not sure how i feel about the ending/s. let me get my other general thoughts out of the way first. this is very rambly and not structured at all, and i apologize if i repeat myself cause i'm sort of combining two separate conversations here:

music and art are gorgeous, of course. line-by-line writing felt a little goofy at times (not the intentionally silly parts themselves, the humor was cute, just the actual lines written sometimes didn't feel natural, but i chalk it up to maybe translation). the way information is revealed and teased throughout was well done. i love stories that you only fully understand on a second playthrough.

levels were the perfect size and gameplay loop was easy to get into. each character having their own unique fighting system felt overwhelming at first but quickly becomes manageable. i like that when monoco is introduced you're kinda like "ANOTHER one??" but his skill system is so different that you're immediately encouraged to mess with him and include him to learn more skills. playing them all together and stacking their buffs on top of each other for weird combinations was awesome.

love the idea of letting the main characters switch seamlessly between transportation methods in the gorgeous overworld, and you can clearly still see where you're going, where the collectibles are, and what enemy you're about to bump into. (i think this is inspired by final fantasy?)

i've never played a soulslike so this honestly took some time to get used to. the idea that in a turn-based game, you can avoid taking ANY damage if you're good enough at dodging or parrying, is conceptually really cool, but to then make the combat based on one of the most frustrating genres in the medium is an... interesting choice, i guess. it's like playing chess except every other move you have to jump inside the double dutch ropes and do a cool trick. (except what if i'm not good at double dutch???)

this is a game that wears its inspiration on its sleeves (persona/metaphor, sekiro, god of war, etc) and maybe four times out of five, it clicks, but of the mechanics, imo one thing they could've easily wiped without losing anything is the platforming. i don't think the game really benefited from it, but that also could just be because i don't like platformers and didn't sign up for one, so i felt kinda at a loss why that was there. it's like going to a very nice sushi restaurant and ordering a delicious platter for the table, then being told your meal is also coming with a side of curly fries but to eat them you have to catch the curly fries in your mouth first. just felt like a very jarring gameplay switch i wasn't fully onboard with. at least it is relegated to side challenges though.

i don't really care what the devs say about exploring on my own (and i DID explore every corner on my own, this isn't me being lazy): i still needed a map. it's a QOL thing, because i need maps to be able to tell where i've picked up collectibles before so i don't keep wasting my time looking for them, but i also wasted SO much time running around lost. especially when after beating an enemy it would respawn or reload me facing the wrong direction. there were also several times i'd flip flop between "i can't tell which fucking path is progress," run in a direction for a minute, change my mind, backtrack, then realize oh wait i was right the first time, wait was i right the first time??. it got really old after a while.

more exploration thoughts: map complaints aside, i can't think of a single game i've looked forward to 100%ing the map the most! it's just SO much fun to run around and turn a corner to discover a new boss waiting and wondering oh god how will this one kick my ass. an online guide suggested doing the ending before all the sky exploration, and i was like "psh no way, i gotta grind/level up!" but the exploration side bosses were fucking so brutal they basically bitch-slapped me like "go back to the baby levels in the main story, runt"

i want more games like this! even though there were some misses, i think it was the perfect size, the boundaries make it easy to note what you can and can't do, and these polished AA-type games that focus on quality over quantity are where i hope the industry goes moving forward.

the ending:

i'm so torn on the endings, partly because what the ending choice was trying to say isn't what i think COE33 was actually building up to. on the one hand, no truly happy endings feels very appropriate. but on the other, this game was sold/advertised to me as an ensemble cast banding together standing up to an indifferent world and cruel god(s) to fight for their small but meaningful lives. but in the last few main missions, the game shifts to say "ACTUALLY i'm really about just a few specific people not being able to process grief very well." i can vibe with that, i can even vibe with the reveal that the TRUE main characters are just a few very specific people instead of the ensemble cast. but i feel a little miffed in how the "ordinary people standing up to gods controlling them" angle never truly gets resolved, because to me, that's still an equally valuable theme worth seeing through to its conclusion. both endings are unsatisfying in regard to letting the canvas inhabitants decide their fate; i flip flop on how i feel about them, though. the shift to JUST focus on maelle and verso at the end instead of the ensemble cast felt... hmm. they clearly didn't FORGET about lune and sciel and monoco and esquie. but i dislike that they basically became NPCs in a dollhouse when i invested in and viewed them all as equally important from the beginning, something renoir (and imo verso) never do. tldr, i feel hoodwinked! bamboozled!

i picked maelle's ending (for reasons i'll get into below), but the last few shots of poor verso playing piano didn't feel great, obviously. i'm okay okay with her dying in there, because her situation isn't like aline's—she literally belongs there too—and she probably sees it as "a short good life in the canvas compared to a long miserable life outside," and even if it's tragic, i think she deserves the right to make the choice of a life with love over a life in a broken family. i'm kinda bittersweet about her reviving everyone (if you were a god with the power to eliminate death, wouldn't you?) but her reviving verso specifically stings obviously after what he asked of her. his last words were haunting. i thought the last shot of verso playing piano was meant to imply he just didn't want to be doing this, and knew something was wrong, but my friend thought it meant maelle was literally controlling him to force him to play, which is super fucked up, even if she made a verso that didn't have his memories again. i guess the kindest reading is that maybe she painted an old man verso to life just for ONE concert (everyone does look young and she did say he'd be her FIRST concert, right, so why would she wait decades years to do the concert? or did she just make everyone immortal but let verso grow old because her verso never got to? just a few logistical things i haven't really figured out.) still, though, obviously not a great ending, and i don't think it's the ending the game "wants" you to pick.

that said, i'm not convinced verso's ending is really the "better" ending the way a lot of the fans (and i think the writers) are trying to argue. for a few reasons, but one main one is this: even putting aside wiping out the canvas world full of living breathing people (that was my main hangup), i read the dessendres as borderline abusive to alicia post-verso's death, certainly verbally cruel (clea). so sending maelle back to a household that didn't respect her autonomy, value her life as maelle, and might force her to fight in a war, to live with a family she was dependent on to survive as a disabled girl, felt like a genuinely disturbing prospect to me and i couldn't stomach it. alicia/maelle, a lonely girl for whom the canvas is not fantasy but a world in which she equally belongs (i don't think renoir and verso ever fully appreciated), all but begs us not to let her go back there, and verso gong "you'll be ok, you're a great painter!" felt very much like Cope because he doesn't know how bad things are in the real world for her since he died, and cannot promise those things at all. do we really believe maelle "only one small painting on the wall" will be respected equally out there? maybe by aline! but imo not by clea, and if dad is willing to disregard her wishes and destroy the canvas as soon as he leaves, i mean shit, i think he got what he wanted! he doesn't have to bend on anything anymore so why wouldn't he wrap alicia up in wool for the rest of her life? we've all heard of controlling parents but renoir feels to me like the "even if you're miserable and hate me, i'll lock you in your room forever so i can have my perfect family again" type. (imo he was also living in a fantasy that life would just go back to normal after he got aline and alicia back; destroying the canvas might prevent people from reentering it, but i also gather it's a representation of how he dealt with his grief: bury it and don't look at it again. Suffer For The Family and then guilt trip them into what YOU want because YOU'RE the head of the household so what you say goes. i really fucking hate those types especially when it's the "stoic logical men" vs the "silly women with their heads in the clouds" so part of me really rebelled against this messaging. verso repeating renoir's logic at the end made me :/ because i think that neither of them are the unbiased, stoic, rational "voice of reason" they pretend to be. verso had every right to die, but even he didn't recognize that maelle deserved to exist in this world as much as alicia deserved to grieve her brother properly in the outside.)

i also admit part of my resistance toward verso's ending is because i dislike being literally told by characters This Is What The Theme of The Game Is. like, i want to make that decision for myself! for most of the game the "stop living in fantasy" theme only affected aline, who we don't really get to know as well as we do lune and sciel and gustave, who deal more with the "live well, just live as yourself" theme. like actually, game, i think a huge theme of the game is also that people should get to decide what to do with their life and death, no matter how small or inconsequential. that's literally what the gommage introduces and we see gustave using his death to protect maelle, we see verso using his life to try to finally die. their choices should be respected, and so should maelle's. what makes BOTH endings tragic is that the fate of the canvas is still determined by gods, and in her ending, she decides for them who lives and dies.

"you can't live in a fantasy world, wake up and live in the awful nightmare world like the rest of us for MATURITY" stories very rarely hit their mark for me, largely in part because ALL media is fantasy, and the writers and designers and artists have just spent countless hours convincing me to get invested in this specific fantasy just to yank the rug out and go "ok, time to blow it all up now for one of the characters to learn their lesson" (it's extra weird in a video game that then subsequently dumps you back into the game world so you can keep playing the game). in this case, it felt like two characters were repeating this moral as a genuine reaction to their trauma (verso) and watching their family poorly cope (reonir), but this was also very much what renoir and verso wanted to believe the moral was. for renoir and verso, the canvas is fantasy: but for the audience, COE33 introduced TWO fantasy worlds to me (the canvas and the outer world) but both of them felt very much real: they grew largely independently from each other, but still had impact on the other. the canvas had human characters who lived full lives, even if their gods didn't recognize them.

tangent, it BOGGLED MY MIND when renoir said they'd made hundreds of canvases. like bitch, i can't imagine just making HUNDREDS of universes and treating them like playgrounds and not recognizing you're literally creating life and destroying it on a whim over and over to settle a family squabble. it really is greek myth all over again. like imo the best ending is the canvas(es) gets liberated from its creators, maybe with maelle maintaining verso's so she knows they can at least be happy there, but that obviously isn't happening. i was kinda hoping she'd find a balance between two worlds but her insistence her dad would destroy it as soon as she left, implying he didn't mean the words he'd said and didn't learn anything about her in this whole saga, felt like a frustrating bait-and-switch at the end to force a dramatic choice.

another tangent about renoir: he's a great villain! i can understand his sorrow with aline and maelle, how he feels betrayed that she taught him a lesson she's not imparting herself, it's a very real tragedy to watch someone you love go somewhere you can't follow. he's just so insane and controlling and patronizing and the epitome of Patriarch Who WILL Make You Miserable To Grow Stronger But You'll Thank Him One Day that i hate him, and i do think he is meant to be a parallel to gustave, who let maelle on the expedition despite it not being safe, because if maelle is going to die then she wants to die next to someone she loves. renoir going "i will not lose you!!" bites at me because he already lost her. do you think maelle would want to stay in the canvas if she thought you were enough to make the manor worth going back to?

so that was a hangup for me in the end: as someone who's spent the past several months obsessed with cyberpunk 2077, one of its themes was "you're gonna die in this messed-up world one day, so however it comes for you, own it/stay true to your fucking self and only you should decide how you go out." which i felt also resonated with the doomed expeditioners and the idea of "we live such short lives trying to change our fate in a world inherently hostile to us, but they matter, and it may not mean much to the forces above us, but let me decide this small piece, we deserve at least that dignity." so it felt odd and hypocritical to me to jump into COE33 and decide FOR maelle "ok child, pack up the toys and go back home now. i know the barbies FEEL real to you, but as the Smart Adult, you can't live in the dollhouse anymore." which... well. renoir and verso never considered the canvas and the people in it to be real people, and verso even lived inside it; renoir is a god who barely acknowledged sciel and lune's existence in their scenes together (i never got over that!), and verso, who understandably wanted to die after bearing the weight of the family's grief, was willing to take down the whole canvas with him for the sake of his not-sister. it's understandable, but we see how reserved verso is even among people he considers "long-term friends" like monoco and esquie which makes me think he's checked out for a long time. and of course don't get me started on how he can sleep with sciel (and lune?) under false pretenses. i wasn't even bothered when sciel was like "yeah i'm mad. i'm over it now. because you're helping me get my husband back now that that's an option :)" i was like fair play girl

anyway in case it wasn't obvious, i do consider the lives of everyone in the canvas to be real and in an ideal world, they would decide their own fate, not have it be left up to the gods painting them in and out of reality. in fact, sciel and lune felt more real to me than aline and clea just because i'd spent so much time with them and i found their struggles way more relatable as a 30-ish woman in the workforce, and when it came down to the big choice, it didn't feel the outcome of a single person (maelle/alicia) should factor more than the continued existence of what i see as an entirely unique and should-probably-be autonomous universe i was HOPING that the ending was gonna result in the canvas gaining independence from the painters, or breaking the link so the dessendres can't meddle again, so i picked maelle's ending also hoping she'd become more of a like, kind godly figure who'd fix the damage her family did to this world, even if she couldn't stay for long, but that is sadly not what happened lmao.

"but megan, this means you're letting the basement kid from omelas suffer just play with your toys! what about the shadowy kid!verso stuck painting the canvas forever?" i interpreted that kid's existence differently. i think verso's "aren't you tired?" is him speaking to himself, not the kid, and the kid was more a visual representation of canvas's continued existence, not that the kid was literally chained to the floor forever. but if that is a literal piece of verso's soul trapped in there, if that's how in it works in this universe, if we're gonna wipe the canvas For The Sake Of Letting Verso's Memory Rest, then why bother keeping any childhood artwork at all? do they have to destroy all their older canvases then? renoir said he painted HUNDREDS. do they have to destroy all artwork by dead Painters (or Writers)? just raised a lot of questions. if it's just because this one is special because it's verso's the dessendres were using to avoid facing their grief... well, those other canvas kids are stuck forever too, so if we're confirming this shadow kid is suffering, then shouldn't the next goal be destroying verso's other canvases so his painterly soul pieces don't linger on in misery forever? but where does it end, are you really gonna destroy all of his artwork and a bunch of fully-realized worlds with possibly sentient people just because your family can't get therapy? it just raises fewer questions to me if the kid is a straight-up metaphor, questions i don't think the game actually wanted me to ask about the world.

one thing i noticed about the endings is that maelle's ending starts positively (everyone's alive) and then ends bleakly (the reveal she forced verso back to life while haunting music plays). verso's ending starts bleakly (everyone in the canvas dies) and arguably ends a bit more bittersweet (standing over her brother's grave while gentle music plays). this is why i think the writers are trying to tell us the verso ending is better for her, because the final sentence of a story, the last shot of the film, is powerful, it's your closing argument, and well, bittersweet music is imo preferable to haunting music in this case lol. i'm just not entirely sure i'm convinced alicia will really "move on" from this the way we move on from grief in the real world. one of her lives was just destroyed and the family members who unconditionally loved her, enough to respect that she's two people at once, are all dead. i'm not trying to say life as a disabled girl isn't worth living, but i thought it sort of noteworthy that in the outer world she's literally voiceless and her painting skills aren't respected, but in the canvas, they are. some people might see that as running away from "real life," but i was never convinced the canvas was anything other than real, too. idk.

again though i'm not arguing the maelle ending is better. it's genuinely fuckin bleak to the point that i was like, was verso really necessary lol?? lol i again i'll repeat i wish they hadn't gone for the "the silly women lost in fantasy need to be saved by the rational stoic men who know how to deal with grief the Right Way" angle. but whatever. renoir and verso doing all this "for her" while not LISTENING to her never sits right with me, so i'm with her on that; it doesn't hit as hard when it comes in the form of lectures by men who aren't listening to what maelle needs: love and support, which she isn't getting in the outer world. but she's not learning the lesson she needs to; sadly if she didn't have alicia's memories i think it would've been easier to let verso go, because maelle saw gustave as her true north, and with him i think she'd be ok, but well, she's a young woman with the powers of a god, and the grief of two lifetimes, i do i understand why she did what she did. just sucks! there really are no happy endings in night city

"this entire world bears the weight of your family's grief" is a chilling line. and ngl i don't blame him for chasing death! he's lived a really shitty life and was LITERALLY created to bear the weight of their grief! but imo verso's fate doesn't have to be the canvas's fate, the game sets you off on this grand fantasy of underdogs fighting to survive in a world that hates them. it's a shame they never got to decide for themselves the world they lived in.

#coe33 spoilers

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juleswolverton-hyde · 4 years ago

Text

Not by the Moon | 08

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing, eating disorder (personal experience, don’t be a bloody twat), heavy(?) angst, Werewolf!Jaebeom trying to be a normal boyfriend

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Y/N’s POV.

I am seeing a trend starting to develop where every chapter turns into a behemoth that makes me not want to edit it at all. Nevertheless, I pulled through on this one despite being in the middle of a 32-hour work week and being absolutely exhausted.

Summer holidays, you said? I only see extra shifts and little me-time nor writing time and inspiration. That said, though, be prepared for some heavy worldbuilding because the plot thickens.

Also, and this has been edited in the previous chapter, a new special someone makes his debut in this chapter. Is this also a hint about whose story is next?

Who knows?

I don’t know.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

“Jaebeom? Jay!” I nudge the big man’s shoulder to signal for him to step aside so I can turn the stove off before the burned pancake catches fire. “That’s the third one in a row.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly. “I- I have a... I can’t focus.”

“Is it because of this morning?” If so, then that makes two of us. However, I tried to forget as best I could by working with timed productivity sprints instead of writing the article on Bruges in one go. It worked fairly well until lunch time came around.

That’s when I, too, couldn’t escape the claw mark.

The image of it flashes before my eyes once more, joining my thoughts with his if his blank look is anything to go by.

How did it get there? What did you do?

“Yeah. Morning. I... I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, this should be a nice evening. A cozy night in. You deserve my attention, for me to,” his breath tapers as he finishes the sentence, “be here.”

The quiver in his lips makes the roof of my mouth dry up and my mind empty save for gut-stirring concern, unable to think of a proper response. Nevertheless, I look for words to say what seems best. Like I did this morning when I went to get his medication. “How about I take it from here and bake the pancakes? You already made the batter and I can’t let you do all the work.”

“I like cooking for you.”

“I know you do, but it’s fine. Really,” I gesture at the couch by the living room window, which provides a glimpse of the small balcony, “sit down. I’ll call you once dinner’s ready.”

“Y/N,” he reaches out for my hand yet only dares to hold my fingertips, “I’m sorry I can’t be more.”

The crack in his voice breaks my heart. But its the vulnerability written across his normally stoic face which tears me apart at the seams. Whatever he means, it’s nothing to do with this morning. Rather, it’s about him as a person, the wonderful man he is.

Throat blocked by something I can’t swallow, I scan his attitude for any hint about what he truly means. “What’re you on about?”

Let’s just forget about it for a little while and be a normal couple. I promise I won’t run away despite what happened.

Unfortunately, Jaebeom dismisses the question to make a point I wish he didn’t. “We both know what’s ahead. But, sometimes it’s as if you’re avoiding the inevitable.”

I let out a deep sigh, caught red-handed. “I’m not, because I know or, rather, can guess where this is going. I just don’t know how to respond at times. And I don’t want you to feel bad so I try to keep the mood high as best I can. To, well, keep us both happy.”

“Is your avoidance of food also part of that?” he asks, carefully formulating the question while keeping a close eye on any change in my demeanour.

“Yes.”

“I hate it when you don’t eat.”

“I know, but if you knew the reasons behind it, you’d understand why it’s difficult for me. Although, I want you to know that I’m trying to keep my promise to you and eat when you tell me to.” I cup his cheek, lovingly swiping my thumb to and fro over the tanned skin. “It’s really hard to escape your determination. You’re very insistent on things.”

“Too much?” Eyes dim and glistening with withheld tears, he nuzzles my palm.

“Sometimes.” I kiss the tip of his nose and smile, a sign of happiness that’s only half a lie. “It doesn’t make me love you any less. Now, let me be a proper girlfriend and cook for you.”

Regardless of the wonderful sight of Jaebeom wearing an apron and being absorbed in his element in the kitchen, it’s equally as wonderful to have something to eat tonight. Secretly, I would rather have made a healthier and less calorie-rich dish, but we both need a bit of a reprieve from last night. Thus, for the sake of us both, I’ve decided to let go of my rules for a little while.

To enjoy something sweet.

As wholesome as the sight of the wolf man seated on the couch, knees pulled up with round gold-rimmed glasses balancing on the bridge of his nose as he reads the novel he apparently borrowed from my bookshelves. I should write a little note on the title page and give it to him as a present so he’ll have one of my books like I have his.

They’ll be on his shelves for as long as we’re here.

Be there even after he’s gone.

Then they will return to me yet still be his.

He will still be with me.

The pages filled with his love.

It’s everything that will be left of him.

His legacy.

His remains.

The thought leaving me filled with bittersweet affection, I cut the fruit to put on top of the pancakes while gradually using up all the batter. Were it not for the move to the cottage at the end of the month, I could easily be content here if he’d ask me to move in. Wherever we are, evenings like these might become a common occurrence, a splendid reward at the end of a long day at the office.

They could turn any place into our home.

The long road of the lone wolf would finally come to an end.

Because as long as he’s there, I’m home.

“Mind your head.” Despite the warning, Jaebeom nevertheless puts a hand on my head while he opens the cupboard above to grab two plates.

“I was just about to say dinner’s ready.” I let out a breathless laugh, hardly hiding the sobs at the thought of one day having to live without his touch. “Talk about timing.”

For a second, a curious expression treks across his face. It passes by too fast to properly describe it, but it seemed to be triggered by the meaningless remark about his return to the kitchen.

When a dangerously short and sharp breath escapes me, he swallows it with a kiss. Perhaps it’s the sorrow of knowing a storm lies on the horizon that makes me delusional, but a soft whine rises in his throat each time he kisses a stray tear away as he peppers my face in small pecks.

Satisfied he has taken the sadness more or less away, the corners of his mouth curl into a lop-sided smile as if nothing happened. Notwithstanding, it isn’t hard to figure the blissful ignorance is merely feigned. “Right. Timing.”

Our gazes lock and neither of us says a word until he perks up and motions for me to step back. “Fork and knife.”

Discombobulated by the shared confusion, I indeed set a step backwards so he can open the drawer. In the meanwhile, as Jay sets the dinnerware down, I put the final pancake on the stack and set it down in the middle of the table.

Chest puffed out, I clap my hands. “Dig in.”

Like yesterday, Jaebeom insists on doing the dishes while I settle down for the night. However, whereas I gladly did before, I now do with an uneasy mind. Arms wrapped around my knees, my thoughts run down a familiar dark path.

I ate too much. Maybe I should go home and do a workout. Then again, I really don’t want to even though I have to.

“Y/N?” The faint though surprising mention of my name breaks the imaginary stones weighing down my shoulders. I snap my head to the side, almost headbutting the wolf man who has appeared at my side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Lips pulled into a wistful smile, I scratch him under the chin in hopes of distracting him to the degree he won’t be able to ask further questions. “I’m tired, that's all.”

Unfortunately, Jaebeom is like a guardian who somehow notices a lot despite his absent-minded demeanour. Henceforth, the topic is all but abandoned.

Without warning, and as effortless as if he were picking up a book, he lifts me up from the couch to hold me in his arms. Instinctively, I clutch his loose black shirt to have a grip of something in case I fall. It’s an ungrounded fear since his arms are sturdy, but it’s comforting nonetheless to have something to hold on to.

My haphazard action elicits a low chuckle that makes my heart skip a beat, although it almost thumps out of my chest again as he rests his forehead against mine. “Let’s go to bed.”

“It’s only eight o’clock,” I sputter, chest tight and no breath sufficient enough to lift the sensation. “Besides, I- I don’t have any fresh change of clothes or toiletries or a pyjama.”

Did he turn the central heating up?

“Doesn’t matter. Can borrow. You. No, that’s not right. You… you can. You can borrow clothes from me. Also, I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere around here.”

“Jay,’’ As best I can, I try to keep my tone steady though the words come out too fast and uneven regardless, ‘’I think I should go home.”

If I don’t and I won’t get in some more exercise, I’ll gain weight and slowly go back to how I was.

And I’ll lose him.

Back to square one.

Loveless.

Despite the effort, I can’t prevent the crack in my voice as I weakly tug at his shirt. ‘’Let me go.’’

“No.’’ The gentle kindness has malformed into rough sternness, translated in a sound similar to a growl. ‘’You need to calm down.”

“I am calm!” I retort, more ferocious and sharper than intended though the equal harshness might help to drive the point home.

For a split second, he snarls and bares his teeth. Simultaneously, a flicker of a second personality passes across his mismatched eyes.

The calm ocean warps into a watery grave with high waves on a stormy night.

The hazelnut cracks to set that which it contains free.

His lashes abruptly flutter shut, as he lets out a pained gasp. Beneath my fingertips, his chest caves as if an imaginary fist has dealt him a blow in the guts.

And in mine as well.

Rippling flesh.

There’s… there’s no… Jay, what is happening to you?

I hold on tighter to the fabric, hyperventilating while trying to refrain from bursting out in tears.

There has to be something I can do! But what? What do I do? How can I make this stop?

How do I get you back?

Withal, shivering lips parted to beg for guidance, are interrupted by a shake of the head hanging low. Slowly, Jaebeom looks up, a light layer of sweat on his skin. Our gazes lock, but whereas the wolf man’s was filled with savage chaos, it’s now returned to the stern tranquility it held before the attack. Nonetheless, an uncomprehending whimper betrays the fact that whatever happened wasn’t experienced consciously.

The rage was beyond him.

Outside him.

Another’s.

Still breathless, he scoffs, the sound gruff and overtly disagreeing. “Let’s watch the moon and stars.”

There is no chance to ask any questions about the swift changes in demeanour since he promptly moves to the hallway and up the stairs towards his bedroom. The bedframe of the two-person bed also functions as a bookshelf which takes up the entire right wall, the shelves stacked with second-hand paperbacks in various conditions. An empty picture frame is placed on his side of the bed, a pair of glasses next to it.

Jaebeom puts me down on the navy wool blanket on the edge of the bed and leans in to steal a kiss, which is easy to do considering I’m too shaken to offer any protest. Nor do I feel the comfort of his lips. “Take your clothes off. I’ll go find you pyjamas.”

A tad reluctant, mind occupied by guilt and terror, I start to undress as he rummages through the wardrobe on the other end of the room.

Left only in my underwear, I sit down on the edge of the bed. Although he’s seen me naked once, I still wrap my arms around myself to hide my body. A shield to protect a fragile ego housed in equally as vulnerable body flesh.

Afraid of what might happen when those ripples grow out of control.

Terrified of who he will become.

Of who he is.

“Don’t.” Jaebeom turns around with a black hoodie and grey sweatpants in his hands, eyebrows drawn together. He closes the drawer, throws the clothes on the bed, kneels, and firmly yet gently grabs my wrists to break the walls I put up. And I let him. “Don’t hide from me.”

Not understanding where the shame originates from, he grows still as he scrutinizes my face for clues. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Instead of giving an answer, I change into the makeshift pyjamas. The hoodie is oversized yet comfortably baggy while the sweatpants hang disconcertingly low on my hips. Fortunately, any skin it reveals is covered up by the top.

Continuing to avoid his gaze without saying a word, I crawl under the sheets. Face turned to the window, I pull up the blanket he drapes over me and bury my nose in it.

A wild forest and cologne with a musty hint of pages.

It’s undeniably him.

I don’t know what else to do or say. So, I let the silence speak for itself.

A language he is fluent in too despite his oftentimes loud demeanour.

The mattress dips under his weight when he lies down and rearranges the sheets to cover us both. An arm wrapped around my waist and legs tangled, Jaebeom pulls me flush against him, his chest warm against my back.

A sob rises in my throat when I feel his lips place a kiss on my crown with a sigh of contentment.

I don’t deserve this.

Us.

Him.

The fear of losing him to whatever is happening inside.

Then again, Life isn’t fair. It deals everyone the same awful hand and leaves it up to the player to make the best of it.

I guess we’re both dealt a crappier hand than others. That, or we play them wrong.

Can we win at all?

“Talk to me.” As loving and happy as the casual intimacy of the embrace is, as forgetful it could make me if only I’d manage to fall asleep, Jaebeom’s oddly sweet cooing keeps me awake.

Staring at the moon.

A woman as fickle as me.

And infinitely more beautiful.

Funny how I, too, am jealous of a celestial body.

In love with the heavens.

He continues when he notices I won’t be the one to break the silence, his intonation laced by a whiny undertone like a dog wanting something yet being denied what it wants. “You know what I’m dealing with. But...” he digs his fingers deeper into my hips, the grip iron-like without being painful, “I hope this is okay to ask, but what is it with you and food?”

The encouraging squeeze in my side almost has me bursting out in tears again. There has to be a price to pay somewhere in the shadows, the overwhelming sensation of being genuinely loved and protected must turn out to be as two-sided as the silver goddess in the sky. After all, Life is bittersweet.

“It’s only fair I tell you.” Especially after how open he’s been. Besides, there’s no opportunity to avoid the topic since we’d arrive at it sooner or later. And he deserves to know. In fact, I don’t want him to forget my brokenness the moment I tell him about it.

We both want each other to remember our own missing pieces.

So I sigh, turn over and bald my hands into fists to rest against the warm skin of his bare chest. As I speak up, I try to keep my voice as steady as possible. “I used to be quite a fat kid, to the degree the GP advised my parents to put me on a diet. Queue high school and social pressure which led me to perhaps work out more than is healthy and left me bordering on the edge of anorexia. There are still foods I won’t eat and days I’ll worry about my calorie intake, especially on the days I don’t work out.”

I can’t help the mirthless chuckle which turns into a rueful smile. “It’s the good old cliché. Just another soul broken for the shallow enjoyment and acceptance of others.”

Lips pulled into a stern line, the wolf man remains silent. Notwithstanding, his eyes speak volumes when I dare to look up at him, the ocean and hazelwood alight with a watery sheen. Perhaps it’s the comfort of his nearness or the familiarity of those one of a kind eyes, but he inspires a confession which I never thought I’d make. “Nevertheless, I’m getting better and it’s partially thanks to you.”

Morgan spamming me with ‘Have you eaten?’ texts and Bam making sure I finish my plate whenever we go out for food either here or abroad help a lot too. Nonetheless, it’s mostly the bookish wolf who makes me want to try.

And be a little better than before.

“What do they feel like, those days?”

“The bad ones?” Jaebeom nods. “They’re ridden with guilt and self-loathing.”

He leans in, leaving only a few centimetres of distance between our faces. His breath is warm on my skin as he bumps his nose against mine. “You’re feeling that way now.”

“I am.”

“Don’t.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re still you. Beautiful as always. And I’ll love you regardless of how you look. I like your mind, which is as weird as mine. The way you hold my hand, as if you’re afraid I’ll walk away. How you unconsciously squeeze it when you need my protection more. How you feel in my arms, soft and warm as a bunny.” He hooks his finger under my chin and tilts it upward to run his tongue over my lips and nose. “Love you. A lot.”

“I love you too.” I turn my head to nuzzle his palm, my face perfectly fitting into it.

Please, no ripples. Let us have this moment. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. Let me have him, just him as he is. At least tonight.

The secure affection of the touch transforms into something else when he glides the back of his hand over my cheek and folds his fingers over my throat. Testing the waters, eyes boring into mine to stop at the slightest sign of discomfort, he slowly closes off my access to air.

It’s funny how the body and mind react to certain situations. Whereas I normally would flinch and run in the direction of safety, there is no urge to run. In fact, the tingling in my chest travels down to rekindle a familiar heat between my thighs while my adrenaline-infused system aches for the wolfish lover. Henceforth, instead of jumping up from the bed, I spread my legs so Jaebeom can comfortably nestle between them.

“Let me prove it. Let me mate you.” The calloused fingertip journeying across the collarbone to the crook of the neck sends a pleasant shiver down the spine. Another electric shock follows at the coarse prickly sensation of his moustache rubbing against my skin as his soft lips kisses and nips at it. “It will only sting a bit, I promise. Please, the mark will look pretty.”

“No biting, Jay.” Reminded of our agreement this morning and the movement beneath his skin when his emotions seem to get the better of him, I pull him against my chest. Before he can protest I scratch his jaw exactly in the way he likes it, thus subduing his great ability to argue. “Not today.”

“It’s not... hm, k- keep go- What do- Bit higher. There. Like, hm, mhm, there. But... what normal-’’ Arms wrapped around my waist again and letting out a content hum, dark lashes flutter shut. For a moment, it seems he’s fallen asleep. However, his drowsy murmurs, while growing incomprehensible, still haven’t finished. “It’s not what couples do.”

“You’re learning,” I giggle, amused by the remark which sounds like a student recalling a piece of knowledge during a test and repeating it for himself.

Without understanding the knowledge completely. “What do they do?”

Staring at the ceiling, I run my fingers through his long dark manes as I try to come up with ideas about what we can do next. “Well, you’ve already given me your clothes. We could try jewelry next, maybe a promise ring. It’s an old-fashioned idea, but people who are promised to each other wear matching rings.

‘’What mean? Promised?’’

I say nothing of the faulty grammar of his question. After all, speaking becomes harder once exhaustion overtakes the body and mind. I have yet to find a sleeper being able to form comprehensible sentences. ‘’They’re sort of similar to engagement rings, but without the immediate implication of getting married soon.”

“Let’s get en- enga- enge-’’ Jaebeom lets out a groan, frustrated by his lack of speech. Nevertheless, it doesn’t perturb him enough to completely give up on the effort to properly pronounce the word he’s struggling with. “En. Gage. Ment. Engagement rings instead.”

I let out a breathless chuckle, amused both by his determination and the absurd proposal. “It’s definitely too early for that.”

“It’s not!” He barks, shooting up with a pinched expression on his face.

Scratching him like before, I manage to calm him down enough to make him lie down on my chest again. Nonetheless, his discontent shines through in the gruff scoff he lets out. “It is.”

“What if...” Prompted by the idea in his mind, Jay scrambles upright to face me once more. Lips parted, the feral sharpness in his mismatched eyes is replaced by a twinkle of barely contained excitement. However, the enthusiasm dims with a shake of the head and a low self-deprecating chuckle that ignites my curiosity. At the same time, it also tugs at the strings of my heart. “No, it’s wrong of me to ask.”

“What is?”

What were you about to say? Don’t keep it to yourself. Tell me!

“Never mind.” He lies down again, nuzzling my breasts as he snuggles up into me.

Then, he slips his hand under mine to lift and compare it to his. “Cute paw.”

Fine. Keep your secrets, you big burly bastard.

“Go to sleep.” I push him off of me, earning myself a disappointed noise which resembles a yelp. “On the other side of the bed, please and thank you.”

In the days that follow, the movement like water set astir under his skin continues to haunt my mind. In fact, it does to the extent that even the keys beneath my fingers seem to flow rather than be pushed down, causing me to flinch for the third time in a row.

For the past hour I’ve been trying to type out the notes on an interview with a chocolatier in Bruges and compose them into a coherent article. An otherwise simple task my mind won’t allow me to complete despite the attempts to remember the good moments we had recently. The video calls right before bed, the cuddle session a few days ago when we gazed at the moon, his enthusiastic texts about and photos of new recipes Jaebeom tried. None of it prevents the likely imagined terrible from destroying our happiness.

I’m going insane. He’s a normal person. Somewhat. I was jet-lagged and therefore not thinking clearly.

That’s why I thought I felt his skin move. I was delusional.

Drunk on him.

A buzz pulls me out of my reverie, the screen of my phone lighting up with a message.

Morgan: Starving! Found a new café thanks to a friend.

Y/N: Let me guess. I have no choice but to come along.

Morgan: There wasn’t a choice to begin with :)

Y/N: Of course not. What am I talking about, eh? See you in five.

Chuckling at the woman’s classic brashness, I shake my head, pack my belongings and head to the elevators.

Outside, regardless of the November chill, it’s pleasant. The sun shines brightly and the wind blows the little bundles of fallen leaves at the roots of the birch trees lining the street into motion, scattering them over the neatly swept pavement.

Winter is around the corner. God, I hate the cold. Hopefully, there won’t be snow any time soon.

I sit down on the bench under one of the birch trees, its branches already bare.

Autumn is truly ending now. Shame. I haven’t even had a pumpkin spice latte and cinnamon roll yet. Maybe I should ask Jay out and find a nice coffee shop where we can get them. After all, if he’s there, we can share the pastry. He’ll be happy and I won’t have to eat the whole thing. A win-win situation.

Enjoying watching the people pass by, each stranger essentially a book with a unique story that is yet not entirely different from someone else’s. Withal, the world feels colder without him, the missing part embodied in the unoccupied spot next to mine.

A delighted sigh on the right makes me snap my head around, alarmed at the notion someone has appeared out of the blue on the empty seat.

A woman clad in a white suit and matching fur-lined coat with pale skin and brown hair glowing copper in direct light stares contentedly up at the clouds. She’s in her very early twenties, although the freckles dusting her cheekbones and rosy cheeks might simply make her look younger than she is.

For a moment, taken aback and speechless, I cannot help but blatantly gape at the otherworldly stranger.

Wow, she’s like a goddess.

A stone sinks to the bottom of my stomach as a dark thought intrudes my mind. My throat dried up, I twist my wrists, the muscles stiff beneath my fingers.

Would Jaebeom like her? If he saw her on the street, would he... would he stop and stare? Prefer her over me or even try and give it a shot by introducing himself?

“It’s a bit chillier than I’d like, but at least it’s better than rain or snow.” The woman turns to face me, her features soft. “I hope spring will come again soon, though.”

I don’t get the chance to respond because a familiar voice calls out. Not that I would be able to form a proper reply otherwise. “You’re here already?”

“I happened to be nearby,” the stranger turns away to answer as Morgan comes to a halt in front of us, a puzzled expression on her face.

“I texted you fifteen minutes ago and you said you had to clean up. I thought you’d join us later.”

“The birth and after birth went faster than I thought so here I am.”

“I’m sorry, but what is going on?” More than a little lost, I look from one to the other in hopes of being given an explanation. “I didn’t know we’d head out with the three of us.”

“Right, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Brigid.” The dark-haired woman holds out her pale hand in greeting. “I work at the hospital as an obstetrician.”

“I’m Y/N,’’ I reply, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Lass,” wonder turned to a darker version of itself yet not saying anything, Morgan shifts her attention to me, “you look famished. Come on, let’s go.”

Offering a few muttered words of agreement, I get up and sheepishly tag along with the other women. As we walk out the street and round a corner, following the signs leading to the artist district nearby the university, I’m occasionally tempted to join the conversation. However, as soon as a short silence falls, I don’t chip in, unsure how to contribute to the small talk they seem to deliberately keep up in order to avoid a topic neither is keen to discuss. Thus I walk in urban loneliness, my train of thought displaced on my face as I let the ghosts of Jaebeom’s skin freely haunt my mind.

Right before the descent into the darkness of the rabbit hole, strong long fingers wrap around my wrist and hold it in an iron grip. The slightly painful squeeze interrupts my reverie.

Jaebeom?

I snap my head to the side to find Morgan standing there, leaning in a bit and her voice low. “We’re here.”

I don’t know how I’ve managed to ignore the bustle of students looking for a free spot on one of the terraces and loud conversations accompanied by the rustle of the paper bags hailing from the shops owned by self-employed artists. It’s also miraculous that I haven’t bumped into anyone by accident.

“Oh,” is all I say, looking at the café we’ve stopped in front of.

Wolf’s is spelled out in a modern font on the sign outside and above the door. A big window provides visitors with a view of the plaza. The interior is simple yet cosy, the white furniture warmed up by oak accents and the bare walls decorated with various art pieces, centered around wolves and various flowers. By the looks of it, they were all made by a single artist who likes to experiment with style every now and then. A few plants are dotted around the place as well to add a hint of free nature to the underlying strangely forest-like aesthetic.

A tall broad-shouldered man with short curly chocolate brown hair partially covering up the scar running over his left eye, strong dark eyebrows and a big koala-like nose stands behind the counter. Both of his arms and hands are decorated with various intricately designed tattoos. Whereas Jay is muscled yet lean, the tanned barista looks like a man who knows how to fight yet is a warrior in a society without combat.

As soon as we walk in, his lifts his head and turns to us. Playful lights illuminate the milky white of his left and raven dark of his right eye. A meadow of snow, its glimmer reflecting off of the smooth feathers of a wise bird. “Hi, welcome. Brigid, long time no see.”

Nobody seems to notice it, but his female colleague, a short woman with long flowy caramel brown hair tied into a ponytail who has her back turned to us and is busy extracting a shot, cringes at the merry mention of the woman’s name. Slowly, she steals a glance at us, hazel eyes sharpening when they fall on the woman in white. Nevertheless, she remains silent and quickly returns her attention to preparing someone’s coffee.

Looks like I’m not the only one envying her.

It is wrong to hate a woman for her beauty. Nonetheless, although it’s shameful, part of me refuses to associate with Morgan’s acquaintance out of a toxic mixture of spite and jealousy.

Such is the female nightmare.

“So this is what you’ve been up to,” Brigid muses, nodding appreciatively while inspecting the coffee shop. “You’ve got a nice thing going on here, Rome.”

“Please don’t call me that anymore. It’s Christian now. Chris or Ian for short.’’ Muscled arms crossed, he grimaces and shakes his head while looking down. Notwithstanding, the stern attitude melts into casual friendliness as a bright smile forms on his lips. ‘’But I do, don’t I? However, it’s not just me running the place. I’ve had some help.”

He turns around and motions for his colleague to come over. For a second she doesn’t move, darting glances to each of us like an alarmed cat checking for danger. Notwithstanding, though clearly tense, she warily approaches and halts at the man’s side.

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head when Christian places a hand on her shoulder. “In fact, Gráinne here still helps me out every day. She’s basically the second owner.”

“I- I’m not,” she sputters in a soft Ulster accent, fumbling with her fingers and her cheeks flushed, “I just work here some days.”

“You’re a bit more than a colleague,” her co-worker remarks, shoulders lowered and his tone holding more affection than would be the case when talking to a friend. A warm glow seems to form around him, ignited by the fondness he harbours for her.

Funny, Jaebeom wears that same expression when he’s with me.

“I’m not.” Gráinne stiffens, each word dripping with venom as she steps away, grabs a serving tray and puts the order she was preparing before being called over on it. “Get back to work.”

Lips parted, Ian watches her as she moves past us as fast and agile like a hunting cat without any further acknowledgement of our presence. I hadn’t noticed before, but beneath her apron, she is dressed in clothes reminiscent of the Victorian era. “I know she can be harsh and isn’t easy to get along with, but I’ve never seen her act like this.”

“Och, let it pass. She has every right to be pissed with you since you put her on the spot like that,” Morgan jokes though nobody goes along with it.

She likes him yet doesn’t see it’s mutual. Should I say something? Then again, this is their business, not mine. Furthermore, why would they believe me, a stranger?

So I remain silent.

And leave this to blossom however it is meant to in Fate’s hands.

The icy glare Gráinne gives Brigid behind her back sends a chill down my spine. Evidently, she is a woman not cross paths with once angered. Withal, as the fair beauty looks over her shoulder, the other woman restores her professional composure.

“You okay?” Christian asks as he watches her retreat into the kitchen, done serving for now.

“I’m fine,” she says thickly, the next breath hitching in her throat. Her focus shifts to the moon-shaped amethyst pendant around his neck. The ghost of a rueful smile forms on her lips, but it fades as fast as it appeared. “It’s not like I’m having a vision or something. Help them.”

She waves her hand dismissively when he doesn’t move, lips parted to say something yet at a loss for words. Notwithstanding, although I can’t see his expression clearly, it’s evident her feigned nonchalance is hurting him. “Go on.”

He clears his throat and forces himself into a rigid posture, frowning as he shifts his attention back to us. Finger hovering over the tablet functioning as a till, he stares at the display with an empty and distant gaze, which is as dull as the tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. “What can I get you?”

We place our order and settle down at the table by the window, neither of us offering a word of solace or dedicated to his colleague’s behaviour.

After a while, Christian comes up to us to serve the food and beverages. As he puts the plates with our sandwiches down, he and Brigid exchange looks like siblings telepathically conversing. Whatever it is they mentally discussed, it only leaves the barista a slight bit less worried though the grave expression plaguing him remains as he returns to the counter.

An expression which must be similar to mine since it prompts Morgan to speak up regardless of having her teeth sunk into sourdough bread, looking equally as somber. “What’s on your mind, lass?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head and stir my cappuccino with the vintage silver spoon next to the porcelain cup, smiling at my own silly assumptions of what happened now four days ago. “Everything’s fine.”

“Except it’s not.” The raven-haired woman cocks an eyebrow, far from willing to dismiss my worries. “Now tell me. Or, well, us.”

“It’s something to do with your lover, isn’t it?” Brigid remarks, head tilted to the side as she assesses me while sipping at her Irish Breakfast Tea. Her features soften when she notices she has hit a sensitive snare, evidently meaning no harm.

I pull back in my seat as I take a sip of my coffee, flustered and cursing myself for being an open book. There is no way out of this conversation since the current company is like-minded in their refusal to simply let the topic pass before it has been discussed.

I swallow, put the cup on the dish again and clear my throat. Fumbling with the spoon and eyes cast on the cappuccino’s silky milk foam, I tell them of what I think happened. The story sounds strange to my own ears, like a terrible fairy tale told by a chaotic storyteller who can’t tell it in a manner that makes sense regardless of how he manipulates the plot.

Afraid of their reaction, unable to fathom the slightest bit of sympathy and empathy, I look from one to the other. Fortunately, my silence can be excused by drinking the remainder of the coffee although it’s futile since the thirst has nothing to do with bodily needs.

“Sounds familiar.” The woman in white scrunches her nose in disgust as she glares at Morgan.

“He was different,” Morgan sneers through gritted teeth, jaw clenched.

“In essence, he was similar to her lover.’’ Brigid points at me though she remains focused on my best friend, her voice dripping with venom. ‘’Or should I say, is similar?”

“Since when does it matter what he is?” Thin lips painted plum purple curl into a mirthless smile, onyx locks shaking in discontent. “How hypocritical you’ve become. Forgetful of the past.”

“A past worth forgetting. It’s never too late to change your political opinions, Morgan.”

Great, now I’m the one to open Pandora’s box. I should have kept my mouth shut, changed the topic.

Desperate for help yet knowing he cannot do anything, I look for Christian among the other customers. Expression stern and standing as rigid as a statue, he watches our table from behind the counter. It appears he, too, feels the sense of danger increasing as the conversation carries on. Notwithstanding, as becomes clear from the apologetic shake of the head when our eyes meet, he also knows his hands are tied at the moment.

We are on the same boat, waiting to see how the situation will develop.

Playthings of Chance and Fate.

“We’re not here to talk politics,’’ the woman in question answers, covering her mouth with her hands while chewing on a bite of goat cheese and pomegranate seeds, ‘’but to have lunch like civilized and amiable women. To help our friend.”

“You’re right,” Brigid concludes. Nonchalantly, she pierces a piece of egg in her salmon salad and puts its on the bread provided with it, a bread called St Michael’s Bannock according to the menu. Then, she points her fork at me. “But the best thing you can do is leave him while you still can.”

“L- Leave?” Utterly confused, I look at the woman calmly eating her lunch. “Why would I do that?”

Who is she? What’s more, who is she to tell me to leave Jaebeom after what I told her? He needs help and support, regardless of what may or may not be there beneath his skin.

Unless she is on to something I am not and judging by the current circumstances, I won’t get an answer even if I dare to ask. Henceforth, if only not to snap, I clear my throat and swallow the vile words dancing on the tip of my tongue.

“Morgan can tell you why. All I can say is that it’s better to avoid men like your lover in the first place.” She coughs and takes a sip of tea to wash down the salad leaf stuck in her throat while the woman with hair as black as night chuckles darkly. Luckily, it is only loud enough for me to hear and Brigid is too busy preventing herself from choking.

“Sétan-, I- I mean Seán was the one to leave me, not the other way around. And we mutually agreed to part ways in favour of our own well-being.”

“Sure you did. Totally didn’t resort to throwing plates and other pieces of furniture because he rejected you.”

Morgan growls something under her breath, glaring at the woman seated next to me. However, Brigid doesn’t seem to notice the reaction she has provoked or is indifferent to it. “Or washed clothes at the ford where he so ‘happened’ to pass by. Funny how he died soon after.”

Ford? There are quite a few in Ireland, so where and most importantly, when was this? Then again, what are these two on about? Washing clothes in a ford, people dying, politics, lovers to leave. They’re like arguing voices from ancient times.

Moreover, there is the question of Seán’s life. Is he alive or dead? One moment she speaks of him as if he’s still here, but then why would Brigid remark he’s dead?

“You shut your whoremouth, traitor!” With a loud bang, Morgan slams her fists on the table. She stands up with an expression that makes me cower in fear despite not being the target of her wrath.

Behind the counter, Christian slowly comes into motion, carefully moving with the likely intent to inconspicuously circle our table and jump in if necessary. He flinches as Gráinne places a hand on his arm, holding him hard enough for her knuckles to turn white when he tries to escape from her grip in order to prevent the worst from happening. Notwithstanding, whatever the plan was, it goes to waste since he decides to listen to what his colleague tells him. Sighing deeply, he stands down although he continues to observe us.

Gráinne follows his gaze, which seems to be directed at the brown-haired woman in white, her personal target of envy. Her wolfishly fierce expression falters, growing as bleak as the ash of a great bonfire.

This time he doesn’t see how she comes apart at the seams.

Brigid calmly finishes her tea, daps her mouth on the napkin and stands up too. “Get over your crush. There’s no future for you with him. As for you, Y/N,” eyes oddly alight with motherly affection, she turns her attention to me, “and as a piece of advice from a friend, end this relationship while you still can. There’s only heartbreak ahead.”

“Thank you, but,” a wistful smile forms on my lips regardless of the urge to give into the savage nagging inside, “I can’t leave him because I made a promise to stay.”

“I see. Perhaps you’ll prove me wrong and the flowers will bloom in spring.”

And with those final cryptic words, she leaves the café after waving at the tattooed barista.

Or so Brigid intends, but her way is cut off by his colleague.

While clumsily taking off her apron she storms outside, clenching it hard and shivering as if she’s on the brink of tears.

“Gráinne? Gráinne!” Christian runs after his colleague, pale and eyes wide with worry as he comes to a halt in the doorway. “Where are you going? Gráinne!”

Brigid places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a consoling squeeze. After giving him an encouraging slap on the back she sets off, leaving the man standing there like a defeated soldier.

“Poor lass,” Morgan whispers as she watches the female barista pass the window. Something in her tone hints at a level of familiarity between the two.

“You know her?” I ask, frowning.

“I don’t think she remembers me.” She glances at Chris, who has retreated behind the counter. He has his head bowed, smooth black locks hiding his face from the customers. Trembling fingers entwined to conceal his distress as best as possible, he resembles a man of religion fervently praying for forgiveness. “And neither does he. I saw him and his close friend, Finn, once in the woods. No, it was his brother, Jor… was it? When he came to the island. Was that… who was that?’’

A mist clouds her ocean blue eyes, lost in thoughts far removed from this world and time. ‘’He was there. As for Gráinne, we met… somewhere. There was smoke, a burning body. It was- It was at… where? Fuck, I can’t recall. I think it was at his fu-’’ she abruptly cuts herself short to correct herself with a strange undertone in her voice, “not long after I... saw them.”

‘’Morgan, are you alright? You’re looking awfully pale.’’

Instead of breaking free from the spell that has taken hold of her, the reverie only seems to deepen. Rocking side to side, she clutches her arms to her chest. Her skin, although naturally pale, grows sickly like a walking corpse.

‘’I- I’m supposed to remember. I’m one of the few that do. No, he and I are the only ones left that do. I can’t forget. If I do, everyone will. I can’t… I can’t!’’

‘’Morgan!’’ I stand up from my seat to rush to her side. Rubbing her arms, I try with all my might to bring her back to reality from the depths of deliria. ‘’It’s all right, Morgan, nobody is going to forget. Please listen to me and follow my voice, use it as a guide back to me from wherever it is you are. Please, come back to me.’’

‘’May I?’’ Christian has appeared with a glass of water, which he sets on the table before crouching down at the woman’s side as well.

Gently he grabs one of her hands and holds it, talking in a voice that is surprisingly steady and soothing in spite of what happened mere moments ago. It’s rougher and more gruff, making it hard to distinguish one word from another if you are not well-acquainted with the speaker.

In fact, it belongs to a completely different person. ‘’Morgan, as long as there are people who remember, there is nothing to fear. The past has taught us that what might seem like the end isn’t necessarily truly the end. We are still here. We remember because you do and you remember because we do. You’re safe and sound. Instead, return and help me make her remember.’’

‘’Why, of everyone, did you have to fall for her?’’ Gaze blinded by her mind, Morgan reaches out to tenderly run her fingers through the barista’s hair. ‘’What makes her special?’’

‘’She understands.’’ A similar fog veils the misty white and dark eyes, Chris or, rather, the stranger pulled into the same realm of consciousness as my friend. ‘’She broke the chains that bound me and doesn’t allow me to slip into the shadows of what I once was.’’

‘’You’re all the same, aren’t you?’’

‘’It’s rare to find understanding and acceptance in a world naturally turned against you. So, please help me. Help me find her.’’ His voice breaks, the begging words coming out high-pitched like a whining wolf. ‘’Help me find my reason to stay in this world and not forget nor be forgotten.’’

The veil lifts, the spell broken with the whimpered plea.

Christian falls back, but manages to catch himself before his head hits the tiles. Refusing every helping hand from the customers hurrying over, he scrambles to his feet. Fortunately, he accepts the chair I offer him when his dangerous swaying almost causes him to hit his head against the wall.

‘’Are you okay?’’

‘’Yeah, I’m only dizzy.’’ The hiss he lets out flows over into a sound akin to a growl. ‘’And a splitting headache.’’

Morgan has a better return to reality, completely fine aside from a dazed mind. ‘’What happened?’’

‘’You tell me.’’ I search her face for clues, a sliver of the knowledge she is lying. However, I find none.

She is telling the truth.

‘’I… I don’t know. It’s the first time.’’ She clears her throat, brow furrowed. As if having heard a noise, she snaps her head to the side. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Drink your tea, eat a sandwich and go home early from work.”

She hands the glass of water to Christian. ‘’And you, you drink this and stay seated for at least five more minutes until the dizziness has faded. Are you nauseous?’’

‘’No. Although,’’ he dry heaves, ‘’never mind.’’

‘’Make it ten. You look as pale as a banshee.’’

‘’Speak for yourself.’’

‘’You’d make a pretty one, though,’’ Morgan muses when she returns her attention to me. ‘’Beauty makes suffering leading to death easier.’’

Apparently, her return to reality has left her as mad as a hatter so perhaps it wasn’t as good as I initially thought.

“Why on earth would you say that? Besides, what kind of comparison is that, us and a banshee?”

“One based on truth. Now,” she shoves the remainder of her goat cheese and pomegranate sandwich to me, “eat, rest up and get cracking again. We’ll be in touch and visit the new café I found yesterday later, alright?”

“Hey, not so fast. Where are you headed off to?’’

She can’t be serious. There is no way she is unaffected by what happened.

“Attagirl,’’ Morgan says as if I promised to heed her words, ignoring what I actually said. ‘’By the way, ignore what Brigid said and stay with your man. It’s plain to see how he makes you feel.”

“It is?”

“You’re glowing and you come alive when you speak of him. It reminds me of how I was with Seán.” She starts as if awakened from a dream, but tries to hide her awkwardness behind a sheepish smile. “Well, then, take care.”

“You too.’’ The two simple words, otherwise casual, are now carefully chosen in order to not to trigger another ‘attack’.

My gut tight and skin prickling thanks to her inhuman behaviour, I watch the raven-haired woman leave. I hold my wrist, my pulse too rapid to be healthy beneath my thumb.

Like I am at death’s door.

The next morning, there’s an article in the newspaper. A man’s been found dead at the edge of the bogs near town. The cause of his demise is unknown, but there are witness accounts who said they heard a high screech late the night before. In the days that follow, their names show up one by one in funerary advertisements.

A week later, none of the witnesses are alive. Moreover, nobody has heard the screeching since, though everyone remembers the description of the sound.

It was like the howl of a banshee.

#JB #Jaebeom #Im Jaebeom #GOT7 #GOT7 smut #Jaebeom fanfiction #GOT7 Werewolf AU #GOT7 x Reader #Jaebeom x Reader #Jaebeom smut #Werewolf!Jaebeom #Werewolf AU #Werewolf!JB #Not by the Moon

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puckrph · 4 years ago

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STARTERS TAKEN FROM POEMS I’VE WRITTEN - PART TWO

feel free to change pronouns!

' i think the whole world is within you. ' ' trauma is insidious. it sticks like a shadow, like mortar; the only thing holding our disparate shards together in the shape of a person. ' ' what are we, if not the echoes of insults and disappointments, the ghosts of the people our parents used to be? ' ' what are we if not the space in the skyline where something used to stand? the afterimage of a flashbulb lit in the quiet moment before roaring tragedy? ' ' i watch you standing in the sunlight laughing, harsh and beautiful, something more than our parents or this nation could ever hope or deserve to behold. ' ' you're the one lucky creature in this world of ashes. ' ' i feel myself decaying with every wasted minute. ' ' i think if you took my chest and split me open, you'd find soft black rot where my ambition used to be. ' ' if i cannot be happy, let me be free. if i cannot be free, let me be mad. ' ' i think of nothing but poems, and all the poems come from you. ' ' i'd ask to run away with you, but i never learned how to drive. ' ' i'd apologize for staring at you, but you captivate me as the night sky. ' ' when i was a child, i'd tilt my head back far enough that the only thing i could see was that stretching firmament, thinking: i might fall into those galaxies. ' ' you are allowed to be angry at those who hurt you—you are allowed to feel rage over what was done to you—you are allowed— ' ‘ we burn, and our blaze tears away the veil of ignorance. ’ ‘ faith lies as charred or as changed as the city skyline. ’ ‘ we break out of rubble, claw our way to sunlight, wipe the dust from each other’s faces with hands sick of fighting and digging. ’ ‘ we will tear down their walls and build our homes atop the wreckage. ’ ' i marvel at how you might lament a life like this. ' ' you may whisper to yourself: do i dare disturb the universe? and i will twine my hand in yours and say: you have—you do— ' ' you are a fool, perhaps. but so are all—men, women, everyone. ' ‘ we measure our pride with watch-chains; measure our hearts with half-torn dancing-slippers worn on walks over rough streets, places they were never made to tread; measure ourselves with love-poems. ’ ‘ you are the might-have-been story of a boy grown into a man grown into the best mind of his generation. ’ ‘ you are the best mind of your generation which, coming upon the overwhelming question, turns it over like a diamond and, finding it unanswerable, sets it in a ring upon my finger. ’ ‘ perhaps it was not worth it, after all. or perhaps it is no great matter. ’ ‘ if i put my foot to the floor or take the turn just right, the horizon will swallow this ought-to-be-ghost town. ’ ‘ he prayed at the altar of machinery until the factory god gasped its dying breath. ’ ‘ i stand in the light of uncountable divinities and by them chart my westward course. ’ ‘ i was always more than the sacrificial lamb of the american dream. ’ ‘ in my memories you are gold-filigreed. ’ ‘ you became god when you breathed your first tale. ’ ‘ some things are best learned from the passenger’s seat. ’ ‘ amid the ache of beauty, and amid my wonder-love, i forgot i am a sinner. ’ ‘ i forgot that we ought to be bound for ruin, i forgot every cruel thing the world has ever flung our way, because the dawn made you holy in your sleep. ’ ‘ when i am bound for eternity, will you mourn for me? ’ ‘ i was only worth loving in your darkest hour, is that it? ’ ‘ i am a siren call, not sustenance: there is no meat left in me to feast on. ’ ‘ somewhere in me there is a living girl/boy/person, locked in the casket of my heart for safekeeping, buried beneath the silt of our solitude. it has been piled on for so long that i cannot find her/him/them when i try. i cannot even remember laying her/him/them to rest. ’ ‘ you told me you loved me and looked at me like i was holy. ’ ‘ you should have known i loved you when i asked you to take a road trip with me. ’ ‘ i love you, and because i love you i will put aside my relentless terror. ’ ‘ if i am your moon, do not take the sky from me. if i am your heart, do not take the cavity in which i beat ceaselessly, deaf and blind to all but you. ’ ‘ do not tear me from your chest while you still live in mine, so close that your breath is my breath and your words are my words. ’ ‘ who am i that you should love me? ’ ‘ i did not know with what words i spoke, what language, what voice; i knew only that i loved you, as soft and ever-present as breathing. ’ ‘ if you opened your mouth, the true name of god would spill from your lips. ’

#poetry sentence starters #poetry starters #memes.#rp meme #askbox meme #sentence starters

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lavellander · 4 years ago

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hello im feeling extra “touch the stove”-y today so. i was looking for any dialogue where solas just straight up lies and (of what i could find online/transcribed, obv) i didnt find anything that was 100% untrue. he’ll completely avoid the question, change the subject, give part of the truth, etc etc etc, but nothing was just Entirely A Lie

what really gets me is that there’s a handful of convos where someone infers something from what solas says, and he will even point out that he didn’t directly say that. like, he tells people how to see through his shit, lmao

here is an embarrassingly long ass list of examples, all sorted by what kind of not-lying he’s doing lol, just bc i am unhinged<3

*note that some of these are cut from longer bits of dialogue or have been split up from one conversation into different categories*

literally just Not Answering The Question lol

Dorian: How much “will” do they have? They’re amorphous constructs of the Fade. Solas: Hmm.

Dorian: Solas, have I offended you? Solas: If you have, why would it concern you?

Dorian: Solas, what is this whole look of yours about? Solas: I’m sorry? Dorian: No, that outfit is sorry. What are you supposed to be, some kind of woodsman? Dorian: Is it a Dalish thing? Don’t you dislike the Dalish? Or is it some kind of statement? Solas: No.

Dorian: Let me get this straight, Solas. Dorian: You’re an apostate – neither Dalish nor city elf – who lived alone in the woods studying spirits. Solas: Is that a problem for you?

Solas: [has a whole tactical moment about the red jennies lmao] Sera: Where d’you get all this, then? Solas: Do you wish to be unnerved by another tale of my explorations of the Fade? Or do you wish to learn something?

Vivienne: You must be pleased with what was revealed at the Temple of Mythal, Solas. Solas: Why should those ruins please me, Enchanter?

changing the subject before he backs himself into a corner

Gatt: I don’t see any tattoos, but you’re carrying a staff. Are you from a Chantry Circle? Solas: No. And I would prefer not to discuss it.

Solas: I find the fall of the dwarven lands confusing. Varric: What’s so confusing about endless darkspawn? Solas: A great deal, although that is a different matter.

giving the truth, but not the whole truth

Blackwall: Skyhold. How did you find it? Solas: I looked. Blackwall: Now you sound like Cole. You looked? Solas: This world is full of wonders for those who seek them.

Blackwall: You spoke of seeing death and destruction. Did you fight in a war? Solas: There are struggles across Thedas at any given time. I doubt you would have heard of it. Blackwall: An elven skirmish? Solas: In a manner of speaking, yes.

Cassandra: Solas, have you always lived alone? Out in the wilderness, as an apostate? Solas: For the most part.

Cassandra: Have you ever encountered templars before? Solas: Only at a distance. I am an apostate, after all. Cassandra: And they never caught you even once? Solas: I am a very careful apostate.

Dorian: We found elves, living ancient elves, at the Temple of Mythal. Does that bother you, Solas? If Inquisitor allied with the Sentinels: Solas: I am pleased we were not forced to kill them, if that’s what you mean.

Iron Bull: You’ve got an odd style, Solas. Your spells are a bit different from the Circle mages or the Vints. Solas: That comes from being self-taught. Solas: I discovered most of my magic on my own, or learned it from my journeys in the Fade.

Vivienne: So, an apostate? Solas: That is correct, Enchanter. I did not train in your Circle.

Solas: You are a man who made a choice... possibly the first of your life. Iron Bull: I’ve always liked fighting. What if I turn savage, like the other Tal-Vashoth? Solas: You have the Inquisition, you have the Inquisitor... and you have me.

from cutscene at beginning Inquisitor: [mentions the anchor closing a rift] Solas: Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake – and it seems I was correct.

from cutscene at beginning Solas: [to a Dalish Inq] You are Dalish, but clearly away from the rest of your clan. Did they send you here? Inquisitor: What do you know of the Dalish? Solas: I have wandered many roads in my time, and crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion. Inquisitor: [Crossed paths? dialogue choice] Solas: I mean that I offered to share knowledge, only to be attacked for no greater reason than their superstition.

from “I’d like to know more about you” convo in Haven Inquisitor: What made you start studying the Fade? Solas: I grew up in a village to the north. There was little to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic. But as I slept, spirits of the Fade showed me glimpses of wonders I had never imagined. I treasured my dreams. Being awake, out of the Fade, became troublesome.

actually telling the truth but no one picks up on the gravity of it

Solas: [...] I believe the elven gods existed, as did the old gods of Tevinter. But I do not think any of them were gods, unless you expand the definition of the word to the point of absurdity. I appreciate the idea of your Maker, a god that does not need to prove his power. I wish more such gods felt the same. Cassandra: You have seen much sadness in your journeys, Solas. Following the Maker might offer some hope. Solas: I have people, Seeker. The greatest triumphs and tragedies this world has known can all be traced to people.

Cole: No, inside. I don’t hear your hurt as much. Your song is softer, subtler, not silent but still. Solas: How small the pain of one man seems when weighted against the endless depths of memory, of feeling, of existence. That ocean carries everyone. And those of us who learn to see its currents move through life with their fewer ripples.

Cole: You didn’t do it to be right. You did it to save them. Inquisitor: Solas, what is Cole talking about? Solas: A mistake. One of many made by a much younger elf who was certain he knew everything.

Solas: Empires rise and fall. Arlathan was no more “innocent” than your own Tevinter in its time. Solas: Your nostalgia for the ancient elves, however romanticized, is pointless.

Solas: Our people used to be here. Sera: Pfft, you say that everywhere. Solas: It is more true than you want to believe.

Vivienne: You must be pleased, apostate. With the Templars dissolved, your rebels will be most difficult to pacify. Solas: My rebels? Am I an agent for their cause, whispering poison into the Inquisition’s ears? Solas: How comforting. Vivienne: You enjoy seeing yourself as a villain? Solas: No more than any other clever man who wonders what he could do if pushed.

Vivienne: [about the Temple of Mythal] Now you know the elves were once a mighty nation. Solas: I always knew, Enchanter. The Temple of Mythal is just another reminder of what was lost.

(in the Emerald Graves): These forests have changed much since I was last here.

during the Fade!Haven cutscene Solas: It seems you hold the key to our salvation. You had sealed it with a gesture... and right then, I felt the whole world change. Inquisitor: [romance option] “Felt the whole world change?” Solas: A figure of speech. Inquisitor: I’m aware of the metaphor. I’m more interested in felt. Solas: You change... everything.

pointing out that people assume he means things he did not directly say

Cole: There is pain though, still within you. Solas: And I never said there was not.

Solas: You may well become fully human, after all. I never thought to see it. Cole: When did you see it before? Solas: I did not say that I had.

Iron Bull: We’ve got the alliance with my people. Given how much you love the Qun, I figured... Solas: I might scold you? Berate you for your decisions? Iron Bull: Hey. The Chargers died as heroes for the good of the mission. Solas: I never said otherwise.

Sera: Don’t you start. Solas: I’m reasonably certain I said nothing.

Vivienne: [talking shit about grey warden mages] Solas: I never claimed mages should be above the law, Enchanter. Vivienne: No, darling. You merely implied it, while offering no viable suggestions for improvement.

after infamous “side benefits” dialogue Warrior Inquisitor: You find my muscles enjoyable? Solas: I meant that you enjoyed having them, presumably. Warrior Inquisitor: Ah. Solas: But yes... since you asked.

diminishing things he does actually know by saying he he “believes” or “thinks,” or that things were vaguely “said” or “told”

Solas: I say what I believe to be true, even if it gives offense to those who prefer the lie.

Dorian: That orb Corypheus carries... are you certain it’s of elven origin, Solas? Solas: I believe so. Why do you ask?

Solas: It is said that we lived at a pace that sustained us for... ages.

making it sound like he’s talking about something/someone else, but it’s just him lmao

Cole: Do you know a lot about wolves? Solas: I know that they are intelligent, practical creatures that small-minded fools think of as terrible beasts.

Solas: No man can kill so many people without breaking inside. To survive... those you fight must become monsters. Iron Bull: The ones that kill innocent people, yeah. The rest... I don’t know. Solas: The mind does marvelous things to protect itself.

during In Hushed Whispers Inquisitor: I’m glad you understood what he just said because I’m not sure I did. Solas: You would think such understanding would stop me from making such terrible mistakes. You would be wrong.

misc

this one i wanted to include because it’s the only circumstance (that i came across) where someone directly asks solas to lie and he literally says he can’t

during the fucking crestwood breakup scene Inquisitor: [angry option] Tell me you don’t care. Solas: I can’t do that. Inquisitor: Tell me I was some casual dalliance so I can call you a cold-hearted son of a bitch and move on! Solas: I’m sorry.

*also note that most of these are banter transcriptions from the wiki; some are cutscene / other dialogue posted by either @/daitranscripts or u/karinini on reddit; it’s not all his cutscenes obv, but I’m not about to look up every single one individually sdlkfj*

#i am................incredibly embarrassed that i did this #forgive me. the brain worms would not leave until it was Done #also sorry that its ugly no matter what i did tungle was NOT happy w my formatting. just know its clean and easy to read in my mind :/#and i know none of this is new information but i am riddled with terminal grad student brain disease so i like having my evidence organized #long post #(bc its long as hell if u open the read more)#im going to put this in my #ref #tag. bc i sometimes get tripped up writing his dialogue to be cryptic but true

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marshmallow-phd · 5 years ago

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Healing Touch

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Yixing x Reader

Summary: Medical school abroad was the last line on your to-do list before starting the rest of your life. Everything was going according to plan. Everything, that is, until tragedy strikes your campus. In the wake of a professor’s untimely death, you’re partnered with the cute boy with a breathtaking smile in the newly combined labs. You find yourself unable to resist the dimples and shy glances, but his life is here with no plans of leaving. Will you continue on as planned or will you accept the hand that Fate had dealt you?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Final

Yixing knew that he needed to get out of the car. The engine still rumbled, giving away his presence. Inside the farmhouse, the others were waiting for him so they could carry out the “family meeting”. Yixing already knew what it was about. And he still hadn’t made up his mind on how – or even if – he was going to tell his pack that this whole situation might be his fault.

Seeing the front door open, Yixing cut the engine and jumped out. Baekhyun poked his head out the screen door. “Are you coming? Junmyeon’s started pacing!”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Yixing murmured as he kicked his car door shut.

So many doors. So much opening and closing. And the most important one he’d slammed shut himself. He could still see the dejected look on your face more clearly than the steps in front of him. Why did he have to be like this? So noble and overly righteous? He had his mate in his hands and he pushed you away. He needed to keep you safe – but was distance really the right way to do that?

Everyone else was already squished into the living room. There wasn’t much space in this area of the house, which was why they usually had meetings in the kitchen. Junmyeon must have been determined that no one be distracted by food or other easily reachable items.

Said alpha gave Yixing a very pointed look as the latter made his way to the back of the room, squeezing in between Chanyeol and Minseok against the wall.

“Everything okay?” Minseok asked quietly. Yixing nodded, but Chanyeol still threw a concerned glance his way.

“Alright, now that everyone is here,” again with the classic scolding Junmyeon glance, “we need to have a serious talk. There was another attack-”

“Another one!” Jongin exclaimed. His mouth hung on its hinges as he glanced around the room.

“Yes. Thankfully, this one survived. And he might have seen the wolf that attacked him.”

Chatter broke out among the wolves. Some where ecstatic at the possibility of finally knowing who this killer might be. Others were thankful that the man survived. Guesses bounced around about what this rouge wolf could look like. Baekhyun enjoyed the idea of it being a bear-like wolf, larger than even Chanyeol or – he’d stopped himself before he said another name that would shift the mood of the room in a flash.

“Nah, I bet its weak and sickly,” Jongdae interjected.

“Red fur?”

“No, those are rare.”

“I bet it’s blonde and shrimpy like Jongdae.”

“Watch it, Sehun.”

The chatter grew, even with Junmyeon’s insistence that they quiet down. So many voices piled on top of each that finally Yixing couldn’t take their theories anymore.

“It was a gray wolf.”

Despite Yixing’s neutral and low tone, the rest of the pack heard. Immediate silence. All eyes turned to him in confusion. He kept his arms crossed over his chest with his own gaze down on the floor.

“That’s a boring guess,” Sehun grumbled.

“Its not a guess,” Yixing admitted. “That’s what the man said at the hospital.”

Junmyeon stared hard at Yixing. “How do you know that’s the man said?” Lifting his eyes up, Yixing hardened his features. Under his arms, his fists curled tightly, his nails digging into the skin with a dull pain. He’d opened another door. And he didn’t think he could close this one again. Junmyeon sighed. “Everyone out.”

Everyone was reluctant to move.

“Now!”

Feet scrambled and tripped over one another as everyone but Yixing ran out of the room and to the kitchen. Junmyeon hated being forceful like that, having to raise his voice at the others. It was no surprise that he immediately melted back into a calmer state.

“Yixing…” came his steady, yet authoritative voice. “Tell me everything. Please.”

Yixing took a deep breath. It was better this way. He hoped.

“I’ve been blacking out.”

“What?”

“They started around the same time the attacks did,” Yixing explained. “Sometimes I get a headache first. Sometimes it just happens. I lose time – hours usually. And then within that time, there’s an attack.” He could feel his throat closing in. It was more devastating than he’d pictured – telling the truth. He feared his pack turning on him, putting the blame on him, even if it was rightfully done. He’d always been the odd one out, the wolf with a different ancestry. He used to have others to relate to, but when they left….

“Have you ever woken up with blood on you?” Junmyeon asked cautiously.

“No.” A small miracle. There was one time, but he’d found the poor rabbit just a few feet away and the smells matched.

“There could be another explanation for this,” Junmyeon insisted.

Yixing wanted to believe him, but there was other evidence against the hope. “He said it was a gray wolf.”

“Its not that uncommon of a color.”

“But he was attacked right during another one of my blackouts.”

“And where were you?”

“I was in the forest. Running. Alone.”

Junmyeon frowned. “Why were you doing that?”

Yixing shrugged. “I was… happy. Things were going in a good direction with Ming. I just needed to let the energy out and I wanted to be alone….”

“And then a blackout?”

Yixing nodded. “I woke nearby. (Y/n) was the one who had found him. I’d heard her screaming. We took him to the hospital and then I saw (y/n) home.”

“Did you talk to the police?”

“Yeah. All I told them was that I was in the area next to the nature center and heard (y/n) scream.”

“They didn’t think it was odd that you were naked?”

Yixing cringed, embarrassed. “I had my pants on, (y/n) gave me her jacket-” his jacket - “so they didn’t question it.”

“And (y/n)?”

“I doubt she fully believed my hiking story.”

Junmyeon let out a full lung’s worth of a sigh. His shoulders were weighted down by the pressure to keep their existence a secret and also take care of his pack. Would he outcast Yixing to protect the rest? Yixing wanted to cling to the hope that that wouldn’t be the case, but there was always a chance.

Stepping forward, Junmyeon placed a hand on Yixing’s shoulder. A smile, strained but reassuring, crept on his face. “We’ll figure this out. I don’t believe it’s you, but something bigger might be happening. Don’t go through this alone anymore, okay?”

As expected, a rumbling off footsteps shook the floor. Seven pairs arm wrapped around Junmyeon and Yixing.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Baekhyun whined.

“We could have helped you,” Chanyeol jumped in.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Minseok agreed.

Yixing smiled, but said nothing. He still wasn’t sure if he’d made the right decision in revealing his condition. There was no telling what lied at the end of this road – either Yixing would be free to live his life with you or he would be outcast from the pack with a heavy conscious.

“Did I miss something?”

All heads snapped to the front parlor. Ji Yeon stood in the entryway with a coffee cup in one hand and her laptop bag in the other. Small chuckles echoed around the room as the group shifted away from each other. Even Yixing gave off a short laugh. It was a nice release, but now that meant Ji Yeon would need to be made aware of the current situation, adding to Yixing’s fear. As Minseok shuffled closer to his mate, Yixing slipped out of the room, wondering when he would be able to be close to his own mate again.

It was one thing to think about personal issues on personal time. It was another to stop coming to class altogether. And for once, it wasn’t you avoiding the problem.

You had gone to class like normal, even though you were fully aware that a certain someone would – or, at least, should – be sitting in his usual seat when you arrived. You weren’t surprised at all when he hadn’t found you to walk you from class to class. That was to be expected after the abrupt ending to your last encounter. But him skipping class altogether was unexpected. Yixing was a dutiful student. Being in class was important. And yet, his seat was conspicuously empty when you stepped into the lab.

It was suffice to say that you were a little put out by his avoidance. You had conceded to the idea that you were going to suffer through having to sit next to him all class period and yet, all your panicking and worry was for not.

Maybe this was secretly a good thing. Maybe you would be able to concentrate better with the table to yourself.

That was not the case.

While you tried to concentrate on Professor Jiang’s lecture, your mind kept wondering back to Yixing.

Was he okay? Was he avoiding you? Had he dropped the class for good? Because of you?

What were the “things” that he needed to figure out? Were you right in thinking that he had a girlfriend off campus? Or was something else going on? Family things?

Your head was spinning with all the different possibilities. You might have heard a few technical terms during the lecture, but none of it sunk in. The pencil in your hand hardly scribbled across the notepad. Words floated meaningless from the textbook.

When Professor Jiang ended the session, you closed the textbook with a hard slam. Many eyes turned to you in shocked curiosity.

“Sorry,” you mumbled as you quickly packed away the rest of your supplies. Keeping your head down, you rushed out of the classroom and through the halls until you were outside under the cloud-hidden sun.

Finding a bench, you sat down, leaning forward on your knees as your eyes trailed over the cracked concrete sidewalk. That period was a dud, you were sure of that. At some point you would have to squeeze in extra study time to make up for the inability to control your attention. It was all Yixing’s fault. He was the one who had kissed you and then left. A few times you had unlocked your phone to call him, but never went through with it. You didn’t want to come off as desperate or clingy. You were trying not to care. In the past, you never had before. There was no reason for Yixing to be any different.

Except that he was.

You felt a bit… broken. Or perhaps rejected was the right word. There was a lot going on inside you that it was hard to pinpoint the exact emotions. Those words were both exaggerated and not enough in their explanations.

Deciding that you were done with this oddly out of character pity party, you stood up and continued walking until you’d left the campus grounds all together and crossed the street in the direction of your apartment.

Ran was home when you walked through the door. Her music – vibrating loudly through the miniature Bluetooth next to her on the floor – drowned out your steps into the living room. Spread out around her were notebooks, textbooks, different colored pens and a half-filled coffee mug. A one-person study session. She jumped when she finally noticed you. “Oh, hey!” She reached over and turned down the music so it was now at a low background noise level. “What are you doing already?”

“I wasn’t feeling too well,” you lied. She believed you since you were sure you looked the part. “I thought it might be best to come home and lie down.”

Ran jokingly cringed away from you. “Ew, don’t get me sick. I have plans with Hae In this weekend.”

“I don’t think it’s a bug or anything. My body might just be rebelling against lack of sleep.” Surely Ran had heard your tossing and turning the last several nights.

“Hey,” Ran caught you attention again before you could escape to your room. “So, uh, did anything happen between you and that Yixing guy after I left?” She wiggled her eyebrows playfully.

You shook your head. “No. We talked about class a bit and then he went home. Family emergency or something like that.”

“Hm. Interesting. Well, take it form me, he definitely likes you.”

“I doubt that.”

“No, seriously.” Ran took a sip from the mug, flinched at the now probably lukewarm liquid, and then put it back down. “The way he was looking at you, he likes you. A lot. I think you should give him a chance.”

You chewed on her observations. “I’ll think about it.”

Safe in the four walls of your tiny room, you curled up on your bed with your back against the headboard. As wonderful as sleep sounded and even with Ran now keeping her music at a more manageable level, you doubted your brain would be able to shut off. To try and be distracted by something, you logged into the “Dream University’s” website to check your status.

Still waitlisted. Okay. This was fine. You weren’t actually expecting any change. You just wanted something to do. You were growing antsy. Coming home might not have actually been the best idea. It was the walk itself that had been helpful, freeing for your mind. Now that you were still again, you were back to where you were in the classroom. Unfortunately, the overthinking anxiety wouldn’t let you just get up and go – not with Ran still in the living room. Did it make any sense? Absolutely not. Did that matter? Nope.

About twenty minutes or so went by with you simply scrolling through social media until you heard the music stop and the rustling of the school supplies being picked up. After five minutes of clean up, the front door opened and then closed again. Just to be extra sure that Ran was gone for good, you watched the clock on your phone click by for ten minutes.

Now you were able to leave.

Wrapping up in a jacket (not Yixing’s), you checked your pockets for all the essentials and then headed out the door.

It was back to the nature center for you. It probably wasn’t the smartest place to go given your last adventure in the park, but it had nice winding trails and there would be people around – at a distance, that is.

The clouds were still heavy in the sky when you arrived. Not to the point where they threatened rain, but enough to color the world a dull gray. Squirrels dotted along the path. Their bellies were round and full, telling you that the locals had been feeding them despite the signs that clearly advised against it. Some were brave enough or curious enough to come close to you, but scurried away as soon as it was clear that you were not one of the gracious humans that bestowed them fluffy bread.

Letting your feet guide you along the asphalt path, you let yourself be absorbed in the trees. Your mind still wander towards Yixing, but you didn’t fight it anymore. You were hoping that overexposure would lead to a numbness, an immunity. But he wasn’t a disease attacking your body, he was just a boy. A cute, dimple-smiled boy who made you feel at ease.

Crack!

You snapped your head up at the sudden sound. You half expected a bunny to come hopping out of the side bushes, letting you laugh at yourself. But it wasn’t a bunny twenty feet off the trail.

It was a wolf.

A gray wolf. Just like the hiker said. And it was staring right at you.

Scanning the area, you searched for the closest route to the main center, but you were too far in. This was exactly why you avoided the woods!

You vaguely remembered the advice not to run because then the wolf would treat you like prey. It always sounded like stupid advice. Even more so now as the creature charged in your direction. You charged off the path in the opposite direction of the wolf, pushing the air out of your lungs and screaming as loud as you could.

“Are you sure it was around here?”

Yixing threw Junmyeon a look. “Yes. I’m sure.”

The two wolves were currently trotting through the woods to find the spot where Yixing had found the man and Ming. Junmyeon wanted a better look at the scene in the off chance he might get a better intact of the scent left behind. Each time they’d gone looking for answers in the past, the scent had been too old and dulled to really pick it apart. They were probably too late now, but they’d spent the last few days at the farmhouse, keeping an eye on Yixing to see if another blackout would occur. It hadn’t, much to Junmyeon’s disappointment.

“It was close to the nature center,” Yixing explained once again. They’d come from the north, rather than straight from the center. Yixing had hoped that he’d have a better insight to the location. They were getting warmer.

A sudden twig snap made their human ears perk up.

“Could that be--”

“It was probably just a rabbit,” Junmyeon guessed.

As if to prove him wrong, the snap was followed by a wolf’s rumbling howl. And then a high pitched scream.

Yixing gasped. He knew that scream.

“That’s (y/n)!”

Junmyeon looked at him, unconvinced. “Are you sure?”

Yixing’s response was a ferocious growl as he took off without his alpha. A wolf always knows his mate.

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