#and its also not just women in the world of ER who are denied their agency

[wraith-caller]

Never been a fan of people trying to shape the Golden Order into conservative Christianity. Reading fics where they talk about women needing to be "traditional" or seen but not heard, when the figurehead of the Order is a woman who has waged loads of wars, had two husbands, makes a point of examining her faith rather than submissively accepting it. Seeing posts that seem to say the GO is villainizing the use of sorcery, a way of deriding the carians, when one of the greatest champions of the Order himself studied sorcery of his own volition, and married perhaps the greatest sorceress ever known. There's nothing to indicate the GO ever had a beef with the practice of sorcery, and it's not like they shuttered Raya Lucaria after the union of the Moon and Erdtree. Cringing every time someone describes Fundamentalism as the "thoughtless extremist" wing of the Order when it's supposed to be about taking a scholarly approach to the examination of the laws of causality and regression.

Idk. It's just, there's so many reasons to be skeeved out by the GO, and it exists within a fantasy with a totally distinct history from our own world. While there are obviously influences from a wide variety of real-world sources on the mythology and world of the game, it's not a direct copy of reality. It's lame to see sth so full of opportunity for interesting world building from fans just turned into a watered down copy of what they despise in reality.

[sluttyhaecceities]

A woman is the image of God, just as a male St. Thomas Aquinas (Commentary on 1 Corinthians 11).

This is true actually the stuff about women being the rib of Adam is a mistranslation into greek of the Hebrew word tsela (צלע) which often was used figuratively to mean a side rather than what we would call a rib. This is the only place in the bible were tsela is translated so literally where 39 other places use it to mean and is translated as side.

Bible was so violently fucked in the council of nicaea, the more I hear of bible translation the more I understand that "Don't trust the council of Nicaea" graffiti

the council of nicea is the vanguard which canonised the Catholic order and determined which sects were heretical in order for the militarised forces of the Church to be able to start doing a counter revolutionary red terror against all Christian forces at the time which were against the seizure of the Roman state and centralisation of power

including putting down feminists and Christian sects explicitly stating that the kingdom of heaven can only be built via class struggle and the abolition of the classes and inciting slave rebellion

hence why the Catholic church since then crushed every "heresy" which dared to question the feudal and imperial orders and resulted in peasant rebellions as well as colonial uprisings

this however did not work in Latin America where too many Catholic priests became guilt ridden for their crimes against humanity and invented liberation theology in order to ease their colonial conscience leading to the last millenarian insurrection the world has seen in Brazil during the late 1800's.

first 300 years after Christ were theological anarchy prophecies were happening all over people formed communes and free federations and began to tear the Roman empire apart at the roots they just didn't call them by these modern terms

a similar revolutionary spring which formed a commune arose in Persia around zoroastrainism as the macedonian and empire began its conquests iirc

I think this all ties into augustinian theology, he went on a tirade against heresies such as gnosticism which did not seek to literally capture the Roman state and change all the liveries to Christian ones. Anything which did not preach a militant seizure of the class system in order to have it regulated by the Church (remember, only the pope could directly communicate with God…) was attacked

hence why Catholicism to this day preaches much charity. Its throwing crumbs to keep the class system going and unite all the classes under god, hence why the church supported every fascist government

look at that dumb eagle on your, money or presidential seals or whatever, shits all the same

the roman republic was about as democratic as the American republic in the sense that it absolutely fucking wasn't, and was backed with about just as much military up force pointed at everyone at all times

Law being the code unifying all power still being dictated in latin…

athens was probably the only remotely "democratic" state back then and even then it was democracy only for a certain class of male property owners who ere dominating the slaves, women and peasantry of the countryside and denying them any participation in social life

I was just thinking about the other day how the Romans made so many cultures and languages go extinct. Like white imperialism trial run, that was Alexander, that's why Greece is the ground of "the west". alexander the great was proto hitler

venice was a also democracy only in name tbh it was rabidly capitalistic nightmare and had multiple prole revolts lol

by capitalistic I mean like people kept trying to commodify land and create factory systems to shove proles in, same in florence

roman empire being empire had nothing to do with a monarch and everything to do with going on rabid conquest against every native tribe and culture and submitting them to the roman Legions

They rationalized most wars around the paranoia of eventually being attacked by its neighbours.

faggotry was born from roman/greek fascism as a way of big dudes claiming the little twinky weaklings and honestly every time I remember that I hate the cis fag assimilationists even more

[dancefloor]

Oh yeah i see what you mean! Tbh it was clear to me a few years ago (when i read THT) that Gilead is uuuh not that impossible to create exactly in this current situation and politicsl climate; my first thought yesterday when I found out about roe vs wade being overturned was "so the US is getting even closer to being Gilead". And yeah, the tv adaptation getting so popular was not a good thing in handsight, imo, not to mention how they completely misunderstood and butchered the main idea and message of the book at some point, so i stopped watching the tv show ... smh there's more seasons coming out when they literally covered the book in s1? It's weird bc Atwood is, as far as i know, still advising on the show. I'm curious to know what you mean by Atwood's feminism in relation to her age and Elizabeth Moss' hypocrisy as I don't keep tabs on either of them lol. And side note: when you get back to reading and find the strength for a chunky 600-page read, The Blind Assassin will amaze you ❤️

yep!!! im someone whos only seen the show (so far, but i do plan on reading the book) and a part of me appreciates the access the show provides to the story, as the books are just something a lot of people aren’t interested in; a part of me appreciates the fact that it allows a story that, at its core, is a feminist one, to creep into the mainstream; a part of me appreciates handmaids-themed protest creeping into the real world; another part of me hates how the show and its hollywoodized version of the story waters it down to something so easily digestible, cliffhanger-filled and money-driven. on one hand it’s a step forward, on the other hand it’s a step back for feminism.

re: atwood’s age, i mostly meant that there tends to be a large difference in how younger generations view feminism vs how older generations view feminism. ask an average gen z-er what they think the word means and they’ll probably be quick to touch on intersectionality, diversity, and pronouns; ask an average baby boomer what they think the word means and they’ll likely mention the right to vote, or further “basic” points of second-wave feminism (the right to work, the right to bodily autonomy etc). both interpretations are important and vital to the movement, but both interpretations are very different yet somehow manage to shape feminism as a movement in equally impactful ways.

that’s why i find atwood’s feminism very fascinating because, while it stems from a decades-old interpretation of what feminism means, it’s still relevant (and i’d argue her literary contributions are vital) to the movement as we know it now. on the other hand, tht fails in its explicit inclusion of minorities i.e. trans men, poor women, women of colour — which would likely not be the case if tht were written today. tht is a product of its time but it’s extremely progressive for its time but it still holds up but it could also be argued that it’s a little outdated. so there’s a lot going on there and i don’t have any conclusions about any of it, i just think about it lol.

re: elizabeth moss’ hypocrisy, all i meant w that is that she portrays the main character in an inherently feminist story… while being in an (among other oppressive labels) sexist cult, and denying any comparisons between gilead’s sexism and scientology’s sexism. she’s definitely making some choices. lmao

[kpopfanfictrash]

Darkmist (M)

Author: @kpopfanfictrash​ as part of the  Deadly Intentions collaboration with @underthejoon​​ @lamourche​ @floralseokjin​ @prolixitae​ @btssmutgalore​ and @taetaetrashhh​ 

Creative Contributor: @taetaetrashhh for organizing the collab and this wonderful moodboard!

Pairing: Yoongi / Reader (third person)

Genre: Hellhound!Yoongi / Magical!Reader / High Fantasy

Word Count: 30,868

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for mature themes and sexual content. Character death depicted (not main). Violence depicted in both fight scenes and flashbacks. Unprotected sex. 

Summary:  Y/N has always known she was different. A ward in a city where all know their name. A girl apprenticed to a blacksmith. And a shadow-singer –  a magical being who controls the night and sees all within. Even those who would prefer not to be seen.

A/N: There is some Welsh mythology referenced to within the fic, but it is by no means canon.  [ CROSS-POSTED TO WATTPAD HERE ]

In the lone dark of night, a rooster crows to the dawn.

Y/N stirs, warm beneath bedcovers in the tiniest room of Tywll’s only tavern. Her mattress sinks under her weight, holding her equally captive as her dreams. Fingers curling into blankets, she burrows even deeper to feign sleep.

The darkness wraps around her lovingly, as one would a friend. For a moment, she nearly sinks back into sleep, but no – her eyes open.

The rooster does not crow a second time. If Y/N does not wake now, she will miss opening the forge for the day. Gritting her teeth, Y/N swings first one leg, then the other from bed. The floor beneath her feet is freezing, the last dregs of summer but a vague, distant memory.

As she fumbles about for a match, Y/N’s eyes grow accustomed to the dimness. This happens easily for her, just as it is unusually difficult for her to light her lamp. When it finally works, catching beneath her, Y/N exhales in triumph.

Stretching both arms overhead, she walks to her wardrobe and examines her the clothing. Few are suitable for work in the forge. As a fifth-year apprentice of Owen, the town’s blacksmith, Y/N is well-accustomed to the demands of her job. She is also accustomed to returning with singed hair and burnt clothing, which makes her options somewhat limited out of necessity.

Not that her belongings are much to speak of, regardless. As the orphaned ward of Mervin and Rian Talog, Y/N lives a simple life in their tavern. In the morning, she wakes and travels to the forge. In the evening, she returns home to assist as a barmaid. Her life is straightforward, if somewhat unconventional.

At least, it is unconventional in the eyes of the town. For Y/N to be a girl, unmarried and sweating away in a man’s field – well, some see it as close to near sanctimonious. Luckily, Mervin and Rian have never been of that mindset and are not much for gossip.

Still, Y/N cannot deny her time is running out. As soon as her apprenticeship finishes and Owen declares her his successor, she intends to leave and open her own shop. The thought makes her feel somewhat empty though, as if there should be more, but Y/N usually pushes such emotions aside.

Her kind often feel empty.

Straightening, Y/N surveys herself in the mirror. Her leather work apron stays at the forge every night, so for now she dresses in a plain tunic and leather pants borrowed from Mervin. There is no seamstress in town willing to make them for women. Turning swiftly, Y/N grabs her cloak from her chair and blows out the lamp.

The night is not as dark as before.

It is not yet day, though – the sun still hesitates below the horizon. At the edge of earth, the sky lightens a touch, but there is still a half-hour before the sun comes into view.

Exiting her rooms, Y/N stares at the night before climbing downstairs. Her bedroom is the only one at the top of the tavern. When she was younger, she liked to pretend her rooms were a tower – the most luxurious in the town, envied by all. As she grew older though, Y/N ceased in her thinking and saw her rooms for what they were.

Four flights of stairs, and quarters which nobody wants.

Still, the room holds a certain magic to her still. Hand skimming over the banister as she descends, Y/N fastens her cloak upon entering the kitchen.

Mervin sits at the worn wooden table, bent over a pile of books with his spectacles. Rian is behind him, bent over the heat of the fire. Pushing hair back from her face, she frowns at the flames and critiques its temperature.

Y/N nearly smiles, recognizing this stance from the forge. One might not imagine cooking and metalwork to be similar but oddly enough, they involve the same concepts.

When she enters, Mervin looks up. “Morning,” he greets, smiling faintly.

Y/N nods, glancing at Rian. “Morning,” she says, smiling back.

Rian waves a spatula, then continues to stir. “Should I add sage?” She cranes her neck to look at them both. “Or would that be too savory?”

“Never.” Mervin drops a wink at Y/N. “Hard to imagine your cooking could take a wrong turn.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth,” protests Mervin.

Rian gives him a look. “And lies will send you to the wrong part of Annwn.”

Annwn – or, the Otherworld. It is the duty of all in their town, their province, their world to live a full, productive life and pass on in peace. The summation of decisions a person makes in their life will determine where one goes in the next – when they arrive in Annwn.

Mervin chuckles and returns to his ledger. “Why ask my opinion at all? Add salt instead.”

Rian nods, already reaching out for the canister. Y/N smiles, gripping her cloak tighter as she moves towards the door. The tavern is already busy – she can hear guests through the door, chatting and laughing. Y/N has no desire to see them this morning though, so she purposefully leaves out the back door.

When Y/N was twelve, she was already at work in the evenings. She helped when she could, clearing dishes from tables and washing them inside the kitchen. It was not unusual for those her age to work, but most had jobs which did not involve the town drinking.

People say many things when they are drunk; things they otherwise would not say to one’s face. One night in particular stands out in Y/N’s memory – the night she learned what the town thought of her situation. Or, most of them, anyways.

The town drunk – Trevor – brought this to her attention. To be fair, he did not know she was standing there. Did not bother to look over his shoulder and check if she could hear; he merely guffawed at a joke and barreled on with his story.

“Poor Mervin didn’t know what to do with himself, eh?” he roared, slamming beer down on the table.

Y/N flinched when ale flew over the top. She would be the one cleaning it up later.

“It was a late October morning – misty as Annwn, mind you! Mervin goes out early-like.” Trevor leaned in, cheeks ruddy with ale. “He goes to set out the milk bottles and there – on the doorstep! – was a baby. A baby!” he said to uproarious laughter. “Imagine, Mervin with his spectacles an’ whatnot, finding a child!”

Y/N did not see what was so funny about the matter.

She was twelve at the time, not stupid. She saw how the other villagers treated her, how they treated her family. Y/N knew they were different. Most of the men in Tywll were loud, boisterous creatures who frequented their inn – or, they frequented their tavern, at least. From what Y/N could see, they spoke much, complained often and solved very little.

Whereas, Mervin was magic. Not true magic – not the magic which makes villagers light pitchforks, chase down demons and witches at night. No, Mervin was magic in that he could change things. Armed with books and his numbers – admittedly, these seemed like magic to most – he created wealth for the town in the oddest of ways.

This made people regard him warily though, which Y/N did not understand.

On the night in question, Trevor was in an uproar. “Rian did the convincing,” he said, wiping his mouth with one hand. “Mervin took ‘er in, wanted to find a home but Rian put her foot down. Said it would stay with them.”

Hearing this information, Y/N’s eyes widened. “Is that true?” she asked, over the din of the crowd.

Before that night, Y/N had always thought Rian did not like her much. Y/N mistook her gruffness for anger, when in reality Rian was simply not prone to fits of emotion. She did not love magic or fairytales, but she did love Y/N.

Trevor’s back stiffened, hearing her voice. The rest of his table saw Y/N standing there and were suitably embarrassed by the turn of events – except for Trevor himself, who slowly turned in his seat.

“Go on,” he insisted, gaze clouded with drink. “Out with you, now! This place isn’t fit for a child.”

Y/N’s lower lip trembled and she turned around to flee, moving as fast as her legs would allow. It was Rian who found her later on in the pantry; she was the one who knew all her hiding spots. She did not say a word about the incident but gave Y/N a warm cup of tea and for the next month, Trevor was banned from the inn.

When he could return, Rian warned Y/N not to listen to nonsense. This was something Rian said often, and something she said even more to Y/N. Do not listen to nonsense, do not believe in fairytales. Do not search for saviors, magic, or destiny. Do not place faith in the books by her bed, since faith belongs to the gods alone.

Y/N would nod and pretend she understood – until Mervin would sneak in at bedtime to read another story. Their lives worked in this manner. Their family worked in this way, happy in the most unconventional of ways.

Waving at them, Y/N slips out the door. As it falls shut behind her, she looks up at the sky.

The first rays of dawn are slipping over the horizon – not enough to banish the mist, but enough for her to see by. Setting off down the lane, Y/N hums to herself. Tywll is a small town, tiny enough that there is only one road. Still, travelers come often from all parts of the province – it fuels their economy and makes them rarely want for anything.

Y/N’s shadow is cast as she walks, scrunching and stretching over muddied dips in the road. It rained all last night, making Y/N’s feet sink as she walks. Unfortunate, since she has only one pair of work boots.

It took Y/N a month to convince Owen to be his apprentice. It took longer to raise the necessary money for a leather apron and boots. Y/N is rather old to still be an apprentice; nearly twenty and still, she is in her fifth year. At least she is close to finishing, though. Y/N is a fast learner and, given a few more months, she hopes to be able to produce a piece to Owen’s satisfaction.

Luckily, Owen is not one of the many in town who refuse Y/N due to her gender. The main reason he balked was due to the cost of having an apprentice. The effort of slowing down to teach is enormous – although Y/N hopes she has more than made up for this cost over the years.

Ducking her head, Y/N continues on down the lane. She is lucky to have so many sources of happiness. Mervin and Rian care for her as their own. Owen, a blacksmith, is willing to teach her his craft. Truly, it is more than any one woman can hope for – which is why Y/N feels guilty to admit she is lonely.

Outside of the aforementioned people, not many in Tywll enjoy Y/N’s presence. Oh, they tolerate her. Most of them purchase her wares as a blacksmith, accept her ale in the tavern, but Y/N has always been considered an outsider.

She was not born here and so, will never belong.

Of the few who are kind, the only one nearing her age is Gwen – Owen’s daughter. He is a single father, if a doting one and Y/N has never cared to ask for the details. Anytime Gwen’s mother is mentioned, Gwen hastily interrupts with her skilled art of small talk.

Nearing a bend in the road, Y/N adjusts her cloak to glance over her shoulder. The mist in this part is thicker than normal, never fully dissipating even when the sun is high overhead. Tearing her gaze from the shadows, she looks ahead – and freezes.

A pair of red, glowing eyes stare back from the darkness.

There is no one else in the square.

Or, this is what Y/N thought when she entered – the pair of glowing, red eyes seems in direct contradiction to this. Darkness writhes around them, attempting to solidify but before this can happen, Y/N spins around on her heel. Grasping her cloak, she rushes out of the road.

Heart pounding, she darts down the alley which leads to the forge. Not daring to glance over her shoulder, Y/N listens for footsteps which follow, but hears none.

If Y/N has learned anything from her fairytales, it is nothing good comes from a Grim. Grims are hound-like demons who lurk in the shadows, warning of nothing but death and despair. Sometimes, their meaning is even more sinister. Sometimes, Grims are the Cŵn Annwn themselves – the feared hellhounds of Annwn who answer to none but Lord Arawn, ruler of the Otherworld.

The Cŵn Annwn have one job. Find souls which belong in the Otherworld and bring them to their desired location – often painfully, and in the basest way possible.

Fighting a shiver, Y/N continues her journey. As she walks, she almost manages to convince herself it was nothing. It was likely only a dog in the shadows. The red glow probably came from the sunrise. Rian is right – Y/N’s imagination is far too active, drawing conclusions which make zero sense.

Except – she has this feeling in her blood, a singing in her bones. Heat stirs within her, as though seeking an unanswered call.

Ignoring all this, Y/N steps into the yard of the forge. Determinedly, she closes the gate behind her. Gwen looks up at the sound, ceasing her sweeping to give Y/N a wave. Switching her broom to one hand, she fixes her hair clip with the other – a silver and jade pendent Owen bought her last Yuletide.

Seeing her there, Y/N slowly relaxes. Nothing bad can happen in the presence of someone like Gwen. Lovely, serene and admired by all, Gwen is the pride and joy of Tywll. Y/N cannot even dislike her for this, though – Gwen is every bit as kind as she is beautiful.

“Hello, Y/N!” she calls out, smiling brightly. “Lovely weather compared to yesterday, no?”

Y/N shields her face as she walks, blocking the sun which breaks over the horizon. Elongated shadows stretch towards her, the longest they will be until the sun sets again. Y/N smiles, moving to answer when a dissonant crack sounds from above.

Both Y/N and Gwen look up, startled when a branch breaks loose from the tree.

Gwen’s lips part, about to scream but before she can, Y/N jumps into action. She moves without thought, throwing herself forward and wrenching power within. The branch veers off-course, smashing into the window – narrowly avoiding the door where Gwen stands.

Staggering backwards, Gwen drops the broom she was holding.

The window lies in shattered pieces, all over the lawn and the branch sticks grotesquely out of the house. Gwen stares for a moment before whimpering, tremblingly pressing a hand to her mouth – the window could have easily been her.  

Owen appears then, hurtling head-long around the side of the building. He must have been in the forge, since he still wears his apron, only one of his work gloves discarded.

Skidding to a stop, he sees the chaos before him. “What happened?” he blurts. Gwen still has not moved, standing before the doorway. “What happened – are you hurt, Gwen?”

Gwen shakes her head, hair escaping her clip.

She points – finger passing briefly over Y/N – to land on the tree overhead. “It was the branch!” she gasps, eyes wide. “It broke off from the tree and hit the window right next to me!”

Rushing forward, Owen barely notices the glass crunching beneath his feet. Y/N sags, relieved by their distraction but neither one of them notices, too consumed by their relief.

“Gods,” Owen gasps, coming to a stop. He removes his hat, making a hurried gesture over his heart. “To think you were standing there. It must have been the storm,” he adds, glancing up. “Lightning must have struck last night, and rain loosened it further.”

Gwen nods, a bit dazed. “It must’ve been.”

Stepping forward, Owen wraps his daughter tightly in a hug. Y/N looks away, lowering her gaze to the ground. He mumbles into her neck – a prayer, or a thanks of some sort – which does not seem like something she should intrude upon.

Folding her hands behind her back, Y/N closes her eyes. Her heart races, as though she has run a far distance and her hands are badly shaking, which is why she conceals them. It has been a long time since she allowed herself a reaction.

It has been even longer since she opened that part of herself.

At last, Owen breaks free. “Y/N!” he calls, noticing her there. “I’m so sorry to scare you like that.”

“It was nothing,” Y/N says. Crossing the yard, she feigns concern scanning the bright shards of glass. “I’m glad no one was hurt. You’re sure you’re not?” she asks of Gwen, searching her frame

Smiling kindly, Gwen bends for the broom. “Quite certain. Thank you for your concern.”

Y/N nods. “Can I help in any way? Pick up the glass, or…?”

“Oh, yes.” Owen blinks, seeming to notice the mess. “Y/N, could you get pail from the forge? We can gather these larger pieces while Gwen sweeps up the rest.”

She nods in acknowledgement, gathering her cloak to hasten away.

As soon as Y/N turns the corner, she stops and sags against the side of the house. Breathing in deeply, her legs barely hold as they waver beneath her. Head spinning, Y/N chastises herself for such an obvious slip. The last time she lost control in this way, she must have been a child.

It cannot happen again.

Blankly, Y/N stares at the grey wood before her. Her vision blurs, threatening her happiness at having helped in some way. Because even if what she did was dangerous, at least Gwen is safe. At least Owen is happy, and their family remains intact.

It is hard to chastise herself for a result like that. Slowly pulling herself upright, Y/N regathers her bearings and goes to fetch the pail. If she is gone for too long, Owen will be suspicious.

Still, an inkling of worry lingers the rest of the day. Red eyes continue to haunt from the shadows, causing Y/N to wonder if she did the right thing. Each time she looks over her shoulder, there is nothing to see.

The morning passes by in a never-ending list of things to be done. Owen is the only blacksmith in Tywll – a fact not unusual for a town of their size, but due to a steady stream of travelers means he is constantly in demand. He is expected to know a variety of crafts, all of which can be daunting. Locksmith, silversmith, armory – Owen knows them all. It means Y/N, by extension, is expected to know them as well.

She does the menial tasks while he labors – pumping the bellows, replacing coal in the furnace and changing the anvil when Owen begins a new task. She is happy to do this, since it means she is that much closer to owning her own shop.

Around sundown, the work finally slows, and Y/N allows herself a moment of rest. Coming to a stop, Y/N wipes sweat from her brow and pushes hair behind her ear. The forge is sweltering even on the coldest of days, let alone midway through autumn. Still, Y/N has always preferred this to the chill.

Owen finished work nearly an hour ago – now he stands at the counter, wrapping an axe up in fabric. Although their town is too small to have a Lord or a Knight, they have several merchants wealthy enough to imagine themselves both. Cadoc is one of said merchants – a finicky man whose family has lived in Tywll for centuries.

He commissioned an axe from Owen last month, which was notable because Cadoc usually purchases his goods from Dowais –a larger town several kilometers away from Tywll. He rarely buys local, but for Owen, he seems to make an exception.

Wrapping the blade against harm, Owen looks at Y/N. “You’ll be fine closing the shop on your own?” he asks, already grabbing his coat.

“Yes, of course. This isn’t my first time closing. Go on – Cadoc is not the type to be kept waiting.”

Owen chuckles beneath his breath. The statement is true – a fact they both know and yet, few would dare say.

“Alright,” he says, firmly grasping the axe. Pausing on the threshold, he glances over his shoulder. “If you leave before I’m back, take those extra nails home to Mervin. Alright?”

Y/N nods, busy scrubbing the soot from the metal. Once he is gone, she continues to clean. The forge stays open past sundown, but customers rarely stop by so late in the day. It is little risk to Owen if Y/N is here alone.

Glancing around, Y/N sets down her cloth and realizes the shadows are longer than she thought. Already, the day grows to a close and soon enough, winter will be upon them. Listlessly, Y/N wonders how many more seasons she will face in this town. Day in and day out, the same trials and tribulations. Why, it is almost enough for –

“Excuse me.”

Startled by the new voice, Y/N whirls and nearly trips over her water.

A stranger stands in the doorway, hat removed from his head. Y/N notices his hands first. They are large yet delicate, clasped around the brim of his hat.

She next notices his face as he steps into the lamplight. The man is beautiful – there are no other words to describe him. With pale skin and midnight-black hair, he might well be a painting. Indeed, Y/N wonders briefly if this is the case.

Then he blinks, shattering the image.

“We’re about to close.” Y/N drops her rag in the bucket. It seems uncomely to hold suds in his presence. “The master smith recently stepped out for a delivery. He will not return for a while.”

“That’s alright,” he says, glancing around. “I’m in no rush.”

Arching a brow, Y/N surveys his face. The man’s accent is not from around here; there is a formal drawl to it, vowels elongated in a way which speaks of nobility. Curiously, Y/N lowers her gaze to his coat. Finely made.

“Do you have a message I can give him?”

The man’s gaze lifts. “Perhaps,” he allows, laying a hand on the counter. “Might I ask who you are?”

“An apprentice.”

His eyes gleam, since this is not what he asked. “How intriguing.”

“Because I’m a woman?

His brows shoot upwards, withdrawing his hand. “Of course not.”

“Then, why?” she asks pleasantly.

“Actually, I did not come to inquire after your services.” He abruptly changes the subject. “But to offer you mine.”

“And what services are those?”

Rather than answer, the man glances over his shoulder. Through the windows of the forge, Owen’s main door is visible. Most of the glass has been cleared, but evidence of the accident remains.

The stranger’s lip curls. “Odd weather we’re having lately, isn’t it?”

The way he says this makes Y/N’s heart almost stop. It takes her a moment to re-start, a moment to recover and during this time, he looks at her over his shoulder.

“The rain has been unusually strong,” she agrees.

“Indeed.”

The stranger says nothing else and there is no trace of humor to the inky black of his gaze. The rest of his clothing is also well-made, Y/N realizes – again, unusual for Tywll. This coupled with his accent has her hackles raised in alarm. This man is clearly an outsider.

Lifting her chin, Y/N attempts to look down her nose. “Why are you here?” she asks again.

“I’ll confess – I came because I’m curious.”

“About?”

When he leans in, Y/N catches a whiff of a scent not unlike burnt wood. “I arrived in the village early this morning,” he says.

“A lovely time of the day.”

“Incredibly so,” he says, expression inscrutable. “Dawn is the most honest time of day, I have found.”

“That’s an odd way of putting it.”

“Is it? The nighttime can mislead things. Darkness often conceals that which is best left alone.”

“Or,” Y/N offers. “It allows the freedom of no one else seeing.”

The man does not respond, silence growing between them until Y/N realizes she may have said too much. Schooling her face to neutrality, she offers a smile. “As I said. Are you sure there is nothing you wish to purchase?”

“Oh, no. Merely my services. I was traveling this morning and saw the branch in your window – you see, I’m a tradesman of sorts.” He pauses, flashing a smile. “I replace wayward things.”

“Replace?” Y/N’s brow furrows, glancing outside. “Like the window?”

“Amongst other things,” the strange man allows. “Odd, though, for the branch to have fallen that way. Based on the tree above, seems like it would have hit the front door.”

Y/N freezes, glancing up and in that moment, realizes her mistake. 

The man’s smile sharpens – a razor in disguise.

Withdrawing, she shakes her head. “The oddest of incidents. Your concern is noted and appreciated, of course.” Heart racing, she turns to regather her things. “I’m afraid there are others in town who can help, though.”

He chuckles. “None like me, I can assure you.”

“Be that as it may, we have no need of your… services.”

“Of course,” he says, smile widening. “I must respect your wishes on the matter.”

Bowing low, he replaces the hat on his head. Y/N is somewhat surprised to find him giving in so easily. From what she knows of traveling merchants, they rarely take no for an answer. As he begins to leave the shop, the man pauses on the threshold and examines an object. Seeing what he looks at, Y/N stops with one hand in the rags.

“This…” He tilts his head to one side. “Is lovely, whatever it is.”

Y/N tries not to scowl.

She does not think he means this as an insult, but the man’s tone and mannerisms are so strange, she cannot help but react. The object in question is one she made late at night in the forge. It began as a lone ball of metal, but under Y/N’s careful manipulation became molten tendrils of fire which seem to dance in the lamplight.

It is useless, per Owen’s criticism, but still – he did not throw it out.

The stranger considers it a moment, then turns back to Y/N. “Did you make this?”

Y/N straightens. “Yes.”

He returns to the object, surprised. “It is quite good.”

“Truly?” Y/N attempts not to look interested but cannot deny that she is. She finds herself wanting to know more about what this mysterious stranger thinks. The thought catches her off guard.

Hiding a smile, he turns in her direction. “It is,” he insists, offering her his hand. “It was lovely to meet you, apprentice blacksmith of Tywll.”

“Y/N,” she says, holding out her hand in turn.

The moment their fingers touch, a fire blazes through her.

Immediately, Y/N releases him, as if burned. It is too late. She stares open-mouthed at her palm, unable to see any visible damage. Yet her skin feels oddly scalded, her bones ringing with strangeness only magic can forge.

Terrified, she glances up – and finds him staring back.

Darkness swirls in the bottomless depths of his gaze. “Who are you?” he growls, taking a hasty step forward.

“Is there something I can help with?”

Owen appears on the threshold.

The stranger halts, emotions clearly at war on his face. Slowly, logic seems to win out, and he reluctantly turns. Owen continues to stare, clearly unimpressed by his manner of speaking. Y/N assumes he did not hear much, but the little he did could not have been good.

“I apologize.” Genteelly, the stranger bows. “I was merely offering my services to your apprentice, should you need to replace your window. Terrible storm last night.”

Owen does not look away. “I prefer my customers wait outside until I arrive.”

“Of course. My apologies, for any offense.”

“None taken.” Owen watches him go. “You are a tradesman, then?”

The man comes to a stop at the door. “Of a sort.”

“Quite a good one, I’d imagine to be able to afford clothes like those.”

“I do well enough.”

“I see.” Owen still does not move. “Well, then. I would hate to keep you from it.”

The man pauses before nodding, reaching into his coat. “Here,” he says, turning to hand Owen a card. “I will be in town a few days longer. Should you have need, you’ll know who to ask for.”

Accepting this, Owen places it beside him on the counter. “Thank you.”

The man nods again before leaving. He hovers on the threshold, half in and out of the shadows before he enters the night. Owen watches him disappear, waiting until he is gone before turning around. Y/N does this as well, still clutching her hands as if burned.

Owen looks sharply at her. “Did he say anything to you?”

“What? No, nothing.”

“Then – touch?” Owen asks, and Y/N realizes he saw the man take his step forward. “Did he touch you?”

“N-no,” she stammers quickly, uncertain why she defends him. “Nothing of the sort.”

Owen surveys her a moment, then nods and walks past. “No good travelers,” he mutters, shutting the door – he is not looking at Y/N and does not see how the name sends a chill down her spine. “Always thinking they own the towns they stay in, huh?”

Ignoring the calling card on the table, Owen strides towards the furnace. Y/N watches him stoke the flames, oddly embarrassed by the whole interaction. It is not as though the stranger did anything untoward. He was odd, yes, but that hardly constitutes condemnation.

Besides, there is the small manner of his skin, like flames when they touched.

This is not something she can say to Owen, though and so, Y/N shakes her head. “Nothing for you to be angry about, I’m certain.”

Owen pauses, shoulders slowly relaxing. “Alright,” he sighs. Hovering a moment, he turns to meet her gaze. “Why don’t I finish the rest? You can head to the inn, come back in the morning.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, yes.” Owen waves a hand. “Go and help Mervin and Rian. Nice night like this, I’m sure the tavern is bustling. I’ll be fine.”

Y/N hesitates, before nodding and undoing the strings of her apron. The garment is covered in soot, but this cannot be helped in the forge. Y/N does her best to wash it with water before hanging to dry in the pantry.

As she exits the forge, she spots the calling card on the table.

Glancing upwards, she sees Owen’s back is now turned. Before she can think, she plucks the card from the table and slides this into her pocket.

Immediately, Y/N pushes open the door and enters the night. The temperature drops several degrees and she stops, wiping sweat from her forehead. Realizing the stranger saw her in such a condition, Y/N frowns as she sets off down the road.

Humming as she walks, Y/N pointedly ignores the events of today. A feat which proves to be impossible when she reaches the inn, coming to a stop in the coolness of its shadows. Fighting a battle within, Y/N slowly reaches into her cloak to pull out the card.

The card is plain – white, with silver filigree letters. The calligraphy is almost too delicate to be real, thin swirls of writing which transcribe only a name.

Min Yoongi.

Y/N flips the card over, expecting to see more, but it is empty. Frowning, she slips the card again in her pocket and resumes her path to the inn. Try as she might, Y/N cannot shake the man’s face from her mind.

The blood in her veins heats, nearly combustive at the thought.

Y/N enters through the back door to change into her clothing. Work in the tavern requires a dress, not pants and her hair up on her head. The new apron is stained with spilled food, not soot but the effect is largely the same.

Hurrying into the kitchen, Y/N grabs a tray by the door. “Where do those plates go to?” she asks Rumilda, their cook.

Rumilda is not of Tywll either, but has worked for the Talog’s since before Y/N was born. Even so, she is still considered an outsider as well. 

“Table under the window,” she instructs with a wave. “The traveling couple with the newborn.”

Nodding, Y/N pushes open the door with her hip. As she enters the front room, she winces at the noise. Owen was correct – the inn is, indeed, busy tonight. Edging around a table of men playing cards, Y/N reaches the window and sets her plates down.

“Here you go,” she says, smiling brightly. The couple voices their thanks, the father gently bouncing a child on his knee. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, no,” says the woman, waving her off. “Thank you.”

Y/N nods, turning around with her tray to exit the room. Rian is at the bar, a large oaken structure which has stood the test of time. Rian always is the one pouring the drinks – she is best suited as gatekeeper, determining when men should be cut off.  Mervin always stands at the front door. He greets guests when they arrive, tallying their bills and determining the price.

On a night as full as this one, Y/N imagines the rooms to be costly. Pushing her way through the crowd, Y/N returns to the kitchen and sets down her tray.

“Lord, the inn is busy,” she remarks, already grabbing a plate. “Lots of strangers, too.”

Rumilda nods, ladling stew into a bowl. “Quite a few coming through town on their way to the autumnal festival in Dowais. Rian mentioned five alone this morning, though she expects there to be more.”

Nodding, Y/N picks back up the tray. “Where is this one going?”

“Table to the right of the fireplace,” Rumilda says. “One of the travelers from this morning, just off the road. Well-off, too, so take care not to spill.”

“Alright.” Y/N is mid-way to the door before her feet falter. “A solo traveler you said?” Wary, she glances over her shoulder. “You’re certain?”

Rumilda continues to stir. “Yes, yes, of course. Mervin gave him the best rooms in the inn. Why – Y/N?” Looking up, she squints through the steam. “You seem as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Dazedly, Y/N pulls herself from her thoughts. “It’s nothing,” she says, continuing on. “Nothing at all. The table by the fireplace?”

“Yes, that’s the one. Hurry, now – someone that wealthy won’t be kept waiting long.”

Nodding again, Y/N pushes open the door. It swings shut, the noise of the tavern enveloping her smoothly. A solo traveler this morning and wearing finely-made clothes – Y/N cannot help but think of Min Yoongi.

He did say he would be staying in town, and theirs is the only inn in Tywll.

Pushing her way through the crowd, Y/N tries to ignore the pounding beat of her heart. The man asked too many questions about her. Good questions, intelligent questions – ones which gave Y/N pause. Men like that are not to be trusted.

And then, there is the matter of the heat when they touched.

Skirting around the final table, the fireplace comes into view – and Y/N exhales in relief, not recognizing its occupant.

The man is not Yoongi; that much is certain. 

He is taller, with lighter hair and a thoughtful expression. Rumilda was right, though – he is dressed immaculately, clearly in possession of wealth. His cloak is a deep shade of scarlet and he wears gloves on both hands; ones of fine leather Y/N could never wear in the forge.

Y/N stares for a moment before realizing her place and hurrying forward. The man is also quite handsome – this fact cannot be denied.

“Hello,” she greets, setting his stew on the table. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

The man looks up, meeting her gaze.

Y/N blinks, the room slowing around her. His gaze is ice blue, almost impossibly so – it is unnerving, how beautiful his eyes are.

“How kind of you to ask,” he says, smiling easily.

“It’s only my job.” Y/N forces herself to respond. “I work in the tavern.”

“Ah, I see. Then, it appears I am in your debt this evening.”

Ducking her head, Y/N cannot help but be charmed. There is something about him which she finds calming – perhaps the lilt to his voice, or the easy smile to his lips.

“Not at all,” she insists, looking up. “This is my family’s inn. Our job is to make you comfortable. After all, you’ve paid for it.”

The man’s smile widens, leaning back in his seat. “Ah, I see. You make a good point. And what did you say your name was, again?”

“I didn’t.” She pauses. “But it’s Y/N, all the same.”

“Y/N,” he says slowly, rolling the word. His gaze brightens. “A lovely name. Your parents have exquisite taste.”

The man glances up at the bar – to Rian – as if in deference, but Y/N does not correct him. Rian did not name her, neither did Mervin, but that hardly seems prudent to discuss at the moment. The stranger will learn soon enough of her past from the locals, if he decides to stay.

“Thank you.” Y/N manages to keep her voice level. “Now – truly, is there anything else I can bring?”

Smiling back, he lowers both hands to the tablecloth. Most of his clothing is simple, if well-made, except for the bright silver ring on his hand. There is a sigil upon it which Y/N finds oddly familiar. When the man sees her gaze lingering, he pointedly removes his hand from the table.

Y/N’s cheeks heat, gaze lifting to his.

The lines around his mouth seem somehow less genial. “Perhaps more wine? What vintage is known in these parts?”

“None, I’m afraid.” Shaking her head, Y/N tries not to dissect his reaction. Some people are merely private about their belongings, after all. “More ale than wine, unfortunately.”

“I see.” Just as abruptly, pleasantry returns to his face. “In that case, what would you recommend?”

The man’s hand is still hidden, Y/N cannot help but notice.

She hesitates before speaking, finding the entire interaction to be odd. Perhaps she is being too critical. Perhaps she is reading too much into his mannerisms – likely so. After seeing a grim in the shadows, the incident with the branch and meeting Min Yoongi, Y/N is certainly on edge.

“Oh, many things,” she says lightly. “Rian can make anything you like.”

“Sounds wonderful,” he says, sounding like he means it. “I do apologize – I’m being rude, I haven’t introduced myself yet. I am Alvah. I arrived to Tywll this morning and am thoroughly taken with your town.”

“Are you?” Y/N arches a brow. “You’ll have to explain to me why.”

Alvah pauses, as though uncertain whether she is joking before he bursts into laughter. 

Y/N smiles reassuringly. “About that ale,” she says, already turning away. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Alvah murmurs his thanks as she leaves, but Y/N is already gone, plunging into the crowd. Tywll receives a lot of travelers, especially this close to the autumnal festival. It is not unusual for one or two to stay longer than intended, infatuated by the charms of ‘village life.’

They all leave eventually, though. Only the townspeople ever stay in Tywll.

Stopping at the bar, Y/N lowers her tray to the counter. “One ale,” she says, glancing at Rian. Alvah is hidden within the crowd, so she does not bother to look. “The table over by the fireplace.”

Rian nods, grabbing a glass. “I’ll have the new serving girl take this over to them,” she says, sliding a different cup towards Y/N. “Her other tables are in that area, anyways. I need you to take this wine upstairs. Room seven.”

Y/N blinks, seeing the fine vintage before her. She did lie a bit, telling Alvah they had none of renown. Rian and Mervin save a bottle or two for their most important guests. Rather uneasily, Y/N glances at the stairs.

“Oh,” she says, reluctantly taking the glass. Swiftly, she squashes the disappointment this brings. Alvah was kind, and not bad to talk to. “Room seven, you said?”

“Another solo traveler,” Rian nods. “Although he hasn’t come down yet. Paid a pretty penny though, so make sure he’s comfortable.”

Turning away, Y/N takes the glass from the counter.

Making her way towards the stairs, Y/N nearly spills several times. She is almost glad for the task, as it places her firmly out of reach of loud men and fast hands. The stairwell is a respite, a moment of quiet in the otherwise chaos.

As she climbs, Y/N begins cataloguing all she must do before closing. Help Rumilda scrub the pans, assist the new serving girl in calculating the bills – usher out drunkards before Rian catches wind. When she reaches the door to room seven, Y/N barely hesitates before knocking.

Glancing over her shoulder again, she is almost ready to put the wine down and leave when it suddenly opens.

“Thank you,” says a male voice, “but I – you!”

The inhabitant sounds familiar, if somewhat surprised and Y/N swiftly turns back around. Eyes widening, she nearly drops her wine when she comes face to face with a pair of familiar, dark eyes.

Min Yoongi stares. “What are you doing here?”

“Me?” Y/N blinks, recovering her voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m staying at the inn.” Leaning a shoulder to the wall, Yoongi crosses his arms. “Or, are there other places in town to stay?”

“Well, no.”

“Well, then.”

Y/N glances past him, into his room. A flickering fire casts shadows across the floor, illuminating nothing but a black steamer trunk – and Yoongi, who is looking at Y/N as though she might be a stalker. 

Incensed by this idea, Y/N straightens. “I just… I wasn’t expecting to see you,” she clarifies, glaring back.

Yoongi tilts his head. He is dressed more casually than before, in only a plain tunic and trousers. His boots lie abandoned at the foot of his bed – it is strangely intimate, to see him in socked feet.

Yoongi’s gaze moves to her hand. “Is that wine for me?”

“I’m sorry?” Y/N blinks.

“That wine.” He nods to the cup. “Did you bring that here for me, or are you merely doing a mandatory room check?”

“It’s for you,” Y/N blurts, unable to think of a response.

Shrugging, Yoongi turns around and leaves the door open. He pads to the fireplace, removing the iron to stoke the flames higher. Y/N steps into his room, hovering at the edge and wondering what she should do. The shadows seem to leap out, stretching for her – unnoticeable to the untrained eye, but Yoongi does not seem untrained.

Warily, she takes a step backwards.

Yoongi looks over his shoulder. “Come in,” he says, replacing the fire iron. “Don’t just stand there.”

Teeth gritted, Y/N closes the door. When it was opened, she was too shocked by Yoongi’s appearance to think of questions to ask. Now, though, she can think of many things – and most do not require an audience.

“Why are you the one bringing me this?” Yoongi asks, watching Y/N walk closer. “Not that I mind, of course.”

Y/N glowers, handing over the wine. She is careful not to touch his skin in the process – oddly enough, Yoongi exhibits similar restraint.

“The owner of the inn asked me to.” Y/N hesitates. “They – I work for them in the evenings.”

Yoongi gives the wine a dubious swirl. “You work for them.”

“That’s what I said.”

Lips quirking, he lifts the glass to his mouth. Taking a slow sip, Yoongi does not look away and, apparently finding it to his satisfaction, turns to set this on the windowsill. The moonlight casts a pall over his features, making him seem otherworldly.

Glancing at the door, Y/N wonders how much longer to stay. There are still a million things to do before sleep – but still, she has questions for him. Who he is, why he is here, why his skin seems to burn and affect her so dearly.

Yoongi pointedly clears his throat.

Glancing over, Y/N is startled to find his gaze on hers. Strangely enough, she sees just as many questions within for her, as she has for him.

“I wonder,” he murmurs, taking a step forward. While Yoongi stares, his gaze hardens to something like ice. “Do your employers know you’re a shadow-singer?”

Y/N freezes in place, feet rooted to the floor.

She cannot think beyond the pulse in her veins, the thud of her heart and the singular thought in her mind.

Run.

Run, she does.

Barely does she make it two steps before Yoongi appears, materializing easily between her and the door. His cup of wine is still held in one hand – setting this down, he wipes a hand on his trousers.

“You can try to run,” he starts, but Y/N is no longer listening.

Shuddering to a halt, she whips her head sideways. Rushing towards the window, she stops short when history repeats itself.

“Let me save you some time,” says Yoongi, stepping out of mid-air. “Any time you run; I will appear.”

Seething, Y/N pauses to consider her options. Simply put, there are none. None which involve keeping the world as it is, that is. Already, Yoongi knows what she is. It is only a matter of time before he tells the town, so the only thing left is her final defense.

Magic.

Swallowing hard, Y/N resigns herself to a fate long avoided. If her secret is out, she has nothing to lose.

Inverting her gaze, she reaches within. It has been such a long time since she allowed herself to descend. The sensation is akin to stumbling around in the dark, seeking out something which may or may not appear. Eyes clenched shut, Y/N empties her mind to push onward. There is a door always within, pulsing with power and beckoning her near.

It never leaves, calling out to her even when she refuses.

At last, fingers brushing wood, Y/N slowly unlocks it.

For a moment, nothing happens. For a moment, she stands there, body quivering with anticipation – and then.

Shadows burst forth, searing her veins like a drug.

The sensation is akin to fire, to bliss as greedily, Y/N inhales and savors the power. She shudders, overwhelmed by the magic after so long without. Darkness floods her body, searching for weakness, but finding nothing of note. Yanking this back, Y/N reigns in her thoughts and does not relent. Wrestling for control, she demands the darkness obey her, forces it to twist and bend to her will.

Take me away, she demands, teeth gritted.

When she opens her eyes, Y/N finds herself in the Shadow realm.

Unfortunately, so is Yoongi. Teeth bared like a dog, his eyes seem to glow red in the darkness.

The Shadow realm is not one to linger in. It exists, by definition, in between worlds. To her right, Y/N can see the sharpened edge of Yoongi’s bed, the cold black of his steamer trunk. It all wavers though, as if seen from underwater.

On the other side of her is pure darkness.

Growling, Yoongi clenches his fists and strides forward. “Idiot,” he seethes, gripping her elbow.

Y/N inhales, glancing at where their skin touches. Rather than burn, his touch now seems to enhance. Shadows twist around them both, emboldened by the strength of their combined power. 

Yoongi’s eyes widen, staring at this in shock.

Shaking his head, he grips her even tighter and the real world appears.

Stumbling forward, Y/N feels drained by the abrupt lack of shadows – the abrupt lack of power to feed on. The real world feels too harsh, too cold and she longs for the sweetness of night. 

Hissing under her breath, Y/N whirls to face Yoongi.

He stands across the room, picking a shadow from his tunic to fling into the fireplace. It hits a rogue flame with a sizzling sound. “Idiot,” Min Yoongi mutters, under his breath. Accusatorially, he looks at her over his shoulder. “What were you thinking, entering the Shadow realm like that?”

His gaze is intense, stalking forward but Y/N does not allow herself to be crowed. Holding her ground, she pokes his chest with a finger.

“Me?” she demands, stopping him in his tracks. “What were you thinking, coming after me? What… even are you?”

The question tapers off, losing steam at the end. He knows what she is – Yoongi knows Y/N is a shadow-singer, one of the feared brands of magic which thrives in the night. There are many kinds of magic, but shadow-singers are feared above all. Y/N is a human who can travel the Shadow realm, one who can bend the darkness to her will. That is what she did earlier, saving Gwen from the tree branch. The shadows knocked it aside.

Yes, Y/N is a shadow-singer and Yoongi knows it. And still, she does not know what he is.

Hesitancy enters his gaze. Some of his mask has disappeared from the first time they met. As though scrubbed away in the Shadow realm, he no longer seems entirely human. His eyes still glow faintly red, as they did in the shadows.

“Please, Y/N.” Yoongi twists his lips. “Don’t sell yourself short. You already know what I am. You have since you saw me this morning.”

“This – this morning?” Y/N repeats, mind reeling.

Yoongi came into the forge during the evening. If what he says is true, then it was not the first time they met. But Y/N met no other strangers during the day – unless. Slowly, her eyes widen with realization. 

Yoongi is correct. She knows what he is.

“We met in the square,” Yoongi says smoothly, twisting a hand over his chest. Still looking at her, his eyes seem to gleam. “I am Min Yoongi, of the Cŵn Annwn.”

Y/N could not move if she wanted to.

It is so obvious now, in hindsight. Of course, Yoongi is Cŵn Annwn – no other beings travel the Shadow realm so easily. No one else is granted that type of dark magic. The Cŵn Annwn are the final enforcers of the Otherworld, sent to the Real world to resolve the worst kinds of incidents. Namely, those which involve magic.

Seeing her face, Yoongi takes a step forward. “I see you know what I am.”

“I – I know you.” Y/N takes a hasty step backwards. Her back nearly collides with the wall. “I don’t understand why you’re here, though.”

“Don’t you?” Yoongi tilts his head. “You saved someone who was not supposed to be saved, Y/N. Lord Arawn is without a soul, and you are its cause.”

“Am I…” Y/N stares at him, mouth gone suddenly dry. “What... what does that mean? Am I to die in her place?”

Yoongi pauses a moment longer than necessary. “I don’t know.” 

“How... how can you not know?”

“It has yet to be decided.”

“How convenient.” Y/N hesitates. “When will you know?”

Something like amusement crosses his face. “When Arawn decides, I imagine.”

“And when will that be?”

“Uncertain,” Yoongi says. “Until then, I am to keep an eye on the human – and on you, shadow-singer.”

Y/N flinches back from the name. “Stop calling me that.”

“Why? It’s what you are.”

“Not anymore,” Y/N mutters, turning away. She probably should not turn her back on one of the Cŵn Annwn, but she cannot help it. Continuing to look at Yoongi now that she knows what he is seems impossible.

Every time she looks at him, she remembers the Shadow realm. She remembers Gwen, her power and with that power comes memories best left forgotten. She remembers a small village in the woods, the rending of screams in the night, a singed smell of flesh.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Y/N balls her hands into fists. Counting slowly down from ten, she waits until the screams fade from memory. Hastily, she locks the door in her mind.

When she opens her eyes again, Yoongi stands before her.

“Ah!” she yelps, stumbling backwards. “What are you doing?”

Yoongi recoils as well. “I could ask you the same thing! You’ve been silent for several minutes. Why are you trying to suppress your magic, witch?” he asks, seeming curious.

“Don’t call me a witch!” Y/N scowls, striding past him again.

Yoongi stares after her in disbelief. “Why not?”

“Someone could hear!” Y/N snaps. Coming to a stop at the table, she hesitantly drops a hand to its wood. “Don’t you know what those in the Real world do to magic?”

When she looks over her shoulder, he is looking at her.

“I… do know.”

Yoongi sounds almost remorseful and Y/N hesitates, thrown by his answer. “Then...” She pauses, shaking her head. “You know why I can’t admit what I am.”

“I do – to others. However, why can’t you admit it to yourself?”

Y/N stares back, unsure of the answer. There is something in his expression which gives her pause. Something about the way he said I do know, which makes her think he truly does. There are legends about the Cŵn Annwn which say they once were human – although how a human becomes Cŵn Annwn at all is a story not told.

Quietly, Yoongi clears his throat. “I take it your employers do not know what you are, then?”

“No, they don’t. And they are not only my employers – I’m their ward.”

Yoongi looks up in surprise. “You live here? At the inn?”

“Yes.”

He glances past her to the door. “Interesting.”

“And I would prefer to keep it that way,” Y/N interjects, walking until they stand nose to nose. “Which brings us back to you. What do you want?”

Yoongi arches a brow. “I told you. The Otherworld needs a soul.”

“Yes, but which soul? You’re being horribly cryptic.”

His upper lip twitches, unable to help himself. “As though magic could be any other way.”

Y/N’s teeth grit, about to give him a piece of her mind – when a singular thought occurs to her. “How did you know what I was?”

“A shadow-singer?”

“Yes,” she says. “How did you know I have magic?”

Yoongi looks at her a second, then stretches out a palm. “Touch me.”

Y/N’s lips part in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“Skin to skin contact.” Gently, he wraps his hand around hers. The center of her palm tingles. “I can tell when someone has magic by brushing their skin.”

Y/N’s cheeks heat, choosing to ignore the feel of his skin on hers. “I see,” she says, glancing down to look at their hands intertwined. Abruptly, she pulls hers away. “So, you knew what I was at the shop?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you leave?” 

Yoongi exhales. “I – the master smith returned,” he mutters, brow furrowed – as if he does not understand it himself. “Like you said, humans do not react kindly to magic. The instructions I had were to identify the witch, keep an eye on you both – and await further instruction.”

“But what further instructions?” she asks, aware she is toeing a dangerous line. “Why wouldn’t Arawn simply take Gwen’s soul to restore the balance? For that matter, does Arawn come chasing after every soul who is saved?”

A muscle in Yoongi’s jaw ticks. “It is not my place to ask questions,” he says at last. “I know no more than you do.”

With that, he turns and walks across the room.

“Liar.”

His feet falter, coming to a stop. “What?”

“I said, liar,” Y/N repeats, calmly – too calmly. She knows she should not be saying these things, but she is tired. Tired of lying, tired of hiding and tired of feeling as though she has no control.

“Whose soul are you really here for?” she asks.

Yoongi turns slowly, disbelief in his gaze. “What do you want me to say?” 

There is a growl to his words as he speaks, a trace of Cŵn Annwn within. Before, Y/N had almost forgotten to whom she was speaking.

“Do you want me to say your soul is more valuable to Arawn than hers?” Yoongi asks silkily. “Is that it?”

Y/N’s gaze widens as Yoongi comes closer.

“Do you want me to tell you he often does that?” he asks, gaze flashing with night. “Switches out one soul for another – one he deems more valuable?”

“Valuable?” Y/N’s voice is nearly a whisper. “For... what?”

Darkness crosses his expression. “It does not matter,” Yoongi says stiffly. “You already know too much. We all die eventually, Y/N. Annwn is without a soul now and someone must fill it. The possessiveness of Arawn might seem like a bad thing to humans, but it is necessary for reason to hold.”

“What good is magic if I cannot use it to save anymore?”

“What good, indeed?” Yoongi bites. “When you do not use it anyways?”

Y/N falters, having no response to this. He is right – before today, she had not used her magic in nearly fifteen years.

“That’s what I thought.” Yoongi turns, walking away to stare at the moon. “Perhaps we should leave things here for tonight. I think our intentions are known enough, yes?”

“Intentions?” Y/N nearly laughs. “What – that you’re a hellhound, I’m a shadow-singer and only one of us is in control of their soul?”

Yoongi’s mouth twists, looking up at the moon. “Neither one of us are in control of our souls, Y/N.”

Y/N stares at him for a moment. Whatever Yoongi thinks, he does not elaborate and eventually, she decides he is right. There is nothing more to be said – not tonight, anyways. Not with her soul hanging in the balance and Arawn on the horizon.

Turning on her heel, Y/N walks towards the door. “I’ll be going, then,” she says, one hand on the handle.

Yoongi does not respond.

Giving him one last look, Y/N pushes open the door and enters the hall. She pauses on his threshold, a thought occurring to her which needs to be said. Perhaps it is idiotic, but she needs to try.

“What if I offer myself?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder.

Yoongi stiffens, looking at her. “You would do that?” he asks, his expression unreadable. “You would willingly give up your soul up for a human?”

“Not any human. Gwen.” Her jaw tightens. “Would it work?”

“It would be… unlikely.”

Resigned to the answer, Y/N nods. At least she asked – which is the best she can do. Turning away, she again grips the doorknob.

“Out of curiosity.”

Y/N stops, her exit halted again. “Yes?”

“It has been a long time since I met a shadow-singer.” 

There is a note of longing to his words Y/N does not understand. It also is not a question.

“And?”

“It just is odd,” he exhales. When Y/N turns to look at him, he reaches out for the wine. “Odd, for humans to continually hide the things about themselves which are beautiful.”

For a moment, she stares and does not respond. Yoongi does not look at her though, says nothing more and at last, Y/N retreats to the hall. Shutting the door in between them, she stands for a moment before heading downstairs.

The shadows drift beside her in the darkness, begging to be seen.

Y/N does not look.

She rarely does.

“The faerie was greedy, gluttonous and would not be satisfied with mere gold. No, it wanted the child and so, a message was sent to the castle.”

Blearily, Y/N opens her eyes and squints across the fire. The storyteller sits on the other side, completely oblivious to her sudden appearance. Y/N feels both present and not, hollow and whole. Vaguely, she is aware she is dreaming but it is more than just that – this is also a memory.

Flames leap above the fire, disappearing into darkness with bright sparks of light.

Y/N is seated on a log, feet swinging quietly beneath her, unable to touch the ground. She cannot be older than five. Smoke drifts under her nostrils, notes of caramelized sugar beneath. There are treats to be had here tonight, but not until the story is over.

Nuzzling into her father, Y/N’s eyes flutter shut. It is always here she feels safest – here in this dreamworld, with both parents by her side. This place is not real, though. Were Y/N to travel here, she would find nothing but burnt bones and darkness. The village of Crymych no longer exists.

Once upon a time it did, though.

Once upon a time, Crymych was a haven for magic-users. For witches and warlocks, and all manner of beings who lived at peace with one another. In Crymych, no one worried about fairy tales, or told their children not to believe – everyone knew they were real.

On the other side of her father, Y/N can see the blurred outline of her mother.

On the night of the memory, she stared into the fire, absent-mindedly twisting the shadows with her fingers. Y/N watched this eagerly, hoping one day to have that much control.

Magic was hereditary in all families. Whether this came from the mother or father was a flip of the coin – Y/N’s power came from her mother. Her father was not like the two of them; he was a life-giver, a designated healer in the town. His power was the most mysterious of all, since under the right conditions, he could knit breath and bone back together.

At other times, he could not. This was largely why life-givers were despised by humans. Actually –this was largely why magic-users were despised by humans. Nothing at all was consistent about power.

The humans at their fireside that night did not seem to hate them. They all sat across the circle from Y/N, listening to the storyteller and laughing in all the right places. While Y/N watched, one of them smiled and spoke eagerly to Crymych’s leader, Emrys.

Emrys was a light-bearer – a highly prized power, even in a magical community like theirs. Shadow-singers and light-bearers were amongst the rarest of magic and Crymych was lucky to have both.

While Y/N watched, Emrys accepted a cup of wine from the human. The two smiled and talked, looking nothing at all like the enemies they are supposed to be. This particular band of humans claimed to be different. The called themselves the Travelers and wanted to help witches and warlocks reintegrate with society – or, this is what they said.

The Travelers all dressed in a similar fashion, wearing all-black from head to toe. They even wore gloves on their hands; something Y/N found to be strange. In their community, gloves only got in the way of a hard day’s work.

The Travelers were the first non-magical guests in Crymych in Y/N’s young memory. Usually, humans chose to give them a wide berth. Magic was notoriously fickle – not to mention frustrating.

“It is not their fault,” her father murmured to her mother. “Not really.”

Her mother’s hand curled into a fist, effectively stopping the shadows. “No?” she exhaled, brow furrowed.

Y/N’s father’s lip twitched. “Humans know we can do incredible things,” he said softly, unheard by the others over the fire. “They watch us perform remarkable feats. So, when we can’t always help…” He shrugged, trailing off. “In their grief, humans often lash out.”

“And what of our grief?” Y/N’s mother glared at the Travelers. She was never very good at hiding her facial expressions. “What of our pain?”

“People are afraid of the unknown,” he said quietly. “They do not understand our magic and so, they do not understand us.”

“Fools.”

“Perhaps.” Wrapping an arm around her mother, he squeezed gently. “But so are we.”

Y/N’s mother glanced at him, expression softening. It was clear she did not trust the humans, but she did trust Y/N’s father. Even now, many years later, their relationship has always been a paradigm for Y/N of love.

For the rest of the evening, her mother was silent, although her tight-lipped expression was evidence enough of her displeasure.

Y/N stopped listening to the storyteller at some point, too tired to remain awake. As she dozed against her father, she caught snippets of conversation around the flames. The Travelers mingled easily with the citizens of Crymych, pouring them wine and drinking with abandon. They toasted to their magic, to power and insisted it was something to be celebrated, even revered.

Remarkably, they were not lying – the Travelers did revere magic.

They simply considered humans too debased to use it.

That was the night Y/N awoke to a blood-curdling scream. She was old enough by then to sleep in her own room and she nearly fell on the floor in her haste to wake up. Kneeling on her mattress, she pressed her nose to the window – and jerked back in fear when crimson splattered the glass.

Y/N squinted, not understanding – but then saw the crumpled shape on the ground. 

She saw the unseeing eyes of Emrys staring back at her.

Y/N screamed. 

Hearing the sound, Emrys’ murderer whipped around, silver knife held aloft. Seeing her face, he snarled and raced for the door. Y/N did not stop to think, throwing herself off the bed and sprinting fast down the hall.

The front door rattled as she ran, shoulder slamming into it from the other side. At the end of the hall, Y/N skidded to a stop and threw open her parents’ bedroom door.

Her mother’s head snapped up, eyes red-rimmed as she clutched at her father. He was unconscious, held limp in Y/N’s mother’s arms while she roughly shook his frame.

“Y/N.” Dropping her father, Y/N’s mother stumbled from bed. She glances past Y/N to the hall, hearing the disturbance at the front door. “Get out of here. Now. Hide!”

Her father lay on bed, head lolled to one side. A five-year-old Y/N stared helplessly on, not understanding why he did not move. Then, she realized something important. Her mother had not drunk the wine that night. Her father had. Horrified by this realization, her legs froze in place – and the front door flew open, shattering against the wall.

“Hide!” Y/N’s mother yelled, rushing past.

Shadows swirled at her fingertips, yanked from the ground as her mother met him head-on. The intruder screamed, shadow shoved down his throat. Whirling around, Y/N rushed to her father and tugged on his hand. He did not move, drugged and unconscious.

“Wake up, daddy,” she gasped, vision blurring. Her mother screamed, dark shadows rushing through the entrance to the room. “You have to wake up.”

Y/N’s mother stumbled into the room, clutching her shoulder. Blood dripped through her fingers and, seeing Y/N, her eyes widened. “Hide!” she hissed, gathering a thick ball of shadow. “RUN!”

Shocked into motion, Y/N finally obeyed. While her mother gathered the darkness before her, Y/N darted past and into the hall. Their front door stood open, ajar to the night but as soon as Y/N reached it, she shuddered to a halt.

Her town was lit by fire.

Several homes were already ablaze, doused with kerosene and sent up in flames. They stood as terrible lampposts, lighting the carnage within. Blood pooled on the ground in dark puddles, multiple bodies lying limp and twisted between them. Dark shapes darted from the shadows, cackling with laughter and calling out to each other.

Slowly, Y/N took a step backwards.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the hallway behind her was clear. Her mother’s shadows were no longer there, which could only mean one thing – turning around, Y/N ran back inside.

Her feet pounded floorboards beneath her, hallway growing longer with each step she ran. When she finally reached the bedroom, Y/N realized in horror her father was dead. His throat had been slit ear to ear, blood ruby-red on the sheets. As for her mother, Y/N arrived just in time to see her gutted through with the knife.

Her mother choked, hands twitching around the steel in her gut.

Someone nearby screamed – in a far-off part of her mind, Y/N realized it was her.

Dropping her mother to the floor, the man slowly turned. Blood dripped from his knife to the ground – his black gloves were stained with it, his silver ring tarnished with crimson.

As he took a menacing step forward, Y/N came to her senses.

She ran.

Sprinting down the long hall, the world seemed to blur. Shadows stretched out to her eagerly, wrapping her body and calling her home. Closing her eyes, Y/N begged for safety – and when she opened them, she had entered the Shadow realm.

No one found her there.

Inhaling sharply, Y/N tears herself from the dream to sit upright in bed.

The only sound in the room is her breath, which is deafening. Hands fisted in sheets, Y/N clenches her eyes shut and wills her heartbeat to slow. Chest rising and falling, Y/N reminds herself over and over where she is.

Tywll, not Crymych.

A tavern, not her parents’ home.

Slowly, her eyes flutter open.

Staring at the wall, Y/N’s cannot help but remember. For so long, she has tried to forget. To forget what she was – what she is – and how she became who she is now.

Haltingly, Y/N tugs back her covers to stand from the bed. Padding to her washbasin, she splashes cold water on her face. Staring at herself in the mirror, Y/N grips the bowl.

A stranger stares back at her.

Well – not a stranger, but Yoongi is correct. She is not a shadow-singer. She is not the person her parents raised her to be – but then again, the person her parents raised her to be is someone who cannot exist. The world will not permit her to.

Y/N does not know if anyone else survived Crymych’s massacre. In theory, they might have. Only the adults drank the wine, but Y/N cannot imagine anyone else lived through that carnage. If her mother and Emrys died, two of the strongest in their generation, it is unlikely anyone lived.

It is an accident Y/N is alive at all. She certainly did not intend to travel to the Shadow realm that night. It took her three days to make it back to the Real world and once she did, the Travelers were gone.

Her parents were gone too, but in a different way.

Swallowing, Y/N tears her gaze from the mirror. It has been a long time since she had that nightmare. She cannot help but blame Yoongi for it. If he had not shown up the way he did, asking about her past and forcing her to relive it, she would not have fallen down this hole once again.

And yet – glancing over her shoulder, Y/N ensures she is alone. No one watches her from the shadows, no one waits in the hall.

Closing her eyes, she reaches slowly inside to unlock the door. It does not take as long as before for her power to flow. Exhaling, Y/N sags in relief as her magic floods through her. 

It has been so long, she almost forgot what a blessing it is.

The shadows twist around her ankles, climbing her arms to slip up her neck. Y/N relishes in it, tipping her head back to better enjoy the burn. The darkness has always been a comfort to her – it has always offered her protection, rather than fear.

Exhaling slowly, tears prick her eyes. Y/N wipes these away. It has been so long since she allowed herself to use magic. So long since she allowed herself to be real, to be true and to embrace what she is. The experience hurts.

It also feels right.

Once sated, Y/N releases her hold on the shadows. They do not flee from her this time. Instead, they seem to hover. She looks at them wistfully – until finally, Y/N leaves the door open and returns to bed.

Slipping under her covers, she draws them up to her chin. Her insides are aflame, but no longer does she find the sensation unpleasant.

Uncertain, she turns her head on the pillow. That spark, the feverish sensation – she realizes it was not Yoongi, exactly, but her magic. 

Like calls to like.

Shivering, Y/N sinks lower and pulls the sheet overhead. Curling in on herself, she wonders if he even needs to sleep. She wonders if Yoongi felt anything at all when they touched. Then, Y/N wonders why she bothers thinking of him at all.

Pushing all this away, she allows the warmth of sleep to pull her under.

For the next week, Y/N distances herself from the inn.

It is not so difficult – claiming increased work at the forge, Y/N simply slips out early each morning and returns in the evening. When she does, she washes dishes with Rumilda and stays far from the tavern. In the morning, she helps Rian in the kitchen until it is time to go.

In this way, she avoids Yoongi.

Y/N knows this to be a hopeless endeavor. Yoongi is Cŵn Annwn – it is impossible to hide if he truly wishes to find her. He can enter the Shadow realm, which is something Y/N finds intriguing, despite her feigned disinterest. She has never met anyone else who could. Y/N, herself has only traveled there twice.

Once, on the night of the Travelers and again, the night Yoongi found her.

Since he does not find her, Y/N assumes he has no need. This also interests her, along with the idea that Lord Arawn plays favorites. Not much is known about the dark King of Annwn, aside from his power and aura of mystery. Equally little is known about the Cŵn Annwn and yet, here Y/N is with one sleeping at her doorstep.

Closing the door to the inn, Y/N pulls her cloak close and sets off down the lane. She is later than she meant to be, due to Rumilda taking ill late last night. As Y/N darts around the tavern, her cloak catches on the edge of a barrel.

“Ah!” she yelps, swiftly jerked backwards. Her hand is already reaching for the clasp when a voice interrupts.

“Here, let me help you with that.”

Glancing up, Y/N is stunned to see Alvah before her. She had almost forgotten his existence. His fingers work nimbly at her cloak and, once free, Alvah takes a step back. 

Smiling at her, light brown hair falls into his gaze.

“I – thank you,” Y/N stammers.

“Not a problem,” Alvah says, wrinkles forming at the corner of his eyes.

He really is attractive. Y/N noticed it the other night in the tavern but now, in the clear light of day, the fact is infinitely more apparent. Tugging her cloak around her neck, Y/N nods and sets off down the road.

Alvah falls into step alongside her.

Y/N looks up, surprised.

Seeing her face, Alvah’s lip quirks. “I’m sorry. You’re probably thinking I’m following you. Aren’t you?”

“Well.” She pauses. “Now, I am.”

He laughs easily. “Rest assured I’m not. I merely have business in town.”

“Business?” They continue to walk, turning down the next lane. “Most of our guests move on from Tywll in a few days. Isn’t the autumnal festival next week?”

“Ah,” Alvah says, as though he understands the confusion. “I’m not most guests, though.”

“Apparently not,” Y/N says, upper lip twitching.

They continue to walk on in silence, Alvah’s gloved hands are clasped behind his back. He glances sideways at her. “I’ll confess, I can’t leave until I accomplish something of worth.”

“Something of worth?” Unable to help herself, Y/N teases a little. “Can it be anything, or does it have to be something specific? Does a long walk constitute ‘something of worth?’ Does sowing a field? Planting a harvest?”

Alvah laughs and tips back his head. “I actually had something in mind.”

“Oh? What?”

“The merchant, Cadoc,” Alvah admits, faltering somewhat. “I need him to offer my father a trade deal. If I can convince him of this, I’ll be granted our land as its heir.”

“Oh.” Something akin to disappointment settles within Y/N’s stomach. The son of a landowner is far above her station. “That is something of worth, indeed.”

“I hope so. If I manage this, I hope I can advance in other aspects of my life.”

“In what way?” 

Absently, Y/N tucks a strand of hair behind an ear. Her skirts drag through the mud and she is woefully aware she walks to the forge. Whomever Alvah’s future wife is, Y/N is certain she will not have hands dirty with soot and steel.

“In marriage, for one,” he says quietly.

It is at this very moment Y/N steps in a puddle and nearly face-plants in the mud. Alvah’s hand quickly steadies her, grasping her elbow before she can fall. Glancing upwards, Y/N’s cheeks heat with embarrassment. 

Yanking her arm free of his, she clutches her cloak. “I’m so sorry,” she breathes, looking back at the puddle. “I, um – I just don’t often speak about…”

“Marriage?” Alvah prompts with a smile.

Silently nodding, she turns down the street to the forge.

“Why not?” 

Alvah follows. 

Now, Y/N knows he is following her. There is nothing else this way but the forge and she glances his way, oddly pleased by the realization. “I would think that’s obvious, no?”

“Not to me,” Alvah says pleasantly.

Although it is still early, the town has begun to wake. Several townspeople throw open their shutters, sweeping their stoops in anticipation of a day’s work. Y/N glances their way, feeling the thrum of life in the air – and yet, none glance in her direction.

“I’m not exactly the sweetheart of this village,” she says, under her breath.

“I don’t know that’s a bad thing.”

Despite the thrill his words give her, they turn the next corner and come into view of the forge. 

Alvah continues to walk, glancing her way. “Was that too forward?” he murmurs. “I apologize, if it was.”

“I – no. I only am not sure I agree.”

“No?”

Y/N sighs. “My current status limits my options.”

“Status?”

Coming to a stop at the gate of the forge, she gestures limply at its doors. “There are not many who wish to marry a woman apprentice.”

Alvah’s gaze brightens, realizing what she is saying. “You work... here?”

Y/N nods, lips tight.

“But that’s wonderful. Why, I – oh. What happened?” Alvah frowns, seeing the boarded-up window.

“Oh, nothing much.” Y/N shrugs, pushing open the gate. “There was a storm the other night. A branch fell.”

Alvah frowns, examining closer. “A storm? I – oh, I’m sorry. I’m being nosy, aren’t I?”

Y/N laughs, shaking her head. “Not at all. Most townspeople would’ve already formed their own conclusions.”

“I don’t wish to be seen as most people to you.”

Y/N’s heart flutters, though she does her best to temper the response. It would not do to be attracted to Alvah. As much as he wishes to believe they could work, Y/N knows they would not. He is the wealthy son of a land-owning man and Y/N is, well, Y/N.

“A branch crashed through the window,” she explains, returning to his original question. “Narrowly missed the smith’s daughter, Gwen.”

“You don’t say.” Alvah resumes staring at the window. “What a lucky break it missed her.”

“Yes. Lucky.”

Alvah pauses, then looks at her cryptically. “This daughter – was she injured?”

Y/N is surprised to find him so interested. “I don’t think so,” she admits, startled into the truth.

Alvah’s expression turns sheepish. “I’m afraid I must apologize again. You’ve now seen me for what I truly am.”

“Which is?”

“Insatiably curious,” he laughs, offering a smile. “I ask far too many questions when I’m nervous.”

“Oh?” Y/N glances at the forge. “What would you have to be nervous of?”

Rather than answer this, Alvah gently takes hold of her hand. Y/N looks down in surprise, thrown when he lifts this to his lips. Brushing a kiss to her fingers, he slowly releases his hold.

Y/N stares at him in shock.

“You tell me,” Alvah says, low and direct.

When her lips part, but nothing comes out, he turns back up the road.

Y/N watches him leave, uncertain how she should feel. She rubs the back of her hand with one thumb, attempting to commit the gesture to memory. As nice as his touch was, it was only that. Nice.

It did nothing to spark the life in her veins.

It did nothing to stir the magic in her blood.

Turning around on her heel, Y/N enters the forge.

At the end of her day, Y/N is thoroughly exhausted.

She stands in the middle of the forge, bellows held in one hand while she strokes the flames higher. Owen left a half-hour prior to make another delivery, directing Y/N to finish up today’s metalwork. It was a large step towards her independence, being left alone in the forge.

Feeling prideful of this, Y/N sets the bellows aside and picks up a large piece of metal. She needs to create several more horseshoes, since the recent crowd of travelers has bled their stock dry. Holding the metal over the fire, Y/N slowly melts it in each direction. Glancing briefly over her shoulder, she ensures no one watches and tempers the edges with darkness.

Yoongi chuckles and steps from the shadows. “Does Owen know you do that?” he asks.

Y/N yelps, nearly dropping the horseshoe in the flames.

Yoongi’s smile widens, walking closer. “What are you doing?”

Scowling, Y/N retracts the horseshoe to dunk in the water. “Creating something,” she mutters, staring into the bucket. “Something you wouldn’t know anything about.”

Yoongi comes to a stop at her shoulder, peering over. “Creating something with magic?”

Y/N’s gaze flies upwards. “Will you please be quiet?” she hisses. “Someone could hear.”

“Someone like Gwen?”

Swiftly, Y/N removes the horseshoe and stomps to the shelf. Satisfied by its shape, she places this down and whirls to face Yoongi. “Touch her,” she blurts. “And I’ll have something to say about it.”

“Like what?”

Ignoring his mirth, Y/N strides past him to undo her apron. The leather is heavy, sticking to her chest in a way she pointedly ignores. It is not as though Yoongi would ever look at her like that. However – when she glances his way, she sees Yoongi look hastily up.

Almost guiltily, he avoids her gaze.

Y/N pauses, uncertain what just occurred. Deciding she is imagining things, she resumes hanging her apron. “Leave Gwen out of this, alright?”

Disappearing from where he stands, Yoongi reappears beside her. “You know I can’t promise that,” he says, low. “Just like you can’t promise not to use magic. It’s not what we are.”

Enraged by his casual use of magic, Y/N lifts her chin. “Since you seem so intent upon continuing this conversation,” she hisses. “Let’s do it outside of my workplace.”

Without waiting for his response, she grabs her cloak to push open the door. Exiting the forge, Y/N sends a dark wave of magic behind her to clean its surface. Ignoring Yoongi’s smirk, Y/N strides down the road.

“So.” He catches up to her easily, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Can we continue our conversation now?”

“What conversation?” Y/N pulls her cloak tighter. “You broke into my place of work and now are stalking me home.”

“To the inn,” Yoongi corrects. “Where I also rent a room.”

“And the breaking and entering part?”

“Doors are... confusing for Cŵn Annwn.”

Scowling, Y/N lowers her voice. “Doesn’t excuse your impropriety.”

Yoongi shrugs.

He becomes uncharacteristically silent as they walk through the town. The town’s lamplighters are almost done for the evening, the contained flames of the lamps casting shadows over the ground. Y/N stares at it all, feeling their tug in her soul.

It seems now she has let magic back in, it will not be denied. If the time should ever come when Y/N must part from it a second time, she is not sure she will be able to do so.

Yoongi exhales at her side. “Actually,” he says, sounding hesitant. “I came by to ask you something.”

“Oh? How bold to ask more, when you already barter my soul.”

He scowls, looking her way. “I’m not bartering your soul, Y/N. You tangled with fate by saving that girl. That kind of thing has consequences.”

“What type of consequences?”

Yoongi pauses, only to chuckle. “Oh, no,” he mutters. “Only the dead and dying know that. You know, for a human, you have a worryingly low sense of self-preservation.”

“Perhaps if you were more forthcoming.”

“Oh, yes. Ask the night to tell you its secrets.”

The corner of Y/N’s lips lift despite herself. It is funny, in a way. The questions she asks Yoongi, the frustration she holds for him – they are in many ways similar to the frustration humans have with witches. She cannot understand him and his rules and so, she thinks him against her.

Subtly, she glances sideways.

Yoongi is already looking back.

Hastily, Y/N jerks her head forward. “What did you wish to ask me?”

“Oh. Right.” Yoongi sounds disappointed, which causes Y/N’s heartbeat to race. She tempers it quickly, scolding herself for being so silly. “I wanted to ask if you’ve seen anything unusual.”

“Unusual?” Y/N nearly smiles. “More unusual than a shadow-singer walking with Cŵn Annwn through the town square?”

Yoongi laughs, a deep rumble. “Yes, more unusual than that. I only ask because, well – before my arrival, did you have any difficulty accessing your magic?”

Y/N pauses at the next street corner. The lamplight does not reach this far, giving them space to remain unseen.

“No,” she says, squinting upwards. “Or – I don’t know. I never really tried.”

Yoongi comes to a stop. “Never?”

“It was out of necessity.”

“I know, but…” Yoongi stares at her incredulously. “Damnation, Y/N. How long have you refrained?”

“Fifteen years, give or take.”

“Fifteen… fifteen years?”

“Yes, well.” Y/N exhales and resumes walking. “We all do what we must in order to survive.”

Seeming troubled, Yoongi falls into step alongside her. “The reason I ask, is many of my messengers have been odd since I came here. Reluctant to travel. One even mentioned this area being cursed against magic. Is that so?”

“I don’t really know.”

“He said a great massacre of witches and warlocks took place some fifteen years ago.”

Hearing her history said so casually aloud, Y/N’s feet falter beneath her. She comes to an accidental stop, staring blankly at his back. Vision blurring, her hands ball into fists.

Yoongi continues several paces before realizing she does not follow. “Y/N?” He turns, gaze widening when he sees her expression. “I – oh.”

He seems to do the math in his head. Fifteen years since she last used her magic. Fifteen years since witches and warlocks were murdered. The reality of her situation dawns on him, but before they can speak further, a door bangs open and drunk men tumble out. Yoongi unthinkingly moves closer, glaring at them as they pass. 

Y/N shivers, rubbing her arms to regain control. “It’s fine,” she mutters, shaking it off. “Let’s just go.”

Yoongi looks at her dubiously but nods, following suit.

As they enter the main part of town, the moon breaks through the clouds. Silvery light casts the square in an otherworldly sheen, seeming to exist half-in and out of reality. Smoke curls over the roofs, grey against the inky black of the night. Tywll is quieter after dark, but only barely.

Across the street, a mother lingers in the door to her household. She chats with the milkman, a toddler clinging to her ankles while another one darts into the street. He does not pay attention, swinging around a lamppost and nearly hitting his head on a carriage.

As gently as she can, Y/N uses her shadows to urge the child back to its mother. When she turns around, she sees Yoongi watching.

“What?” she demands, walking faster. He says nothing, merely following suit. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason.” Yoongi seems genuinely puzzled. “I just don’t understand you, that’s all.”

“Me?”

“You hid your magic for fifteen years.” Lowering his voice, Yoongi glances around. Apparently, her apprehension is catching. “You say it was out of necessity, because these people would have killed you otherwise. And yet – whenever you do use magic, it’s to their benefit. You saved Gwen from harm. You pushed that toddler to safety.”

Y/N’s cheeks heat. “And?”

“And,” Yoongi shrugs. “It’s odd, that’s all.”

“What is?”

“That you would choose to help those who would kill you without hesitation.”

Her eyes widen, feet faltering, but she keeps walking down the road.

Seeing her reaction, Yoongi tilts his head. “What is it?” he asks. “Was it something I said?”

“You just…” Y/N’s brow furrows. “Treat life so cavalierly. That’s all.”

Yoongi seems mildly offended. “I assure you, I do not.”

“But you do.” Y/N finally comes to a stop. “You’re an enforcer. You only deal with the dead, with souls who have already been weighed and found wanting. Souls without an option for redemption. I live here, though.”

“And where is here?” 

“I live amongst the living,” she says. “In my eyes, there is always room for redemption.”

Yoongi’s gaze flickers with something undefined. “There are some who would call you naïve.” 

“I imagine so,” Y/N says, shrugging to walk past. “I’ve never much cared what people thought about me, though.”

After a moment, Yoongi gives in and follows. As they wind their way through the town, the lamps become more and more sparse. The pools of light lessen between them. Rather than be unnerved by this fact, Y/N welcomes it, embracing the night.

When they finally reach the inn, Yoongi stops.

“Well.” Y/N glances sideways, tugging again on her cloak. “Will you be in Tywll awhile longer?”

Yoongi cranes his neck up to examine the roof. “I imagine so.”

“I see. Are you coming in?”

Yoongi looks at her. “In a bit. I need to meet a messenger outside of town.”

His lips part, a question within but before he can ask it, Y/N places a hand on the doorknob. “Well, goodnight,” she says, pushing inside – until her hand is caught in his.

Startled, she looks down.

Yoongi’s hand has slipped easily through her fingers. He holds her gently, steadily, as though she is something to be treasured. When she looks up, she finds his gaze darker than night.

“I don’t wish to harm you,” he says, low and sincere.

This is what Y/N wanted from Alvah’s touch. This heat racing through her veins, this unbearable lightness of her heart – this is what she wanted from Alvah but instead, feels with Yoongi.

Swiftly, she tugs her hand from his grasp. Y/N cannot afford to forget their situation, not for a moment. Yoongi is here for her soul and at any point in time, may be forced to take her to Annwn.

Steeling her spine, Y/N pushes open the door. “Then don’t,” she says, walking inside.

The door swings shut behind her, leaving Yoongi out in the cold.

Y/N leaves early the next morning.

Because of this, Alvah is not waiting to greet her. She did not expect him to be – based on their previous conversation, Y/N holds little hope for a relationship between them. Alvah was nice to talk to, but there is not much more she can ask.

Unlike Yoongi – Y/N’s teeth grit – who somehow manages to get under her skin every time.

Walking fast down the lane, her cloak brushes the ground. The moon has sunk below the horizon, which means the rising of dawn cannot be far off. Rubbing her arms, Y/N fights to keep herself warm.

At the next bend in the road, her feet falter beneath her. 

Something is wrong.

The door to Owen’s home is ajar, left standing open to his front yard. Slowly, Y/N resumes walking and glances side to side. No one else on this street is awake yet, so no one else has noticed the disturbance.

As Y/N draws near, she becomes certain in her assessment. The front gate is unlocked, as though forgotten, or disregarded. Gently, Y/N pushes this open.

“Hello?” she calls, peering into the mist.

No one answers and Y/N is just considering leaving when Owen emerges from around the house. His appearance is off – apron half-tied and hair all askew. He looks past Y/N for a moment, before zeroing in on her face.

“Y/N.” Jerking to life, he rushes across the yard.

“Own?” Y/N frowns and pushes open the gate. “What’s wrong?”

“I – Gwen,” he pants, coming to a stop. “I can’t find Gwen.”

“What do you mean?” Y/N glances around, as though Gwen might pop up any moment. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know,” says Owen, frantically wringing his hands. “I can’t find her anywhere. She’s not in her bed, nor the kitchen, nor the forge. I – I looked everywhere I can think of, Y/N.”

“Alright.” Y/N steps forward. “Alright, we’ll find her. Perhaps she went out this morning? Did you need bread, or water?”

Owen simply looks at her, dazed. “No, no. Gwen never leaves before I start work.”

Y/N does not know how to respond. The best-case scenario is Gwen did leave on her own – otherwise, the possibilities take a darker turn. “Let me help you look,” she insists. “Maybe you missed her.”

Slowly, Owen nods and follows meekly behind when Y/N enters the yard.

The two search the house from top to bottom, the yard from back to front, but find nothing. Owen is correct – Gwen is gone and what is worse; her bed remains unmade. It does not seem she slept here last night. This has Owen beside himself, not understanding how he misplaced her.

Y/N assures him this is not his fault – perhaps Gwen left to meet friends. It would not be kind of Gwen to do so, to make her father worry like this. Indeed, it would not be like Gwen at all, but at least in this scenario, she would be safe.

Returning to the front yard, Y/N glances up at the house. “There weren’t signs of a break-in.” 

Owen nods slowly. “A good thing.”

In a way. It means Gwen knew the intruder – it does not mean she is safe. 

“We’ll find her,” Y/N exhales. “Maybe she went to the next village. Or, a friend’s house? Is there any place she might have stayed the night?”

Owen’s gaze sharpens. The implication in her question is clear – Gwen is young, beautiful and has many admirers. She might have run away on purpose.

“Possibly,” Owen says. His shoulders sag. “There was someone she was interested in lately, I know. Very recent. Gwen is a good girl, she really is, but… well, she can be romantic.”

For a girl of their age to be called romantic is hardly a compliment. Often, it means they lose their head when in love.

“Well, then.” Y/N sighs. “Perhaps we keep this quiet as long as we can.”

Owen hesitates because, on the one hand, if Gwen is in danger people should know right away. On the other hand – if she did run off with a man, it would cause irreparable damage to her reputation.

“We’ll give her until the end of the day,” Owen determines, reaching behind him to re-tie his apron. “If she is not home by then…”

Y/N nods, understanding the implication. If Gwen is not home by nightfall, the consequences cannot be stopped.

The day drags on longer than usual. Although much work is done in the forge, it seems to take twice as long. Owen keeps glancing out the window, as though he expects Gwen to return home any minute. 

As the day wears on, the sun rises and falls, she does not appear.

Finally, Owen shoves his tongs in the water. “I’m heading into town,” he announces, undoing his apron.

Y/N looks up, wiping her brow. “You’re what?”

“Going into town,” Owen repeats, hanging his garment up on a hook. “I’ll see the sheriff and tell him what’s happened. Either Gwen is in danger, or she has run away. Either way.” He sets his jaw. “I’m bringing her home.”

“Are you certain?” Y/N does not wish to dissuade Owen, but she does feel a certain duty to point out the risk. “If she’s run off, perhaps…”

Owen stares out the window. A shadow crosses his expression, considering the unthinkable. 

“And if she hasn’t?”

Were it anyone else, Y/N would consider running off the more likely option. Tywll is so small, it is rare someone steals a loaf of bread, let alone a woman. However, Gwen is not just anyone. She loves Owen dearer than anything else in this world – and Y/N knows she would not leave without saying goodbye. There is something very wrong with this picture.

Slowly, she nods.

Owen takes a few minutes longer before slipping out the door. Y/N begins cleaning the forge, but her head is not in the process. She is too distracted by thoughts of Gwen – where she might be, who she is with and what Owen will do, if she never comes home. 

When she leaves for the night, Owen still has not returned.

Gwen does not come home that night either, nor the one following.

Rumors spread like wildfire through the village – malicious ones, dismissive ones. Ones which have Y/N waking from nightmares again, but this time they are not her own. At some point, Rian bans talk of Gwen in the tavern, but this does not prevent them from discussing in hushed tones.

Y/N overhears as she waits on the tables, replacing their ale and trying hard not to listen. At first, the town suspects Alvah, then Yoongi. They quickly move on when neither one leaves, nor their rooms contain Gwen.

It would not make sense to stick around after committing a crime.

And so, the town turns to other culprits. There have been many travelers in Tywll, traveling through for Dowais’ autumnal festival – it is hard to remember all, but the town tries. Y/N stops listening after a while, only caring about Owen and the safety of Gwen.

At the end of the second day with no sign of Gwen, Y/N begins to grow restless. Yoongi has not been seen much since Gwen’s disappearance. To be fair, Y/N has not seen him at all since they walked home from the forge, but his absence the past few days has been noticeable. As though he does not wish to speak and is avoiding her questions.

It would only be natural for her to suspect Yoongi and indeed, Y/N does for a time. Looking at things objectively, Yoongi is the obvious culprit. He was sent to watch over their souls and he warned Y/N that at any moment, he could drag them away.

And yet – if this is so, and Yoongi has taken Gwen’s soul, why is he still here?

For he is here, even if he is often absent. His steamer trunk is still in his room – Y/N checked this once, against her better judgement – and she has even seen him disappear out the front door. Yoongi is still IN Tywll, which makes Y/N wonder what he knows. 

She decides to find out the very next night. Standing at the foot of the staircase, Y/N waits until Rian looks away before slipping upstairs.

The noise of the tavern muffles on the second floor. Y/N walks down the hall, taking purposeful care not to make too much sound. Room seven is at the end, its number in gold peeling letters upon the front door. When no one answers, Y/N tentatively pushes this open.

Yoongi is not here.

A candle sits on the front table, gathering dust. This does not surprise Y/N – if Yoongi is anything like her, he probably prefers the dark. Stepping further inside, she pulls the door shut behind her.

The trunk lies at the foot of his bed, a dark jumble of clothing within. This sight nearly makes her smile, since it seems so horribly human. The Cŵn Annwn should have clothing of shadow, or some otherworldly substance which does not exist in this world.

Speaking of which – shadows curl at Y/N’s ankles as she walks. This seems to happen more and more lately. Darkness spreads wherever she touches and each place she does, Y/N gleans a sense of the object.

Yoongi has not been here for hours.

Paused at the foot of his bed, Y/N looks around. Gwen is not here, that much is obvious – from what Y/N can tell, she never was. This means Yoongi must be equally perturbed Gwen has disappeared. He was supposed to be keeping an eye on her, after all.

Darkness pulses in the corners, beckoning her near. Y/N stiffens, realizing where Yoongi must be. If he is not here in Tywll, if she can find no trace of him in this world – he must be in another.

As soon as Y/N thinks this, the world wavers around her. Y/N forces this back and tries not to travel, but then wonders why. Yoongi told her not to enter the Shadow realm but then, he is not here.

Yoongi does not tell her what to do.

Inhaling gently, Y/N closes her eyes.

This time, she feels the world shift and when she opens her eyes, she is expecting the nightmarish landscape.

Still, the Shadow realm seems different today. Its edges are blackened, crumbled apart at the seams. Somewhere in the distance, Y/N hears a scream. Whirling, she faces the same way she came but sees nothing. The Real world wavers just beyond reach and all that exists here is shadow.

“Hello?” Y/N calls.

Her voice does not seem to echo. This makes sense – there is nothing here to produce the vibrations.

Slowly walking forward, Y/N peers into darkness. Her magic exists here, but less. Or – perhaps it is more. Her magic is stronger, but this place is made out of shadows. Being surrounded by so much makes her somehow feel small.

When Y/N takes another step forward, a shape stirs in the darkness.

“Hello?” she says, coming to a stop. “Who’s there?”

The shape stirs once more, beginning to solidify into something huge, something massive. Y/N’s eyes widen, head tipping back to see the end of it. She trembles, about to scream when –

Yoongi appears, dropping from the dark sky before her.

He snarls, gaze red and teeth bared – canines as sharp as hellfire itself. Yoongi does not glance at Y/N, only having eyes for the monster before them. He growls a second time in warning, one hand splayed to the ground.

The thing rears back, twitching grotesquely before it freezes in recognition. Yoongi stares at it silently, daring it to strike and slowly, the thing reneges and melts into twilight.

Yoongi remains frozen until he is sure it has gone.

His head snaps sideways to Y/N. “What were you thinking?” he growls, pushing himself up from the ground.

As he strides forward, he adopts a more human appearance. The red of his eyes dims, canines shortening but there is still something wolfish to his gaze.

Y/N stares over his shoulder, searching wildly for the thing in the shadows. “I – what was that?” she gasps.

Yoongi comes to a stop. “There are more things which travel the Shadow realm than just you and I, Y/N,” he says grimly.

“You!” she blurts, remembering why she came. “I was looking for you, Min Yoongi. We need to talk about Gwen.”

“Not here,” Yoongi mutters, gripping her wrist.

Before Y/N can protest, they melt away and reappear in his room.

Flinging her hand away, Yoongi strides across his floor. He comes to a stop at his bedside, grabbing a decanter and removing its top. Tipping the bottle sideways, amber liquid pours out.

As the daughter of an innkeeper, Y/N recognizes the sharp tang of alcohol. “What are you doing?” she asks, nose wrinkled.

“I’m drinking,” Yoongi says calmly, replacing the stopper. Turning around, he drinks the glass in one gulp. “I occasionally drink when others test my patience.”

“Your patience?”

“Yes, my patience,” he snaps. “You may be able to enter the Shadow realm, Y/N, but you are woefully unprepared for what you will find there.”

“Why? Because I’m human?”

“I – no.” Yoongi seems bewildered. “Because you haven’t used your magic in fifteen years, Y/N! You’re a child, learning to walk. If that Gwyllion had managed to touch you…” He pauses, refilling the glass without touching the bottle. “Your soul would’ve separated from your body and you would’ve wandered the Shadow realm for eternity. Is that what you wanted?”

A chill travels Y/N’s spine. A Gwyllion. 

She has heard stories about the famed demons of twilight ever since she was little. Gwyllions lurk in the shadows, dwell in the places between realms and rip souls from their bodies. She never once imagined one could hurt her, though – her, a shadow-singer.

Shaking his head, Yoongi surveys her reaction.

“No,” Y/N blurts, trying to remain in control. “That’s not what I wanted.”

He glares at her again before tipping his second drink back.

“I…” Y/N’s brow furrows. “If you can re-fill that with magic, why bother by hand?”

“Why, indeed?” Yoongi mutters. “Maybe because I – unlike you – don’t draw attention to myself in idiotic ways. I finish the tasks I am assigned and when I seek information from others, I don’t take unnecessary risks!”

Y/N pauses, zeroing in on the last part of his sentence. “What information are you seeking?”

Yoongi takes a step closer. Smoothly, he waves a hand to make the glass disappear. “Gwen,” he mutters. “Your friend. The soul I was assigned to watch has disappeared.”

“Yes, I know. That’s why I’m here.”

Yoongi pauses for a moment. “You think I took her.”

“No.”

He blinks, surprised. “No?”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head. “If you had taken her, you would’ve already left. Since you’re still here, I can only assume it was someone else.”

Yoongi stares at her at moment and Y/N wonders if this is the first time someone did not assume the worst of him. 

“Well, you’re correct.” Turning around on his heel, Yoongi walks towards his trunk. “I didn’t take her. That’s why I was in the Shadow realm at all – I was visiting another of the Cŵn Annwn to request information.”

“Did they have any?”

“No,” Yoongi mutters. “She’s gone.”

“I know that. Honestly, Yoongi, what have you even been doing these past –”

With a snarl, Yoongi disappears to reappear before her.

Stumbling backwards a bit, Y/N recovers quickly to glare. “One of these days, that shock factor is going to wear off,” she snaps.

“You don’t understand,” Yoongi insists. “When I say gone, I mean gone. I can’t find Gwen in the Real world. Nor in the Shadow realm. She’s not in the Otherworld. Gwen is gone.”

As Y/N freezes, comprehension dawning, Yoongi deflates.

“There’s something else going on here,” he says finally. “Some kind of magic I’m not taking into consideration. It doesn’t help most of my informants refuse to meet me in Tywll because of the Travelers.”

Y/N responds to this, automatic. “The Travelers haven’t been in these parts for years.”

“No, Y/N.” He looks at her gently. “They were quiet for a while. Recently though, they have been killing witches and warlocks up and down the north coast.”

Suddenly speechless, Y/N stares at him in horror.

“The last they were sighted was near here,” he adds, quiet. “If it helps, it is not as bad as the last time. Most speculate it’s only a few humans, not as many as before.”

Y/N cannot breathe. All this time, she should she was safe. She thought she could just wait out the storm and then, everything would be fine. It would seem the Travelers will not die, though and fleetingly, Y/N wonders if she will ever truly live.

Swallowing, Y/N moves towards the door. “Fine.”

“Y/N,” Yoongi exhales, clearly not believing her. 

She turns back around. “What does this have to do with Gwen?”

“I don’t know. I wish I did.”

He seems to be at a loss. The trunk behind him is still open, as though it might suddenly contain answers. Y/N stares at this and wonders how Yoongi came to be Cŵn Annwn. There are times when he seems almost human and then other time, woefully not.

Like the Yoongi she saw in the Shadow realm, eyes red and snarling with warning.

“Take me with,” she says suddenly.

Yoongi blinks, startled. “I – what?”

“When you go to find more information.” Y/N looks up, taking a step closer. “The next time you go to the Shadow realm, take me with.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Are you serious?” Yoongi looks at her, incredulous. “After everything I just said? You’re a liability, Y/N.”

“A liability you’re in charge of,” she reminds him. “You’re in charge of my soul, too, Yoongi. How would it look if I disappeared, too?”

Jaw snapping shut, Yoongi glowers at her. 

Sensing she has hit a nerve, Y/N continues. “Besides,” she says, pressing on. “I can help. I know this town, I know its people. I can help you. Just – let me. Please,” she adds, voice breaking on the word. “Gwen was my friend. I need… I have to do something.”

Yoongi stares at her for a moment, uncertain. Finally, he exhales and turns. “Alright. When I have another lead, I’ll come get you. Satisfied?”

“No.” Y/N watches him walk towards the window. “I want to go now.”

“Too bad.”

Y/N nearly smiles, but catches herself. There is no condemnation to his tone and Y/N knows he does not mean to be rude. He is only stating the facts – straightening her spine, Y/N wonders when she began reading Yoongi so well.

She wonders when she began trusting him.

Because she does – or, she trusts him more than most in her life. With this realization comes a modicum of guilt because Y/N has now gotten what she came for. She has more information, along with a promise and so, she should leave.

Before anything else can be given. 

“Thank you,” she says, reaching out for the knob.

Hovering there, she considers turning around. The room waits expectantly behind her, as though Yoongi also holds his breath. Steeling her spine, Y/N forces such nonsense aside and steps into the hall.

As the door falls shut behind her, Y/N hears him exhale. The sound is ragged, meaningful but is cut off before she can dissect any further. Hurrying away, Y/N tries not to replay the sound in her mind.

Y/N is not woken the next morning by the rooster.

Instead, it is Mervin’s hand on her shoulder which rouses her from her sleep. He holds a candle above her, the flickering flame illuminating his frame. Seeing him like this, Y/N blearily focuses on his face above hers.

“What is it?” she murmurs, pushing herself upwards.

Mervin’s expression is grave, his features drawn.

Recognizing this, Y/N tenses. “Mervin?”

“It’s… it’s Gwen.”

He does not need to say more – the rest is clear. If this were good news, he would be smiling. If this were good news, Mervin would not be waking Y/N in the middle of the night.

Fingers trembling, Y/N reaches out for her dressing gown. “What is it?”

Taking a step back, Mervin places the candle beside her. “They found her an hour ago,” he says, hollow. “She was in the river.”

Y/N freezes, fingers clutching the fabric.

Mervin does not stay long, leaving soon after to give her a few moments of peace. Changing in a daze, Y/N walks downstairs and realizes halfway she forgot several steps in her routine. Her hair is rumpled, buttons mismatched, but no one in the tavern seems to notice. Much of the town has gathered before Rian’s fire, huddled in groups and speaking in whispers.

When Y/N enters, she sees Rian by the fire. The bread is forgotten behind her, half-risen on top of the counter. Mervin clasps her hand, talking gently into the side of her hair. The sight is so unusual, Y/N comes to a stop.

Looking up, Rian hastily wipes a tear from her cheek. “Owen came by,” she announces, briskly standing to return to the bread. “The forge will be closed for the foreseeable future, so there’s no work today.”

“Alright,” Y/N exhales, having expected as much.

She stares at the kitchen, amazed to find it much the same as before. It seems almost offensive, to continue feeding the town and housing their guests when Gwen no longer exists. It seems their life should also come to a stop, out of respect for hers.

Mervin spared her the details of Gwen’s death out of consideration but as Y/N walks through the tavern, she catches the highlights, regardless.

Gwen was found in the river. She was drowned, with nary a mark on her body. No signs of struggle. No signs of injury – self-inflicted or otherwise. Gwen was merely found dead, eyes glassy and wide as she stared from the river.

Already, there are whispers of magic.

Throughout the morning, Y/N continues to overhear conversations. It was unnatural, the way she died and so, magic is the obvious conclusion. A tragedy of such magnitude has never occurred here before. People have died, yes but not like Gwen.

It seems impossible for her to be gone and so, people look for impossible answers.

For the rest of the week, Y/N throws herself into work. It helps to keep her moving, to stay distracted from the idea of Gwen being pulled from the river. She does not see Owen, though she would like to. He is firmly embroiled in a nightmare of his own and Y/N knows his life will take time to heal. Instead, she busies herself with the tavern, the inn and does not think about Gwen.

Or, she tries. 

This proves to be impossible when her death is the only subject Tywll is willing to talk about. Waiting tables each evening, Y/N hears gossip despite herself. The men all discuss the physical aspects of the death. How her lips were blue – cold, from the water – how her limbs were stiff, to the point where she could not be moved.

The women discuss what it means for their town. Gwen was a sweet girl; a good girl and it cannot be ignored she went voluntarily. There were no signs of struggle at the house. Whomever killed her remains at large and if they are near, everyone else is in danger.

Y/N continues to glance at the staircase, wondering when Yoongi will find her. Arawn cannot be pleased by Gwen’s early demise. Despite the ominousness of his presence, the Cŵn Annwn are never dispatched to intervene – only to bring humans to Annwn for judgement.

Although it may be foolish, Y/N finds herself believing him. This was not Yoongi’s plan, she can feel certain of that much. Yoongi might be many things, but he is not cruel – and the way they found Gwen was cruel.

Squeezing her body in between tables, Y/N comes to a stop at a large group of townspeople. The most important men are all gathered, Cadoc amongst them, and – to Y/N’s surprise – Alvah beside him. He speaks quietly with the older man and Y/N wonders absent-mindedly if he remains at work on his deal.

It would be highly insensitive if he were. As Y/N removes his glass though, she realizes they do not discuss business at all – but Gwen.

“I’m telling you,” Cadoc says under his breath. “You’re wrong. None of the men in this town would’ve laid a finger on her.”

Stiffening, Y/N places the glass on her tray.

“Of course not,” Alvah says, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to imply they would. Only, it’s difficult to know anyone’s true intentions these days.”

Trevor grunts, from the other side of the table. “Man’s right. Would be madness to rule out the townsfolk, simply because blaming a traveler is easier.”

“Exactly.” Alvah glances over his shoulder. “Although…”

Cadoc squints over his cup. “Although, what? Spit it out, man.”

Shaking his head, Alvah wraps a gloved hand around his glass. The silver ring on his hand gleams in the firelight. “No, never mind. It is a silly thought.”

“What is?”

The rest of the table looks on, waiting for more. Looking up, Alvah realizes they hang on his every word. Y/N lingers too, motions slowed to ensure she hears what he has to say.

Alvah leans in. “Are there any in town who have… magic?”

“What are you implying?” Cadoc says sharply.

“Nothing,” Alvah says – quickly, as though embarrassed. “It is only… I have traveled much, my friends.”

The rest of the men grumble and glance at one another. Y/N finds it strange to see these men trust an outsider so quickly. Alvah has only been in Tywll a matter of weeks and, under any other circumstances, he would be a suspect of the murder.

“And?” Trevor demands, narrowing his gaze.

“And she died with no marks on her body,” finishes Cadoc, glancing at Alvah. “Is that what you’re getting at, boy?”

Alvah nods in relief. “Doesn’t it seem odd?”

“It does.” Cadoc inclines his head, hand tapping the table. “Still. It is rash to assume magic so fast.”

Y/N is surprised to hear Cadoc the voice of reason in this scenario. She has never much liked the merchant – he usually gives Owen impossible deadlines, and then even shorter ones follow when he manages to meet those.

“Obviously,” Alvah nods. “Likely, there is no magic involved. It is only strange, that’s all.”

“It is,” jumps in Trevor, gaze scanning the tavern.

Y/N turns before he can spot her. Reaching the next table, she purposefully remains within earshot. For the most part, they seem to have moved on – but then Alvah leans forward, whispering something to Cadoc. The first part is inaudible but the second, Y/N hears.

“… odd, he hasn’t come downstairs since they found her.”

Y/N’s blood chills when they look towards the stairs.

Glancing upwards, she sees Yoongi descending. He is dressed in his usual black, sparing no glance for the townsfolk before exiting the building. Multiple heads follow him, Y/N notices with alarm.

She is not sure how she missed this before. Of course, now that Gwen has been found, the town searches harder for her killer. It would seem they do not suspect Alvah, but they do Yoongi.

The wrongness of this twists deep in her chest. Yoongi did not kill Gwen; Y/N is certain. She may not know who did, but she is determined to find out. Which means it is even more imperative Yoongi take her to the Shadow realm. They need to find answers, and fast.

Before her expression can give her away, Y/N hurries into the kitchen. She stays there the rest of the night, helping Rumilda and washing the dishes. She cannot face the town now, unable to stomach their deliberate ignorance. It reminds her too much of Crymych, of her people screaming in fright and the horrible certainty those Travelers had when they killed.

Magic is evil and so, must be extinguished.

Scrubbing a pot harder, Y/N’s brows furrow. She cannot help but think yes, sometimes magic is evil – but in many ways, humans can be worse.

The evening is long. People do not want to leave the safety of the inn and its fire. Eventually, Rian is forced to shoo them all out with a rag, telling them to come back when they open tomorrow. Once they are gone, Y/N brings their dishes into the kitchen. She rolls up her sleeves, ready to work but Mervin reaches out to place a hand on her arm.

“No,” he says gently. “I think you’ve done enough for today. Go and sleep.”

Y/N pauses, glancing at Rian but she also says nothing, scrubbing away at the sink. When Mervin arches a brow, Y/N sags in relief.

“Alright,” she says, untying her apron. “But if you need any help, I’m –”

Cutting her off, Mervin shakes his head. “We’ll be fine. Go.”

Despite her protestation, Y/N is glad for their intervention. While work kept her going at first, it now feels a drag on her senses. She misses the forge – the hot yield of iron, the simmering heat of the furnace. She misses creating something. She misses Owen’s quiet humor and eating with Gwen during supper.

It was a haven once to her, but it no longer exists. The weight of this falls upon Y/N’s shoulders with each step she climbs. Once in her room, she slowly undresses. Each layer she sheds gives no relief to her burden. Turning around, Y/N cannot help but think it should have been her.

She is the magical one, she should have stopped this from happening. She should have been smarter, should have seen the signs earlier and done something to stop it. For sure, she should have kept a closer eye on Gwen after the accident.

Their souls were linked, after all.

“Y/N.”

Whirling at the sound of the familiar voice, Y/N clasps a hand to her throat. “Yoongi,” she chastises, willing her heartbeat to slow.

Yoongi winces and steps out of thin air. “I’m sorry,” he says, cloak swishing around him as he walks. “I came as soon as I could.”

“Does this mean you’ve found something?”

“Or nothing,” Yoongi exhales, coming to a stop right before her.

“You found something? Or, nothing?”

“Yes.”

Her frown deepens. “You’re being purposefully confusing.”

“Not purposefully,” says Yoongi. He shoves a hand through his hair. “I have a lead on information. Someone who may know what happened to Gwen – but I’m not sure. Hence the something, or nothing.”

“I see.” Forgetting about undressing, Y/N grabs for her cloak. “When do we leave?”

Yoongi does not respond, so she glances over her shoulder. She finds him staring back at her, gaze oddly pleading.

Slowly, she straightens. “You promised,” she reminds him.

“I know I did.” Yoongi inhales. “I know, but…”

“But what?”

“It’s dangerous. You don’t understand.”

“I do.” Y/N narrows her eyes.

“You don’t,” Yoongi insists, stepping forward. His hands find her wrists, sliding up to her elbows. Wherever his skin touches, a delicious heat thrums through her veins.

“Say that I don’t,” Y/N says, through gritted teeth. It takes everything in her not to be distracted. “I still want to come. You promised to take me.”

His brow lowers in frustration. “Even though your life will be in danger?”

“My life is always in danger,” Y/N says, breaking off. “It always is and I’m used to that fact but Gwen is the one who died. And I…” Exhaling roughly, she swallows.  “It should have been… I could have…”

Understanding dawns on his features. “It wasn’t your fault.”

She looks at him helplessly. “No?” 

“No,” he says sternly.

Y/N looks at him for so long, she nearly forgets what she wants. “All the same,” she says quietly. “I want to come.”

Yoongi returns her gaze, weighing the consequences. Whatever he sees in her expression must convince him because he finally takes a step backwards, holding out a hand.

“Fine,” he exhales, entwining their fingers. “Do not speak once we arrive, though. Let me do the talking.”

Y/N glances at him in surprise. Contrary to most men in this village, Yoongi has always listened to her when she spoke. He has never once tried to quiet her. Knowing he would not offer these boundaries without reason, she slowly nods. 

“Fine.”

Yoongi nods, setting his jaw as they disappear.

They reappear on a damp riverbank.

Letting go of her hand, Yoongi swiftly steps forward. He peers into the shadows as Y/N crosses both arms. Their location is unfamiliar. Y/N does not recognize the place, nor their surroundings. They are not in the Shadow realm – but neither are they anywhere she has been in the real world.

Willowy moss drips overhead, creeping down tree trunks to blanket the ground. Glancing at Yoongi, Y/N wonders why he let go of her hand. Opening her mouth to ask, she remembers his warning and slowly closes her lips.

Yoongi comes to a stop at the edge of the river. “Hoseok?” he calls. There is no answer. “Hoseok, I know you’re here.”

Mist rises gently from the water. This is a wild place, Y/N realizes. She can feel this in her bones and no longer, is she certain they are outside of the Shadow realm. Perhaps this is simply an unexplored part, an unfamiliar part. Rubbing her arms, Y/N glances around and wonders if she has been foolish.

Perhaps she should have asked Yoongi where they were going before leaving – definitely, she should have asked something before blindly following.

A shape solidifies before them, stepping from darkness.

The man wears a dark cloak, like Yoongi, but the similarities end there. He is taller, with a narrower face and distrusting eyes. Inhaling sharply, the man’s nostrils flare and Y/N gets the distinct impression he is scenting them.

Yoongi watches lazily while he does this. “Are you done, Hoseok?”

Hoseok’s head snaps down with a smirk. “Nearly.”

Exhaling deeply, Yoongi folds both arms over his chest. It is the oddest thing – although Hoseok searches the darkness behind him, he does not seem to see Y/N. It is as though she were not present at all, or somehow invisible.

“You stink like a human,” Hoseok says, eyes glowing red. “You’ve spent too much time with the mortals, I fear. Losing your touch?”

Yoongi does not react. “I have a job to do. Unlike you, I follow my orders.”

Hoseok’s gaze tightens. “Were your orders to get that village girl killed?” 

“Someone else interfered,” Yoongi growls.

“Obviously.”

“Enough,” Yoongi drawls, waving a hand. “You know why I’m here. You said you have information. Get on with it.”

Hoseok calmly examines the back of his hand. “I did say that, yes.”

“So, do you?”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “If I tell you, then what will you give me?”

Yoongi’s jaw tightens. “How about I won’t report you to Arawn for interfering with the investigation of another Cŵn Annwn?”

When Hoseok rolls his eyes, Y/N stiffens. Of course – Hoseok is also Cŵn Annwn. Looking closer, Y/N can see the truth of the matter. Hoseok’s red glowing eyes and the way he stepped from the shadows – obviously, he is Cŵn Annwn.

Still, Y/N cannot shake the feeling they are not the same.

“So predictable,” Hoseok mutters, glaring at Yoongi. “Always threatening to run and tell daddy.”

“The information?” Yoongi repeats, sounding bored.

Hoseok sighs. With a wave of his hand, a shadow appears in his palm. While Yoongi and Y/N watch, the darkness swirls and solidifies into a hair clip, lined with silver and jade.

Y/N nearly gasps, recognizing it to be Gwen’s. It is the one Owen bought her for Yuletide last year, the one she rarely removed because of how much she loved it. Remembering her promise to Yoongi in time, Y/N clasps a hand over her mouth. The noise remains stillborn.

Hoseok tilts his head. “Is this answer enough?”

Yoongi takes a casual step forward. “Did you get this from the girl?” he asks, examining the object. “Because I’ll be honest, Hoseok – pulling strange things from shadows has never impressed me.”

“It’s hers,” Hoseok mutters, lips pulling back from his teeth. “I was the one who escorted her to the Otherworld. She drowned, yes?”

“Mm.” Yoongi makes a noncommittal sound. “I’m afraid I need more than that.”

Y/N glances between them, hardly able to believe the callous way they discuss this; as though Gwen were an object, not a person. As though this were mere currency and she, a transaction. In a way, Y/N supposes this to be true.

“Blonde hair, rosy cheeks.” Hoseok arches a brow. “Rather attractive, for a human. Kept speaking of her father. Owen? Said she wanted to see him one last time – a predictable final request.”

“Alright.” Yoongi cuts him off, his distaste for the other Cŵn Annwn obvious. “I believe you. Now – the information?”

“Ah,” Hoseok pauses. “That.”

Twirling a hand, Hoseok conjures a soft plume of shadow. It snakes around his wrist, undulating gently with each twist of his fingers.

“I still don’t know what’s in this for me.” Hoseok smiles. “Until then, I’m afraid I simply don’t recall what Gwen said.”

Yoongi’s lips pull back. “Hoseok, you distasteful piece of –”

“Language,” Hoseok interrupts, holding up a hand. “And don’t try to threaten me with Arawn again. We both know he’s as displeased with you, as with me right now.”

Yoongi glares at him heatedly, clearly displeased by the way things are going. His eyes glow faintly red – not as noticeable as Hoseok’s, but the implication is there.

“I’ll relinquish the next hunt to you,” Yoongi says at last. He spits out the words, laying them at Hoseok’s feet. “The next time Arawn pits us against each other for a soul, I’ll let you win. Does that satisfy your request?”

Hoseok’s eyes gleam with interest. “It does.” He pauses, then laughs and twists the shadows before him. “I plucked this from the girl’s memory before transporting her to the Otherworld. It’s the last thing she saw before she died.”

Y/N watches a gloved fist appear from the shadows. The hand slowly flexes and unflexes, as though clenching life from a body. The hand wears a glove, finely made and on one finger rests a strange, silver ring.

Staring at this, the river seems to fade in her peripheral. 

“Alvah,” Y/N breathes.

Yoongi goes utterly still.

Abruptly, Hoseok straightens and the glove disappears. Glancing over Yoongi’s shoulder, his gaze widens – as though seeing Y/N for the first time. Taking a slow step from the shadows, Hoseok begins to walk forward.

“And who is this?” he asks, focusing in on Y/N.

Y/N swallows, meeting his gaze. Unlike Yoongi, there is no mercy to his expression. She gets the distinct impression this man enjoys what he does, who he is.

Hoseok comes to a stop, letting out a low laugh. “Yoongi,” he purrs, incredulous. “Are you up to your old tricks again? Bending the light. You devilish creature. And yet – also foolish,” he murmurs. “Bringing a human to neutral ground. Free for anyone to take.”

“She’s not yours,” Yoongi snarls, crouching reflexively in between them. “She’s mine.”

Hoseok’s upper lip curls. “Not here, she isn’t.”

Before Y/N can scream, Hoseok lunges in her direction. Yoongi is faster, his hand grabbing Y/N’s wrist to pull into night. Y/N gasps, vision unraveling as the world disappears. The riverbank slackens, Hoseok’s red eyes vanishing as they reappear somewhere else – only to disappear again.

They do this several times, visiting worlds Y/N does not know the names of. She sees an endless sea of metal, the tips of smoke curling from rooftops. This is replaced with a gaping, red maw in the ground. This vanishes too, and she sees Hoseok’s lips pulled back in a snarl. Then he is gone, and they stand on a riverbank, covered with mist – and then they are back in Tywll, stumbling against the inn.

Y/N lets out a noise as her back hits the wall.

Yoongi drops into a defensive crouch. In one hand, he brandishes a strange, silver knife – his other is thrown out, keeping Y/N back.

She blinks, not having seen him when he pulled this. Her back is pressed to the wall, heart beating hard in her chest. Nothing happens for one beat, then two. Hoseok does not appear from the darkness. They stay like that for a moment, breath coming in pants.

Finally, Yoongi straightens. He stares into the darkness, as though waiting for something and then turns around. 

“You,” he blurts, the noise strangled.

Y/N stares back, struggling to comprehend what she just saw.

Yoongi slides his knife into his belt. “Explain,” he breathes, stalking forward. “Explain why you spoke back there, why you revealed yourself! Why you nearly go yourself killed.”

“I– Alvah,” she exhales, barely audible. Out of everything tonight, that vision remains clear. “The ring on the memory’s hand. I... I know it. It belongs to Alvah.”

Yoongi comes a halt inches away from her face. “What do you mean?”

“The ring.” Y/N sags against the inn. Her knees buckle beneath her, barely keeping her upright. “Alvah has one just like it.”

Yoongi is quiet for a moment. “And you’re certain of this?”

“Yes.”

He glances over his shoulder at the town. It lies silent, draped in moonlight while Yoongi considers. “Well, then.” He returns to Y/N. “Alvah is not who he says he is.”

She releases a breath, slowly closing her eyes. “Obviously.”

Y/N expects Yoongi to chuckle, or give some sort of admonishment, so when he does neither, she opens her eyes.

Yoongi stares back at her, inches away from her face.

“Yoongi?” she asks, self-consciously licking her lips.

“I… Y/N.”

He sounds oddly hesitant, standing before her in moonlight. Gaze darkening, his gaze roams the planes of her face. Y/N can feel this heat of this in her body, still pressed to the wall.

“Yoongi,” she breathes in.

Clenching his jaw, Yoongi closes his eyes. “Don’t say that.”

“Your name?”

“Don’t say my name like that,” he repeats, barely audible. Eyes opening, he lifts a hand to slowly place on her cheek. “Don’t say my name like you wish there was more.”

“And what if I do?” she asks, made bold by the dark.

Yoongi’s gaze drops to her lips, unbidden. As though in a trance, he takes a step forward. The hand which was once on her cheek slips to her waist.

“If you do,” he exhales. “I may do something I’ll regret.”

“Do it.”

This is all the coercion he needs to kiss her.

Y/N inhales, breath stolen by the press of his lips against hers. She has been kissed before, but never like this – never with teeth and fire and meaning between them. Her arms twine around his neck before she can stop them, pulling him forward as her spine hits the wall.

Yoongi’s lips bruise her, thrill her and a thousand other contradictions. His tongue is greedy, seeking whatever purchase he can find at the seam of her lips. One hand cups her face, large fingers splayed until he pushes a piece of hair back. Y/N arches against him, assisting in letting him take what he wants. Her hands are equally needy, thoughts a blurred line between logic and sanity.

Suddenly, he gasps and pulls back. 

Yoongi stares at her in shock, reaching tremblingly up for his lips.

Y/N stares in this direction as well.

“I – Y/N,” Yoongi breathes. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

He looks at her helplessly. “You know why.”

She does know, although she is loath to admit it. Y/N has always been a rational being. Logically, she knows this is the last person for her to fall in love with. Yoongi is not even a person anymore – not really. 

And yet – her heart, the traitorous fool, beats solely for him.

Swallowing, Yoongi does not move. “Please,” he breathes, dragging his thumb down her jaw. His hand cups her chin, his body curved over hers. “You are not yet safe. Please, just… wait until I can ensure that you are.”

“Alright,” Y/N says, finally nodding. Softly, she places her hand over his. “But promise to return.”

“I promise.”

Yoongi bends for another kiss but before their lips can touch, vanishes away into darkness.

Y/N exhales, collapsing against the wall. In all honestly, she understands why he did this. Had he kissed her again, she would not have let him leave.

Slowly pushing herself upright, Y/N enters the house and returns to her bedroom. Slipping inside and up the stairs, she undresses swiftly and slides into bed. After a long moment, she gets up and locks both window and door.

Once satisfied, she crawls under the covers and stares at the ceiling. Her mind refuses to turn off, dissecting each hour with unwavering precision. Each breath of wind against the side of the house makes her turn, certain Hoseok has found her. Y/N begins counting down the seconds until Yoongi returns – or, until she falls asleep, whichever comes first.

At some point, she must doze off because the next time she wakes, it is to black cloth over her nose. Inhaling sharply, no oxygen enters and Y/N flails, jerking against her intruder.

“Hello, Y/N.” Alvah’s smile is calm, cutting through the darkness.

That is the last thing Y/N sees before the drug takes hold and she falls back on the bed.

Head lolling onto her chest, Y/N jerks into consciousness.

Her arms are pulled tight behind her back, rope cutting into her wrists and holding her hostage. Firelight flickers in the corner of her vision as blearily, Y/N squints.

She cannot remember where she is, why she is here.

A roaring fire dances before her. Light from the flames leap over her skin, forming cruel patterns. Cringing away from this, Y/N realizes she rests on her knees. Wobbling, she nearly falls forward but the rope binds her in time, stopping the motion. Exhaling lowly, hair falls in her face.

Across the fire, someone chuckles.

Suddenly remembering the events of tonight, Y/N’s head lifts.

Alvah smiles from the other side of the flames, sharpening a knife in one hand. He is dressed entirely in black – tunic, waistcoat, overcoat and trousers. If Y/N did not know any better, she might think him on his way to a party.

Slowly, he stands. The silver of his knife gleams as he walks closer. “You left me no choice, you know,” he says sadly, stopping before her.

Y/N does not respond, twisting again in her ropes. Reaching out for her magic – she inhales. Nothing happens. The shadows refuse to come, her darkness lies vacant and still. The door remains stubbornly locked in her mind. Panic shoots through her, making her tremble. Each pulse of her blood feels sluggish and slow; Y/N can only assume this is because of whatever drug runs in her veins.

Alvah crouches before her. “Kissing a hellhound in the open like that.” Gently, he tuts and presses the knife to her chin. “Why, anyone could have seen you – and I did,” he says, gripping her hair and yanking back her head. “I saw you, Y/N and truly, I must thank you. Without that, I would’ve kept searching in all the wrong places.”

His hands are still gloved, identical to the mirage Hoseok showed. That strange, silver ring still rests on his finger. The sigil seems so familiar to Y/N and yet, she cannot quite place it.

“What?” Alvah laughs. “Are you choosing now to be quiet? A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t stop giving me information. Couldn’t stop telling me about the town. It’s people. All the… strange happenings going on.”

Y/N’s stomach sinks swiftly. Remembering their walk through the town, she now sees it from a different perspective. Alvah was trying to gather information from her. This entire time, he has been searching for magic.

“Ah.” His lips twitch. “You understand.”

“You,” she whispers, the word scratching her throat. “You thought… Gwen had magic.”

“I did,” he agrees. “I was most displeased when I couldn’t convince her to show it to me. Her death was an accident, you know. I merely thought she needed proper… incentive to perform. I was wrong.”

Y/N’s head spins, realizing what he means. 

He tortured her. Alvah tortured Gwen seeking a confession, but never received one – because she was not magical. He tortured Gwen because he thought she was Y/N and eventually, Gwen died.

“You… monster.”

Alvah’s expression darkens. “Not a monster,” he hisses. “I am merely doing what’s necessary to rid this world of monsters. Of those who hoard their power and refuse help to humans.”

Y/N stares at him fearfully. “What are you?”

Mirthlessly, he laughs and releases her hair. Y/N’s head droops forward. 

“Your worst nightmare, witch. I’m a Traveler,” Alvah breathes. “I was created to take the night from creatures like you.”

Imagines flash before her eyes, unbidden. Her parents’ bodies on the floor, Crymych awash in fire and blood. Her father’s throat slit, a knife plunged into her mother’s gut – and the human who did it, slowly turning around. She remembers him wiping blood from his knife, silver ring on one hand.

Y/N’s gaze flies to Alvah’s fingers.

Seeing where she looks, his lips curl upwards. “You recognize this?”

“Yes.” Y/N stares at the sigil, her knees pressed into dirt.  “I’ve seen it before.”

“You’ve seen it?” Alvah’s brow furrows. “In person?”

Y/N nods. “At Crymych.”

Alvah stares at her for a long moment. “Liar.”

Y/N stares at him, confused by his expression. Alvah looks back at her, as though she is the impossible one. But – the longer she thinks about it, the more it makes no sense. The Travelers who visited Crymych were adults – they were her parents age and older, but Alvah is her age. It is impossible for him to have memories of Crymych.

Unless.

“You killed Gwen,” Y/N says slowly, piecing it together. “But… she was killed by magic. Drowned, by a water-shifter.”

Alvah stares at her a moment before smiling. There is no mirth to the gesture. He starts chuckling, rocking back on his heels and swiping angry tears from his gaze.

Ruthlessly, he whips out his knife to point at her chest. “You,” he exhales, with something like relief. “I’ve found you at last.”

Y/N stares at him, wide-eyed. “Me?”

Alvah nods, frantic. “The child shadow-singer of Crymych. I heard all about you growing up.”

Recoiling, Y/N stares at his long, silver blade. She again reaches for magic, finding none, except – there. Barely anything at all, but something faint stirs in her veins.

Alvah snarls at her expression. “Surprised I remember? No? Ah, I see – you tried to use magic, and found that you can’t.”

When Y/N scowls, jerking forward, he laughs.

“Your magic will return when the drug wears off,” Alvah assures. “But that won’t be for a while. Not until after I kill you. Unless…”

Y/N stops struggling. “Unless, what?”

She needs him to keep talking. She needs Alvah to continue his monologue until her magic returns, or Yoongi discovers her missing. Glancing over Alvah’s shoulder, Y/N stares into the darkness at the edge of the campfire. Alvah must be the threat Yoongi’s contacts were afraid of. It is he who has been ruthlessly carving a path of blood up the coast.

“Come with me.”

Startled, Y/N’s gaze snaps upwards. “What?”

“Come with me,” he breathes, pushing himself upwards to stand.

Reaching behind her, Alvah swiftly cuts her ropes. Before she can fall, his hands grasp her shoulders to lift her to her feet. Y/N stares at him in shock, too confused to run.

“Yes,” Alvah breathes, his grip vice-like on hers. “I see it now. You were spared, just as I was. You were sent to Tywll to live amongst humans and see the good in humanity. You were a child, too – of course you were spared.”

“Spared?” Y/N stares in horror. “Whatever are you talking about?”

Withdrawing his hands, Alvah retreats to stalk around the fire. Once on the other side, he whirls to face Y/N. “I’m a water-shifter, like you said,” he exhales, pulling off his glove.

Flexing his fingers, he stares down at his palm. Brow lowered in concentration, he waits until a pale, spinning orb appears above his fingers. The water dances and glimmers, catching the light.

Y/N stares at this in horror. Gwen was drowned with that water.

“I’m also from Crymych,” Alvah breathes.

It makes sense, in a way. Y/N always wondered if others survived. If anyone did manage to escape the burning houses of Crymych, it would be a water-shifter.

When Y/N says nothing, Alvah closes his fingers. The water splashes over his fist to the ground.

“The Travelers spared me,” he explains. “They took me with them, taught me what a curse my magic was. They explained I would be saved if I joined them. If I used my magic for good, instead of my inherent evil.”

“By… killing those who have magic.”

“Yes.” Alvah steps forward, ecstatic she understands. “Exactly.”

“But how could that possibly be good?” Her words halt him in his tracks, leave him staring at her. “You were in Crymych, Alvah. You saw what the Travelers did. They slaughtered your family… your friends…”

His face hardens. “They did that for the greater good, Y/N. Our friends and family were corrupt, they were evil. They holed themselves up in the forest and refused to help. Y/N,” he sighs, walking back around the fire. “I know it’s difficult to understand. It was hard for me, too. But now I see,” he whispers, stopping before her. “And you can, too.”

He waits, looking at her expectantly and Y/N’s heart breaks a little for the boy he once was.

“Alvah,” she whispers, so pityingly she nearly breaks apart.

She cannot imagine what hell his life must have been. To see his own family butchered, then be taken by his would-be murderers and raised as their savior. A dark messiah turned against his own kind.

Slowly, Alvah pushes up the sleeve of his tunic. He reveals angry, red welts on his arm. “This is what the Travelers saved me from,” he insists. “A fire-starter was drunk that night and lost control. Y/N – you didn’t see what you thought you saw. The Travelers managed to pull me out of the flames. They were only fighting in self-defense, Y/N.”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head. “Oh, Alvah – no. It wasn’t self-defense. I saw them. I watched them murder my parents, I saw them put our elders to sleep. They laced the wine they gave them with drugs, like you did to me.”

Alvah’s gaze flicks towards the handkerchief on the ground. For a moment, doubt crosses his face, but this is banished as easily as it came.

“I – no,” he breathes, re-gripping his knife. “You cannot tempt me with lies. I know my purpose. I will remain true.”

Y/N stares at him, helpless. In her mind, the door is almost open – she wonders if this is Alvah’s first time drugging an actual witch. Either that, or he spoke longer than he meant to when he realized who she was. Perhaps he genuinely does think this is fate, that they are meant to be together.

Either way, the longer she stands here, the more she feels her magic pulse in her veins. Almost enough to fight against his.

“What will you do?” Y/N asks, watching him walk towards her.

“Will you join me?”

Alvah tries to keep his voice even, tries not to seem eager, but Y/N can see his obvious want. His hand flexes on the hilt of his knife and again, her heart slowly breaks.

“No,” she whispers.

His expression breaks, catches and then heals, all in one moment. 

“Then, you must die.”

Alvah whirls, brandishing the knife and Y/N inhales to wrench shadows from darkness. To her immense relief, the darkness obeys. The surge is weaker than usual – she is weaker than usual – but her shadows coalesce before her, knocking his weapon aside.

Alvah curses, spinning and trying again. His knife cuts through darkness, slicing it open and Y/N gasps, stumbling backwards as though she, herself has been hurt.

“You see?” Alvah laughs. His breathing is heavy, light hair askew. “This is no ordinary knife, witch. It cures evil.”

He has returned to calling her witch, a sneer on his face. Y/N falters, grasping frantically for the tree trunk behind her. She glances to the side, searching for a way out because she does not yet have energy to attempt the Shadow realm.

When Alvah lunges, she dodges and stumbles down towards the river. Her feet splash into water, glancing over her shoulder to find him.

His laughter rings out behind her, following suit – albeit at a slower pace. “Ah,” Alvah teases, “you wish to fight on my domain, do you?”

Before Y/N can recognize what this means, the water rises around her. Her eyes widen, the only warning she has before she is dragged under. His water forms claws, grabbing her clothing and keeping her under. Y/N gasps, accidentally inhaling and choking on liquid.

The water enters her lungs, making her cough and in the corner of her eyes, Y/N can see darkness closing in. She wonders dizzily if this is what happened to Gwen – suddenly, her eyes open.

Gwen will not have died in vein.

Reaching deep within her – past the door, past limits she is not even aware of – Y/N tears darkness from the maw of power itself, yanking this to her chest and releasing into her veins. The heat simmers for a moment, unseen – and then she explodes.

Shadows erupts, twisting as they push out the water. Alvah falters at the side of the river, staring at her in shock. Y/N inhales, steam rising from her skin – and she opens her eyes. Her shadows shoot forward, streaming fast towards the bank.

Alvah screams when they wrap around him, binding his limbs and holding him hostage. Slowly, as if in a trance, Y/N walks from the water. Both hands are before her, twisting the shadows in ways she does not understand – she only knows what needs to be done and the shadows obey. It is like something else has hold of her mind, feeding her knowledge she has yet to be taught.

She is furious. And Alvah should pay.

Shadows are shoved down his throat, through his nostrils where they writhe in his lungs. Y/N twists them up, making it hurt and he screams out again. Inhaling sharply, she drags her shadows out to force him to his feet. With another twist of her hand, she scoops his knife from the ground.

Alvah catches this limply.

“Fight me, then!” she yells, tears blurring her vision. “Fight me on even ground!”

Alvah blinks, suddenly lucid as he lurches forward. Y/N dodges his first swipe. Her shadows wrap around his neck, pulling him backwards and she laughs, manic. Spinning, she faces him on even footing. Her darkness coalesces, forming a barrier as something moves in the shadows.

Y/N pays this no mind, too focused on her revenge. Darting forward, she knocks Alvah’s weapon aside. Her darkness is alive, pulsing around her in coils and blades. Whirling, she turns back and – Alvah’s knife sinks into her shoulder.

Blinding clarity bursts through her. Shuddering to a halt, Y/N gasps at the pain.

Teeth bared, Alvah wrenches the knife from her body. He prepares to strike again – until Yoongi appears, shoving between them and flipping his knife.

“Y/N, CLOSE YOUR EYES!”

Hastily, she obeys. Blood trickles between fingers, shadows appearing to wrap around the wound. Squeezing her eyes shut, she turns away from his voice. From beneath her eyelids, she sees the clearing blaze suddenly with light. Y/N winces, lifting her uninjured arm to shield herself from the blow– but even so, it is painful.

Trembling back from whatever Yoongi is doing, Y/N staggers away. Even once the light has faded, the back of her eyelids gone dark, Y/N refuses to look.

Twigs crunch beneath boots, drawing closer.

“You can look now, Y/N.”

Slowly, she lowers her arm. Y/N’s shoulder still bleeds, blood trickling into the sleeve of her tunic. She does not care about this though, staring dazedly at Yoongi. He still holds a silver knife in one hand – when he sees her looking at this, it swiftly disappears.

Alvah is nowhere to be seen.

“W-where is he?” Her teeth chatter, glancing around.

“In Annwn,” Yoongi says simply. “He attacked one of the Cŵn Annwn. His life is forfeit to mine.”

“But…” Y/N stares, still not understanding. “He was attacking me.”

“Not in the version I tell Arawn.”

“Yoongi,” she exhales, an admonishment.

“Not here, Y/N.” Yoongi glances cryptically out at the river. “We must return to Tywll. I’ll need to return to Annwn soon for questioning.”

“Now?”

Yoongi pauses, glancing at her. “No,” he murmurs, stepping forward. Gently, he slides both hands into her hair. “Not now.”

“Then, when?” she asks, head tilting upwards.

Refusing to answer, Yoongi brushes a kiss to her forehead. “Never mind, when. Your soul is still pure,” he murmurs against her skin. “That’s all that matters.”

Y/N’s brow furrows, another question on her lips. “What do you mean by–”

Cutting her off, they dissolve into darkness.

They reappear in her bedroom, walls solidifying around them in a turret of grey.

Y/N exhales, sagging forward as his hands keep her steady. She looks up at Yoongi, weary from blood loss. His gaze darts to her shoulder and swiftly, he frowns.

“I-it’s nothing,” she breathes. “Really, I –”

Yoongi closes one hand over her arm, frowning in concentration. Y/N stares at him in wonder when warmth seeps into her skin. Beneath his palm, her muscles knit together, blood flowing again as her skin heals smoothly over.

Once finished, Yoongi exhales and takes a step backwards. He seems paler, slightly drained and yet, satisfied. His hand gently falls to his side.

Y/N stares at him, speechless. “I – how?” she blurts, gaze darting to his hand. “How did you do that? I mean, how did you find me tonight?”

The side of his mouth quirks. “Is that all you want to ask?”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head, still somewhat dazed. “I have so many questions, I don’t know where to start.”

“Then I’ll start at the beginning. I found you by luck. I tried many places before that one.”

“And you’re… a light-bearer.” Y/N frowns, glancing down at her arm. She can still feel where the brunt of Alvah’s knife went in, where her skin broke apart. “Or a life-giver? What are you?”

Yoongi gives her a sad smile. “I was,” he corrects. “I was a light-bearer.”

“Then how did you heal?” Y/N’s head spins. “The last time I saw someone heal was, well... It has been awhile since I knew a life-giver.”

“The Cŵn Annwn are unique,” Yoongi says quietly. “We each retain the powers we die with, but… for each magical soul we transport, we glean their powers as well.”

It dawns on her then, what exactly Yoongi offered Hoseok. A win on the next hunt. He must have meant this. It is the job of the Cŵn Annwn to return magical souls to Annwn. Based on their conversation, it sounded as though Arawn often pits them against each other. 

Which makes sense. The incentive is that whomever returns with the soul keeps the power.

Y/N’s skin begins to crawl. “So, what you’re saying is…”

“I have many powers, Y/N.”

“I see.” She looks at him for a moment, seeing him in a new light. “And what of the other thing you said? About my soul being pure?”

Yoongi’s lips tighten. “Nothing.”

“Yoongi.”

“You shouldn’t know,” he exhales, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t place that burden on you.”

“Yoongi.”

Swiftly, he turns and walks the length of her bedroom. Y/N’s bed is pushed into a corner, the sheets still mussed from when she was roused from it earlier. Roused is a kind word. Looking at the mattress, Y/N shudders when she remembers Alvah’s hands on her body.

Yoongi comes to a stop at the window. “Have you ever wondered how one becomes Cŵn Annwn?”

“Often,” she says honestly.

For a moment, he simply stares at the town. The moon cuts through the plane, illuminating his face. “You kill someone with magic,” Yoongi admits at last. “And then you die. Instead of going to the Otherworld, you enter Arawn’s possession. It is why Arawn plays these games, you see. When he sees a magical human he wants, occasionally he sets them up to enter his service... later.”

Staring at Yoongi, comprehension begins to dawn – and with it, comes horror. This must have been what happened to him. With a sinking stomach, Y/N realizes how close she came to joining the Cŵn Annwn tonight. She nearly killed Alvah with her magic and if she had, that would have been it.

She would have belonged to Arawn, like he does.

“You see?” Yoongi exhales, searching her face. “I’m telling you things you shouldn’t know. I’m bringing danger into your life you shouldn’t have. I – we…” 

Breaking off, he shakes his head.

“Yoongi.” Y/N walks forward. Coming to a halt before him, she looks up. “You saved my life.” Before he can protest, she adds, “And my soul. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Maybe not.” His expression falters. “But then – maybe I did.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you understand, Y/N?” Frustration enters his tone. “I want you to live. No, need you to live. You deserve more than this half-life, this cursed life – you deserve freedom. Not a half-existence like…”

“Like yours?” 

“Yes. Like mine,” he finishes, somewhat broken.

He does not move away though and so, she places both hands on his arms. Slowly, achingly she slides them around his neck. Her fingers brush the dark hair at the nape of his neck. 

Yoongi swallows. “You deserve more,” he breathes, closing his eyes. 

“And if I don’t want more?”

“You – you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh?” Y/N narrows her gaze. “From what you said, my options are clear. I can die a pure soul and go to the Otherworld – where you are not. Or, I die with blood on my hands and am cursed. But then, I would be with you.”

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs. In contradiction to his words, Yoongi’s hands wrap around her waist. “Don’t act like it would be worth it.”

“Who are you to say it wouldn’t be?”

“Because you don’t know me.”

Her thumb lovingly strokes the back of his neck. “I know you’re honest,” she says lowly. “I know you’re the only one who helped when I needed to find Gwen.”

He pauses. “I had other motives.”

“Don’t be so self-deprecating. There was more to it than that – you saved me tonight when you didn’t have to.”

“Again,” Yoongi exhales, tortured. “Other motives.”

“Not for my soul.” When Yoongi falls silent, Y/N continues. “Ever since you came, you treated me as an equal. More than that – you saw me in ways no one else would. You forced me to see myself that way, too.”

“I hope you do,” he murmurs, suddenly insistent. “I don’t want you to hide, Y/N.”

“You see?” she breathes, tilting her chin. “You say things like that, and then say I don’t know you. I know you’re feared, even amongst the Cŵn Annwn.” Her lips twist in an almost smile. “I know Arawn favors you above the rest.”

Based on Yoongi’s expression, this statement is correct. “It is never a good thing to be loved by the king of hell,” he says.

“Still. Do not pretend my options are clear, Min Yoongi. I know which path is unbearable, and it is the one without you.”

“Y/N,” he whispers, finally breaking. His hands close around her waist, drawing her near. The heat of his breath drifts across her lips.

Y/N’s heart stutters painfully. “Please,” she whispers, lifting her chin. “Please, Yoongi. Kiss m –”

Cutting off the word, he crushes her to him.

Longing leaps through her veins, her gasp eaten by his, swallowed by his kiss. As they collide, hands twining, fists clutching, Y/N loses herself in him.

She forces herself to be still, to not reveal how desperately she wants him. It is hard though, when he is kissing her with abandon, as if they stand at hell’s door. His lips tempt and torture in equal measure, and she is spinning apart.

Forcing himself back, his forehead finds hers. “Y/N,” he growls.

“Yes?”

Yoongi wrenches open his eyes. “Your shadows.”

Startled, Y/N glances down to find tendrils of magic around them. Darkness shifts at her feet, curling and uncurling and slowly, Y/N looks up.

“Is it strange?” she asks, still pressed against him. “I can try and stop it, if –”

Yoongi catches her hand, entwining their fingers together. “No,” he says, earnest. “Never.”

Y/N smiles, relaxing when he walks the two of them back to her bed. Her knees hit the mattress, pausing a moment before he kisses her softly. His mouth teases hers, pressing until her lips part and his tongue slips inside. Her hand moves under his tunic, brushing the skin at his waist.

Yoongi stiffens at this, groan caught in his throat. “Y/N,” he says, biting down on her lip. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why not?” she purrs.

Growling lowly, Yoongi grips her waist and pulls her body to his. Y/N shivers, feeling the firm press of his muscle – Yoongi’s knee parts her legs, watching her lazily as her core aches around him.

“Is that all?” she asks, breath catching.

Yoongi’s gaze turns molten, slowly reaching down to gather the hem of her skirt. “I can barely restrain myself as it is,” he confesses, pushing the fabric up her thigh. “If you continue to tease, I’ll stop trying.”

“Stop, then.”

Yoongi’s lips are at her throat before she can finish the words. He kisses her clavicle, working his way upwards and searing her skin. Grasping her jaw with one hand, he turns her head sideways to gently kiss the crux. Inhaling sharply, Y/N tries not to groan when his tongue laves the same spot.

He does not stop there, descending her neck with carnal sensuality. Glancing up at her bosom, Yoongi awaits further instruction. Eyes lidded and heavy, Y/N looks down at him and nods. Yoongi’s hand slowly works upwards, tangling in the laces of her bodice. His fingers and magic work until they pull back, dropping the string to the floor.

Y/N inhales, hands clasping her dress before it can fall.

Without her laces, her hands are the only thing holding fabric between them. Yoongi’s gaze darkens, intent as heat sinks between her legs. She wants him – badly but cannot of think how to ask. It does not escape her then, how many realms he is above her.

Softer than silk, his palm cups her chin. “Will you let me see you?” Yoongi says gently.

Staring back at him, Y/N slowly nods her head.

Yoongi’s hands slip down, interlacing their fingers to pull hers back. The dress drops to the floor and Yoongi inhales, dazed by the view. He stares at her for a moment, transfixed by her bare skin in moonlight. When he looks back up, his gaze seems to glow.

Not a red glow, like in the Shadow realm, but an unearthly silver – that of a light-bearer.

Y/N stifles a smile. “You said you were a light-bearer?” she whispers, shadows snaking his thighs. “Is this a side effect of that?”

Yoongi shivers, then nods. “Yes and no,” he growls, backing her up to the bed. “It is because of my power, but it is happening because I am indescribably happy.”

Before she can respond, his lips are on hers. Yoongi kisses her eagerly, messily as their tongues intertwine. No longer does Y/N deny what she wants of him. It is obvious anyways, in the needy press of her body to his. In the rutting thrust of his breeches against the silk of her core.

“Oh,” Y/N gasps, hands curling into his hair. “Yoongi.”

He swiftly pulls back to undo his belt. Sliding this free from his pants, it drops heavily to the floor. Staring at Y/N, his knees follow suit – one by one, kneeling before her.

“Please.” Yoongi licks his lips, tortured. “Let me taste you.”

Y/N stares at him in shock.

Yoongi mistakes this silence for hesitance. “I’m sorry,” he exhales, sitting back on his heels. His chest rises and falls against the dark of his tunic. “Are you… have you ever…?”

“Yes,” Y/N says, recovering herself. Swiftly, her hands wrap around the bedpost behind her. “I have lain with men. It is only, no one has ever offered me that… so freely.”

His gaze narrows, as though in disbelief. “Well, then,” Yoongi says lowly, sliding a hand up her thigh. “What foolish men, to deny a feast.”

Barely does she have time to comprehend before Yoongi is at her core, spreading her folds to examine her body. Exhaling, she stares at his crown of dark hair.

Yoongi looks up, a sinful smirk on his face. “I thought so,” he purrs, delicately swiping her mound with his thumb. Y/N shivers, trembling above him. “Already wet and wanting. Just begging to be eaten – I bet you taste sweet.”

He moves before she can answer, pressing a virginal kiss to her thigh. His other hand finds her knee, lifting her higher and pressing her ass to the bed. When his lips brush her core, Y/N slowly inhales. He kisses her gently, wet and open against her sex. It feels good, all his licking and teasing – until he comes to a stop.

When Yoongi smirks up at her, Y/N’s heart stops. She realizes he may be her undoing.

Slowly, his tongue drags up her sex. Repeating the gesture, he gathers her juices up with his mouth – sloppy and eager, until she is panting above him. Yoongi’s hand curls under her knee, opening her wider before he finally gives in and drape this over his shoulder.

Letting out a guttural groan, Y/N releases the bedposts to fist in his hair.

If anything, this spurs him on, tongue laving circles around her clit until she is eager and swollen. Y/N gasps out his name, thrusting against his face without meaning to. She is chasing something she does not understand, every inch of her body alive and on fire. At some point, his hand drifts down to her ass – then to her entrance, circling her core.

“Gods.” Still gripping her waist, Yoongi jerks back and wipes his lips with one hand. His mouth is wet, sinful and smeared with evidence of her arousal. “You’re so wet, Y/N. So perfect and needy. I – I need to be inside you.”

Hearing him say this, Y/N clenches around nothing. “Yes,” she breathes, as he stands from the floor. The front of his trousers look unbearably tight. “I want you inside me. Want you to stretch me out.”

Growling, he clutches her body closer. “I can use my fingers first,” Yoongi says sweetly, licking the shell of her ear. Tugging on this with teeth, he elicits a shiver. “Make it easier.”

“No.” Y/N grasps his chin, returning his lips to hers. “No, I want you inside me. Want your cock,” she murmurs hastily, already undoing his trousers.

Yoongi chuckles, letting her do so. “Do you? Where?” he asks, pulling his tunic overhead.

Lowering herself onto the bed, Y/N looks up and stills.

She has not seen him naked before. Only bits and pieces – the sliver of skin at his throat, a flash of underarm when he rolled up his sleeves. Those mouth-watering veins which wrap the length of his fingers. Y/N was right in assuming those veins wrap other things, too. Now though, he is bare, beautiful and entirely hers.

“What?” Yoongi tilts his head. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Reaching up, she pulls him down with her. “I only… I do not wish to be parted after tonight.”

Lowering a knee to the mattress, Yoongi’s hands cup her face. “Nor I,” he allows, giving in and kissing her fully.

Falling backwards, Y/N arches against him. Yoongi’s right knee nudges between hers, rubbing her center to provide the friction she craves. Yoongi releases a moan, feeling her slick on his thigh. Grabbing hold of her hips, he forces her still.

“Not like that,” he murmurs, kissing her gently.

Y/N melts forward, hands cupping to roam his body. Yoongi is equally greedy, exploring her skin with unrivaled attention. It is only when she feels his cock, hard on her stomach that Y/N remembers what she is after.

“Oh,” she breathes, looking down.

His cock is pretty, in a way she could not have anticipated. Wrapping a hand around himself, Yoongi slowly slides up and down on his length. Y/N watches this, lips parted as his red, leaking tip disappears and reappears between fingers.

“I want you inside me,” she whispers. “Now.”

Yoongi chuckles and releases himself. “Alright. How?”

Slowly, Y/N turns around to rest on her knees. She looks at him over her shoulder. “Like this. From behind.”

Yoongi stares at her in awe, pupils blown out with lust. “Are you certain,” he murmurs, already moving into position. “It will feel deeper this way.”

“Mm,” Y/N inhales, lowering herself to her elbows. “I – I like that. Like to be stretched.”

“I see,” Yoongi murmurs, bed dipping as he moves into place.

His hand slides up her core and Y/N shivers, ducking her head. Seeing her splayed in the moonlight makes his cock twitch. Her cunt is already dripping – Y/N can feel the arousal smeared on her thighs, dripping down to pool at her clit. Yoongi’s hand slides from her ass, cupping her pussy and feeling her wetness. He holds her like that for a moment, rubbing her clit with his finger.

“You like that?” he murmurs when she groans. Slowly, he slides his fingers apart and begins scissoring her clit. “What about that?”

“Oh,” Y/N sighs, pushing back on his hand. “Please – please.”

Yoongi smirks, rubbing her as she ruts up against him. As he moves forward, her pussy clenches and he presses his tip to her cunt. He inhales for a moment, as though in preparation. Gently gripping her waist, he slowly thrusts inside. Immediately, he is met with resistance. Y/N is wet, that much is obvious – her pussy leaks eagerly around Yoongi’s length, but she is still so tight. Needing to be stretched, like she said.

Y/N moans, arching her back to take him in deeper. Yoongi goes slow, letting her feel every inch. Y/N’s hands fist in the sheets, her mouth open with pleasure. God, it feels so good to have him inside her. Yoongi is only halfway and already, she has never felt this full. Already her body reacts to him in ways she does not understand.

Yoongi lowers a hand to her back, rubbing each side of her ass. “There,” he murmurs, pushing her down to take the last, final inch. “Such a sweet girl for me.”

“Am I?” Breathlessly, Y/N squeezes her walls around Yoongi’s cock. “Doesn’t feel sweet.”

Withdrawing slowly, Yoongi grabs her ass to shove back inside. Y/N moans, lurching forward as his cock grinds mercilessly to her walls. “Maybe not,” he admits, thrusting again. “What’s sweet though, is imagining what you’ll look like full of my cum.”

Whimpering, Y/N pushes backwards again. It is the first time a man has spoken so freely in bed and in response, Y/N feels on fire. Her nipples brush the mattress as Yoongi fucks into her, filling her body with each thrust of his cock.

“Oh – oh – oh!” she gasps, jolted forward.

“Sh,” Yoongi murmurs, hand wrapping around her mouth. “As much as I love your volume, we are not alone in this house.”

His thumb slides down her throat, cock slipping in and out of her body. Spreading her legs, Y/N lets him take it, hard from behind and loses herself to the bliss. His hands are strong and sure on her body – as his hips bruise her ass, his hand cups her breast and roughly pinches a nipple.

When she groans again, louder, Yoongi growls. “Y/N,” he grunts, snapping his hips to her ass. “I meant it – I’ll stop, if you can’t be quiet.”

“Make me,” she gasps.

“Make you?”

“Mhm, make – mmph!” she yelps when Yoongi withdraws, grabbing her waist to flip her on the bed. Hovering above her, he grips her knee, yanks it up and thrusts smoothly back in.

Y/N gasps, lisp parting as she is wantonly split by his cock.

“Make you?” he growls, fucking harder. Y/N gasps, head thrown back when he begins pounding into her body. “With pleasure.”

His lips descend on hers, hot and needy as her arms wrap around him. Yoongi spreads her even wider, pistoning like a madman into the warmth of her pussy. Her walls clench tightly around him as he fucks her wide open. His tongue is in her mouth, hands hot on her body as he pins her to the bed. Y/N cannot think around the blinding, surging pleasure within her.

“Yoongi!” she gasps, head hitting the sheets.

He continues to move, rolling his hips as she shakes underneath him. “That’s it, Y/N,” he murmurs, sliding a hand in between them. “That’s it, darling. Let go.”

His fingers brush over her mound, doing skilled, nimble work as her body clenches around him. Everything in her body is so tight, searing and unbelievably full. Hands clutching his body, Y/N cries out his name as everything breaks apart. A deep, shattering wave arcs through her, eyes rolling back in her head as she loses control.

Fire and magic wrap them both, Yoongi shuddering into her neck as he also comes undone. Sated and blissful, Y/N relaxes against his chest. Softly, her fingers curl into the base of his hair. Yoongi exhales, brushing a kiss to her collarbone and softening inside her.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs, meeting her gaze. “I do not wish to be parted.”

Her limbs wrap tighter, preventing him from leaving. “Then, stay.”

“Y/N…” Hesitant, he stares and then finally nods. “I will,” Yoongi murmurs, brushing his lips to hers. “For tonight.”

Waving his hand, he conjures a cloth at their side. Cleaning her off, he disposes of the rag. They lie down together, limbs entwined. Yoongi’s arm slides under her waist, her right hand on his chest as his leg drifts between hers.

“I could stay here for days,” Y/N whispers, eyelids already drooping.

Yoongi smiles, watching her shadows drift lazily up from the floor. “Me, too,” he murmurs, curling around her.

They fall asleep like that, two souls entwined.

When Y/N wakes the next morning, he is gone.

Even before she opens her eyes, she knows. She knows from the heavy feeling in her heart and the frigid space beside her in bed. And still – her stomach sinks when she opens an eye and sees nothing.

Well, not nothing. The blanket has been quietly tucked in, his clothing removed from the floor but a smooth piece of paper is placed on her desk. Seeing this, Y/N pushes her covers slowly aside to sit up. The morning air is cold, biting her skin but she largely ignores this, standing up from her bed.

The note is precise, to the point – much like Yoongi. He does not mince words, which Y/N would normally appreciate, but not now. Not when she is staring at lines on a paper and trying not to be furious.

We will see each other again.

That is all.

Y/N stares at this for a moment before the anger overtakes her and she crumples it into a ball. Breathing heavily, she stares out the window – the moves to toss it away but stops short.

Mechanically, she smooths out the paper. She stares at its lines for a second time, waiting for the hidden meaning. Surely, Yoongi would not leave without a reason. Deep down though, she knows what the reason is. Yoongi was unable to convince Y/N she was better off without him and so, he has removed himself from the picture.

Gritting her teeth, she resigns herself to this truth.

Yoongi is gone.

The sun is starting to rise, grey streaks of dawn beginning to light the sky. Y/N is surprised no one has come to wake her yet, although admittedly, she has nowhere to be. Owen has not yet re-opened the forge. It has only been a week since Gwen was found in the river. 

Remembering this, Y/N closes her eyes.

Last night seems like a dream. It seems ludicrous to think only a matter of hours ago she was stolen from bed, dragged to the river and nearly killed in the same manner Gwen was. She did not die, though. She fought back, Yoongi appeared, and – Y/N stops that thought in her tracks.

He is gone now.

Opening her eyes, Y/N stalks towards her wardrobe. Yanking clothes from the drawers, she dresses hastily before heading downstairs. Emotions churn in her stomach, each one grappling for attention over the other. In a way, this is easier – Y/N can push them all aside, forcing herself not to remember.

She does not think of Alvah, nor the manner in which she was taken. She does not think about Gwen, drowned under the river. She does not even think about Yoongi, the celestial being with stars in his eyes.

When Y/N reaches the kitchen, she pauses with one hand on the door. The images threaten to overwhelm then, rising to block out the day, but Y/N has always been good at compartmentalization. Shoving these behind the door, along with her magic, she arranges her skirts and steps into the room.

Seeing Mervin brings Y/N to a stop. Both Rian and Rumilda are gone, which is an oddity in itself. Mervin sits alone, reading his ledgers, an uneaten apple beside him. Rian will likely be alone in a minute to scold him for forgetting.

“Good morning.” Mervin pauses, scribbling something down in a margin. “Did you sleep well last night?”

Forcing herself to move, Y/N walks to the table. Pulling out the chair beside him, she slowly sits. “Well enough, I suppose.”

Melvin’s lips lift. “That is better than nothing.”

“True.”

He is quiet for a moment, turning the page in his ledger. Y/N stares down at the table, listening to the hum of people outside in the tavern. If feels surreal, sitting here as though nothing has changed. And yet, everything has. Gwen is dead, so is Alvah and Yoongi is – well, it does not matter what Yoongi is. 

Yoongi is gone. The certainty of this sits hollowly in her chest.

“You’re reviewing the books now?” Y/N glances over, attempting to distract herself. “I thought you do that in the evening.”

Mervin nods, pushing glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Normally, yes. However, two of our guests departed this morning.”

“Oh?” Y/N fights to keep her voice neutral. “Which ones?”

“Oh, those two wealthy ones. Alvah – well, never caught his last name – and Min Yoongi.”

“I see.” Y/N’s lips tighten, attempting to stay silent – but unable to stop herself. “Did either one say anything before they left?”

“Well, let’s see. Alvah left before dawn,” says Mervin, setting down his quill. “The other stopped by and paid for them both.”

Y/N’s fingers freeze on the table. “He did?”

“Mhm. Said the town was lovely, but his work was calling. He said he would stay if he could, but it was imperative that he leave. Which seemed odd,” Mervin remarks, arching a brow. “I barely remember him leaving his room.”

“That’s true,” Y/N says, turning swiftly away.

She stares into the fireplace, willing herself not to think long on the matter. Yoongi needed to leave, it hardly matters if it was voluntary, or not. He is not here any longer and so, she must move on. They had a wonderful night, but it was only that – a night. He was right to insist they would not work. She is human, a witch and he is – more.

Gently, Mervin lays his hand over hers.

Y/N looks up in surprise.

His gaze is piercing, behind his spectacles. “You know…” Mervin hesitates. “We never expected you to stay here.”

“W-what?” stutters Y/N, dumbfounded.

Mervin smiles sadly. “We took you in, of course – we fed you, clothed you and loved you all these years. But… we never expected you to stay.”

Y/N finds herself at a loss. “You didn’t?”

“Not in a bad way,” he hastens, as though she might misunderstand. “We merely knew you were different; knew you were special.” Mervin pauses, purposefully not saying magic. “This town stifles people like you. Rian and I wanted more for you than that.”

“You both aren’t stifling.”

“Perhaps not,” he allows, smile lilting. “If you’re truly happy here, we would not kick you out. I’m merely letting you know... we understand if you can’t stay.”

“If I… can’t.”

He looks at her meaningfully. “If there’s somewhere else you must be. Or – someone else you must be with.”

Y/N stares back at him, dazed and wonders if Mervin also has magic. Only a mind-seeker could understand as much without her saying a word. Or – perhaps it is only a parent faced with the fate of their child.

“Thank you,” Y/N whispers, feeling her vision blur. “Whatever happens – thank you.”

Mervin nods, smiling gently and withdrawing his hand. Picking back up his quill, he returns to the ledgers and Y/N stares at his books. All this time, she assumed because Yoongi was gone, she had been left behind. However – perhaps she is looking at this the wrong way.

Yoongi is gone, meaning there is nothing keeping her here.

All of a sudden, his note takes on a new meaning.

Boughs of the willow trees hang overhead, dripping to brush the grey banks of the river. Aberbwlch is a lonely stream, narrow where it separates the Real world from Shadow. Steam rises from its surface, curling shapelessly before dissipating to night. If there are any stars, they do not shine here.

On the bank of the river, a shadow steps from the darkness.

Her cloak is dark, trimmed with fur against the emerald green of the forest. She does not look at her surroundings, merely stares straight ahead.

“I know you’re here,” Y/N finally says.

A moment passes, maybe two before Hoseok appears.

He is dressed similarly to the first night they met, plain black clothing hewn from darkness itself. Cocking his head to one side, he regards Y/N warily. She is the one who arranged their meeting, after all.

“I was surprised to hear you sought me, human.”

Y/N’s upper lip curls. “Were you?” she asks. “You’re a terrible liar, Hoseok.”

Surprise flits across his face. Only a moment, before he throws his head back and laughs – it is not a pleasant sound. Lowering his chin, he regards her again.

“You are much younger than I thought,” he remarks, beginning to circle around her.

Darkness curls at her fingers, displeased by his movement. Y/N expression remains stoic, as though this whole interaction is merely a social call. In a way, it is. She has seen many things these past months; things she will never forget, and Hoseok’s actions are child’s play compared to those of the Shadow realm.

Slowly, she looks at him. “Is there a problem?”

Hoseok comes to a stop. “No,” he murmurs. “It is just odd. It is not often one of your kind asks for my help.”

“By my kind, you mean human?”

“No.” His smile flashes in darkness. “I mean pure,” he breathes, caressing the word. “There is not blood on your soul.”

Y/N nearly stiffens. “Then, you must know why I’m here.”

“I’ve heard rumors.” Hoseok raises a brow. “Musings, if you will.”

“Then you know I am serious.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees, gaze sparking with interest. “Or, perhaps I am merely curious of the girl who seeks the Otherworld.” Slowly, Hoseok takes a step forward. “Curious of the human who dares request an audience with Arawn – Lord of all things dead and unseen.”

Y/N stares back. “What would make you curious about that?”

He merely smiles, shaking his head. Closing his eyes, Hoseok deeply inhales. Y/N does not move, tries not react while Hoseok scents out her intentions. It does not last long – his brow swiftly furrows, not understanding what he finds.

“It’s true.” Hoseok’s eyes snap open. He stares at her in wonder – and possibly, a touch of fear. “Your soul remains pure and still, you seek an audience with the devil. A meeting with Lord Arawn. Why?”

For the briefest of seconds, Y/N’s façade slips and Hoseok sees the determination beneath. He sees her raw anger, the soul-wrenching longing and nearly recoils in shock.

“Perhaps he has something of mine,” Y/N says quietly. Just as swiftly, her boredom returns. “And perhaps I am determined to get it back – at whatever the cost.”

Her hand clenches around a note in her pocket.

Author’s Note: This is a one shot at this time! I know, I know, I set it up for a sequel. LOL right now though, I plan to leave this open ended. I hope you enjoyed!

© kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission. 

[michaelbranch]

A Brief Summary of Ideas: The Madness of Crowds

*These summaries are kept intentionally very brief, just hitting what I consider some of the important/interesting takeaways, most word-for-word or paraphrased. My goal is also to stick to ideas/principals that might guide others (or my future self) in deciding the value of a read (or re-reading). T = takeaway, Q = Question

The Madness of Crowds: Gender, Race, and Identity

Author: Douglas Murray

Assumption that a heightened moral knowledge comes with being an oppressed/minority group. "Speaking as a ..."

All these causes started as legitimate human rights campaigns.

Gay

Can't award yourself the right to attribute motives to others that you can't see but which you suspect. Prerequisite for avoiding perpetual confrontation is an ability to listen to people's words and hold some trust in them.

Problem of changing societal positions so swiftly is that unexplored issues and arguments are left behind in the wake.

We still don't have much idea as to why some people are gay.

Hardware = something people can't change (and thus shouldn't be judged on). Software = can be changed (and thus may be available for judgement). Inevitably there will be a push to make some software issues into hardware.

LGBT groupings composition is unsustainable and contradictory. Internal frictions and contradictions even within groupings.

Some heterosexuals are genuinely disturbed by gay people. Plenty of stages between absolute equanimity and ease around people and a desire to violently attack them.

Marxist Foundations

See society not as an infinitely complex system of trust and traditions evolved over time, but solely through the prism of power.

Anyone who questions an "ism" finds themselves accused. Easy weapons to wield with no price to pay for wielding them unfairly.

When it is nearly impossible to tell what is being said, almost anything can be said, and exceptionally dishonest arguments can be smuggled in under the guise of complexity. T= be weary of arguments that can't be presented simply.

Women

Society has doubled down on the belief that biological difference can be denied or ignored.

T= When people make exaggerated claims about what someone else said, its likely an example of people deliberately and lazily adopting simplified misrepresentations of the argument in order to avoid the difficult discussion that would otherwise have to take place.

Contradictory statement = possible to be sexy without being sexualized

Presumption that almost all relationships in the workplace and elsewhere are centered around the exercise of power. Various types of power; many parties can hold different ones.

Privilege is unbelievably hard to define or quantify. How can strata be arranged to be flexible enough to include everyone but consider various comparative changes throughout life. Also, easier to see in others but more difficult to see in ourselves.

Intersectionality is not a fully worked out science.

Concept of the patriarchy has become so ingrained its rarely disputed.

Impact of Tech

If we are running in the wrong direction; tech helps us run faster.

Internet has allowed new forms of activism and bullying. To find people accused of "wrong thing" works because it rewards the bully.

"The one thing we can say with certainty about the advent of new technologies is that people overestimate their impact in the short term and underestimate their impact over the long term." -Variously attributed.

What we say in one place may be posted in another, not just for the whole world but for all time. Having to find a way to speak and act as though it may be in front of everyone. To speak in public is now to have to find a way to address or keep in mind every possible variety of person.

T= Don't sacrifice truth in the pursuit of a political goal.

Race

Some portion of black studies started attacking non blacks. Growth of "whiteness studies" w/ aim of disrupting racism by problematizing "whiteness". Displaces celebratory nature of many race studies to with problematizing others.

Catastrophizing has become one of the distinctive attitudes of the era.

Q= Should we seek color blindness (get beyond race to individual judgement, making skin color effectively an unimportant aspect of a person's identity)?

An idea that since everything was set up by a structure of white hegemony everything is laced with racism and therefore everything must be done away with.

If people got things so wrong in the past, how can you be sure you are acting appropriately today?

Important in crowd maddening mechanism: person who professes themselves most aggrieved gets the most attention. Rewards outrage over sanguinity.

Politicizing issues such that the speaker and their innate characteristics don't matter. What matters is the speech and ideas they give voice to.

Easy(er) to slip up not on an issue of motive but, especially when no other evidence is available, a crime of language.

Social media age has brought us opportunity to publish uncharitable and disingenuous interpretations of what other people have said.

Equality of opportunity AND outcome almost certainly impossible.

Forgiveness

T= Context collapse: conversation/act taken out of context and used to create a simplified version of a person or their beliefs.

Q= How, if ever, is our age able to forgive? Since everybody errs during their life there must be - in any healthy person or society - some capacity to be forgiven. Part of forgiveness is the ability to forget. The internet will never forget.

Actions have consequences that are unbounded and limitless. Constantly acting in a web of relationships in which every action starts a chain reaction. A single word or deed could change everything.

Without being forgiven we would remain the victim of the consequences forever.

T= Historically perpetrators and offended both die out and the grievance fades over time. Internet leaves a permanent record.

Internet helps people approach the past from an all-knowing angle. Retributive instinct of our time that suggests we know ourselves to be better than people in history because we know how they behaved and how we "would have" behaved.

To view the past with some degree of forgiveness is among other things an early request to be forgiven in return.

Trans

Every age before this one has performed or permitted acts that to us are morally stupefying.

A considerable range of cultures has adapted to the idea that some people may be born in one body but desire to live in another.

For intersex people, the question of what medical intervention might be suitable and when is a matter of serious contention.

Very hard to know how to navigate the leap beyond biology into testimony.

Still almost nowhere near understanding trans; including how common it is.

Autogynephilia: arousal that comes from imagining yourself in the role of the opposite sex.

Q= whether what one person believes to be true about themselves has to be accepted as true by other people?

Questions about the age at which people who believe they are in the wrong body should be allowed to access drugs and surgery are worth considering.

Q= What do you need to do to be content with your body, not change it?

Seems we're running to quickly on the trans issue, scared to be on the wrong side of history.

Some contention between trans and feminist ideas.

T= little contention that equal rights should be given. Issue is preconceptions and assumptions about how to go about tackling the issue.

Q=Claims of human rights violations are inversely proportionate to the number of violations in a country. -Daniel Patrick Moynihan. Only a very free society would permit (or encourage) claims about its own inequities.

T= when people attempt to sum up our societies in terms of simplistic structures ask, "compared to what". Not to say elements of our society can't be improved.

The victim is not always right, nice, deserves no praise, and may not be a victim.

Incline towards generosity when interpreting others words/acts.

-People are wiling to interpret remarks from their own tribe in a generous light while reading opposing ones in as negative a light as possible.

To assume that sex, sexuality, and skin color mean nothing would be ridiculous. To assume that they mean everything would be fatal.

The madness we are living through is an over-reaction to past injustice. Belief is that the fastest and best way to address this is to over-compensate.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: Fu Manchu

(WARNING! This analysis contains DISCUSSIONS OF OUTDATED RACIST STEREOTYPES! This analysis does not support or condone such things whatsoever and merely is here to analyze the cultural impact of the character!)

"Imagine a person, tall, lean, and feline, high-shouldered, with a brow like Shakespeare and a face like Satan, a close-shaven skull, and long, magnetic eyes of the true cat-green. Invest him with all the cruel cunning of an entire Eastern race, accumulated in one giant intellect, with all the resources, if you will, of a wealthy government—which, however, already has denied all knowledge of his existence. Imagine that awful being, and you have a mental picture of Dr. Fu-Manchu, the yellow peril incarnate in one man."

— The Mystery of Dr. Fu-Manchu (1913)

I think it really goes without saying that the late 19th century and early 20th century were deeply, incredibly racist. One such manifestation of the racism and xenophobia of the times was the villainous archetype known as the Yellow Peril. The so-called “Yellow Peril” is a caricature of eastern cultures, portrayed in a villainous light; the characters are diabolical criminal masterminds who tend to be geniuses, know kung fu, have mystical powers, command barbarian hordes, and dress like the most stereotypical dynastic noble you could imagine. Just think of every single cringeworthy Asian stereotype you can imagine, stuff it into one villainous package, and BOOM! You have yourself a Yellow Peril villain.

You’ve most definitely seen villains that fit some semblance of this trope. Lo Pan of Big Trouble in Little China and Long Feng from Avatar: The Last Airbender are notable examples (and ones that aren’t particularly problematic, as their works don’t rely on some white guy saving the day and instead have Asian heroes). But we’re not here to talk about them, oh no – we’re here to talk about the grandaddy of them all, the villain who codified the idea of a Yellow Peril villain to such… er, for lack of a better word, “perfection,” that even though he has somewhat faded from the public consciousness he has managed to continue inspiring villains up until the present day: Fu Manchu.

While not the first Yellow Peril villain, he is pretty much the face of it. He is what comes to mind when you envision such a villain, which may be because his cultural impact runs so deep – characters such as Batman’s nemesis Ra’s al-Ghul, the Iron Man foe The Mandarin, and James Bond baddie Doctor No among many others all draw inspiration from this legendary Devil Doctor. So what exactly is his deal that has made him such a problematic icon?

Motivation/Goals: So Fu Manchu’s goals started with him being a Chinese nationalist but eventually he moved into your standard world domination, with him developing over time into becoming a sort of noble criminal, a diabolical mastermind with some level of ethics, class, and standards; the man sent his nemesis gifts on his wedding day and always stuck to his word. This doesn’t seem like much now, but you gotta remember, this guy was one of the first big literary supervillains; you’ve gotta cut him a little slack.

Performance: So it is time to discuss the elephant in the room… not once in his long and storied history in film has Fu Manchu been portrayed by an actor of Chinese, Japanese, Korean, or Indian descent. Fu Manchu has always, always been portrayed by the worst possible option in every single case: a white guy in yellow face. Christopher Lee is perhaps the most well-known white man to play him in a serious work, portraying him in a series of films, though Boris Karloff portrayed him as well. 

Peter Sellers portrayed Fu in his last major cinematic appearance, though unlike most other examples that film – The Fiendish Plot of Dr. Fu Manchu – was a parody, which does at least take away a little bit of the bad taste.

The only valid white man portrayal is, of course, from the fake trailer for Werewolf Women of the S.S. As said fake trailer is a ridiculous sendup of exploitation films and trashy cinema in general, the inclusion of a white man playing the fiendish doctor is pretty much part of the joke – but it’s who they got that’s the real treat. We’ll get to that shortly, but before that…

It is honestly really disgusting that in the long history of this character, he has never once been portrayed by an Asian actor. You’d think at some point that someone might at least just cast any sort of Asian due to the unfortunate tendency to view Asian actors as interchangeable, but they couldn’t even do that.

Final Fate: Fu Manchu is notable because he always gets away, even if his plans are foiled; in fact, he’ll sometimes have plans within plans, so even when he loses, he still wins to some degree. But enough about his in-universe fate; let’s talk about the real world fate of the character, where Fu Manchu has a very odd legal status in terms of public domain.

While the first three books are in the public domain, some characters from later books are not considered part of the public domain, which has lead to situations such as Marvel’s Master of Kung Fu not being able to be reprinted for years. On top of this, as the character’s creator Sax Rohmer died in 1959, Fu Manchu is not in the public domain in Europe; this has led to him appearing but not being directly named in Alan Moore’s The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, where he is only referred to as “The Doctor” (amusingly, he goes up against Moriarty in that comic, the character he draws inspiration from).

Best Scene: In what is one of the very few non-offensive uses of the character, Fu Manchu is given a brief cameo in the trailer for Werewolf Women of the S.S. that shows up in the Rodriguez/Tarantino double feature Grindhouse, and he’s played by… well… just watch:

Final Thoughts & Score: Fu Manchu is an absolutely fascinating villain born out of incredibly problematic places.

There is absolutely no denying that Fu Manchu was created from a deeply racist place. It’s an unavoidable fact. There is no getting around it. Fu Manchu as a character was meant to demonize the Chinese, to the point where production of films based on him as well as the novels was halted in times of war when the Chinese were allies. These books, these stories, are all extremely problematic by the standards of today.

But with that being said… who, exactly, is the title character? Do you know, without looking it up, who the hero who Fu Manchu antagonizes is, the Holmes to his Moriarty? This is Fu Manchu’s series, and throughout it he projects an air of intelligence, sophistication, and even honor that you wouldn’t expect would be afforded to a character such as him. As far as racist propaganda goes, an extremely charitable person could be able to call this “progressive” in some regard. Positive discrimination is a step up from regular discrimination, right? Again, there’s really no getting around the glaring problems with the character and his origins, but the fact Fu Manchu is one of the first supercriminals in literature and manages to just be unflinchingly cool to the point where you’ll probably end up rooting for him over the bland white protagonists says something for how utterly racism fails when it manages to make the object of its derision infinitely cooler than the race it’s trying to prop up as superior.

By my own criteria, Fu Manchu could only be an 11/10. I can’t deny how much of an impact, for better or for worse, the fiendish doctor has had on pop culture, to the point where he gave his name to and subsequently killed off a variety of facial hair, a feat only matched by Hitler. But this comes with a disclaimer: I cannot stress enough that Fu Manchu is deeply and inherently problematic on a conceptual level, and that despite how genuinely cool and fascinating he is in the right hands it doesn’t and cannot erase that his original purpose was to demonize the Chinese and Asian cultures. He also managed to help perpetuate yellowface and helped to popularize cliches that have plagued Asian villains to this day. While many in his wake have still managed to be cool and engaging in their own right, it really cannot be said how this character has a very complex history. Has he done more bad than good? That’s not for a white guy like me to determine; I’m merely here to determine the overall quality of the villain and determine their impact, and Fu Manchu undeniably has impacted culture. It would be wrong and disingenuous to break my own rules to give him a lower rating due to his problematic elements, but at the same time I cannot sit here and pretend they do not exist.

I would love to see the day where Fu Manchu can be reclaimed to some extent. Look at Shang-Chi, for example; the (at this time) upcoming Marvel film is set to feature the Fu Manchu-inspired Mandarin as a major character, and he is set to be played by Tony Leung Chiu-wai, a Hong Kong actor. If one of the characters inspired by him can get portrayed by an Asian actor, perhaps someday in the future Fu Manchu can be reclaimed from his racist origins and given the respectful treatment he deserves. Fu Manchu is a character that is in many ways accidentally incredible and iconic. Born from horrendous racism, and yet the racist screeds depicting him always somehow manage to prop him up as the best character in the lot… it’s the paradox of racist thought, to go so far in demonizing their target they manage to make them more interesting and engaging than the generic protagonists. Fu Manchu is a truly great villain mired in the problems of the time he was created; in the right hands, great work could be done with him.

Bottom line is: Rob Zombie, get Nicolas Cage on the phone and start filming Werewolf Women of the S.S.

[lokimostly]

Polaris (Ch.1/?)

Loki x Reader, Pirate!AU Word Count: 2,768 Warnings: none Summary: Your life has always been set in stone. Born to a wealthy merchant family in the Caribbean, you’ve spent your years as an heiress in the daytime, escaping at night to wander the streets of St. Thomas. Now, on the eve before your life settles into mundanity for good, you discover someone who could change everything-- if you choose to trust him, that is.

A/N: The bitch is back! (Me. I’m the bitch). I’m super excited for this, and I hope you are, too! It was promised a long time ago and it’s finally here. Let me know what you think~~ 

Chapter Two ~ Chapter Three  ~ Chapter Four ~  Chapter Five ~ Chapter Six ~ Chapter Seven ~ Chapter Eight ~ Chapter Nine ~ Chapter Ten ~ Chapter Eleven ~ Chapter Twelve ~ Chapter Thirteen ~ Chapter Fourteen

Night fell like a curtain of embroidered silver stars over the port of St. Thomas. The moon rose in a honey-colored crescent over the black blanket of the sea, where the last ships of the day were tied to the docks: all of it visible from your window, the double panels open and welcoming the warm summer breeze. Mid-July was beautiful in the Caribbean.

This would be your last July here. 

You fastened your cloak and set one final look to your bedroom door – locked, of course – before leaning over your nightstand to blow out the lone candle that flickered warmly. You shouldn’t have been awake at this hour; you had a pressing day tomorrow, a day which had already caused several quarrels with your father. 

You also shouldn’t have been climbing out your window.

The dark material of your cloak weighed heavy on your shoulders as you bunched up your dress and swung one leg bravely over the windowsill, bracing yourself against the suddenly-stronger wind that teased and pulled at your hair, enticing strands around your face to come loose. You pulled your other leg over and shifted carefully, searching with one foot for the foothold you knew to be there.

A-ha. You planted your foot onto the brick, pushing out carefully – a fall from this height would be deadly – and stood with practiced balance. You exhaled softly, calming your nerves as the wind blew against your back and rippled through your dress. A gecko skittered across the wall and disappeared over the crest of the roof. You watched it go before pushing the panels of your window shut, leaving them unlatched for you upon your return, and began your descent. 

You kept your hands on the windowsill and found the next brick. This convenient path of rugged stone was your tiny stairway to the world at night, to the city below, to freedom. Even though you’d done this so many times before, the taste of anticipation at the adventure to come made your heart flutter happily inside your ribs. 

Your feet hit the cobblestone without a sound and you breathed a happy, exhilarated exhale, pulling up your hood. You cast one last glance at your window before turning and heading down the alleyway, towards the twinkling light of the oceanside town.

The night was yours. 

Despite the sweltering warmth of the night, you pulled the fabric of your cloak a little tighter when you slipped by the front of your father’s estate. Even at this hour there were servants around, standing post at the iron-wrought gates or mingling outside the door to the kitchens. All it took was one pair of eyes, and your little expedition would be ruined.

Not that it mattered, really. You doubted that you’d ever get the chance to do this again.

You would never claim to hate your life. There were just certain aspects of it– the formalities, the frivolities, the bone-crushing corsets – that you could happily do without. But being the only child of a moderately wealthy shipping merchant meant that you were born into these things, and expected to die in them. 

You relaxed as your feet carried you further downhill and out of sight from your estate. The streets turned narrower and more crowded despite how late the hour was. Soon, you were making your way through crowds of people: sailors, harlots, vagrants, fishermen, maybe even pirates… not that you would know one if you saw one. Everyone thrived under moonlight.

You would never get the chance to live like these people, so the most you could do was get close. Close enough to taste the salt of the sea, to imagine the feeling of coarse rope between your hands. There was so much you would never experience that you so desperately wanted to: what it felt like to get drunk on cheap tavern liquor, how to handle a ship in a storm, the taste of someone’s lips against yours… 

Well, not the kissing part. Out of everything life had to offer, romance was furthest from your desires. Partly because you’d never been interested in anyone – which was far from a problem in your opinion – but also because it would be forced on you so very soon. The marriage that had been arranged for you since before your birth was coming to a head: you were meeting your fianceé tomorrow. The thought of it made your stomach turn in upset. 

The way you saw it, marriage was the final nail in the coffin of an adventurous life, and you were about to be buried alive.

Once you were in the thrall of the seaside crowds close to the docks, you removed your dark hood and pulled out your braided hair. You inhaled the sweet, salty stench of the ocean, mixed with putrid perfume and the alcohol-ridden breath of the people who passed you by. The ships rocked gently, their wooden bodies creaking like aching joints. Lamplight and candlelight made the port feel like a living being with glowing eyes, blinking away the dark.

It was wonderful. But what to do?

You had every intention of staying out till dawn. Whether or not this was destined to be a remarkable night, you were determined to make it so. It was your last hurrah of freedom – consequences be damned.

The corner pub was positively throbbing with noise, like a pulse point of energy. Somewhere in the clamor you could hear someone playing a four-string fiddle. The sweet sound was mixed with raucous laughter and the occasional breaking of glass. 

A perfect start to your evening.

You slipped in past the crowds outside and immediately found yourself immersed. Tankards clanked together, barmaids wove in between tables, and in the darker corners of the room men played cards and laid wagers amidst cigar smoke and sordid expressions. Everyone here felt open: there was no hiding behind etiquette or polished niceties. There was no stiffness or reservation like you were used to in the daytime. 

Despite the hoots and wholly inappropriate catcalls of the soldiers, you slipped in entirely unnoticed. Free to observe without interruption. You briefly considered buying a drink, but discarded the idea almost immediately. You didn’t care for the taste. Cards, maybe? A quick glance at the tables told you no – there were no women playing, and you wouldn’t dare venturing to a table of burly men on your own. Your nighttime excursions had earned you a few friends through the years, but you couldn’t find any of them in the bar tonight. It was probably better that way – you wanted this night to yourself. 

You found a banister to lean against, wondering what to do, when a laugh caught your attention. It wasn’t the rough and weather-worn roar of a sailor, or the tittering giggle of a barmaid. This laugh was clear as a bell, deep and light at the same time, drawing your attention almost by force.

The source of the sound was sitting at a round table, mid laugh with a tankard in hand. He was unlike any sailor you’d ever seen: fair skin and slick black hair that tumbled down in gentle waves against his shoulders. A jawline you could cut your finger on. The white, bishop-sleeve shirt he wore opened in a wide V that travelled almost halfway down his chest, revealing a scandalous amount of toned muscle. His smile was wide and brilliant and wolfish.

Your heart did a somersault in your ribcage. He was devilishly handsome, there was no denying it. The stark contrast between him and everyone else in this grimy seaside pub was staggering.  But there was something about him that frightened you- something lurking beneath the depths. You couldn’t put your finger on it.

You decided not to stay and find out. You turned towards the door, and immediately collided with someone. The glass bottle in their hand hit the floor and shattered. For a split second, the tavern was entirely silent. Even the fiddler in the corner had paused mid-tune.

Then the sound resumed. The fiddler continued his jig; laughter howled and chairs scraped across the wooden floor. Your heart was in your throat as the sailor you’d just slammed into – and also cost a full bottle of rum – turned around with an ill-fated look in his eye.

Oh, god, he was enormous.

“Hello,” you began nervously. Why did your voice have to tremble so much? “I’m terribly sorry–”

“What do we have ‘ere?” He growled, snatching your wrist and squeezing it painfully tight so you couldn’t run. His eyes raked over your figure, surveying you like a choice cut of meat. His breath reeked of alcohol. You grimaced and tried to pull away, but his bear-like hand only tightened its grip. “No, I don’t think so,” he drawled, obviously more than a little drunk. “You got a debt to pay.” 

Your eyes widened and you shook your head - you’d left your coin purse at home. “I’m sorry, I— I don’t have any money,” you pleaded, trying once more to get away from him. It was a futile attempt. The sailor yanked on your arm and you yelped as he pulled you forcefully against his chest. You resisted the urge to throw up – his shirt smelled even worse than his breath.

“Please,” you begged, cowering in spite of yourself as he towered over you. To think you had felt so brave only minutes ago. 

The sailor gave you a nasty smile full of rotting teeth. “I weren’t talkin’ about money.” 

Before you could think of a response (how were you going to get yourself out of this?) you felt the ghost of a hand on your back and a clear, polite voice that spoke through the noise of the tavern. 

“That won’t be possible, I’m afraid.” 

The sailor’s sluggish eyes drifted upward and his grip on your wrist loosened as he realized who was speaking: the dark-haired stranger, whose sea-green eyes were staring at the sailor with a fury so cold it made you shiver. This glare was elegantly countered by a charming smile.

“I’d be more than happy to mitigate the debt,” he continued politely, sounding very much like he intended to do no such thing, and would seriously hurt the man if he accepted. The sailor, despite being as drunk as he was, picked up on this subtlety, and dropped your wrist entirely. He muttered something indiscernible – with a few inelegant profanities directed your way– and went back to the bar. 

You rubbed your wrist like it had been shackled, letting out a shaky sigh of relief. You hadn’t realized how fast your heart was beating. Now you had a chance to compose yourself, maybe find some of that courage you had been wanting for. 

The dark-haired man leaned down and whispered into your ear, “if you’ll allow me to escort you outside, milady.” His warm breath on your neck made you shiver.

So much for composing yourself.

You managed a nod and made your way out of the bar with him close behind. You wove through the crowds easily, but people seemed to part for him instead, making way like he was some kind of prince.

Or maybe a pirate.

The thought occurred to you as soon as he stepped out onto the cobblestone street and beckoned for you to follow him, heading a little ways from the lights and crowds of the bar. He walked with a certain gait that you could only describe as cat-like: keeping his shoulders squared, but with a sort of elegance that made him seem quick on his feet. Like he always knew where he was going. 

And against your better judgement, you followed.

“Thank you,” you began, still holding onto your wrist. He slowed, and turned around, gazing at you with eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. You shivered. 

“Tell me,” He said, raising a dark eyebrow and setting his hands on his hips as he stepped towards you, “What’s a girl like yourself doing in there? Shouldn’t you be at a gala somewhere?” He sounded like he was teasing you, but the smirk on his lips threw you off. 

You bristled, feeling your pride swell up a bit. “You don’t know what kind of person I am.”

He chuckled. “I’m afraid your dress speaks for itself,” He pointed out, nodding to your fancier-than-usual clothes. Your face flushed and you pulled your cloak around you. He was right. Despite your attempts to dress down, you had never owned anything that wasn’t embroidered with lace. The fact that he saw right through your disguise in less than a minute was more than a little embarrassing. 

The handsome stranger eyed you curiously, watching as the gears in your mind turned over. He held out his hand to you– elegant fingers outstretched in silent offering. You looked down at his hand. Despite its initial beauty, you could see now that his fingers were calloused, and a few white needle-thin scars lined the palms of his hand. Curious.

“Allow me to walk you home,” he said. His words were phrased so sweetly, they were practically dripping with honey. 

You forced yourself to remember why you were out here. What awaited you tomorrow, and for the rest of your life.

You couldn’t let your last night go to waste.

You shook your head, taking a step back. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Why did you feel like you owed him an apology? You had nothing to be sorry for. Yet something about those sea-green eyes had you entirely at his mercy.

His eyes narrowed and he retracted his hand. “Why not?” 

“It’s just… this is my last night.” His brow furrowed, but you continued on. “I don’t get another chance to do this, and quite frankly I’m not looking forward to the rest of my life.” You swallowed, staring at him and setting your shoulders. “I’m sorry,” you repeated. “I can’t.” 

The handsome stranger merely stared at you. There were micro-expressions that crossed his face while he mulled over your words: a twitch of his eyebrow, a slight narrowing of his eyebrows. It should not have been so fascinating to watch a man think. Then again, he had destroyed a lot of your so-called certainties tonight: most particularly, the idea that you would ever want to kiss someone.

But god above if you didn’t want to press your lips against his. You were so distracted by them that you hardly heard him when he began speaking.

“Let me help you, then.”

You blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Let me help make your last night worthwhile.” 

Your eyes narrowed with suspicion and you crossed your arms, trying to figure out why on earth he would offer to help you. “Why?”

He shrugged and smiled, holding his arms out. “If you’re so intent on getting into trouble, you might as well have a friend.” 

“We’re not friends,” you muttered, though the idea was sounding more appealing the more he talked about it. No, snap out of it! He’s playing you like a fiddle, your conscience pleaded.

Unfortunately, you were no longer listening to your conscience. His hand was extended to you once more, and he gave you a look that said ‘go on. Be brave for once.’ 

You were never one to shirk from a challenge.

“Don’t you trust me?” He asked. 

There was that teasing tone again. You held back a snort. “Absolutely not.” 

He grinned. “Smart girl.”

~

Hours later, when the sky was beginning to dim, you climbed the uneven brick wall with tired muscles and lifted yourself onto your windowsill, taking a moment to stare at the city. Even at near-dawn, the lights were still twinkling. The moving specks along the docks that you knew to be sailors were beginning to load the ships with crates and barrels. You breathed in the smell of ocean air, closed your eyes, and savored it for a moment before opening your window carefully, sliding off the sill and landing on the wooden floor. You latched the window behind you.

Your room was undisturbed. You took off your cloak and folded it quickly, shoving it into your dresser. Your dress came off just as fast, despite how tired you were; it fell from your shoulders and pooled on the floor around your feet. With a contented sigh, you fell into your bed, where sleep took you the minute your head hit the pillow. 

And as the sun rose, you dreamed. 

Next Chapter  _____

A/N: Thanks for reading! The tag list is wide open. Tell me what you think! <3

Tag List: @neontiiger, @un-consider-it, @jessiejunebug, @nerdypisces160, @lokiisntdeadbitch, @e-wolf-90, @cursedmoonstone-blog, @kikaninchen-2, @bluebellhairpin, @evy-lyn, @midnight-queen-1, @travelingmypassion, @harrybpoetry, @adefectivedetective, @absolutecraziness13, @kumikokagato, @randomfangirl7, @timetraveler1978, @tarynkauai, @arcanethamin, @ornate-ribcage, @julianettedoe, @kinghiddlestonanddixon, @yespolkadotkitty, @befearlesslyauthenticc, @ladybugsfanfics

[rosemakh]

Talking Topics with Taika - Episode 2: Weatherliness

[spoof interview show with call-in listeners and guests]

[Author's Note: This was originally written in 2014 as a script for an audio series. I wrote two episodes but was unable to continue the project. This is the re-written version, with visual descriptions added as needed. It reads sort of like a script. Just imagine this as a televised talk show with guests seated on a stage, in front of a studio audience.]

Taika: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight, we tackle an issue that affects the life of every living thing on this planet: Weather Change. With the Weather Awareness Conference taking place in Tornado, West Virginia this weekend, Weather Change is once again a hot-button topic. There are many opinions and hypotheses surrounding Weather Change. Tonight's guests are here to help us sort through it all. Please welcome to the show:

Virga Gale, author of "Weatherliness: How to Weather the Weather without Becoming Weathered, Whether You Want to or Not";

Virga: "Thank you, Taika"

Taika:  "Thisisa Nalias, founder of Caring Responsibly And Providing Offerings Lovingly Annually;"

Thisisa Nalias: "Thanks a bunch, Taika!"

Taika: "and Foliaj McGreenly, author of "People are Plants Too: the Complete Guide to Living Without Eating or Drinking."

Foliaj: "I thanketh thee~!"

Taika: "Why don't we start by defining the topic at hand. Miss Virga, what exactly is Weather Change?"

Virga: "It's weather that changes, Taika. Because the weather seems to be changing all the time, we think this is the way things should be, but as I explain in my book "Weatherliness" (which, by the way is available now in bookstores nationwide, and at Weatherliness.com), the truth is this: these weather changes occur because we continue to disrupt the Earth's naturally tranquil and weather-free temperament.

You see, when we are experiencing storms, droughts, snowfall, earthquakes, and nighttime, it's clear that the earth has weather changes, though many people continue to deny it."

Taika: "So, earthquakes and nighttime are also caused by Weather Change?"

Virga: "Yes! When the ground shakes and the sky grows dark, it's clear that something is wrong with our planet!"

Thisisa: "Ooo! Ooo! Ooo! Me! Pick me!"

Taika: "Would you like to respond, Mr. Thisisa?"

Thisisa: "Yes! I completely agree with Miss Virga. Something is very wrong with our planet! Mother Earth is upset because we walk all over her and dig pockmarks into her face and build huge towers on her smooth, supple skin. All we have to do is cheer her up and all this bad weather will go away."

Taika: "An interesting theory. And how might we cheer her up?"

Thisisa: "Chocolate! Women love chocolate!"

Virga: "Excuse me?"

Thisisa: "You know! Chicks like chocolate!"

Virga: "You sexist--"

Thisisa: "So if we give some chocolate to Mother Earth, she'll calm the heck down. That's why my foundation is currently working with government officials to pass a law requiring every nation to give her an offering of one metric ton of chocolate candies for every one million citizens, on January 5th each year."

Taika: "I've heard there is a lot of pushback from the other nations in opposition to that law."

Thisisa: "Yes, but they have to come onboard! If Mother Earth doesn't get her chocolate fix, she'll keep nagging and whining and the weather will only get worse!"

Virga: "You sexist pig! You really think chocolate will be enough to calm Mother Earth, simply because she's a woman?"

Thisisa: "Hey, chill out, toots!"

Virga: "You dare call me 'Toots'? You must die!!"

[she smacks him hard with her hand, hear the slap!]

Thisisa: "Hey, stop it, you cow!"

[she smacks him again, with a book this time]

Virga: "Shut up, pig!"

Taika: "Miss...Miss Virga..."

Thisisa: "That hurts, horse-face!"

Virga: "Good, worthless dog!"

[The fighting continues in the background as the show goes on]

Foliaj: May I speaketh upon this matter~~?"

Taika: "By all means, Mr. Foliaj."

Thisisa: "Elephant!"

Virga: "Rat!"

Foliaj: "I disagree-eth with this flawed assumption that the Earth is a female, for just as we-eth are genderless, so too-eth is the Earth. It is all explained-eth within mine book "People are Plants Too" (availableth now at NeverEatethnorDrinketh.com)."

Thisisa: "Manatee!"

Virga: "Weasel!"

Thisisa: "Buffalo!"

Virga: "Worm!"

Foliaj: "Usingeth this soil-filled flower pot, I shall demonstrateth as per the diagram on page 37-eth of my book."

Foliaj: "When we sticketh thine feet into the Earth's soil, remove our restrictive garments [he drops his robe, now in his boxer shorts] and stretcheth our branches to collect the sun's rich light-eth, we are as the plants of the Earth, genderless and gentle, not angering the Earth by taking-eth of animal-eth or plant-eth, but merely soaking up that which is given-eth to us. We needeth not food. We needeth not play, for in reality, we are not humans - we are plantmans."

Taika: "er... this may be out of line on my part, but since you're standing here in a flower pot in nothing but your underwear, I'll go ahead and say it. You look like you're literally starving to death Mr. Foliaj."

Foliaj: "This is merely the form of a mature plantman~~! One begins to resembleth the strong branches of a tree as one's body deepens its reconnection with the Earth~~!"

Taika: "Those aren't branches, they're bones! All of your bones are sticking out!"

Virga: [laughs] "What is wrong with you, plant guy?" [keeps laughing in the background]

Thisisa: "Yeah, you're a real freak, man!" [laughing] "And your fake accent is so stupid!"

Foliaj: "Quieteth thine tounge~! This accent makeseth me soundeth mystical... Waiteth a minute! As I am one with the Earth, it has spoken to me and I remebereth thou, sir~~!"

Thisisa: [still laughing] "Oh, do you?"

Foliaj: "Thou arteth in truthality Willa Wonky, owner of Choco-lotso, the world's largest producer of chocolateth candies~~!"

Taika: "Oh my gosh! He is!"

Virga: "Ah~~ The Chocolate King…? I'm a huge fan!"

Foliaj: [building up power around, almost as if he's gathering power to cast a very powerful spell, hear the sounds of wind rushing, vines sprouting, and so on, and it gets louder as he continues speaking] "Is that why you wanteth every nation to giveth chocolate to the Earth, when the Earth is the one who creates-eth chocolate in the first placeth~~? To linest thine grimy pockets with gains takeneth from Earth-honoring people~~?! YEE~~ FOWL~~ HYPOCRITE~~~" [the noise has reached its peak and the air is sparking with electricity]

(GASPS) (RELEASES A DEATH MOAN) [he has just died and is silent now. All the other noises die down as well]

Virga: [Screams at the top of her lungs]

Taika: "He...died! It looked like Mr. Foliaj was going to cast some sort of...plant-based magic spell, but he just bent over backwards and died! Someone call a doctor...or maybe an arborist would be better?"

Willa Wonky: "Phew! He almost killed me with those magic vine things. Must be my lucky day!"

Virga: "How can you be happy? Someone's dead!"

[Foliaj McGreenly's voice echoes throughout the room]: "Do not fretteth thou, for I can now finally returneth to the Earth..." [his last "to the earth"s fade out softly as a magical transformation sound is heard, which occurs because he is transforming into a small bony flower that has his face]

Willa Wonky: "What the heck is that ugly thing?"

Taika: "He turned into a bony flower."

Virga: "The part between the petals looks like his face. It's kinda cute."

Willa Wonky: "I don't think 'cute' is the word for it. Gross."

[The lights fade to black as the ending theme music fades in]

[aion-rsa]

Hamilton: Ranking Every Song from the Soundtrack

https://ift.tt/2YTCryx

Imagine the experience of being one of the first individuals to see Lin-Manuel Miranda’s now-classic Hamilton: An American Musical live. 

The first thing you notice is the spartan, largely empty stage. Then as Leslie Odom Jr. takes the stage as Aaron Burr followed by Miranda’s Hamilton, you realize that this production about America’s founding fathers is made up almost exclusively of People of Color. That’s a lot to take in from the start. At a certain point, however, you’re bound to realize that the play is about 40 minutes in and The. Music. Has. Not. Stopped. 

In addition to its many ingenious quirks and hooks, Hamilton is truly a musical musical. Miranda’s book and lyrics about one of the country’s most colorful and impressive founders has a lot of ground to cover. And it does so at a musical sprint with almost no expository time-wasting in-between.

As such, the Hamilton soundtrack is a staggeringly impressive piece of recent culture. At 46 tracks spread out over nearly two and a half hours, this album closely replicates the experience of a show most could never get a ticket to live. A passionate, thriving Hamilton fandom rose up out of that soundtrack and it continues through to this day.

Now, with Hamilton about to be more accessible than ever by joining Disney+, we decided to rank all 46 of those tracks.

46. Hurricane

The hurricane that ravaged Alexander Hamilton’s Caribbean island home of St. Croix was a crucial part of his life and led to him securing passage to the United States. But the song “Hurricane” uses the storm late in the play as a tortured metaphor for his turbulent public life. It’s undoubtedly the least energetic and weakest full song on the Hamilton soundtrack.

45. Farmer Refuted

“Farmer Refuted” does well to capture a young Hamilton’s rhetorical brilliance early on in the play but doesn’t hold up well against other, more fully crafted tunes. Hercules Mulligan mumbling “tear this dude apart” is certainly a soundtrack highlight though. 

44. The Story of Tonight (Reprise)

What would any Broadway musical soundtrack be without a reprise or two? “The Story of Tonight (Reprise)” is certainly fun. But, ultimately, tales of Hamilton’s legendary horniness would have been better suited with a full song. 

43. Schuyler Defeated

Just about every line of dialogue in Hamilton is sung… including heavily expository moments like Burr defeating Hamilton’s father-in-law in a local election. The subject matter and lack of true musical gusto makes “Schuyler Defeated” one of the least essential tracks in the show.

42. We Know

It’s a testament to how strong the Hamilton soundtrack is that a song like “We Know” could appear this low on the list. This account of Jefferson and company informing Hamilton of what they know is quite good; it just pales in comparison to the song in which they uncover Hamilton’s misdeeds. 

41. It’s Quiet Uptown

This is sure to be a controversial spot on the list for this much-loved ballad. “It’s Quiet Uptown” is indeed composed quite beautifully. It also features lyrics that seem to be almost impatient in nature – as though the song is trying to rush the Hamiltons through the grieving process to get back on with the show. 

40. Take a Break

Part of the miracle of Hamilton is how the soundtrack is able to turn rather mundane concepts and events in Hamilton’s life into rousing, larger-than-life musical numbers. “Take a Break” is charged with dramatizing the notion that Hamilton simply works too much with a sweetly melancholic melody. It does quite a good job in this regard but naturally can’t compete with some of the more bombastic songs on the list. 

39. Stay Alive

Set in the brutal dredge of the Revolutionary War, “Stay Alive” is a song about desperation. And between its urgent piano rhythm and panicky Miranda vocals, it does quite a good job of capturing the appropriate mood. It also feels like one long middle with no compelling introduction or conclusion. 

38. Best of Wives and Best of Women

Talk about “the calm before the storm.” “Best of Wives and Best of Women” captures one last quiet moment between Alexander and Eliza before Aaron Burr canonizes his one-time friend to the $10 bill. It’s brief, lovely, and effective. 

37. The Adams Administration

Hamilton wisely surmises that the best way to introduce audiences to new eras of its title character’s life story is through the narration of the man who killed him in Aaron Burr (Leslie Odom Jr.). Odom Jr.’s real flare for showmanship turns what could be throw-away intros into truly excellent material. It also features a hilarious nod to Sherman Edwards’ 1776 musical when Hamilton says, “Sit down, John” and then adds a colorful, “you fat motherf***er!”

36. A Winter’s Ball

Again: Burr’s monologues are always a welcome presence in these tracks. And in “A Winter’s Ball,” he does some of his best work by setting up Burr and Hamilton’s prowess… “with the ladiessssss!”

35. Meet Me Inside

Despite a brief running time, “Meet Me Inside” is able to establish George Washington’s general bona fides and Hamilton’s daddy issues in equal measure. 

34. Your Obedient Servant

“Your Obedient Servant” is Hamilton’s loving ode to passive aggression. In just two minutes and thirty seconds, you’ll believe that two grown men could somehow neg themselves into a duel via letter-writing. 

33. The Reynolds Pamphlet

You know that old adage of “he could read out of a phonebook and it would be interesting?” Well Hamilton basically does that with “The Reynolds Pamphlet.” The ominous music injects real import into the simple act of writing that would upend the Hamilton family’s lives. 

32. That Would Be Enough

Eliza’s refrain of “look around, look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now” recurs at the beginning of “That Would Be Enough” in a truly touching way. This song is a real tonal whiplash from the revolutionary battles and duels that precede it, but it is ultimately strong enough to bring the focus back to Alexander and Eliza and not just the hectic world they inhabit. 

31. The Story of Tonight

“The Story of Tonight” is both a clever drinking song among bros and a subtle setup for the show’s larger theme of one’s story being told after they’re gone. The song is both affecting and effective, just a little too short to stand out and make big waves on our list. 

30. Blow Us All Away

“Blow Us All Away” is a fun, jaunty little ditty from Anthony Ramos’ Philip Hamilton. It rather ingeniously incorporates the young Philip’s own musical motif before ending in tragedy. 

29. Stay Alive (Reprise)

It’s hard for any song to emotionally contend with the death of a child in under two minutes but “Stay Alive (Reprise)” does a shockingly good job. There’s a real sense of urgency to the music before it settles in for poor Philip to say his final words. 

28. Burn

Musically, “Burn” is not one of the better ballads in Hamilton. Lyrically, however, its power is hard to deny. Phillipa Soo does a remarkable job communicating Eliza’s pain at her husband’s betrayal. More impressive is how she communicates the only way to work through that pain, which is through burning all of his personal correspondences and writings to her. 

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27. The Election of 1800

Hamilton is the rare musical where one character can sing “can we get back to politics please?” and the audience’s response is “hell yeah!”. The show is uncommonly good at dramatizing boring political processes, and “The Election of 1800” is no exception. The song builds up to a pseudo-reprisal of “Washington on Your Side” in a shockingly effective and cathartic way. 

26. History Has Its Eyes on You

“History Has Its Eyes on You” is a powerful recurring phrase through the entirety of Hamilton. Each and every time the concept comes up in a song, it truly stands out. Strangely though, the song that bears its name is only in the middle of the pack in terms of the show’s numbers. Perhaps it’s because it occurs near the middle of the first act, before we can properly appreciate its heady themes? 

25. Aaron Burr, Sir

One of Hamilton’s most charming traits is how readily it acknowledges what an annoying pain in the ass its lead character can be at times. “Aaron Burr, Sir” is literally the second song of the entire musical and helps establish its playful tone as much as the bombastic opening number establishes a deadly serious one. 

24. Guns and Ships

Ballads are nice. “I want” songs are nice. Recurring motifs are nice. But sometimes you need a song that just goes hard. Thanks to “America’s favorite fighting Frenchman” that’s what “Guns and Ships” delivers. Lafayette actor Daveed Diggs faces an enormous challenge in Act One by filling out the character’s growth in bits and pieces. “Guns and Ships” is the reward, where a fully unleashed (and English-fluent) Lafayette makes it very clear what hell he has in store for the British army. 

23. Washington on Your Side

Thomas Jefferson is such a dynamo of a presence in Hamilton that one could be forgiven for forgetting how infrequently he turns up. Jefferson (and Daveed Diggs) is operating at an absurdly high capacity in “Washington on Your Side.” Meanwhile the music has a ball keeping up with the increasingly incensed backroom scheming of Jefferson and his “Southern motherfucking Democratic-Republicans!”

22. Right Hand Man

Thirty-two thousand troops in New York Harbor. That’s uh… that’s a lot. While the second act of Hamilton has to work a little harder to capture the drama of the inner-workings of a fledgling government, the first act is able to absolutely breeze through some truly epic and exciting songs covering the Revolutionary War. “Right Hand Man” is one such ditty that really captures the frenetic urgency of a bunch of up-jumped wannabe philosophers trying to topple the world’s most powerful empire. 

21. The Schuyler Sisters

Honestly, “The Schuyler Sisters” deserve better than its placement on this list. It’s just that everything that comes after is such a banger, that it’s hard to justify moving up the dynamic introduction of Angelicaaaa, Elizzzaaaaa… and Peggy.

20. Ten Duel Commandments

Imagine how insane you would sound in circa 1998 explaining that there would one day be a musical about the founding fathers that uses the framework of Notorious B.I.G.’s “Ten Crack Commandments” to describe the duel between Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton. Then imagine how insane you would sound when explaining that it was great. “Ten Duel Commandments” doesn’t cover the “big” duel of Hamilton. It’s a teaser for what’s to come. Thankfully it’s a hell of a good teaser. 

19. Cabinet Battle #2

Hamilton’s two cabinet battles run the risk of being the cringiest part of the show. Every concept has its stylistic limit, and a rap battle between Alexander Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson should absolutely fly past that limit. Somehow, however, the novelty works and the creativity of Miranda’s writing shines through. 

18. Cabinet Battle #1

The two Cabinet Battles are pretty interchangeable on the list. #1 gets the nod because of “we know who’s really doing the planting.”

17. What Comes Next

The trilogy of King George III songs is some of the most purely joyful songwriting on the Hamilton soundtrack. We can dive into the specifics of what really works about the songs in a later entry. For now, know that “What Comes Next” falls the lowest on our list due to featuring only one round of “da-da-da’s.”

16. I Know Him

“I Know Him” also features only one burst of “da-da-da’s.” But it still gets the nod over “What Comes Next” for King George III calling John Adams “that little guy who spoke to me.” 

15. Dear Theodosia

Perhaps more so than any other character in Hamilton, Aaron Burr works best on his own. The character (and the man he was based on) plays things close to the vest by design. It’s only through his musical soliloquies that we get a real sense of the guy. That’s what makes “Dear Theodosia” so powerful in particular. Burr wants the same thing for his daughter that Hamilton wants for his son: “Some day you’ll blow us all away.”

14. One Last Time

George Washington owned slaves. Yeah yeah, you can bandy around the usual “bUt He ReLeAsEd ThEm AlL lAtEr In LiFe” all you want. At the end of the day, it’s an inescapable fact for the country to confront. It’s a hard thing for Hamilton, however,  a show realistic about America’s flaws but still reverential to its founding story, to deal with. Hamilton presents the George Washington of American mythos for the most part and he strikes an undeniably impressive and imposing figure. To that end, “One Last Time” is one of the most unexpectedly moving songs in the show. Washington is committing one of the most important and selfless acts in American history by stepping aside. Yet there’s a real sense of sadness as the cast chants “George Washington’s going hooo-ooo-ooome.”

13. Non-Stop

“Non-Stop” is an extremely atypical choice for an Act-ender. Hamilton could have just as easily chosen to wrap up Act One with the rebels’ victory over Great Britain. Instead it takes a moment to process that then deftly sets up the rest of its story with “Non-Stop,” which is simply a song about Hamilton’s insane work ethic. The key to the track’s success is how relentless it is, as if it were trying to keep up with and mimic the title character’s pace. Then there are all the usual exciting Act-ending reprisals and recurring motifs to boot. 

12. Say No To This

Just as was the case in Hamilton’s life, Maria Reynolds has only a brief role in the show, but her influence casts quite a long shadow. “Say No To This” is a real showcase for both Miranda and Maria actress Jasmine Cephas Jones. This is a devastatingly catchy jazzy number about marital infidelity…. as all songs about marital infidelity should be. 

11. Alexander Hamilton

“How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore / And a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot / In the Caribbean by providence impoverished / In squalor, grow up to be a hero and a scholar?” our narrator Aaron Burr asks in Hamilton’s superb opening number. A play with so many moving parts, and such a high-concept needs an indelible opening track to convince audiences that the madness that is about to follow is worth waiting for. “Alexander Hamilton” is more than up to the task. This is an exhilarating starter that introduces its audience to all the important characters, themes, and sounds of the show. It also has its lead character spell out his full name in a rap, which somehow ends up being awesome and endearing rather than corny. 

10. Wait for It

Just like the rest of us, Burr is the main character of his own story. And the show allows him to tell that story in songs like “Wait For It.” “Wait For It” is an exciting, downright explosive bit of songwriting. It’s every bit the “I want” song for Burr that “My Shot” is to Hamilton. And just like Burr and Hamilton are two sides of the same coin, so too are these two songs. Burr is alone once again in this powerful number. And he uses that privacy as an excuse to loudly… LOUDLY exclaim his modus operandi. He comes from a similar background as Hamilton and he wants mostly the same things as Hamilton. The difference between the two of them is that Burr is willing to wait for it all.

9.  The Room Where it Happens

Bless this musical for having a song as brilliant  as “The Room Where it Happens” only just being able to crack the top 10. There are hundreds of musicals in which “The Room Where it Happens” would be far and away the standout number. For Hamilton, it’s ninth. “The Room Where It Happens” is another example of the show taking a seemingly bland topic (backroom deal-making) and turning it into something transcendently entertaining for its audience and something transcendently illustrative for its characters. This is the song where the borders between Aaron Burr: Narrator and Aaron Burr: Vengeance-Seeker come down.  Burr starts off as a patient observer of what kind of nefarious negotiations go into the building of a country before his frustration slowly builds into the recognition that he needs to be in the room where it happens. 

8. Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

Truly there is no more fitting ending to Hamilton than “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story.” At its core, this is a play not only about legacy but about the fungible nature of legacy. Alexander Hamilton is gone and we know his story lives on. But who will tell that story? Like any good closing number, “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story” knows the importance of bringing back many of the play’s core concepts and characters. And none of those are more important than Eliza’s assertion that she is ready “to write herself back into the narrative.” In the end, it’s not the revolutions or the pamphlets but the love. And that’s how one finds oneself in the absurd position of crying over the guy on the $10 bill.

7. What’d I Miss?

Lin-Manuel Miranda has described Thomas Jefferson as the show’s Bugs Bunny. Nowhere is that more apparent than in the ludicrously jaunty track that opens up Hamilton’s Act Two. There might not be a more joyful or outright hilarious three minutes in any of the soundtrack’s 46 songs. After several years spent living it up in France, Daveed Diggs’s TJ returns to the United States. The rest of his fellow revolutionaries have moved on to R&B and rap, but Jefferson is still stuck in full on jazz mode. “What’d I Miss” serves as the perfect introduction to a crucial character and the themes of the show’s second half. 

6. The World Was Wide Enough

If “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story” is designed to make the audience cry, then “The World Was Wide Enough” exists to make them gasp. This penultimate song is a truly stunning piece of work. This is a sprawling performance that brings back “The 10 Duel Commandments” in expected yet still emotional fashion. Then at the play’s climactic moment, it cuts out the music entirely to make room for Hamilton’s internal monologue – his one last ride through all the pages he won’t write. Finally it covers the grim aftermath of Burr and Hamilton’s duel as the survivor grapples with what he has done. There is a lot packed into these five minutes of song and each moment is more compelling than the last. 

5. You’ll Be Back

If absolutely nothing else in Hamilton worked – if the characterizations were off, if the costumes were too simple, if the “Founding Fathers rapping” concept couldn’t be executed – the play’s two and a half hours all still would have been worth it for this one, tremendously goofy song. King George III (portrayed by Jonathan Groff in the original Broadway production) pops up three times throughout the show to deliver pointed little reminders to the American colonists about how good they used to have it. The first time around is by far the best, in large part because it’s so charmingly unexpected and weird. By the time King George III gets to the “da-da-da” section of his breakup song with America, it’s hard to imagine anyone resisting the song… or the show’s charms. 

4. My Shot

While “You’ll Be Back” may go down as the most enduring karaoke song from Hamilton, “My Shot” is almost certainly the play’s most recognizable and iconic tune. Every musical needs an “I want” song in which its lead articulates what they want out of this whole endeavor. Rarely are those “I wants” as passionate and thrilling as “My Shot.” This was reportedly the song that Miranda took the longest to write and it’s clear now to see why. Not only is “My Shot” lyrically and musically intricate, but it does the majority of play’s heavy lifting in establishing Hamilton as a character. Just about everything we need to know about Alexander Hamilton and what drives him is introduced here. And the work put into “My Shot” makes all of its recurring themes and concepts hit so much harder in the songs to come. 

3. Yorktown (The World Turned Upside Down)

In many ways, “Yorktown” benefits from the precedent that earlier songs like “My Shot” established. This is a song that puts energetic renditions of previous lines like “I’m not throwing away my shot” and “I imagine death so much it feels like a memory” to grand use. But for as much as “Yorktown” deftly invokes Hamilton’s past, what makes this song truly special is how solely focused it is on the present. To put it quite simply: “Yorktown” goes hard. It is fast, harsh, chaotic, and thrilling. This is the song that captures the moment that American troops defeated the British empire and “the world turned upside down.” It’s to the song’s immense credit that the music and lyrics capture the enormity of the moment. Also, there’s “stealing the show” and then there’s what Hercules Mulligan (Okieriete Onaodowan) does here in “Yorktown.” We’re in the shit now, and Hercules is loving it. 

2. Helpless

“Helpless” might be pound for pound the best musical moment in all of Hamilton. It’s a simple, seemingly effortless love song that, even removed from the context of the show, would sound beautiful coming out of anyone’s car radio on a lovely summer day. Within the context of the show, it’s even better. It acts as a rare moment of celebration for all the characters involved before the Revolutionary War really gets churning and before a young America needs capable young Americans to guide it. What makes “Helpless” truly great, however, is the song that follows it…

1. Satisfied

Wait, wait… why is Angelica saying “rewind?” Why do we need to rewind? We had such a lovely night! The transition between “Helpless” and “Satisfied” is Hamilton’s greatest magic trick. The former presents a night of unambiguous love and celebration. Then the latter arrives to teach us that there is no such thing as “unambiguous” in Hamilton. In a truly remarkable performance, Angelica Schuyler (Renée Elise Goldsberry) teaches us what really happened the night Hamilton met the Schuyler sisters. Angelica will never be satisfied, and it’s because she’s “a girl in a world in which (her) only job is to marry rich.” Hamilton and Eliza’s story is a love story. But it’s also a story of Angelica’s loss. “Satisfied” imbues the musical with a sense of subtle melancholy that it never quite shakes through to the very end. “Satisfied” is the emotional lynchpin of Hamilton, and as such also its very best song. 

The post Hamilton: Ranking Every Song from the Soundtrack appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2ZFRzyW

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Group Founded by Sun Myung Moon Preaches Sexual Abstinence in China

By Elisabeth Rosenthal    New York Times   September 12, 2000

https://www.nytimes.com/2000/09/12/world/group-founded-by-sun-myung-moon-preaches-sexual-abstinence-in-china.html

For several years now, a small New York-based foundation has aggressively spread its conservative message in China: sex before marriage is immoral, fidelity in marriage is essential and abstinence is the only way to prevent AIDS.

Offering free seminars and workshops, the International Educational Foundation has been warmly embraced by a range of conservative Chinese officials distressed about their country’s slide toward sexual freedom.

In partnership with a government health education institute, the foundation has now worked in every province, and its Beijing office is in a Health Ministry building.

But in many ways the foundation is a strange bedfellow for the Communist Chinese government, which has been waging an especially harsh campaign against evangelical religious groups and spiritual movements.

The International Educational Foundation was started by the ardently anti-Communist Rev. Sun Myung Moon, the South Korean founder of the Unification Church. Its headquarters is in the church’s main building in Manhattan. And its leaders are prominent members of the Unification Church.

“Many Chinese officials are very conservative, and those that support the ideas being taught by the foundation don’t worry too much about what else is behind it,” said Qiu Renzong, a specialist in medical ethics at the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences who has criticized the group for undermining China’s AIDS prevention effort.

Critics of the group say many Chinese supporters – for the most part loyal Communists and atheists – are only dimly aware of the foundation’s religious roots or what the Unification Church represents. Mr. Moon has said he is a messiah who at age 16 was asked by Jesus to continue his divine work; he says he and his wife are the “true parents” of church members, and he prefers to personally select their spouses.

But in China as in the United States, Moon-affiliated groups have consistently succeeded in promoting their conservative social agenda in even the most hostile environments, generally by tapping into the fears of local conservatives and forming alliances with them.

Playing down religion and their links to the Moon organization, the foundation uses its deep pockets to support a number of conservative social causes, and local allies tend not to ask too many questions.

Zhu Qi, a Chinese health official who has sponsored the foundation’s work in China, said he was aware that it was a “church-affiliated group,” although he said he was unsure which church it represented. He added that the group was “welcome, so long as they weren’t doing missionary work.”

“It’s true that it’s very unusual for Chinese organizations to cooperate with foreign religious groups,” he said. “But I think the reason we can cooperate is that their Christian values are in line with traditional Chinese values. Also, they have a degree of economic strength.”

This summer, the Chicago school board discovered that a similar Moon-affiliated group, the Pure Love Alliance, had been given permission by inner-city principals to teach its abstinence-only curriculum in classrooms. The chancellor of the Chicago public schools angrily banned the group when its links to the Moon organization were discovered.

Though acknowledging their ties with Mr. Moon, the foundation’s leaders emphasize that their focus is on “actualizing virtues that are universal, like respectability and honesty,” not on promoting religious dogma, said Alan Saunders, who is based in New York. Mr. Saunders said the group was independent from the church, supporting itself through its business ventures and donations. He added that Mr. Moon financed only large conferences.

“Many people who work with us are not Unificationists,” Mr. Saunders said. “In Russia we’re in 5,000 schools. Most of the teachers do not have the Unificationist perspective, so we’re not endorsing religiousity.”

But critics in China complain that the foundation has misled people, presenting second-rate science to promote a health policy based on conservative values rather than research. They say the group’s focus on abstinence undercuts the fight against AIDS in China.

The foundation’s lecture material denies that condoms can prevent pregnancy, transmission of H.I.V., the virus that causes AIDS, or other sexually transmitted diseases. And lecturers tell students that there is no such thing as “safe sex.”

“When H.I.V. was spreading province by province through China, the Chinese government spent a lot of time working with religious groups to use morality to defend the people against AIDS,” said Wan Yanhai, who runs a Chinese Web site about H.I.V. and recently co-authored a report called “The Foreign Shepherd,” about the International Educational Foundation’s work in China.

Others criticize the group for obscuring its religious background and particularly its ties to the Unification Church, a far-flung group with a controversial history, hundreds of intertwined businesses and some unconventional religious beliefs.

“I think most Chinese don’t have a good idea of what this group is, even if they have heard it’s the Unification Church,” said Er Yan, the other author of “The Foreign Shepherd,” who is also the general coordinator of the Chinese Society for the Study of Sexual Minorities. “They portray Mr. Moon as just another respected religious leader.”

Mr. Er and others worry that the Moon organization is using the seminars to promote its own goals at the expense of sound health policy. Former members of the Unification Church say Mr. Moon has long wanted to gain a foothold in China.

“The group has a 30-year track record of using lots of money to gain access to high political positions,” said Steven Hassan, a former senior member of the church who has since become one of its critics. “They create a front group, offer lots of money, set up conferences. And inveigle their way into whatever can be inveigled.”

Although the foundation’s teaching materials and lectures focus on secular virtues, the vocabulary and practices of the Unification Church creep into the curriculum – with occasional references to the “true parents” (Mr. Moon and his wife) and ceremonies in which foundation teachers perform mass blessings of marriages. The International Education Foundation, with offices in New York, London, Moscow and Beijing, says it has operations in more than a dozen countries, although its Web site focuses mostly on the former Soviet Union, Mongolia and China.

The Moon organization has been cultivating ties to China since the early 1990’s. The foundation itself first came to China in 1994, Dr. Zhu said. Today, with Dr. Zhu’s help, the foundation generally works directly with local government bureaus across China to set up seminars on abstinence and chastity.

Foreign groups are not allowed to operate in China without a local partner, and the Moon group tends to work with socially conservative Chinese bureaucrats, generally associated with the Education or the Propaganda Ministry or with the All China Women’s Federation. They see the growing number of liberal, often Western-trained health officials as the enemy.

The group has apparently helped overcome any misgivings with cash.

Researchers at the All China Women’s Federation, who said they were aware of the group’s ties with the Unification Church, said the foundation often lavished money and other perquisites on officials and cash-poor local governments.

Mid-level officials and, sometimes, their children have been treated to trips abroad to attend conferences, a rare opportunity for most Chinese college students.

This spring, the foundation flew more than 100 Chinese students to a seminar at the University of Bridgeport, in Connecticut, which is owned by the Unification Church. Mr. Er, the co-author of “The Foreign Shepherd,” said it was an offer that many Chinese couldn’t refuse.

“Even if they don’t believe in the message,” he said, “they see it as a free trip for their kids.”

___________________________________________

In order to rule the world, Sun Myung Moon had to start with Korea.

Sun Myung Moon’s desire to take over the League for his own financial and political ends

Fraser Committee Report on Moon org.:  “these violations were related to the overall goals of gaining temporal power.”

My experience within the hierarchy of the Moon cult during its years of expansion in Russia and in the CIS

Press Release on the FFWPU by the Department of Communication, Nizhny Novgorod province, Russia

Sun Myung Moon was eager to infiltrate the European Parliament

The CIG constitution is the paperwork for what Fraser and every Moon org critic has warned was the Moon org’s goal all along

Hak Ja Han’s Cheon Il Guk Constitution is troubling

Sun Myung Moon’s One-World Theocracy

[rheisa-midnightfury]

OC Interview: Ranaman

I got tagged by @serbaki a while ago and made an Interview with Taz, but I feel like I want to do it with Ranaman as well.

So... here goes nothing. And this time I’m tagging: @wolfgirlraz @ocarina-of-what @celestialkiri

1. What's your name? Lorewalker Ranaman attend.

2. What is your real name? Alright, I may not be an actual lorewalker. But I've been serving the palace in the Vale of Eternal Blossoms for many years now. Maybe I don't have the title, but I would truly consider myself as one.

3. What is that huge glass of wine is for? Oh my, dear. If my brother would have asked me that, I have most likely hit his head with the bottle. It is for drinking, of course. And to give some honest answers.

4. Are you single or taken? *Ranaman reaches for a wine glass and pours some of the red liquid into it. After a huge sip, he smiles shyly.* Do you know any lovely partner for me? Because I'm sure into a great party. If you know what I mean. I haven't find the right person for me yet.

5. Have any abilities or powers? Before Pandaria, I've spent some years at Dalaran. That magnificent city was the first place I've been after I have escaped from my tribe. The knowledge of the place made me stay for a little while. I learned some spells many would consider as frost magic. I have some practice in arcane spells as well.

6. I'm afraid we don't have time for long answers. So can you just tell the... main point. As you wish.

7. What’s your eye color? Dark blue. *Ranaman sips again*

8. I didn't mean that short. How about your hair color? My natural hair color is white as snow...Well, it became white. Before I left home, I had as orange hair, as my brother, but it became whiter and whiter by the days. Maybe because of the too much worry. However, sometimes I like to dye it pink, to match with robes. It's been a while since I wear it as pink.

9. Have you any family members? Apart from my twin brother, I can't tell for sure. I was just nine when I've left my father. Tazanor could tell you if he is alive at that very moment, or not. Our mother died the day we were born. I also have a daughter, named Vrin'na. The very first time and well... the only time when I slept with a woman... One of many secrets the Dalaran holds between its walls. I wasn't there when she grew up, I didn't even know I had a daughter until that lady showed up. We rarely see each other with Vrin'na, but she knows she can seek me up any time, and I'm always there for her.

10. Any pets? I have this flying mount,  a golden cloud serpent. I find Rukka when he was just a little hatchling and with the kind help of the Pandaren from the Order of the Cloud Serpent, I raised him up.

11. Tell me something about, that you don’t like! *A stagy smile appeared at Ranaman's face before sipping from the glass again.* If you have more questions like this, be prepared to meet the drunk and far less affable me. Oh heavens! Where shall I start? From a young age, I hate people who think stupidity is a... right.  Growing up with a company of berserkers, voodoo doctors, and hunters wasn't as pleasant as others from my kind would say.  Because of early experience, I try to avoid witch doctors and voodoo as well. And before you warn me again, there was no short answer to this question.

12. You are the man of many words, aren't you? That is what I'm good at, yes. I'm the troll who drinks and talks a lot.

13. Have you ever hurt anybody before? It depends. Verbal or physical?

14. Well... both? Verbally I hurt most people who think is smarter than me Or do something unwise, like my dear brother.

Physically? I like to give slaps to people who deserve it. I can't really take if someone insults me. Allow for my body type I would never pick up a fight with anyone. I'd rather freeze them to the ground and just walk away.

15. And have you ever killed anybody? We're getting closer to the drunk me. *Ranaman drinks again.*  I will not blanch over it, because there is no nice version of it. Let me just ask you something first. If you have the chance for revenge, would you take it?

16. Uhm... no? Well, I did. I don't believe in fortune, but it was something I can't deny that it was my fate. A man who soured my life was right in front of me. I haven't seen him in years and I never even wanted to see him ever again. Just to be honest. But there he was, encaptured my brother and was ready to... To... Whatever he wanted to do to Taz, wasn't metered at that point. The point is that I took my chance. They can say killing someone is never the right decision. But it's something I'll never regret.

17. Any hobbies? Quick change. I hope you're not afraid of me. That affair was something I would never do, but feelings are one of many things, are hard to control. Anyways... Hobbies, you ask? For now, I wouldn't consider it as a hobby, since it's become my normal life activity. But reading, for sure. It is something I do whenever I can, and when I sit down to enjoy a good book - mostly history ones - I usually have company. Most likely a bottle of red wine or a luscious Pandaren brew. Now! Activities, I don't do often, but I wish I could is traveling. Especially in historical places. Last time I visited the magnificent desert of Uldir. It is such a lovely place.

18.How about your sexual orientation? Let me just say that I both attracted to man and women. But when I'm looking for a partner, I mostly end up with a guy next to me.

19. Did you go to school or are you currently partaking in any educational courses? As I've mentioned, I had spent my early years at Dalaran, learning frost and arcane magic. Since I left the delightful city my life is dedicated to learning all the secrets of our world. You know, how they say: Once you stop learning, you start dying.

20. Do you ever want to marry and have kids someday? It is something I have never thought about. Maybe, if once I'll find the right person...

21. What are you most afraid of? I get the feeling you want to make me drunk. *Ranaman looks at the bottom of the empty bottle.* I don't think refilling would be a good idea... *He sighs.* Alright, as you might have already discovered I prefer keeping distance with witch doctors, but it's not a thing that causes me dreamless and wakeful nights. No. *He looks around suspiciously.* I hope this thing will stay between us! Remember when I said, I don't know if my father is alive... Well, seeing him once again, or even getting any news from him...is really one of my greatest fears. He is one person I want to forget.  But what I fear the most is one day... I'll lose my brother. Taz didn't know how much he means to me, and I never show...

22. You and Taz have such a strange relation. Tell me one thing that's not 'strange' about me. *He smiles gently, reaches for the glass and placing it back at the table right away as he remembered he already drank all of the wine.*

23. What do you usually wear? Mostly robes I sew with my very hands. I have several cloths in a different color, but particularly I wore pink and yellow, sometimes blue. Every piece of clothes has some Pandaren features, it's a small detail I like to add. When I'm alone... which happens to be quite often, I put on a white shirt and comfortable pants.

24. Do you love someone? Oh, dear! If only... *A dreamy smile appeared on his face and stared at the distance for a while.* For some years I thought I was in love with someone, who... happened to be my best friend. Now I understand and respect his feelings and will never try to poison his wife again. But currently, my heart is open, waiting for someone...

25. When was the last time you wet yourself? That's a thing I can't answer, probably when I was a baby or a toddler. I had no parent who could tell me about my childhood so...

26. How many friends do you have? Really close friends, well... they would be Ran'rak, my best friend I mentioned before and his wife, Rheisa. And of course my brother. They are basically my family.

27. What are your thoughts on pie? Oh, you got me! Sweets are one of my weak points. I prefer the cherry one most, but apple and any barry would do. With a huge amount of whipped cream. *He winked and smirked as he leaned back on the chair.*

28. Tell me about your favorite place? Pandaria and The Vale of Eternal Blossoms, obviously. *Ranaman let out a soft, hearty chuckle.* Apart from that, every calm place would do, with a small waterfall. It helps me relax and it's a great way to keep Taz away from myself since he is afraid of water.

29. Are you interested in someone? Not that I know of. Of course, I see some handsome man around, but most of the time I only get refusals. I don't even get the chance of a one night stand.

30. You seem a bit dow, is everything ok? Yes, my dear. You know, sometimes it's just hard. Waking up in the morning, finding no one next to you. If I don't think of loneliness, yes... everything is fine.

31. What’s your bra cup size or how big is your willy, depending on which one applies? *Ranaman grabbed the tip of his ear and started rubbing it as his cheeks turned red.* Who askes? *He gives a shy smile.* Considering my height and body type, I would say...  average? Get me some drink after this and I might show it to you.

32. I pass it, but er... t-thank you? I was just kidding my dear. After all, I don't think you're my type.

33. Well than! What is YOUR type? When it comes to man, I'd say... *He seems to ponder away for a second with a spark in his eyes.* I like the muscular ones, but don't think of huge chunky males. A thin-like body with some muscles, add a little chest hair and...*He swallows a huge and crosses his legs uncomfortably.*  S-so, next q-question?

34. You only mentioned man. Well, never thought about what I like about woman. Sure I don't like big curves, but if I think about it. It was just one time when I slept with a woman as I mentioned... After that night I never tried to flirt with any.

35. Any fetishes? I don't think that it would be considered a fetish. If I think about it... Hm... I like when my partner is stronger than me and carries me to the bed, taking the control. Of course, when I feel confident enough, I would also try to take the lead. I still don't know if it's a fetish... But mostly I like really emotional sex, holding tight my partner with many kisses... *Ranaman sighs and looks at the empty glass next to him, wishing for a refill for now.*

36. Well, I have some other questions, but each is so personal and such... So, I think I'll leave you alone. I appreciate it. You're such a considerate person.

37. Alright. So the interview is over. Thank you for your help! It was my pleasure. Take care, my dear!

[passionandpurposeblog-blog]

Sexuality: No More to say and so over it

A few months after my long term girlfriend and I split up, I ended up in bed with Phillip, A nice guy that I’d known for some time. During the post-sex talk, he turns and asks “So does that mean you’re straight now?” 

“LMFAO” 

‘You’ve got a nice cock and I had a great orgasm, …..but you haven’t awoken anything in me that wasn’t already there. You cannot ‘make’ me straight and no one forced me to fuck you’ 

Infact, No one else would sexually awaken anything in me. Not the next guy after Phil, or the guy after that guy, or the girl after the guy after Phil. The list goes on and the list started waaaay back into my early teens. I've always been open, I was experimenting with drugs and people at a young age, I had a threesome with a guy and a girl when I was just 18. When I look back, I must admit that was very young for such an experience, but I just went with the flow. I don’t regret it, but I wish I had done it at a later age to really make the most of it and have the emotional maturity that you need to go with it. 

I’ve been listening to an interview with Kate Pierson (B52’s) and she has recently married her long term partner, a woman that she has dated for 15 years. She said that she had always dated men, and was even married before and that this lady came along and bang she was in love, just like that. Kate Pierson is now 71, So this is her 55-year-old self experiencing a major transition and shift in her life. Whilst trawling through the B52s back catalog online I read so many comments from random fans. ‘She's a lesbian’ ‘I never knew’ ‘But she was married to so and so’ and this is exactly the snooze fest that I am writing about today. Yawn...... If she spent 40 years with different men and now met a woman, perhaps shes just er just bisexual? And more importantly, shouldn’t we be interested in the music and her voice? As much as I love her, when all is said and done I don’t really want to think about the bedroom antics of a 71-year-old yknow.  

What is it with the labels?  

It’s like no one is comfortable until they know exactly which box you belong in, and if you stray from that box then their tiny minds scramble and system overload occurs. ‘ANNOUNCE YOURSELF AT ONCE’ ‘What are you?’ and ‘Don’t you dare have options or change, it doesn’t fit with the label I’ve prescribed you’.  

Before we label Kate a lesbian, how about we mention that she’s a brilliant talented vocalist with over 40 years in the band? Or is that how we are defining her now ‘The lesbian’?. *Insert laughing emoji here* 

“Bisexuals always get dumped on,” says Cynthia Nixon from Sex in the City...The Media has too labeled her a lesbian when much like Kate Pierson, she was in fact with men and entered into this new world later on in her life. It’s like now we must erase her whole previous life and deny that any man has ever come close to her! How dare she now turnaround and say she's’ attracted to men! How fucking dare she, she’s lesbian property now and she has no voice! She never said she was anything, You did!   

I thought, ‘I get it! I get You, I just get it’. She’s attracted to people, they may be male or they may be female yet shes being kettled to a place she never asked to be. It really is that simple. Should her current relationship end, nothing stops her going back to men, dating another woman or even staying single. Your past partners do not mean that your future self is set in stone. It’s not difficult to understand really is it?  

But! And there is a But!  

Say Cinthia and her gf/wife did break up and she dated a man. She won’t find it that easy, because of what I call, the whole ‘lesbian fragility’ - Gay women who pride themselves on being with women and only women and god fucking forbid should you show any interest in a guy. Well, You are now damaged goods my girl. A sell-out, banished!....exiled from the pride....like the Lioness in last weeks BBC Planet Earth. How can you and the gay community ever really watch the L Word again together or listen to Ani Difranco in the same way? ‘It’s just not the same’ they’ll whine.  

I’m being serious. There is a reverse discrimination within the gay community! I’ve seen it first hand. I’ve seen a few women in same sex relationships end, then go for a guy and their ‘friends’ no longer feel the same way about them, there’s no time to hang out anymore and she is “too busy with her straight friends”.  

Awwwww did someone emasculate you? 

I’ve never really enjoyed the company of gay women if I'm honest. I always found their friendships forged on sharing of sexual preference rather than common interest, views or hobbies. I usually think their haircuts are shit and they present me with this feeling where they are unsure if they want to fuck me or fight me. Very awkward, not to mention its a very childish and incestuous scene.  

I have seen this so many times with women, either in a same sex or opposite and then switch later on down the line which is what I mean about experience and just understanding those around you. I think a lot of women are on the bi spectrum. Not all, no, but a lot are, and sexuality is fluid.  About three months ago my cock hungry straight friend told me she’d met some woman online and is now having the best sex of her life! Great, wonderful, Whoppie.  So how do I label her? …....‘Err Mary’......... I label her Mary. I can’t really call her cock hungry right now, so I’ll just label her ‘Hungry Mary’. 

One of my oldest friends is gay – full blown lesbian, never been with a guy but totally cool with every bi girl that has. She and I sit on a different part of the spectrum, but she gets it and like myself she gives those around her that mutual respect and safe space to be who they are. If she turned around tomorrow and said she’s dating a guy, I wouldn’t be shocked, not because she has ever indicated that she likes guys, but simply because people change.  

I know three guys that have also experimented with other guys, would identify as straight and two of the three have long term girlfriends and kids. I just think at the time they took the ‘any holes a goal’ attitude and like my younger self, just went with the flow. 

As we age and grow the fuck up, this should be more accepted and we should just allow people to do who and what they want without the questions, especially the silly questions. It’s really mind numbingly boring, not to mention so nosey!? Jeez, get your own life in order. Despite my ramblings, I'm actually a pretty private person.  I just don’t discuss my private life or anyone I’m dating, I have so many transient non-committal interactions with people that I just don’t feel I need to. 

 I’ve been chatting to some people for ages, and I still wouldn’t discuss parts of my life with them. I keep my circle so small, and If we don’t click like that, we don’t click like that. It’s cool, because there is far more to me and far more to you than who we have in our beds right? I cant imagine meeting someone and asking them, “so what are ya?” CRINGE. I’d die. I’ve got some friends that I’ve spoken to for years, we’ve had really great conversations and it’s never occurred to me to stop and ask ‘do you have a partner? Are you gay?’  

The small circle of friends that I have know me, they get me and that’s my safe space.  

I do find some of the questions and statements really annoying, and if I’m honest just plain weird. I have an irritating male friend in that likes to continually remind me that I’m attracted to women, and of course, there is no way that I can be attracted to men, because I’m not attracted to him..... *eye roll* Dick! It’s like me saying to someone, ‘but you said you like mixed raced girls, so why don’t you like me’ it’s really really weird and it makes me feel uncomfortable. Its uncomfortable because he cannot address or acknowledge his own fascination with bisexuality and cannot stop mentioning it every time he sees me? He makes out he is cool and open-minded, yet I seem to be the topic of convo or butt of his jokes. Address your homophobia or your weird unrequited sexualisation of me whatever the issue is. Seek help mate, Your issue not mine. 

I cannot recall being asked what two women do in bed, but I have heard of it being asked to other people. It’s hilarious. I honestly believe that if you are over 25 and cannot work that out then you have a really dull imagination and I’d bet you are not very experienced. Not necessarily in bedding two women at once, but just in experiencing people; hearing their stories, watching porn, understanding their anatomy and physiology. OR You are being a menace and condescending..... I’ve never seen two men at it live, but I’m pretty sure I know how it goes down ;-)  

Sometime ago I spent a fair amount of time at a bdsm sex dungeon helping out an old friend. Id mostly film her sessions, and now and then Id help out by giving some guys the odd little kick in the nuts etc. Boy, I could write a whole new blog on that experience LOL! I saw some things!  

Meeting all the different types of people that came in the dungeon really opened my eyes to the world of sex and sexuality and just what turns people on. You really cannot judge what people are into, and you’d never know. It’s funny, the ‘geezers’ that make the gay jokes about bumming are often the same ones that ask the women to wear strap ons ;-). People have their quirks and their kinks, they just hide it well BELIEVE me. 

I’ve seen a lot and I’m very open and not much phases me, but because I’m not phased, or excited by the gossip or the fascination of it all I'm over it. …....over the labels, the questions, the presumptions, opinions and the basic inability to let people do what they want in peace. So because of this I decided a long time ago that I’m actually over my sexuality and stopped speaking about it  back in my twenties. 

Yawn.  

No one owns me and no one dictates.

I’m not anything, I’m just me in that particular point of time. No path is set and I answer to no one except who’s in my bed. 

Keep your own truth

[blusollyjd]

Somewhere in the Mojave...

(The following is a collabo between me and CuddlyMedics! Enjoy Jane being the world’s best, stupidest husband. And getting some unexpected help. :D) ----------

Something that Jane Doe had forgotten about his beloved America was how big its western desert was. It certainly hadn’t looked this big on his map (the one that’d conveniently enough been sitting right on his tray at the Speedee Burger). Not that he was complaining- he knew it would be a long trek to Coldfront. He just hadn’t considered it would be this long.  He was certain that he should’ve been halfway there by now, and that he’d have Abel in his arms in no time. But the Mojave was wide, barren and hot. His canteens had run dry long ago, his only respite from his thirst the occasional dust-ridden little town he’d come across that had a little water to spare. He’d remembered some trick about cactuses, but the spines stuck his fingers something awful before he managed to hack deep enough into one to get any decent amount of bitter juice. What the desert lacked in moisture it made up for in snakes, scorpions, red ants and the occasional coyote- all of which seemed to be doing their best to make sure that the Soldier didn’t get that great of a night’s sleep. The night was cool at least, but so many bugs seemed to be interested in his sleeping bag at night that Jane was starting to forgo it. Unless he could find a fairly flat elevated rock to keep him off the ground.

It was hard going. Something in him was wondering if this was a stupid, suicidal course of action. But then he thought of Abel. Abel, who may be dead or sick or hurt, whose letters never reached him, if they were sent at all. Jane had to get to him, and the thought of the Medic filled the Midwesterner with renewed resolve to go another day. But alas, even the most resolute, loyal and stupidly brave Soldiers are bound by the limits of human physiology. And so, it was around the peak of the midday heat that Jane finally collapsed to the dry, cracked ground, mouth parched, vision blurry, and brain baking in the metal confines of his helmet. His fingers dug into the dirt, pulling himself along a few more feet. He thought he saw something in the wavery distance. He was even less sure, but he thought he saw something moving toward him. All he was really sure of was that he was likely never going to reach Abel now. Stupid, he thought as the hot, bright world went dark on him. You’re so goddamn stupid.

But even as the bright world went dark on the Soldier, and all consciousness slipped away from him in a shimmery, hazy cloud of heat, indeed, something was making his way towards him. He wasn’t imagining things. It hadn’t been one of those ‘oasis hallucinations’ he had heard spoken about in the past. After all, the last thing he viewed before the darkness took over wasn’t of a cool, shimmering pond, where the inviting fronds of a palm tree swayed high above the giggling heads of half-naked desert maidens. Wasn’t that what hallucinations were? Cool ponds surrounded by sensual and sexy half-naked women? No. Well, yes, but no. This wasn’t that. This wasn’t anything of the sort.

“Now… what do we have here?”

It was silly to have ever considered such a thing. After all, cool, shimmering ponds and inviting palm trees didn’t talk.

“Is that--”

And, boy, it was a fact that hallucinated giggling, half-naked maidens typically didn’t have that kind of masculine voice.

“Naw. That couldn’t be. ...Could it?”

That was such a nice voice, though.

“It… it is! By the stars n’ stripes! Mr. Doe?”

That kind of masculine voice that rung out with a clear, crisp, southern lilt to it. No, no. That couldn’t be right.

But before the Soldier with heat stroke could even begin to recognize the voice, let alone the world around him, his body gave out on him. With his brain fried from the heat and his thoughts riddled with what remained of his cooked mind, he never truly understood the concept of being picked up and slung over someone’s shoulder, carried a-la-fireman-style, over to a place that had shelter, shade, food, water… and supplies. A place that, in all honesty, had he been aware of his surroundings… Jane Doe would have recognized in a heartbeat. “Hey! Woody!”, the masculine voice with a clear, crisp, southern lilt to it broke the darkness, piercing the quiet of that nothingness. “Woody! We got a live one from the desert!”

The sound of gravel and pebbles crunching underfoot. The smell of old, rotting wood in the air. Of dust and heat, and that particular scent. Like hay and sunbaked peaches. Like sunlight and arid soil. And of course… beer. There was spilled beer nearby, soaking into the clay-baked earth.

The barely audible whisper of the wind through creaking, groaning structures. The lazy humdrum steady thrum of heat exposed bees, whirling and spiraling away from a shriveled up flower, following its own crooked path back to the hive. The smell of home. The sounds of home. The feeling… of a lot of mercenaries calling this base their first ‘home’.

Of Teufort.

Jane was in and out of consciousness for a few days. He’d mutter something unintelligible in his sleep, wake up screaming only to fall asleep again. He’d ask where he was, drink water like some wild man dying of thirst, succumb to exhaustion, only to wake up disoriented again. It was only on the fourth day that he seemed to rest and hydrate enough to finally get his bearings. “...Will…?” He hadn’t seen the younger Soldier in a dog’s age, and in spite of himself, Jane cracked a wide smile. “Will, that’s you…? Jesus, I made it all the way to Teufort….”

“Aww, good. Yer awake.”

The bright eyed and bushy tailed man, by the name of ‘Will’, let out a huge sigh of relief. He had a friendly face and a truly affable smile. He oozed a sort of a saccharine honesty that one simply couldn’t help but warm up to him.

He hadn’t changed at all from the time Jane last saw him. He still had those baby blue eyes. He still had that dirty blond hair, a bit more carefree and loose in style compared to his old military-issued haircut. He still had his trademark helmet-- hung on the wall, at that very moment-- with the painted on peace symbol. And, of course, he still had those adorable dimples whenever he smiled that carefree, almost childlike smile of his. So full of innocence, so jolly and jovial in tone.

William Reed was a rather young soldier. At least, he was younger than Jane. He was also a bit taller than Jane, but not as built. Jane had known him for quite a long time, and though there were obvious similarities between the two, the biggest difference between them was the fact William had officially, and legally, been in the army.

William had served a few years in the wet, steamy jungles of Vietnam, the military issued victim of the dreaded draft. He had endured a good portion of it with nary a cut or bruise until one day his luck ran out. He lost control of his life during a particularly chaotic ambush where a mine exploded, and scalding, twisted shrapnel shredded his leg. He had lost a lot of blood before his allies and fellow soldiers could drag him off to safety.

His term spent over in ‘nam was done for, and the young, now disabled man had returned home.

Still desperate to make money for his family, he allowed himself to fall under the guile of MannCo’s job offering. Even with a damaged leg, they told him he could make himself... useful.

And so he had. The rest… was history. A history, thankfully, that Jane was privy enough to know of.

“Was jus’ beginning to worry, sir,” William honestly admitted to him. His voice rang soft and true, the thick Southern lilt of his accent almost comforting in its vernacular. It was like sweet southern honey, drizzled over everything he said. “You had us both worried. Up and began thinkin’ the desert heat done cooked yer brains half to mush. Like grits too long on the stovetop.”

The soldier pulled up a chair beside Jane and settled down into it. There it was: that same limp of his. His leg hadn’t gotten any better. If Jane had known any better, the limb might have seemed a bit stiffer, the leg a bit more favored.

“Now, now. Jus’ you relax. Don’t need you actually keelin’ over the moment you come ‘round.” Taking a bowl of room temperature water and a rag off of the bedside table, he dampened the cloth before he reached over and, with the gentlest of motions, wiped away any sweat from Jane’s forehead. “Got so many questions for ya, sir. So many. But I’m not sure where to even begin, if I may say so myself.”

Jane couldn’t help but smile, his own blue eyes crinkling at the corners. One hand reached to his side, looking for his helmet out of habit. “Mmm, go ahead and ask away, son. But don’t worry, I won’t be in your hair very long. I need to get moving soon as I can. Got a long way to go yet.” Wherever he’d been going, wherever he’d come from in such terrible condition, it seems that he was planning on pressing onward.

“Need to get movin’ again?” William murmured that under his breath to himself, his brow furrowed in concern. “Jesus, though,” Jane continued, not hearing William mumble. “It’s so good to see you. You’re a sight for sore eyes, Will. How have you been? The leg looks a little stiff, there. Been bothering you much?”

There was no denying it. He was absolutely confused as to what was going on. “Er-- ah, well.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he glanced down at his leg. He looked as if he were pondering its existence, or perhaps the limb’s use. Or maybe he was considering the fact that he did, in fact, have a leg. At least, that’s what his expression looked to portray. It was a bit vague for Jane. “My leg’s been iffy. Been doin’ a lot of jumpin’, sir. Lots of jumpin’. And it’s just been botherin’ me a bit. Especially with that surprise rainstorm we got a few nights back. Desert rain always lingers in my bones.”

William got up, and Jane could see the man move across the room to a chest of drawers. The piece of furniture looked beat up and worn. Maybe even nibbled on by mice. Yup. Those were teeth marks down at the very corner of the left leg.

Was this the soldier’s room? Sure seemed that way. It had a table and chair, and a dresser for clothes. It had a few hooks on the wall where a spare uniform jacket and a helmet hung, along with other such personal items. And there was a shelf there with a few books ranging from military tactics, to accounts of the war in vietnam to one that was, curiously enough, an intro into technology.

“Yeah, sir,” William continued. “I mean... if’fin ya don’t mind, sir, got a whole lotta questions to ask.” He slid a drawer open and rifled through it. He pulled out a shirt and examined it but, based upon his expression alone, after a thorough scrutinizing it must have been unfit for what he had in mind. He simply folded it back up and put it back where it came from. “I mean, like, what in the blue blazes were you doin’ out there all by yer lonesome? I mean, it’s not every day I get to talk again with my idol. Uh-- wait, I-- ”

William stuttered for a moment, clutching another shirt he had just pulled out so tightly he ended up wadding it in his grasp. He turned towards Jane, his cheeks obviously a bit tinted with the signs of a reddening blush.

“I--- I mean,” William began, tone a bit more rushed in his embarrassment, “here I thought ya went to another base, and you, uh… uh…” Unceremoniously stuffing the shirt back into the drawer, the soldier limped over to the open door and called out, “‘Ey! ‘Ey, Woody! Woody! He’s up! Up an’ awake! You wanna meet him?” “Will. At ease. You’re wound up tighter than a goddamn Medic. Just… take a few breaths son. Now. You’re right. I was somewhere else. I’m at Coldfront, usually, but they put me up to fill in at Ravine. But the stint kept dragging on, and I didn’t get no letters back from Abel no matter how many I wrote. Something’s wrong, Will. I know something’s wrong. So I’m going back.” One could only draw one conclusion. Jane Doe seemed hell bent on getting back to Coldfront. And if he’d walked all the way here from Ravine on foot… it seemed to be how he’d planned on making the entire journey. “I didn’t mean to commandeer your quarters this long, son,” Jane added. “Just another night’s rest and I need to keep going.” He didn’t comment on the ‘idol’ remark. It seemed to embarrass the younger Soldier that he’d let it slip out, and besides… at the end of the day, Jane knew he probably wasn’t the best role model.

Jane’s logic was never a sound, sane sort of thing. Everyone knew it. This particular soldier was loonier than a crate full of wildly excitable squirrels. It was a well known fact that his personal dossier (nestled within the confines of MannCo’s records) had each and every strange event, scenario, and situation that the man had ever been involved with painstakingly accounted for. And each account only got weirder and weirder with passing time. Weirder… and, of course, more and more unbelievable.

The bedridden soldier could see William pace back and forth a few steps. Four one way, turn. Four another way, turn. Repeat. A small pacing routine that involved slow, careful steps and an intense session of processing the information he was just given.

“Coldfront. Right. I know that base. Not the best thin’. Been there only once ‘fore. For a short, short stint. Like… a few weeks. Couldn’t handle it. The cold and, er…” Trailing off, he patted his bad leg, once. “Cold made my bones hurt too much. So they sent me back. Ended up here. Went from Sawmill, to Coldfront, to Teufort. Came here right when you were goin’ there, sir. Had to have.”

Footfalls creaked along the wooden floor as William made his way across the room to his table. Equally worn as the dresser, he leaned against it for support. Crossing his arms over his chest, Jane could see a frown beginning to etch on his face.

“And it’s no problem, sir. Really isn’t. Not usin’ my room much these days.” A smile formed at that, but, quickly, he mentally shook himself and got back on topic. “Brought you here. I was jus’ lucky I found ya. Was out doin’ practice jumps when I saw ya collapse. Would’a brought ya to the medbay, but I’m pret’y sure our docs wouldn’t want to treat a non-base worker. If ya know what I mean.” Shrugging, William looked over at his superior, confusion etched on his face. “But, uh… sir. Coldfront? That’s… hundreds a’ thousands a’... well, a lotta miles away. So far away that I’m fairly certain you would’a--”

“Yea, sugarloaf? He’s awake?”

Jane could see William’s eyes brighten as the younger soldier looked towards the door. There, standing in the welcoming entrance, was a rather plump looking man of short stature. Garbed in the uniform of an Engineer, he had the familiar, thick electrical gloves on his hands and the old fashioned coveralls associated with most of his kind. His goggles were pushed all the way up to his forehead, partially covering the bandana wrapped around his forehead in an attempt to keep the sweat out of his eyes. And his eyes? They were a soft brown. The color of milk chocolate. His black hair was short and styled, but just a little bit messy. ‘Hard hat’ messy.

“Oh, Woody!” Excitement coursing through him, William all but forgot, at least for the moment, the sheer absurdity of Mr. Doe’s hellbent, but incredibly foolish, escapade. “Honeybee, this is the soldier I was talkin’ about.” Gesturing towards the bedridden man, he added, “Jane, this is Elwood. Elwood, Jane.” Jane sat up, making himself as presentable as possible. A proper Soldier must have some sense of decorum, after all. “Nice to meet you. Wish the circumstances were better.”

“Likewise, pardner,” the engineer replied. Quite the suave charmer, he hooked his thumbs in his belt and flashed Jane an unforgettable smile. Jane grinned in spite of himself, sky-blue eyes glancing between the two of them. So, this must be love. They made a very handsome couple. If Jane had to say so objectively, the Engineer was a good looking man, in a different but very complimentary way to Will’s boyish good looks. “I was just telling Will that I won’t be a bother much longer. Gotta make my way back to Coldfront soon as possible.”

The engineer had just run a hand through his hair to fix it, to appear more presentable himself, when Jane uttered that little statement of his. The engineer, Elwood, slowly looked towards William who, upon catching sight of the techie’s stare, sheepishly gave that nervous, boyish grin of his, all the while holding his hands up in the visual defense of not knowing anything.

“...Coldfront.” Elwood blinked a few times in bemusement as he tried to get his brain to process what the man had just told him. “But we found ya here, sonny.”

“Technically, I did.”

“Yea, that’s true, sugarloaf. You found ‘em.” Elwood nodded at William, giving a warm chuckle at how the man simply beamed at doing a job well done. “But... you found him out there in the desert. All walkin’ about all stumblin’ and bumblin’ from the heat, half outta his mind. Looney off his rocker, remember? Ya carried him all the way over to me and you were sayin’ how he was sayin’ the strangest stuff. Stuff that didn’t make a darn lick’a sense.”

William opened his mouth as if to say something, but he caught that familiar look in Elwood’s eyes. He knew that the man had already figured it out.

“You were walkin’,” Elwood continued, turning his attention back to Jane. “You were… so, wait, let me get this straight.” Pushing the bandana up a little bit, he scratched his forehead. “Uh, Jane, was it? Jane, pardner, tell me somethin’. And tell me the honest to God truth. Don’t you go lyin’ on me.” He quizzically quirked an eyebrow, his face clouded by befuddlement. “Were you… don’t tell me you were walkin’ to Coldfront? All the way? Walkin’, on foot?”

“...yes?” Jane shifted a bit, brows knit. He wasn’t sure how old Elwood was, but that no-nonsense look made him feel like a kid who’d come to class without his homework. “It’s all I can do. My Medic needs me, I can feel it in my bones. I can’t take the train and I can’t teleport. But I can’t let that stop me. Abel’s in trouble, I know he is, and I have to get back to him. I’ve waited too long already, and I don’t know if I am even too late. I just know I have not heard from him in weeks and weeks and that is not like him.” Jane squared his shoulders stubbornly. Nothing was going to budge him. One way or another, if he had to hike an impossible path, Jane Doe was making it back to Coldfront, no ifs ands or buts.

Again, Elwood rapidly blinked, but this time the visual display of his facial cues were not out of bemusement but we're, instead, out of the inability to process that bit of information. He was absolutely flabbergasted over what he had just heard, and he was reeling from it all.

“You…”

“I know that Medic,” William quickly interjected, as if hoping his currently malfunctioning beau would up and decide not to speak what was on his mind. “I remember Abel. Swell guy. Real nice. He was always nice to me, I mean. Made me tea a few times. Baked me cookies. Made sure I was bandaged up after a training session. I knew you two were a thing, but, you haven’t been able to reach out to him? And he hasn’t replied to you? At all?”

“...You…”

“I’m sure he’s alright, sir,” William said, in a slightly more rushed tone of voice. “Ain’t that righ’, Woody? Yeah. I’m sure it’s not too late for him or anythin’. He’s prob’ly just busy or, uh, well...” William left the support of the table behind him as he inched closer to Jane. “Have ya tried callin’ him? No. No, wait. Coldfront. Hard to get any phone to connect with that base. Uh, let’s see…”

Elwood had stopped blinking and mentally malfunctioning and, by now, had his face screwed up into an unreadable mask that could only be vaguely described as ‘something far past the human limitation for astonishment’ and ‘beyond an appalling sense of loss for the general faith one had in humanity’.

“Oh! Oh, wait! Have you--”

From where Jane sat in the bed, he could see Elwood walk up behind William and, with a heavy sense of, perhaps, mourning, he placed his hand upon the younger man’s shoulder. Something was whispered into William’s ear, and the sweet soldier gave the engineer a rather puzzled look.

“Oh? ...Oh, uh, Mr. Doe, sir? Woody here wants to talk to me about somethin’ real fast-like. Just be a moment, sir. Just a moment. Promise.”

Elwood quickly (and with a sense of urgency) ushered the younger soldier out of the door. But Jane, from where he sat, could see just a bit of each person. An arm here, or a leg there. Someone moving about from just around the corner of the entranceway. And then the hushed whispering began. Hard to make out, hard to understand. It was a lowered decibel that made deciphering what was being said hard. Jane, in the meantime, glanced out the window. Down at his hands, which were fidgeting with themselves. Abel. He had to get better so he could get home to him.

~

“Yer prankin’ me, sugarloaf.”

“I’m not, Woody.”

“You promise me?”

“I promise, I do.”

“Willy--”

“This is just Jane,” William confessed, lowering his voice even further in hopes Jane wouldn’t hear this. “I’ve known him for years. He’s always been a bit… well, a bit…”

“A few shy of a box of screws?”

“I mean--”

“A few colors short of a crayon box?”

“I jus’--”

“Denser than a sack of wet rocks? Thicker than batter--”

“It's just Jane,” William replied with a sigh. He held up his hands, once more, in the defense of not knowing. And it was true. He didn’t know what to say or do. It was not a typical sort of situation.

Elwood jabbed his thumb in the direction of the doorway and hissed, under his breath, “this poor sonuva thinks he can walk all the way to that alpine mountain range by walkin’ through the Mojave desert.”

“Well--”

“Does he realize those mountains are on a separate continent? That base is halfway across the world! It’s on a continent that is separated by a body of water, and that particular body of water jus’ happens to be an ocean! What’s he gonna do? Swim that, too?”

“I know, I know. I think he jus’ thinks he can get to Coldfront if he keeps walkin’ while findin’ alternate methods of travel along the way.”

“Didn’t sound like it. He’s fully intendin’ on walking there.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Elwood breathed deep, calming himself. “Listen, darl, I get it. You look up to this guy an’ all. But he’s as oblivious as a herd of cows on steak day. He’s gonna get himself killed by pullin’ off this stunt. I’m awf’ly sorry to tell ya this, but either the sun done baked his brains for good, or he’s an absolute buffoon.”

“...He’s loyal.” William let out his breath. He hadn’t realized that he was holding it in. “That’s... what he is. Loyal.” He wrung his hands together, finding himself fidgeting just a bit by shifting weight from one foot to the other. “An’, I mean… he’s one of the most loyal soldiers I ever met. It’s why I look up to him, Woody. He’s everythin’ a soldier should be. Honest, loyal an’ true. He believes in himself an’ doesn’t believe in failure. He’s ready for the cause, ready to do the impossible, even if it’s to trek halfway across the world jus’ to be with someone again. Even with my bad leg,” he flashed the engineer a boyishly sweet smile, “I’d do the same for you.”

Elwood’s features softened, creases forming at the corner of his eyes as he smiled. Reaching up, he lightly gripped his soldier’s coat collar before tugging him down, just enough, to plant a kiss on his cheek. “I know ya would,” he replied, patting his beloved’s cheek. “An’ I love that about’cha. Real loyal. Real protective. And a damn fine looker.”

“Woody…”

“Righ’. Time for flirtin’ later. Got it, stud.” Grinning at the blush that was coloring the soldier’s cheeks, he gestured towards the door. “We let yer friend wait long ‘nough. Pret’y sure he’s one of them soldier types that gets real antsy when ya leave them alone for too long. Like an overgrown puppy, all antsy and nervous an’ ready to piss on the carpet.”

“That’s… actually accurate, Woody. Save for the peein’ part.”

“Come, now. Let’s see if we can get him to Coldfront without lettin’ him go out there and take the distance on foot.”

Elwood gently coaxed William forward, letting him back into the room first. However, he had the last say in everything. He had his last say without words, but with his actions instead.

With a quick, sly slap to his soldier’s rear.

~

“Uh-- Jane? Sir?”

William slid back into the room first, his cheeks a little red from what must have been blushing. He cleared his throat, moving aside so Elwood could enter next. The engineer had a wily smile on his face; the look of a pleased and sated cheshire cat, happy with whatever spoils it had accrued.

Jane, for his part, didn't seem to notice them at first. He was looking at something he’d apparently plucked out of his helmet: a photograph of someone Will might know, but Elwood probably wouldn’t. It was of a man in a Medic’s uniform. He had gentle grey-blue eyes, salt and pepper hair, and a warm, kind smile. The Soldier’s thumb slid tenderly over the image of the Medic’s cheek as he mumbled to himself. “I’m coming, Abel,” Jane was heard muttering under his breath. “I’ll be there soon as I can…”

William tentatively took a step towards him. “Sir?” Realizing he wasn’t alone anymore, Jane quickly cleared his throat, stuffed the picture back into his helmet, and tugged it over his eyes, blushing a bit. “Y-yes?”

William and Elwood shared a quick glance, each one silently asking who would go first. With a small hand gesture, and nod of his head, it was the younger soldier who took the reigns.

“You’re awfully worried, aren’tcha, sir?” Giving a small smile to the helmet (where Jane’s eyes would be) and to the photo tucked within it, he added in a kind and gentle tone, “I would be, too. I’d do anythin’ for Woody, like you would for Abel. You’re rather sweet on him, and so is he. He loves ya, sir. So much.” Moving over to the edge of the bed, he sat down, politely folding his hands in his lap. He sat straight and true-- an attentive little soldier in the presence of superiors. “Woody and I…  we got to talkin’, and we wanted to help you.”

“Y’see,” Elwood began pointedly, as he began pulling up a chair to sit in it, backwards, so his arms were folded atop the chair’s short back, “Coldfront’s a bit of a loner base, way out there halfway ‘cross the world. And where you are now… well, y’see, you’re too far away to walk to it. It’s imposs--”

William cleared his throat and gave the engineer a tentative, but worried, look.

“--I, I mean… it’d be hard. Sure. Way harder than it should be. So we were thinkin’ about it… and we want to help.” “You can help me?” Jane’s mouth cracked into the big, craggy smile he was known for, the one he wore best when flying through the sky or in Abel’s presence. “I would appreciate that, I would. Anything that can get me home faster than walking. Which I would absolutely do if I had to. But...heh. I may be in a little trouble when I get back. I went AWOL from Ravine because they would not let me leave.” Jane fidgeted a little. He hadn’t thought that through when he left- he had the singular goal of getting back to Abel.

Elwood couldn’t help but give a small smile himself. For being denser than a sack of wet rocks, the soldier… had a pretty nice smile. No wonder some bloke fell in love with this guy. Maybe he wasn’t the smartest person alive but, confound it, when he smiled, he was absolutely charming.

But the engineer’s smile quickly went away once it sunk into his brain what he had just said.

“--wait, you what?”

William, too, looked to be surprised. A soldier going AWOL was a terrible thing. Especially so since many did just that during his own personal stint in jungles of ‘nam, and he remembered what happened to them, what punishment befell them. A soldier going AWOL was one of the worst things a soldier could commit. Or... at least that’s what the army’s superiors drilled into their brains.

“S--Sir, they-- they don’t know where you are? What if they’re lookin’ for ya? What if--”

“Lad’s got some balls on him!” Elwood laughed heartily, a good sounding laugh that was true and honest and came from the depths of one’s belly. “Look at him! Snuck under the gaze of those stiff suits and members a’ management over there at Ravine, and they’re none the wiser! Bunch of dogs runnin’ around in circles, sniffin’ their asses instead of sniffin’ for clues. I gotta admit, Jane, I had my doubts. But I’m damn impressed.”

Jane scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “I was not trying to be. I just need to get home. I couldn’t go by teleporter or train because they kept catching me and telling me I could not leave. So I left on foot. They couldn’t stop me that way.” He frowned. “I probably still can’t teleport. And if they catch me on one of the trains I will be court-martialed for sure. How are you going to get me home? I mean, you are an Engineer, if anyone can figure something out you can. I have never met an Engie who wasn’t smart as a whip.”

“Well, would’ya look at that. Ol’ boy’s butterin’ me up.”

“Don’t let it get to yer head, Woody.”

Beaming, the engineer turned his attention back to the soldier in bed. “But, ya know, as crackpot as this all seems, you’ve got a point there. If ya up and went AWOL at Ravine, they’ll have put a notice out to any other bases. You won’t be able to use a lotta MannCo’s devices. Like a teleporter, and stuff like that. So I can’t possibly calibrate somethin’ for ya an’ get a ‘porter up and runnin’. ‘Sides, your records aside, your chip might’ave been temporarily turned off, so you prob’ly wouldn’t be able to use the teleporter anyway, even if you wanted to. And as far as train, that’s most definitely a no-go.”

With a fair bit of musing and thinking, the engineer lapsed into a steadfast silence. Once or twice William looked towards his way, but Elwood didn’t seem to notice. The gears in his head were turning, and he was formulating any sort of escape plan that could eventually be possible.

“...wait.” An imaginary lightbulb dinged over the engineer’s head, and he jovially rubbed his gloved hands together. “Jane, I think ya might be wrong ‘bout one thing. I think you could use one particular route. Might be the best way goin’ about things, too. It’ll take a long time, but not as long as if you were doin’ it on foot.” Leaning forward, the engineer gave a mock stage whisper, going, “so, how do ya feel ‘bout trains?” Jane shrugged. “They’re alright. I never thought about them a lot. Alright for getting one place to another. Kind of shaky after a while. But I can’t use the train, you already said so.”

“He’s got a point, Woody.” William looked towards the engineer, a frown forming. “You did say trains were outta the question…”

“Now, now, hear me out.”

Getting up from the chair, Elwood began to pace the room. Like a passionate professor conducting a lecture before his befuddled students, he took the stage and began to explain aloud the finer machinations of his grand plan.

A train, he admitted, had not been his first thought. In fact, he thought it had been one of the major options that had to be avoided. Security was tight, and surely, by now, MannCo would have passed on Jane’s picture through the cybernetic grapevine. No doubt each base had received the information and the notice of the man’s absence. Mercenaries who went missing could very well lead to legal troubles later on. With the leaking of information, of blueprints…

But maybe that was the most logical option to take. After all, sometimes there was safety in heightened security. Even if that bit of security was being primed against you.

“...but what I’m thinkin’,” Wood continued on, feeling in his element explaining his ideas, devising a course of action, “is that we wait and get’cha on one of our supply trains. MannCo likes to run trains from base to base, shipping supplies from place to place, keepin’ the wheels on the tracks. As long as a box is properly addressed, they’re a bit lax on checkin’ the contents. They just chuck the box onto the train, and they move it ‘long its merry way.” “Whoa, whoa-- wait a minute there, Woody.” William bounced his attention back and forth between Jane and the engineer. “Are you suggestin’ what I think you’re suggestin’?”

With a rather wide, jolly smile, the engineer turned towards Jane. With his hands on his hips, he winked. “Well? You followin’ me so far, Jane?” “YES. Ahem. Yes. I think I follow you clearly.” Jane was grinning. “You want to mail Abel a box that lets him know that I am on my way!” William and Elwood could be greatly forgiven for their responses in marveling at Jane’s boneheaded answer. He certainly wasn’t known for his intelligence, as Woody had astutely remarked.

The Engineer gave a patient sort of sigh, raising his hands to his face so he could cover it. His shoulders rose and fell with each exhalation of breath, of the passing of time in the most exhausting sort of way.

“I think,” William interjected, hoping to diffuse the situation and get Elwood back on his feet (metaphorically, of course), “what Woody’s tryin’ to say here is that if we find a box big enough, and label it all correctly an’ do a mock up job of having a supply crate addressed to Coldfront, yer’ll eventually get sent there, sir.”

“That,” Elwood said, almost wearily, as his hands fell away from his face. “That’s exactly what I meant.” He inhaled once more, exhaled once more, and regained the strength to continue, once more. “So... all we gotta do is make sure we find you a crate big ‘nough for you to fit in. Fill it with some stuff so it’s not too inconspicuous. Pack plenty of blankets--”

“--rations, too. Food, water, supplies--”

“--and address it all proper to the mandatory protocols, and MannCo’ll think none the wiser.” Jabbing his thumb towards the open door, Elwood indicated the whole of the base, the company, as he added, “I may work for these folks, and they’re the ones signin’ my paychecks at the end of the day, but I can tell ya straight up: bein’ in the business this long, most of ‘em don’t know a real gun from a squirt gun. A lot’a the higher ups in management only care about the money and the statistics, and the gainin’ of territory. Profits. The business of profiting. But,” he tapped the side of his engineering goggles, “they don’t pay attention to the important stuff. And I bet’cha anythin’ we can get you on your way back to yer base, and back to yer pret’y lil’ Medic.”

“You are going to mail ME to Abel?” Jane’s eyes widened under his helmet. Then he threw back his head and laughed- not in a mocking way, but in absolute elation. It was such a simple, yet brilliant idea! He couldn’t believe he didn’t think of it himself. “THAT IS ABSOLUTE GENIUS. YOU DESERVE A MEDAL.” He could just imagine it: it would be like a present. Abel would open up the box unaware, and out he’d pop like a big American jack-in-the-box. If he was able to. The delight on the Soldier’s face fell a bit, shoulders drooping. “I just hope I am not too late. If he isn’t answering my letters something must be very, very wrong. He would never ignore me.”

Elwood and William exchanged silent, worried looks. It was common knowledge that Coldfront was a base of bad luck. From its terrible blizzards to delayed supply trains, to respawn glitches and the like, a lot of bad luck could befall the ill-fated mercenaries there. Sometimes mercenaries didn’t survive. Sometimes mercenaries took a walk outside, and an unpredicted spot of bad weather would crop up, obscuring their path. They could get lost. They could lose their way. They could freeze to death, just outside the respawn boundary lines.

A lot could have happened to the Medic. But there was no use working the soldier up, upsetting him with more potential bad news.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” came the younger soldier’s chipper tone. Always the bright optimistic, he looked towards the sunrises, not the sunsets, in life. “Ya gotta remember, sir, at Coldfront postal service gets slowed down and phone lines don’t always work. I remember Abel. He was a real tough Medic. Strong, steadfast. Loyal, too. Loyal and protective of you.” Giving Jane that boyish grin, he reached over and, with a truly wholesome sense of support, laid his hand upon his shoulder. “He wouldn’t give up on you. He’s there. I’m sure everything is fine. I’m sure nothin’ bad has happened.”

Elwood couldn’t help but smile to himself and softly shake his head. “Listen, Jane. Jus’ met’cha today. And it hasn’t even been that long. But if yer doc is anythin’ like ya… he’s probably worried sick about you, and is doin’ anythin’ he can to reach out to you. So I wouldn’t worry ‘bout it. I would focus on gettin’ there and gettin’ to him. And after that, pieces will jus’ fall back into place.”

“That’s right.” Giving Jane’s shoulder a reaffirming squeeze, William nodded. “Focus on the goal, sir. Focus on that. Keep your head on your task, and complete the mission. Don’t worry ‘bout what may or may not happen.”

“You both are right.” Squaring his shoulders once more, Jane felt a renewed sense of resolve overcome him. There was hope after all. He'd get there in time. Nothing bad has happened. He'd jump out of that box and he'd see Abel’s warm smile. “Nothing bad has happened. Soon I'll be there and everything will be fine.”

It would take a day or two, Elwood informed him. They would have to locate a crate big enough and prepare it for the trip. Then he'd have to look up the exact coordinates and shipping label codes for Coldfront in order to create a mockup of a supply label. It could be done, he assured him. There was no doubt in his mind they'd get Jane on his way.

Jane tried arguing the fact, seeing as two days time was just too long to wait, but the two mercenaries from Teufort knew it was just his anxious nerves getting the best of him. With some time and luck, they managed to convince him to stay where he was and rest up.

To all of this, Jane agreed. He did so on account that he knew they wouldn't lie to him. He'd rest up and stay put... as long as he could stretch his legs and get some fresh air.

“No training in the desert,” Elwood warned him. “We don't need to go back to square one with you half-baked to death.”

“AFFIRMATIVE. I would not want that either. I couldn't return to Abel if I were dead.”

A plan was set in motion. William went about gathering up the supplies while Elwood did his magic, finding a suitable crate, looking up the proper coordinates and making shipping label templates. Jane did his part and rested in bed, occasionally taking small trips in order to stretch his legs and get his muscles moving again.

Jane wanted to get back to Abel as soon as possible, but he had to be patient. Like the Medic sometimes said, ‘patience is a virtuoso’. Or something like that. He couldn't quite remember. Remembering was hard sometimes.

He began to count the minutes until all was ready. Hold on, Abel. Just hold on.

--------

Finally, everything was ready. The crate was as big as Elwood could make without arousing too much suspicion- big enough to fit one Soldier inside with a certain amount of comfort, as well as enough rations and water to see him through the journey. Holes were subtly drilled in the crate where it would allow for the best airflow possible while not looking like airholes- after all, the manifest said the crate was full of medical equipment, and x-rays and defibrillators and other such things did not need to breathe. Clambering into the crate, Jane hunkered down, arranging his travel rations and his few possessions as comfortably as he could. It was not going to be the cushiest way to travel, but that didn’t matter. If he got back to Abel, any amount of discomfort and rationing and peeing in an empty Mann-Cola bottle would be absolutely worth it, just as much as walking halfway around the world would have been. Looking up, he tipped his helmet back, regarding the two men who had helped him. “You boys are a credit to this man’s Team, and a credit to America. If you ever need my help for anything at all, let me know and I will do my best. I give my word as a Soldier I will.”

“Aw, shucks, sir.” William couldn’t help but beam at this. He was rather proud of himself that he had made his idol proud. He knew Jane wasn’t all that smart, and he was incredibly bullheaded, but he was brave. And he was the epitome of a soldier; someone he aspired to be. “You’ll be there in no time. Don’t you worry none.”

“And… there.” Elwood stood back from the crate, admiring all the hard work that had gone into it. He had placed the final parcel of rations in there with Jane, making sure the man had quite a few flasks of water and, of course, a bucket. For what came after the eating and the drinking. “That should do it, boy. Now, Jane,” the suave, charming engineer leaned against the crate, “don’t you be a stranger. Sugarloaf here is enamored by you.”

“Woody!”

“Aw, look at him. He’s adorable when he blushes.”

William grumbled to himself, his face aflame with his shy embarrassment. He tugged his helmet down a little, covering his eyes, unknowingly mimicking his idol in many ways, from many distant situations. But a little kiss to his cheek from the engineer caused him to lighten up.

“He’s right, though, sir. Don’t be a stranger.” He took the helmet away from his face. With hopeful eyes, the younger soldier smiled at him. “Please, come back n’ visit, alright?”

“And next time, bring your darlin’ little turtledove with you.” “Jesus. You two are so goddamn cute.” Jane laughed roughly, his eyes twinkling a bit, before clearing his throat. “Yes. I will tell Abel everything that happened here. If all is well he will probably want to come and thank you himself.” Sitting up straight, Jane snapped the two a sharp, proper salute, and then slouched back down to allow his friends to put the lid on the crate.

“Good luck, sir.”

“Pleasure meetin’ ya, Jane.”

The two hefted the lid and, both smiling ear to ear, the placed it on the crate. A moment later, the whirring sound of a drill pierced the sturdy wood of the structure. Everything was being nailed into place, and the crate, with the man inside, was all ready for its voyage.

A soft thudding sound heralded William’s little good luck gesture. He was giving the lid a gentle, reassuring pat.

Soon the box was hefted (surely by the two), and Jane was jostled inside.

He wanted to play his harmonica but he had been warned that, no matter what happened, he couldn’t make a sound. Silence was anathema to any Soldier, but deep down, Jane knew Woody was right- a single out of place noise could get him caught. So he stayed quiet, even as the hours passed, a train whistle finally blew, and the engine- and its cargo- set out on its long journey to Coldfront.

[alittlesliceofcucumber]

A Vision Of A Wedding

Title: A Vision Of A Wedding For: Katie @whynotcallitvanda Rating: G Word Count: 4,331 Warnings: None Summary: Wedding planning isn't as easy as it seems, as Wanda and Vision found out. A story about the events leading up to their big day.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16048253 Fanfiction.net Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13071034/1/

Message for recipient: Hi! I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope that you enjoy it! It’s set as if the events of Infinity War never happened, and (realistically) in 2020 but it can be imagined as happening whenever you like. 

Made for the Scarlet Vision Exchange 2018!

A Vision Of A Wedding

It was a beautiful Hungarian summer sunrise.

The sky was layered pink and red, like streaks of paint on a canvas. The sun was emerging from behind the tall trees and shining between the leaves, illuminating the grand, floral arch and the tall figure who stood in front of it.

Vision was nervous to say the least. Not only was he about to marry the woman of his dreams, yet there was an unspoken tension in the gardens.

But their friends were all gathered here for their wedding and nothing else.

“Psst, Vizh! Stop messing with your tie!”

Vision swiftly spun around to face the table where Tony Stark was seated. He had, in fact, been fiddling with his tie for a while now. He wanted it to be proportioned perfectly, and since Wanda had insisted on him wearing a physical suit rather than one he’d phased himself, he found himself constantly adjusting it.

He then turned towards Thor who gave him an encouraging wink and a thumbs up. Although he looked very out of place in his large suit, there was hardly any other competition for the role of best man. In Vision’s eyes, Thor truly was the best man.

Next to catch his gaze was Steve. It was lucky that the super soldier was able to perform weddings; a skill he had been given back in his day. He was glancing at his watch. Steve was eager for the ceremony to take place the around dawn so that he didn’t draw too much attention to himself and his team.

The seating plan was arranged well. Vision and his fiancé had spent hours organising it together, hoping to avoid as much conflict as possible.

Sitting around the table closest to the altar were Tony and Pepper Stark, Bruce Banner, James Rhodes and Peter Parker. Vision believed that they were all somewhat family to him, and insisted that they sat together.

Next was Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes, with three places that were reserved for Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton. Wanda thought that these people would feel most comfortable with each other. With the one exception of Sam and Bucky, but that couldn’t be helped. They hadn't caused a scene just yet.

The remaining tables were filled by Asgardians (whom Thor insisted on bringing along for “educational purposes”) and another alien who appeared to be made of rocks. Vision knew better than to question it.

His fellow Avengers, however, seemed to glance back at one particular Asgardian. He had been informed that he was Thor’s (adopted) brother, Loki. So Vision had done his research and had soon found the reason for everyone’s uneasiness.

And consequently kept an eye on him too.

The sun had risen quite high when the car finally arrived. It was self-driving, provided by none other than Tony Stark himself.

First to exit was Clint. He looked surprisingly dashing in a suit, something he was presumably used to wearing as a family man. He probably attended many school events for his children and nights out with his...

Vision felt the world around him screech to a halt as Wanda emerged from the car.

She looked absolutely stunning. She wore a loose white dress with scarlet trim which fell down to her ankles. She wore a gold locket encrusted with a circular ruby (one Vision had chosen for her himself). The sleeves of the dress possessed a pink floral print, which Vision recognised as cherry blossom. Her outfit was beautiful whilst also practical, very much like Wanda herself.

She caught his eye, and the pair shared a look of pure joy.

Wanda felt a rush of happiness when she first caught sight of Vision. He wore a fitting suit which contrasted with the colour of his skin. In her eyes, he was the definition of perfection. His mere seemed presence begged her to approach.

As if in a trance, she felt her feet glide towards him. With her arm in Clint’s, she locked eyes with Vision, focusing on nothing but the man she loved. The man she was about to marry.

Once she reached the altar, she smiled at the (obviously quite nervous) Vision.

Upon admiring her once more, he stuttered “Y-you, er, you look…”

“Decent?” She prompted. “Beautiful.” He replied.

She allowed herself a small giggle. “Says the handsome man in front of me.” She said.

He grinned in return, and the pair turned towards Steve, who nodded at their signal to begin.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the marriage of two people who deserve all the happiness this world has to offer. They were burdened by our mistakes, and I believe I speak for all of us when I say that we were too blind by our own goals to even consider your lives. On behalf of everyone here, I’m sorry.”

“If anyone here knows any reason that these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Wanda looked at the guests anxiously, and was relieved to see only smiling faces.

Steve, too, was smiling. “All in favour for this marriage?”

The “Aye”s weren’t in sync, but they were loud enough to portray their point. Or that may actually have been just Thor.

“Great, in that case, are you two ready?”

“Yes.” The pair replied, without looking away from each other.

“Alright then. Wanda Maximoff, do you take Vision to be your lawfully wedded husband? Will you love and comfort him, through good times and bad, in sickness and in health, and to be faithful to him at all times?”

She didn’t even register the words that tumbled out of her mouth.

“I do.”

Steve then turned to Vision.

“Vision…”

Steve glanced cautiously at Tony, who nodded back at him. The genius was beaming with pride.

“...Stark, do you take Wanda to be your lawfully wedded wife? Will you love and comfort her, through good times and bad, in sickness and in health, and to love and be faithful to her at all times?”

“I do.”

“Now it’s time for the exchanging of vows. Wanda?”

Wanda forced her eyes away from Vision in order to unfold the piece of paper hidden in her sleeve.

“Vision, from the moment I first saw you in that cradle I felt connected to you. At first I thought it was because of the stone in your head, but then I realised it was something more. As I got to know you I felt myself drawn to you. Every day you save the world. But you are my world, Vizh. And I promise to love you for as long as I am alive.”

Suddenly her vision became clouded and she felt the need to bite her bottom lip. Her lover brushed the tears away before they had the chance to fall.

“My darling Wanda.” Vision began, having memorised his vow by heart. “Whenever I used to see my reflection, I saw a servant for humanity. I saw myself bound by duty for this planet. But now, I feel as if I am bound to you. You helped me to accept who I am, and I can only hope I can help you do the same. If I were to look at my reflection now, I would see the luckiest man in the universe. I love you, Wanda.”

The two looked at each other, thinking about how far they had come to reach this point.

It was a very long journey indeed.

9 months earlier...

Paris was known throughout the world for being the city of romance, therefore the sight of lovers walking together on the streets was no spectacle to behold. On that particular evening, however, one couple didn’t quite fit in. To the ordinary eye, they were a normal couple enjoying the sights. But they were so much more.

Two troubled souls desperate to break away from their lives. Desperate to escape the seemingly never-ending conflict in the world. Desperate to be normal.

Wanda Maximoff was burdened with a traumatic past. Her twin brother was murdered by a robot. Her parents were killed by a bomb created by billionaire Tony Stark...

...who also happened to be her boyfriend’s father figure.

It’s funny, how life works its magic like that. If she had been asked if she had any interest in that awkward, purple synthezoid before she gained her powers she would have instantly denied.

But the more she got to know the Vision, the more she slowly felt herself be pulled towards him.

The way he was awed by everyday things. The way he attempted to cook for her. The way he would find activities to do together when she was sad. The way he was ready to sacrifice everything for her in a synthetic heartbeat..

Even then, in his human disguise wearing a casual shirt (which she had handpicked for him) he gazed with wonder at every little nook and cranny of the city. It made Wanda’s heart flutter every time she watched him.

Maybe that was what lead her to her crazy decision.

“Hey Vizh,” she said, dragging him to a corner of the sidewalk.

“Yes, darling?” Vision replied, smiling at Wanda’s enthusiasm.

“Do you know what day it is?” She asked with a cheeky grin.

Vision visibly contemplated the question, assessing whether it was a trick or a joke. It wasn’t everyday that such a trivial question would be asked to a man whose brain was literally made up of the internet.

“Today is Saturday the 29th of February. Leap day.” He answered. Upon seeing Wanda’s mischievous expression, he added “Why do you ask?” with an edge of playful suspicion.

“Do you know what happens today?” “I must admit that I do not. Should I?”

This is it! Thought Wanda, as she carefully planned her next words.

“Traditionally, today is the day that women propose to men. And if the man refuses, he has to buy her 12 pairs of gloves.”

The adorable look of genuine confusion on Vision’s face made Wanda’s heart skip a beat. Her plan was successful thus far.

Without giving him a chance to respond, she fell onto one knee. She felt adrenaline pumping through her veins. It was a pleasant feeling, not unlike her own powers.

Vision looked at her, his face a mixture of messages. She briefly skimmed his mind to try and solve his expression, where she found he was conflicted. He was overjoyed, yet begging her to change her mind. To rethink.

It was not going to happen.

“So Vision, will you marry me?”

“Well, look who finally decided to show up!”

Vision hadn’t even fully entered the lab when he was greeted by Tony. It was almost a routine at this point. Vision would turn off his transponder and Tony wouldn’t inquire about it. Unless there was an emergency, in which case Vision would come back immediately as instructed. That was the unofficial deal between them. Vision was entitled to privacy.

The lab was far messier than it had been when he’d left it. He would often clean up after the scientists when he was in the compound as he had little else to do. Bruce would usually try to keep things organised, but today was an exception.

Judging by the way Tony Stark was frantically typing on his keyboard, Vision could only assume that the pair had made a breakthrough.

“Mr Stark, please may I have a word?” he asked, taking care to phrase the question so that Tony would pick up the hint.

Luckily, he did.

“You’ve had eight, but sure. Bruce, would you give us a minute?”

Dr Banner turned around from where he was working and looked at Tony quizzically, before shrugging and leaving without a word.

“What’s up?” Said Tony, not looking away from his computer screen.

Vision felt his body tremble, but it was in fact as still as ever. This feeling was familiar. Nervousness. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” He said

“I’m flattered, but I’m a married man. You’d have to talk it out with Pepper.” Joked Tony. After getting no reaction from Vision, he mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “tough crowd” and focused back on his work.

“Mr Stark, do you think of me as human?”

Vision watched as Tony tensed and slowly spun on his chair to face him. He was thankful for the sudden absence of the clicking of the keyboard so that they could have a serious conversation.  They looked at each other for a little while, before the man let out a sigh.

“Look, I’m going to be honest with you. No I don’t.” Tony said.

Vision’s limbs suddenly felt very heavy, and the world around him seemed to slow down. Was it anger? No, he would feel the urge to destroy something. It was more like... disappointment.

“But that’s only ‘cause I helped make you. I know your circuits and stuff, and you remind me too much of JARVIS. So no, I don’t think you’re human. Then again, I don’t think Thor’s human either. But he is a person, and so are you, that goes without saying.”

Vision found some comfort in his creator’s words.

Tony spun back towards his computer and resumed typing. It was now or never, Vision decided.

“So if I were to marry Wanda…”

This time, the silence was deafening. Tony froze and Vision braced himself for… something. Anger, shame, guilt- anything that would be directed at him.

Wanda had always mentioned wanting to swap powers so that she could phase out of awkward situations. She would literally let the floor swallow her up. Vision suddenly understood why this would come in useful.

“Say what now?”

The pause had been smaller than he had expected, lasting only a few seconds. “I mean, would you give me your blessing if I were to get married?” Vision repeated, suddenly thinking better of mentioning Wanda straight away.

Tony let out a sound akin to a snicker. Which grew into a chuckle. Which evolved into a laughing fit. He began to laugh so hard that Vision was genuinely worried.

It ended far too quickly.

“Wait- you’re serious?”

Vision, who’s expression hadn’t changed since his declaration, simply nodded.

The billionaire let out a sigh, and slowly rose from his chair to face the synthezoid. He placed a hand on his shoulder (Vision bent his knees ever so slightly) and smiled warmly.

“Bruce owes me $10.” “It was that obvious?” “You’re new to all this. And yeah, it was. Come on, turning off your tracker, coming back in a really good mood... Even Bruce could tell.”

Tony grinned up at Vision. Vision smiled briefly in return before his expression melted into a frown, and he stepped backwards.

“You know that you’re supposed to be happy, right?” Said Tony, quickly growing concerned.

“I don’t know.” “Come on, tell me what you’re thinking.”

Vision stood still and proceeded to look Tony in the eye. He rarely voiced his thoughts to the billionaire, as that role was reserved for Wanda. But there were some things that he simply couldn’t tell her. Some things that could only his creator could understand.

“It feels wrong. It feels wrong to marry her. You’re right, I’m not human and I never will be. She deserves someone she can love fully, someone she can spend her life with- create a family with. I cannot give her that. She will grow old and I will remain as I am. I don’t want her to have to go through that-”

Tony watched in silence as Vision listed numerous reasons why he shouldn’t marry the woman he loved. It was undeniable that all of his points were true and well thought out, but Tony couldn’t tell him that. They worked in a dangerous business, one where every day was a matter of life and death. It had taken him too long to propose to Pepper Potts, and he was not going to let the Vision make the same mistake.

“If you had this many doubts, then why did you propose to this girl in the first place?” He asked.

“...Actually it was Wanda who proposed to me.”

Tony snorted. He then sighed and outstretched his arms for a hug. Vision had only ever been offered a hug by Wanda, so he awkwardly shuffled into the genius’s arms. Their small embrace seemed to settle his doubts. He should have pulled away sooner, yet somehow he was satiated. Relieved. Soothed.

“You’ll be fine.” Said Tony firmly, stepping back. “You’re growing up, Vizh. It’ll be good for you.”

Without warning the lab door opened and Bruce emerged.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I just had to check if it the program synced yet.” He said apologetically.

Tony rubbed his hands together in sudden delight. “Forget it!” He said. “We’ve got a wedding to arrange!”

“Wait, wedding? Who’s wedding?”

Vision immediately turned to Tony to try and stop him from-

“Vision’s marrying the Maximoff girl.”

Telling Bruce.

If Dr Banner’s eyes had widened any further, they would have popped right out of his skull. “Wa-Wanda? Vision is getting married to Wanda? You’re getting married to Wanda?”

Bruce ran a hand through his hair.

“Great, isn’t it?” Tony smirked.

Bruce wasn’t amused.

“Oh no, no no no. Tony, are you sure this is a good idea?” He asked in a hushed voice, as if Vision couldn’t hear him. He could. Every single word. Each word was a stab to his synthetic heart.

Tony gave Bruce a pointed look.

“‘Course it is. Now come on, we’ve got to make some calls. This wedding isn’t gonna plan itself!”

Ring ring! Ring ring!

Wanda looked down at the crumpled bit of paper in her hand and prayed that the number was right. She had already encountered a wrong one and didn’t want to make the day any more awkward than it was going to be.

Her worries increased when a child’s voice answered the phone.

“Hello?”

She knew that Clint had children, so she thought there was no harm in continuing the call.

“Hi there! Please may I speak to your Dad?” “Sure!”

Wanda heard shuffling on the other side. And then the beautiful sound of children’s laughter. She couldn’t help but reminisce on the times she had played with Pietro when they were younger. A time that was ripped away from them far too soon.

She felt relief wash over her as Clint’s voice finally answered the phone.

“Uh, hello?” “Clint! It’s Wanda!” “Wanda? How did you get this number?”

She felt slightly guilty to be the cause of Steve betraying Clint’s trust. But her reason was important. Besides, it had been a long time since she’d talked to Clint and she had begun to miss him quite a lot.

“Steve gave it to me. I just wanted to ask if we could meet.” “Why? Has something happened?!”

His voice was suddenly drowned with concern. Classic Clint. Joking around one second, prepared to fight to the death in the other. He would do anything for his family, not all of which he was related to by blood. Wanda hoped that he would consider this when he answered her question.

“No, no. I just wanted to ask you something.” “If you just wanted to ask me something then you could just do it now, seeing as you went through all the trouble to get this number.” “No… I would rather do it face to face.”

Truthfully, she wanted to be able to skim his mind to see if his reaction was genuine.

“Look, you gotta understand that it’s not that easy for me to just drop everything and leave anymore. My kids are growing up, Nathan’s starting school… I don’t wanna miss out on anything else. I want to be the Dad they deserve.”

“Would you walk me down the aisle?”

“Yeah, eventually. When Lila’s old enough. Still got quite a while to go thou- wait what? Walk you down the aisle?!”

Wanda could hear the faint voice of a woman down the phone.

“What was that, Clint?” “Nothing honey!”

Wanda suppressed a laugh at his sudden change of tone. “I’m planning to married this fall.” She said.

“Wanda, that’s great! Who’s the lucky guy?”

This was the question that Wanda had secretly been dreading. The last time Clint had met Vision had been in battle, and that hadn’t been pleasant for either of them. The rest of the group had been slightly sceptical at first, but had soon warmed up to the identity of Wanda’s fiancé and were eagerly helping to plan the wedding.

But Clint’s approval was the most important one she needed.

“Vision.”

A painful pause.

“Oh uh… you did think this through right?” “Of course.” “And he can’t have s-” “I know.” “And he’s a… uh…” “He’s a what, Clint? A robot?”

She had heard the questions so many times that she was sick of it. She didn’t understand why her friends couldn’t see Vision the way she did. As a person.

“...yeah.”

“Well he’s not, Clint. I love him and he loves me. It’s as simple as that.” “Sure, whatever you say.”

“So?” “So what?” “Will you stand in as my father?”

“Wanda, what sort of question even is that? Of course I will.”

Vision stood at the top of the hill and gazed down at the construction below him. New Asgard was to be a temporary solution to the homeless citizens of Thor’s home planet, and would act as a shelter until a permanent solution was found.

Said Prince was striding up the hill was hailing him.

“Vision! It’s been a while! How are you?” He said, his booming voice stretching out for what seemed like miles.

“I’m fine, thank you.” Vision replied, much more quietly in comparison. “Wanda and I-”

“Ah, Wanda.” Thor interrupted. “She’s the reason you were born, you know.”

It took every single component of Vision’s mind to avoid overthinking that statement.

“...yes. Well, Wanda and I are getting married-” “Oh, congratulations!” “Thank you- and I was wondering if you would be my best man?”

To be entirely honest, when Tony had first mentioned finding a best man, Vision had no idea what the job entailed. So he had done his research, and Thor was the person who immediately popped into his mind.

“I would be honoured to be the best man!”

...Except he doubted that the Asgardian knew what it was either.

“Do I have to do anything, or…?” Asked Thor, confirming Vision’s doubts. “I believe you have to give a speech and protect the wedding rings.”

At least that was what the internet said, and he had quickly learned not to believe everything he read.

“Ah, yes. I knew that.” Thor most certainly didn’t. “Well, how hard can it be?”

“My thoughts exactly.” Vision replied. He felt relieved now that the matter was settled. As more parts of the wedding were gradually sorted out, he would be able to give Thor more details. Things were going smoothly so far.

“Is it alright if I bring a few friends?”

“Friends?” Vision couldn’t help the hint of exasperation that leaked into his voice. Time was running out, they only had a few months until the wedding and though it wouldn’t make a difference, he still wanted to return as quickly as possible.

“Just a few of my closest companions.” Said a beaming Thor. “I don’t see why not.” “Thank you, my Vision!”

Wanda sat in her temporary apartment, gazing in wonder at Vision’s shortlist of wedding rings. They had been at it for hours, because Vision had a very different definition of the word “short”.   

“Vizh, I trust you. You can choose whatever ring you like for me.” She said, after she had almost fallen asleep for the fifth time.

“I know, but I believe all of them would suit you.” Said Vision. “There are 1,742 rings on this list compared to the millions of…”

It was the one time that Wanda felt sympathy for Stark, who had apparently also sat through this list.

“Why don’t you just get all of them? I mean, it’s not like Stark can’t afford it.” Wanda jokingly suggested.

“How is it possible to wear that many rings?” Vision asked innocently.

Wanda let out a chuckle. “No, you can’t- nevermind.” She turned back to the screen.

“Wait, what’s that one?” She said, pointing at one ring in particular.

“That one? That’s a royal ruby. Why, do you like it?”

It was quite a large gold ring, with an oval-shaped red gemstone in the middle.

“It’s perfect.”

“Thor, the rings please.”

“Of course!”

A wet-eyed Thor handed the rings over to Steve, who whispered a quick thanks.

The couple had decided to have meaningful words engraved on the inside of their rings. Wanda chose a word for her ring that immediately made her think of Vision. “Humanity”. Vision’s ring was engraved with the phrase that made him first realise his true feelings for Wanda. “Spirits lifted”.

“Now, repeat after me.” Instructed Steve, as he gave the first ring to Vision. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

“With this ring, I thee wed.” Repeated Vision, gently sliding the ring onto Wanda’s supple finger.

“Wanda?” Prompted Steve, as he gave Wanda the second ring.

“With this ring,” she let out a breath of joy as she slid the ring onto Vision’s finger, “I thee wed.”

Steve smiled warmly at the pair, before announcing the words they had waited too long to hear.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss.”

The roar of applause and cheers were deaf to their ears. Wanda wrapped her arms around Vision’s neck and drew him closer for their first married kiss.

“I love you.” She said, as she pulled back.

Vision just smiled broadly, and stared at his wife, who stroked his cheek lovingly.

Even an android can cry tears of joy.

[rewolfaekilerom]

ginny & georgia is good.

//NOTE: This was originally posted to Wordpress on 05.01.2021//

Let me start by saying that I tried to think of a clever title for this post, but all I could think of was the simple fact that I really like Ginny & Georgia. Excuse my lack of cleverness this week. I’m not sure if it’s my body responding to the first vaccine dose or if it’s the fog of seasonal allergies, but my brain is mush; my sense of smell is also not right. Also, Bug scratched the hair off of one of her ears (I’m pretty sure that’s seasonal allergies, poor thing) and I’ve spent a cumulative 15 hours this past week rendering, exporting, and uploading one single video onto YouTube for work (lost story short: I’m back at the rendering stage after I realized the audio got unsynced in the second half of the video. Ugh). It’s been a WEEK.

Excuses, excuses.

So, while I wait for my laundry and as I take a break from New Pokemon Snap (omg, it’s so good), I thought I’d brain-vomit my thoughts about Ginny & Georgia. Proving true to the portrait I gave of myself in my last post, I’m happy (or embarrassed?) to say that I watched Ginny & Georgia (henceforth G&G) twice this week. I finished episode 10 and immediately started rewatching episode 1, and it’s taking everything in me to not start rewatching for a third time. But depending on what you consider a week, I might be on week two now? ANYWAY.

I’ll start this brain-dump by saying, again, I really like this show. I described it to friends as a cross between Gilmore Girls and Pretty Little Liars or Outer Banks–maybe with a touch of Dexter. I don’t think it’s just that, but I think that’s a good way to summarize how it feels to watch the show, and those are good things in my book. GG and Dexter are probably in my top 5 favorite TV shows, and OB is up there too. I’ve watched OB through twice, and it definitely quenched my mid-winter thirst for the beach and my perpetual desire for a solid mystery/intrigue. I grew up watching the Travel Channel, so any show set in an even moderately interesting locale is immediately catching my interest. Oh, and I watched the entire PLL series with my mom while I was a teenager and even after I went away to college; it was “our show”–our way of sharing cultural ground even when I was away from home for the first time. We watched each episode together when it aired on TV, and we’d be the first to admit that the show was–at best–illogical, comically dramatic, and unrealistic to the umpth degree. But sometimes it’s fun to watch a show and laugh at its absurdity.

G&G doesn’t fall into the same traps that a lot of those types of teen shows do. It has drama and intrigue; it has sex and “teen problems” (which are really just person problems). But it also has real conversations about race and sexuality and parent-child relationships that go beyond the CW/Freeform problem-for-problem’s-sake model (hi, PLL)) or the WB squeaky-clean-problems approach (I’m talking to you, Seventh Heaven). It takes a Skins approach to issues young people face–well, if Skins was made for a puritanical US audience, but not THAT US Skins reboot. We’ll never talk about that. Shhh. Look away.

I’m not going to rehearse the plot of G&G, so look it up for yourself right now. I’ll wait.

Just kidding. I’m not waiting. Go look it up on your own time.

The similarities between G&G and GG are glaring (hell, Georgia even calls herself and Ginny the Gilmores with bigger boobs). In both, you have a young, single mom who had her daughter at 15/16 and then ran away from home. The mom is plucky, charismatic, and doesn’t always navigate the world by making the most, er, ethical choices. The daughter initially seems a bit more reserved and like she wants to play by the rules, but deep down is just a younger version of the mother, and that comes out of the course of the series. The two relate to one another as friends, but it’s complicated by the fact that they’re parent and child and that there is an inherent power imbalance there. The daughter is a little too mature for her own good and the mother is a little too immature for her own good. They butt heads, usually over the mother’s past and present choices (particularly regarding men) and the daughter’s present and future choices (also often regarding men). Their fights and falling outs are truly spectacular–they fight like only a mother and daughter could, but they also love one another–though they can’t express that love in the most logical or legible ways. They’re dysfunctional in every way you could imagine, and they really should be in family counseling.

But that’s not all. If that were it, I’d say, “oh, boohoo, they have similar types of characters. As if this is novel? Hasn’t this been done before? Get off your high horse.” NO. The parallels between these two shows go WAY deeper than that. Georgia is Lorelei and Ginny is Rory–hell, their naming practices are even similar. Georgia named herself after the state she was in the first time she had to come up with a pseudonym; this initiated a naming practice wherein she names her children after the cities/states they’re born in–hence Ginny, for Virginia. Rory is a nickname for Lorelei. (Side note: Lorelei is a hard name to type.)

Fine, fine. But we also have the tripartite relationship dynamics. Lorelei’s Big Three are Christopher, Max, and Luke; Georgia’s are Zion (Ginny’s dad and Georgia’s “penguin”–still not positive what that means, except that they can’t let go of one another?), Paul (the mayor, a white collar, public-facing profession), and Joe (the cafe/restaurant owner). If teenaged Rory has Dean and Jess, Ginny has Hunter and Marcus, respectively; Rory and Ginny obviously belong with the “bad boy”–they have infinitely better chemistry and get one another–but struggle with how good they “look” with the good guy, who’s actually kind of a judgmental jerk (as the bad guy points out).

Stars Hollow looks a whole lot like Wellsbury–hell, they’re both in New England. Wellsbury IS the most New England town name ever. Period. I love me some picturesque New England town bullshit.

Oh, and the side characters. Ellen and Sookie fill the same niche, and it’s a good one. They’re easily the most likable characters in both shows, and their husbands are genuinely funny characters in their own rights. GG has the sexually ambiguous (until he’s not) but oh-so-sarcastic Michel while G&G has Nick. Arguably, you could lump Kirk in with Michel to get Nick, but Nick isn’t as bumbling as Kirk, so maybe that point doesn’t stand. Hell, for friends Rory has the angel and devil on her shoulders in the form of Lane and Paris; Ginny has Max and Abby. And if Stars Hollow has Taylor Doose, Wellsbury has Cynthia Fuller. The list goes on.

Of course, a staple of GG is Emily and Richard Gilmore, but we glimpse that in G&G’s flashbacks to Zion’s parents, who help Georgia and Zion when the two first have Ginny. They’re similarly exasperated with their child’s choices and come off as a little overbearing but nonetheless have good intentions. They don’t have nearly as much screen time as Emily and Richard, which is a shame, but they serve a similar function.

Oh! And the flashbacks. They’re one of the charming parts of GG–they give us really important backstory on Lorelei’s life and life choices prior to the series’ start (and Rory’s birth, frankly). They’re less charming in G&G because Georgia’s background is far darker than GG ever could or would have conjured.

This gets me to why G&G isn’t just a GG rip-off. G&G isn’t just a woke GG. It isn’t just GG with people of color, in the LGBTQIA+ community, of varied socioeconomic classes, or from outside New England. If you like GG, you might like G&G, but you also might not. G&G addresses real life challenges teenagers, women, people of colorm hell, most Americans face in 2021. It depicts the US in its multiple angles, some of which are very, very ugly. Some might say that it’s GG for 2021, and maybe it is, but if that’s true, I’m not sure it’s a bad thing. I’m just not sure it’s totally true.

I’m going to cool it on the GG-G&G comparisons for a moment and just talk about G&G because I think you get my point. Before I cool it completely, though, and as a point of departure, I’ll say that if we do go with the idea that G&G is GG for 2021, then we need to recognize what G&G does differently: it gives us glimpses into how a whole range of people experience the US, and it doesn’t look away from ugly, unflattering, hateful truths that reside just below the surface of sparkly, shiny, pretty, picture-perfect towns. It doesn’t shy away from reality, even if that reality is uncomfortable for white, middle-class, cis, het viewers.

The important things about G&G that I haven’t yet mentioned in specifics are a’plenty.

Ginny (and Hunter) is mixed-race, a subject that comes up on a number of occasions in the form of explicit conversations about how being mixed-race doesn’t necessarily mean belonging to two communities but can instead mean feeling out of place in both. It also comes up in a very hard-to-watch argument between Ginny and Hunter where the two trade insults about one another’s lack of belonging; the argument escalates into a screaming match in which the two effectively diminish not only one another’s claims to their Black (in Ginny’s case) and Taiwanese (in Hunter’s case) identities but also the prejudices they experience at the hands of a hegemonic white society that systematically denies opportunities or a sense of belonging (among other things) for those who don’t fit into readily identifiable “boxes.”

Georgia ran away from her childhood home in rural, impoverished Arkansas because she was being sexually abused by her stepfather, who then went on to sexually abuse her half-sister.

Georgia has killed people, often for “legitimate” (???) reasons, including posing threats to Ginny.

Georgia used to be in a biker gang and still has connections with at least one member, a lawyer she has on retainer to help her “disappear” her misdeeds, including said murders.

Marcus and Ginny have struggled (or are currently struggling) with self-harm and suicide ideation.

Literally every single one of the teenagers in this show is under immense pressure to over-engage in extracurricular activities that will make them competitive candidates at top universities.

Parents’ unhealthy relationships with one another, divorce, and everything else in that realm also shape the teenaged characters’ lives.

Abby struggles with an eating disorder that’s fueled in part by comments her male peers (notably, an asshole named Press) about her body. Male characters make sexist, stereotyping comments to Ginny about her body, too.

I’ll stop there, but I do so with full knowledge that I’m likely leaving something out. Hell, as I type this I remember that Austin (Ginny’s younger half-brother) literally stabs a kid in the hand and there’s a private detective trying to figure out Georgia’s past, including if/how she murdered her previous husband (the impetus for the family’s move). Like I said, there’s so much more to this show than just its similarities with GG. But I’ve also seen articles online decrying viewers who make the connection, and I don’t think that’s quite the right approach. The show clearly isn’t copying GG. Even if G&G did take inspiration from GG, it takes that inspiration in a fresh direction.

I wonder, though, about how we, the viewers, are supposed to respond to certain aspects of the show.

For instance, the show pits the US South as the source of obvious Bad Stuff ™–child abuse, incest, poverty, etc.– and the US Northeast as a place where the Bad Stuff ™ is hidden beneath a picture-perfect veneer. I get what the show’s creators are going for. They’re attempting to give us a multidimensional perspective on the US in all its prettiness and ugliness, but I wonder if associating the South with only the Bad Stuff ™ is doing a disservice to a region that has a rich cultural past and present–a past and present that’s certainly included problems like poverty, racism, and abuse but cannot be defined by those things alone because those things are not all that’s there. To tie those things primarily to just one region because those are stereotypes that are often perpetuated about that region seems a bit . . . overly simplistic? Troublesome? Dare I use the old grad-student favorite–problematic? It’s too easy–it’s lazy, in fact–to pit South against Northeast as the source of the US’s outright ugliness. It’s the rhetoric surrounding the 2016 presidential election all over again, and, frankly, we could all use a break.

The other thing that regional competition does is it makes it possible for the show to gloss over the fact that those Bad Things ™ exist in the Northeast, too. I feel silly saying that because it seems so obvious, but the simplistic portrait the show paints of the US means that it sacrifices accurate representation and complexity for the sake of–well, actually, I’m not sure what it’s for the sake of. Maybe straightforward storytelling? That might make sense if the show didn’t dwell in other complexities and commit itself to attempting to represent other identities and aspects of American life with some degree of accuracy, so I don’t know.

I can’t speak to whether the show accurately represents the experiences of mixed-race people, LGBTQIA+ people, or people with disabilities. I suspect that it represents the experiences of some people accurately but, of course, not all people because that would be impossible. I’m also not sure if I think the show’s commitment to representing a variety of experiences of US life borders on tokenism. I can’t speak for how someone who occupies one of those subject positions experiences the show because I do not occupy that subject position. My gut reaction is that the show does seem to make an effort to go beyond the whole “look at us, we cast all sorts of people in our show” by attempting to humanize all of its characters as real humans with rich, complex lives. It weaves the characters’ lives into a tight web, making clear that a character like Max and Marcus’s dad isn’t noteworthy just because he’s deaf. You don’t look at Clint and think “oh, that’s the deaf character.” You think, oh, that’s Clint; he’s Ellen’s husband, Max and Marcus’s dad, he’s deaf, he makes pithy remarks about his over-the-top daughter and slacker son, and he performs strip-teases for his wife. He’s noteworthy because he’s an engaged (and absolutely hilarious) husband and father whose deafness is one of many identities of his that influences his children’s lives as any other cultural identity would influence a family’s dynamic. The entire family is (at least) bilingual, communicating in sign language and spoken English while also teaching their sign language skills to friends and significant others. His deafness is one identity among many that the show invests him with, and he’s not in all that many scenes.

I could be wrong, but that was my experience while watching the show and thinking about it a bit afterward and while writing this post.

The show depicts mixed-race identity in a complex way, too, but it dwells on it a bit longer and with a bit more detail. I mentioned that Ginny and Hunter are both of mixed-race parentage and that their mixed-race identities become a subject of a relationship-ending argument. To back up a bit, though, the show attempts to paint a vivid portrait of the challenges Ginny in particular faces as a she navigates middle-class, white suburbia as the daughter of a Black father and a white mother. We see how she reacts when a police office walks toward her at a gas station while she pumps gas in her mother’s BMW, when a teacher tells her she’s being “aggressive” (while her classmates, who display similar behaviors, are unremarked upon), when her hair frizzes out after her friends pressure her to let another student’s white mom brush her curls into a ponytail using a boar-bristle brush, when a male friend (multiple male friends?) tells her that she doesn’t look like a stereotypical Black girl, and, among other things, when another student asks her “what are you?” in an attempt to pinpoint her racial/ethnic identities. Each instance is painful to watch because the actress who plays Ginny plays her well; the camera stays trained on her face as she responds to each of these interactions, allowing the viewer to observe the range of emotions she feels as she repeatedly navigates a community of peers and adults who can’t get their shit together and respect her existence. These interactions aren’t quirky neighbors asking silly questions about why she hangs her laundry a certain way or informing her that she needs to only mow her lawn on Thursdays. These are interactions that repeatedly undermine her sense of belonging, that tell her she’s somehow different, and that question her very right to exist. It’s heartbreaking, but I think it’s important that it’s depicted because that’s reality for many, many people.

The scene with Hunter is interesting because it shows the two turning something that was common-ground into a source of conflict for them. I’m not entirely sure how to read this scene. It’s difficult to watch because it rapidly descends into a “who is the most disenfranchised?” competition rather than a respectful conversation about each partner’s different experiences with prejudice. I wondered if the subtext here was some commentary on how members of one racial community pit themselves against members of other racial communities. (I’m not being clear here, and I’m struggling to clarify even as I go back to edit this post. I guess what I mean is that, when I initially watched this scene, I worried that this was a negative commentary on the Black community in particular and how it engages with other racial communities. I hope that makes sense.) Frankly, I’m still not sure if that’s not what’s happening there or if that’s not what was intended. What I’m fairly certain of, though, is that the scene makes clear that we, the viewer, are being told pretty explicitly that we can’t identify the two as “good partners” on the sole basis that they have mixed-race parentage in common. In other words, the scene undermines the idea that experience of racial prejudice is the only (or even the most important) factor that brings two people together and makes them good partners for one another. It also undermines the belief that experiencing prejudice doesn’t mean a person is automatically awakened to the prejudices other people also experience.

This is also one of the scenes where Ginny truly is unlikeable. Hunter is, too, but he’s unlikeable in a number of scenes throughout the show. He’s the Good Guy™ character in a nutshell–says all the right things, does all the right things, is all the right things, but maybe isn’t all those things for all the right reasons. In this scene, Ginny enacts the prejudicial treatment she’s suffered at the hands of her peers against Hunter; she questions the validity of his identity and the veracity of his experiences of prejudice at the hands of his peers. This scene is the breaking-point where the two have to come to terms with the fact that they’re not compatible even though, on some surface and by some set of metrics, they might appear to be.

Hunter sucks, but so does Marcus–for different reasons, though. Marcus is detached, withdrawn, sarcastic, unmotivated, disrespectful, and dishonest. He’s unaware–and doesn’t attempt to improve at all on this–of how his actions impact other people. He just doesn’t care about anyone but himself–until he does, a little bit. Some part of me has sympathy for Marcus and genuinely likes him; I’ll blame the show for that. Another part of me–the part that’s 30 years old and has known plenty of Marcuses–doesn’t have time for his shit. I’m conflicted, but the majority of me wants Marcus and Ginny to end up together because the things they have in common and the things that bring them together are the things that most people look for in a relationship. Marcus is a lazy shit most of the time, but he makes a genuine effort to understand Ginny. By the end of the season, we see that he also respects her and accepts her as she is–warts and all. He seems to genuinely want the best for her, which is a nice development in character from our first introduction to him, tumbling out of his mother’s minivan after having been caught smoking weed on a street corner. Again, though, he wasn’t always so respectful. His past behaviors make it hard to trust him, so it makes sense when Ginny doesn’t bring him along at the end of the season. It does, though, make you hope that he’s back in season 2 and that we get to see more of their relationship.

Speaking of which, I hope that season 2 also explores Georgia and Joe’s relationship a bit more. It seems like they’re headed in the Lorelei-Luke direction, which will make me happier than words could express, but I could also see the show’s creators flipping the script on us and setting Joe up with his own gloomy backstory–something to do with the ethically ambiguous labor situation he’s got going on at his farm and in his cafe, perhaps? Still, I think that might make him and Georgia even better suited for one another than they already are. After all, he’s one of the first people who showed Georgia true, genuine kindness after she ran away as a teenager.

And of course I want more of Ellen in season 2. The actress who plays her is hilarious and her character is just . . . really likable.

On a somewhat lighter note, one little thing I noticed while watching the show is that the characters slap their thighs a lot. This, again, might by my seasonal allergies brain, but the “[slaps thighs]” notation on closed captioning came up an infinite number of times over the course of this show. It came up so often that I started thinking you could catch the entire plot of the show if someone just spliced together every instance where a character sighs and slaps their thighs. I’d watch that video.

After all that, I still think the parallels to GG are there, but I still defend that G&G is also more than those parallels. And the “more” it offers is good. It’s intrigue; it’s gloomy realities and often-ignored truths that don’t offer viewers a sunny break from reality. But I think that’s good. I don’t like the argument that TV should be a “break from reality” or that a show is good on the sole basis that it offers us a “break from reality.” I think that argument is an excuse used to defend media that is too lazy to do the responsible thing and convey storylines that are inclusive and meaningful.

Well, my laundry is done, so I have to go deal with that. Happy Saturday, and happy initial inoculation!

XOXO, you know.

[justaramblingromantic]

Counterstrike

Characters/Pairing: Kobayashi Rindou and Tsukasa Eishi/EiRin

Type: Fantasy/Medieval!AU, Dragon Heart!verse, Freestyle

Word Count: 4226

A/N: Er. Apparently I’m in a Dragon Heart type of mood lately? This plot has been sitting in my drafts for a while, but every time I dust it off and try to edit it, it gets longer. >.> So I’ve given up and am just gonna put this up as it is. Enjoy! 

She got very restless and annoyed sometimes, especially when those human females flitted around him and simpered at him, batting wide doe eyes and limpid, dewy expressions. Many of those elegant noblewomen were delicate and beautiful, and their striking appearances reminded her of dazzlingly colorful, fluttering butterflies. She normally liked butterflies, but right now she just felt like ripping out some wings. Watching them fawn over the White Knight and flirt coyly at him, subtly enticing and encouraging his pursuit made her hackles rise, her claws come out, her lips curling, fangs flashing.

This ball was a waste of time, and it was also infuriating her enough that in the midst of it, the redhead had retreated to one of the large, open verandas that bordered the massive ballroom. The dragoness was currently perched precariously on the stone ledge, an impressive feat considering the fact that she had been put in a rather elaborate, floor length ball gown just for the sake of attending this royal gala in the grand palace of Tootsuki. Her clothes were ridiculously floofy and ungainly and she really did not know how all these women in the palace managed to float effortlessly around all evening in these cumbersome getup and uncomfortable dancing slippers. Speaking of which, she very quickly shucked off the delicate satin shoes and kicked them aside, wriggling her cramped toes with relief even as she idly swung her bare heels back and forth against the outer walls of the parapets.

The golden eyed female was quickly coming to the conclusion that she really disliked living in the palace, with its many, many rules and regulations and snooty human beings who constantly frowned with disapproval and lectured, lived and breathed propriety. How boring. This was the world that Eishi had come from – she had not known what she had been expecting at first but this was something of a disappointment. Weren’t the lives of knights supposed to be filled with excitement and adventure?

Apparently, when the gallant champions of the realm weren’t being sent off on grand conquests or important quests, they all stuck around the palace pandering to the whims and wishes of their monarchs and their immediate family, power mongering and playing dangerously intricate political games, powdering bottoms and changing nappies…

Many mortal lives were ruled by mundaneness and trivialities; she silently agreed with the observations of a distant ancestor.

Rindou tilted her head back and gazed over the glittering skies above her. Even the beautiful blanket of stars seemed muted here in the heart of Tootsuki, subdued and lacking luster, nothing like the vivid, brilliantly glittering view of the celestials that she had grown up accustomed to, high up the sheer alpine altitudes…

What even was she doing here, she could not help but wonder, and not for the first time. Trying to adapt to live amongst the humans like the other dragons of Tootsuki had discreetly over successive generations, having to hide away her fangs and claws like they were something to be ashamed of just because she was now surrounded by weak, defenseless beings with blunt teeth and soft nails, told to relearn her way of life altogether because she had to behave like a proper civilized being now…as if she had been something lesser all along…and for what??

She was still pure dragon under that veneer of instructed civility and sophistication, she was still a beast, a wild thing under that layer of deceptively harmless human skin…

She did not belong here.

“The heck are you sulking over here for?”

The presence that she sensed approaching was Kuga, and the Huang Long came to a stop beside the brooding female, though he refrained from climbing onto the parapets like she had.

Rindou flicked him a dispassionate glance. “M’not sulking,” she uttered in denial, though her imperial companion merely snorted in response, unconvinced.

“Really? Was kinda obvious that you were glaring daggers at the gaggle of followers wandering after your favorite toy like moon eyed calves.”

Her gaze sharpened even more, and she started to look vaguely irritated. “He’s not my favorite anything and I don’t care about what he does or whom he does them with,” she denied vehemently…though the fact that she was able to recognize and identify just whom he was referring to was already indictive that he had hit the nail right on the head.

The Chinese dragon looked vaguely amused. “So it’s fine with you that he’s goin’ off right now with one of those women who’s been tryin’ to lure him all night?”

As anticipated, his announcement garnered a reaction.

“What.” Her raw growl of displeasure was accompanied by her turning her head quickly to look through the open veranda doors to verify the authenticity of his statement.

Of course it was a lie, or at least part of it was. Eishi was still surrounded by admirers but instead of looking like he was ready to go off with one of them, he just seemed to be politely trying to put up with their bewildering (to him) interest in him. The white-haired noble was also looking like he was increasingly desperate for some sort of intervention, but none were forthcoming. Such was the fate of one who still happened to be uncoupled and very much desirable in terms of lineage, position and appearance in the royal court...

The Chinese Dragon had basically said what he said to gain a rise out of her. Queen she might be, but Rindou was also relatively inexperienced and a bit strange, to say the least.

What self-respecting dragoness would express interest in a human Knight, of all creatures?? And she had even gone so far as to extend a claim on him, albeit an informal one. Such a precedent was downright unheard of, and the notion also not entirely welcomed.

“Heh. You don’t care, am I right?” The young Huang Long was gleeful, his point made.

Rindou‘s glare was positively deadly, but this time, she made no further refutations claiming otherwise.

“What’s with your fascination with him, anyway?” Kuga asked. The younger dragon could not quite comprehend what she saw in the white knight. In terms of physical ability, he was perhaps above average…for a human being, at least. Her interest could be better invested on their own kind, other dragons which were all stronger and much more superior to the one she had chosen, actual potential mates who could build a lasting legacy by her side. Queens made highly desirable mates not only because of their rarity amongst the dragonic ranks, but mostly due to the fact that any union with one would almost certainly guarantee robust, powerful offspring.

The Tootsuki Knight, while admittedly incredibly impressive with his tactics and the peculiarly meticulous deployment of his soldiers on the battlefield like a champion chess master placing his pawns, was weaker physically even when compared to some of his fellow human contemporaries. His personality was also oddly gentle and placid for one who was trained and seasoned for warfare and bloodshed, and he was rather contradictory and confusing in character, though possibly unintentionally so. Perhaps that was what had caught the redhead’s attention?

The bicolored haired male looked at the dragoness beside him and sobered somewhat.

“You do know that he is an aristocrat, right? Humans like their kind are expected to marry equal or above his station. You probably are just something exotic and thus momentarily interesting to him.”

His observations were mild, but his warning was perfectly serious. She just gave him an unamused, gimlet stare, but Kuga was undaunted. He shrugged at her.

“What? You know I speak the truth. How many stories of these supposedly chivalrous knights have we all heard growing up? Did you forget why dragons were even forced to interbreed with humans in the first place?”

Rindou’s reaction was simple. She reached over and smacked the younger dragon over the back of his head, imperial blood or not, much to his aggravated scowl.

“You speak as though I’m completely useless and unable to defend myself,” she pointed out. “Do you think I’d be the lamb being led to slaughter?”

Kuga cocked his head to the side.

“Dare you say that you’re not, Rindou?”

“Yes. For all you know, I’m the one leading this human about by the nose,” she exclaimed harshly. “I’m gonna be using him, not the other way around.”

“Then how come you’re sulking out here all on your own, o’ great dragoness?”

Her brow was ticking with annoyance. Kuga was not wrong. Rindou clambered onto her bare feet and hopped down lithely back onto the stone floor of the balcony, determined to prove him incorrect all the same.

“I’m not.”

Hiking her voluminous skirts up to nearly her knees (scandalous, really), the redhead sailed back into the warm ballroom filled with too many warm bodies and made a beeline right for the scion of the Tsukasa House.

She wasn’t being very delicate, nor did she ‘float’ across the gigantic ballroom in an ethereal manner- if anything, the tempestuous dragoness lowered her head like an aggravated bull and plowed through the throngs of milling crowd and well-heeled members of the noble class. She ignored the gasps and exclamations of shock and surprise rippling out and away from her location and headed straight to where Eishi was. The man was still besieged by his admirers, a fact which in itself already made her irritated beyond belief, for reasons she was utterly refusing to acknowledge.

The red-haired female no-nonsensely shoved her way into the group of young women, stomping on toes and digging her elbows into sides to get ahead of this crowd. The gentlewomen were no match for her determined motions. They were indignant like ruffled geese with their feathers all askew, but none of them quite dared to pit themselves against the barbaric beast that had forced its way into their midst, however openly unappreciated and unwelcomed her presence was. Not that Rindou cared a whit. The opinions of humans had never really been a top priority to her… Those of other dragons too, actually. She did whatever she pleased and went everywhere she wanted, and that was all she cared about.

At last, she popped out from the front of the crowd, stepped up to her human, and she slipped in front of him. She rounded the crowd and bared her sharp, pointy incisors a little, enjoying their dismayed and cowed flinches just a little too much. She also went straight to the point, seeing no reason to beat around the bush when she could nip this in the bud right there and then.

Subtlety, thy name is not Kobayashi Rindou.

“Ladies~ This one is mine until further notice…or does any one of you wishes to challenge me for him?” Her throaty drawl grew dangerously silken towards the end of her testy, prickly question. She hoped some would be bold enough to do just that. It had been absolutely boring temporarily grounded in this palace with nothing exciting to do, and playing keep away from Eishi (and frustrating him to no end) could only keep her preoccupied for so long.

Her glittering, preternatural gold eyes scanned the fidgeting crowd with predatory sharp disdain. The ripple of unease and averted gazes just about said it all. She scoffed.

“I thought as much.”

“Sir Eishi is not yours,” one of the louder voices safely hidden in the crowd rang out then. “Know your place.”

Rindou smirked. Her grin was all ivory and fang, much to the horror of her seething female audience. The palace’s etiquette master that the Queen of Tootsuki had assigned to personally oversee her lessons in royal court protocols and proper decorum was probably passed out in a dead faint somewhere back in the wings of this massive ballroom by now, done in by her complete disregard of all of his ridiculous rules and dos and don’ts in courtly mannerisms. Bleh.

“Oh, but I do know my place~” she purred. She shifted a step back to stand beside him, and then she leaned nonchalantly, scandalously close, subtly brushing his side, further taunting her furious detractors. If looks could kill, Rindou thought mirthfully that she would be dead a few times over right there and then. She started to grow genuinely amused.

Her white-haired companion was silent, his head turned to the elusive female who had been evading him successfully for the last few weeks but was now coming out so blatantly for him like this. His lavender gaze scrutinized her…but he did not protest her bold claim.  

“Excuse me,” she drawled. “I’ve got a virtuous Knight to corrupt and lead down the path of depravity. He’s too good to ruin himself, after all~”

Without another word, she grabbed him and pulled him across the ballroom to the closest exit, pointedly ignoring the scandalous murmurs and faintly amused expressions of some of the other dragonic allies intermingled amongst the crowd.

Nobody stopped them this time, and the two were able to head straight out and away from the festivities and down the passageway before anyone could say otherwise. Freedom at last! Had Rindou known that this was what it took to get out of attending this tedious event, she would have done this hours ago.

“Rindou,” Eishi only spoke once they were some distance from the grand ballroom. She paused to look at him, and abruptly remembering that she was still holding his hand, she let go…only for him to catch her withdrawing fingers and grab onto her, squeezing her digits with his own. She came to a complete stop since it seemed like he wanted to say something.

“What is it? Don’t read too much into my words – I only said ‘em to aggravate the others,” she promptly told him dismissively. That, and the fact that she really hadn’t liked the idea of other females fawning over him…but he didn’t need to know that.

He seemed vaguely disappointed by her declaration, much to her bemusement.

“Why do you look unhappy?” she asked, unable to contain her curiosity any further. “Did you actually want to stay surrounded by those lady admirers of yours?”

“No, that’s not it,” he denied immediately, keeping his tone as level as possible. “What you said earlier-”

“Leading you down the path of ruin and corruption?” she interrupted. “Like I said, I was being sarcastic-”

“That’s not what I was trying to point out,” he tried to wrest the conversation back before she could run off with it again. By now he was quickly realizing that subtlety and gentle directions/implications from him were completely lost on her. If he wanted her attention, the only way that he was going to get it was to be upfront and as blunt as possible. Forcefully, even.

“But I won’t mind that if you weren’t.”

She stared at him. He quickly grabbed the chance to continue. “What do you mean, ‘I’m yours until further notice?’”

She blinked at him.

This was what he was bothered about?

“You did once say that I can use you as much as I want to,” she pointed out. “That means you’re mine to do as I please.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong, but that wasn’t what he was currently concerned about, actually.

“Until further notice,” he repeated determinedly, his eyes meeting hers. “What do you mean by that?”

She was starting to get increasingly bewildered by his leading questions.

“It means you’re mine until you’re not…?”

If anything, her reply made his usually distant gaze sharpen, until he was almost frowning at her. She frowned back.

“What?”

He was visibly frustrated with her response.

“And who gets to decide that?”

Why was he nitpicking the details now? Did it matter?

Of course it did. It mattered because there were others also intent on gaining a foothold into her affection and he had no intention on sharing. Without another word, he took advantage of their connection and tugged her along with him, moving fluidly through the hallways and turning corners with a sure, knowing assurance that spoke of familiarity.

Eventually, he led them both to the guest wing of the enormous palace, and pulled her into the set of rooms reserved for the House of Tsukasa whenever he was obligated to stay in the royal quarters.

Slipping into the suite unobtrusively, he shut the door behind them and proceeded to back her against the vertical surface. His expression was very determined, and she stared at him, still wondering what he was up to.

He reached for her, lifted his hand and touched her bare neck. Fingertips scarred and callused from a life of wielding deadly weaponries and waging war in the name of Tootsuki were now incredibly gentle as he traced a line up the length of her jaw, long, lean digits at last capturing her chin and tilting her face up to meet his gaze. She stilled at his contact, and there was a quiet intensity in his pale lavender eyes as he stared at her, trapping her as effectively as any snare would.

It was imperative that she understood that he was dead serious.

“I want you.”

Her brow furrowed at the soft, candid declaration. “You mean ‘to rut with?’” she asked bluntly. She obviously wasn’t entirely oblivious about the natural mechanics that went on between the different genders, but he was hardpressed not to shift at her matter of fact reply all the same.

“I…-” His mind went momentarily blank at the thought of being intimate with her. “Yes.” He forged on quickly before he could get distracted by his own bold admission. “But not just that. I want you.”

She did not understand what he was trying to say. Her head canted slightly to the side, and he took advantage of the moment to edge in.

He could talk all he wanted, but he was coming around to the understanding that it would be the most effective just to show her.

Long fingers slowly closed around her slender neck, gentle as always, and then he paused, watching her closely for her reaction. She did not appear threatened by his action and continued to stare at him, more bemused by his demeanor than upset. She was also calm, unflustered, standing so close before him – a casual, unshakable confidence in herself that was nothing like the faux coy, trained maidenly wiles of most female nobility. Her honesty and forthrightness were intoxicating. He slowly leaned closer, allured by the candor in her bright, catlike eyes, the guilelessness reflected on her striking, beautiful features.

His thumb stretched out, softly stroked the side of her bared throat, right over where her pulse beat, thrumming slowly and steadily at first, but slowly fluttering faster as he nudged her head back, exposing more of her neck, his head lowering slowly, eying her quietly until he could no longer do so, and then he pressed his mouth against her pulse, lips tender against her soft, warm flesh, lingering. She stopped moving altogether at his unexpectedly bold move, and it seemed like she had stopped breathing as well.

His tongue gently touched her skin, lapping a slow, deliberate line along the side of her neck, and she shivered at the sensation…but she did not push him away. Encouraged, he kissed her some more, making use of her curiosity in this new, foreign but delightfully pleasurable activity to further press his advantage. The neck and the side of the throat were especially sensitive places for a dragon, or so he had observed of mated pairs. It seemed that there was meaning in lavishing his attention there, and sure enough, she jerked and pulled away when he nipped her experimentally.

Rindou immediately slapped her hand over the faintly stinging area, staring at him with faint accusation.

“Don’t bite me there!” she demanded, skittish.

He looked at her. “Why not?” His voice was lower, growing just a tad husky, his eyes darkening in a way that made her pause again, distracted by the glint of hunger that she could see in those usually passive depths. He did not look meek and gentle right there and then, but…more dangerous. She was not aware that he could look like that. She shifted, but there wasn’t anywhere she could go, already backed up against the door by him…

“You’re gonna leave a claim mark, that’s why!” she snapped, only for him to press in quickly and repeat what he had done earlier, peeling her hand off the faintly reddened area and biting down even harder. She yelped, her knees going weak, automatically submitting to his bite. His human teeth did not break skin but it elicited the same effect. She whined low in her throat, and then-

Wait a moment-

She batted him away again, scowling and flustered.

“What do you think you are doing?” she questioned in a sharper, disgruntled hiss, but much to her chagrin, he was hardly daunted by her bluster. Now that he knew what button to push to get her to relent for him, he was eager to test his limits. Another deliberate nip had her whimpering again, her fingers curling automatically into the front of his tunic, no longer pushing him away rather more like holding him, and he liked that, leaning in even more to pin her against the door, pressing chaste kisses along her neck, just reveling in this dizzying intimacy. She was letting him close, albeit mostly because she was faintly confused and overwhelmed by his unexpected ardor, torn between desiring him and wanting to avoid him…but he was making it impossible for her to accomplish the latter. A forceful individual he was not, but he was unmatched when it came to determination.

And he was incredibly determined to convey his intention to her.

His hands slipped lower, ghosting along her sides, coming to a rest around the dip of her slender waist, settling just above the flare of her soft hips. His fingers gripped her firmly then, instinctively tugging her to him, and another soft, tender bite had her gasping, liquid heat shooting through her, squeezing her thighs together at the blinding spike of need that his action derived. The redhead gave it up as a lost cause then, turning her head to meet his mouth with her own. She pushed back against him, never one to let herself to be led around blindly for too long.

Their lips coming together made her breath catch unwittingly in her throat. His proximity, his warmth, his mouth pressed to hers made her head go fuzzy and then completely blank altogether, and it was both an incredibly thrilling and alarming experience at the same time. She felt disoriented, not in control, and for someone who was used to spending the last many years on her own, depending on herself, he made her teeter off balance. As always.

She started to withdraw, a bit spooked by her own reaction, but then he parted his lips, traced his tongue along the seam of her mouth, before ravenously, firmly, sealing his mouth over hers. She moaned at the marvelously intoxicating sensation. His eagerness and ardor were hard to pull away from, and he was done restraining himself. He wanted her with a ferocious hunger. Desire ignited quickly; he coaxed her into play with him, and his gentleness was a stark contrast to how tightly he was holding onto her right now, as if he would never let her go. His tongue slipped between her lips, traced her teeth and gums, caressed hers in return. He nibbled, licked and suckled at her slick flesh until all of her objections and reservations were washed away by the tide of his deliberate seduction.

She was breathing hard when they at last separated for air, gold slit eyes heavy and half lidded, cheeks flushed, lips red and kiss swollen. His lavender gaze quietly darkened at the lovely sight.

“What are you doing to me?” she mumbled, almost in distress, limbs trembling faintly, physically shaken by his sensual onslaught. She could only cling onto him at the moment, trying her hardest to recover her strength. This lack of control was disturbing, and the corner of her plump lips pulled down a bit, as if she was unsure how to react to him now.

He quietly nosed her hair, holding her in an embrace that was so tender and filled with unspoken affection. Something in her chest was struggling to break free at the way he was looking at her. She bit her lip hard to contain that feeling, and it was a challenge not to avert her gaze from him. He offered pleasure like an intoxicating drug, and she was wary of getting addicted to him. He could be so frighteningly intense, she did not quite know what to do with this side of him…

If only she would understand that this feeling of utter freefall was mutual.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he murmured, struggling to keep his voice even, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. His blood sang with giddy want whenever she was near. She affected him like no others could, and he could not seem to stop touching her. His mouth quietly brushed against the shell of her ear, and she shuddered, helpless.

“I’m claiming you back.”