#and wild answers approximately none of them

[mx-legend-of-faye]

Imagine if the chain meets Wild post totk and the castle is still floating

Any of the chain except Wild: So uh… what’s with that?

Wild: What’s with what?

Chain: Why’s the castle floating?

Wild: Dehydrated Ganon didn’t like being stuck in the basement.

Chain: Sorry, what?

Wild: Mummy made the castle float.

Chain: ???????????

Idk I just think it’d be funny

[thesiltverses]

I don’t know who types up the ask answers on this blog but to whoever’s reading this: how do you all feel about being alive and sentient? What keeps you going, what purpose propels you through this chaotic void? What do you think (or hope) waits for you after your inevitable end? What do you think constitutes a life well lived?

I'm going to answer this in the most wayward and stupidly overlong manner possible, because the previous ask had me thinking about puppets, and I was already mid-way through writing up a book recommendation that's semi-relevant to your questions.

Everyone (but especially people who've enjoyed The Silt Verses and all the folks on Tumblr who loved Piranesi by Susanna Clarke) ought to seek out Riddley Walker by Russell Hoban.

Riddley Walker is a wild and woolly story set in post-apocalyptic Kent, where human society has (d)evolved into a Bronze Age collective of hunter-gatherer settlements. Dogs, apparently blaming us for our crimes against the world, have become our predators, hunting us through the trees. Labourers kill themselves unearthing ancient machinery that they cannot possibly understand.

A travelling crowd of thugs led by a Pry Mincer collect taxes and attempt to impose themselves upon those around them with a puppet-show - the closest possible approximation of a TV show - that tells a mangled story of the world's destruction, featuring a Prometheus-esque hero called Eusa who is tempted by the Clevver One into creating the atomic bomb.

Riddley himself, a twelve-year-old folk hero in-the-making surrounded by strange portents, ends up sowing the seeds of rebellion and change by becoming a conduit for the anti-tutelary anarchic madness (one apparently buried in our collective unconscious) of Punch 'n' Judy.

It's a book in love with twisted reinterpretation, the subjectivity of interpretation, buried or forbidden truths coming back to light (the opening quote is a curious allegory about reinvention and cyclical change from the extra-canonical Gospel of Thomas, which is a good joke and mission statement on a couple levels at once) and human beings somehow stumbling into forms of wisdom or insight through clumsy and nonsensical attempts to make sense of a world that is simply beyond them.

It rocks.

The book starts like this:

On my naming day when I come 12 I gone front spear and kilt a wyld boar he parbly the las wyld pig on the Bundel Downs any how there hadnt ben none for a long time befor him nor I aint looking to see none agen. He dint make the groun shake nor nothing like that when he come on to my spear he wernt all that big plus he lookit poorly. He done the reqwyrt he ternt and stood and clattert his teef and made his rush and there we wer then. Him on 1 end of the spear kicking his life out and me on the other end watching him dy. I said, 'Your tern now my tern later.'

Riddley's devolved language - a trick which has been nicked/homaged by many other works, most notably Cloud Atlas and Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome - is a masterwork choice which may seem offputting or overwhelming at first, but which has its own brutal poetry and cadence to it, and ultimately which makes us slow down as readers and unpick the wit, puns, double-meanings and playful themes buried in line after line.

(Even those first five sentences get us thinking about cyclical change, ritual and myth in opposition to the dissatisfactions of reality, and 'tern' to paradoxically indicate a rebellious change in direction but also an obedient acceptance of inevitable death.)

In one of my favourite passages in literature and a statement of thought that means a lot to me, Riddley has been smoking post-coital weed with Lorna, a 'tel-woman', who unexpectedly declares her belief in a kind of irrational, monstrous Logos that lives in us, wears us like clothes, and drives us onwards for its own purpose:

'You know Riddley theres some thing in us it dont have no name.' I said, 'What thing is that?' She said, 'Its some kynd of thing it aint us but yet its in us. Its lookin out thru our eye hoals...it aint you nor it dont even know your name. Its in us lorn and loan and shelterin how it can.' 'Tremmering it is and feart. It puts us on like we put on our cloes. Some times we dont fit. Some times it cant fynd the arm hoals and it tears us a part. I dont think I took all that much noatis of it when I ben yung. Now Im old I noatise it mor. It dont realy like to put me on no mor. Every morning I can feal how its tiret of me and readying to throw me a way. Iwl tel you some thing Riddley and keap this in memberment. What ever it is we dont come naturel to it.' I said, 'Lorna I dont know what you mean.' She said, 'We aint a naturel part of it. We dint begin when it begun we dint begin where it begun. It ben here befor us nor I dont know what we are to it. May be weare jus only sickness and a feaver to it or boyls on the arse of it I dont know. Now lissen what Im going to tel you Riddley. It thinks us but it dont think like us. It dont think the way we think. Plus like I said befor its afeart.' I said, 'Whats it afeart of?' She said, 'Its afeart of being beartht.'

While Hoban is, I think, deeply humanistic to his bones and even something of a wayward optimist, the notion of human beings as helpless and ignorant vessels, individual carriers - puppets, if you like - for an unknowable and awful inhuman power-in-potentia and life-drive that lacks a true shape or intent beyond its own continued survival (even when that means destroying us or visiting us with agonising atrophy in the process) conjures up the pessimism of Thomas Ligotti, another big influence on our work and a dude who was really into his marionettes-as-metaphor.

Let's go to him now for his opinion on the thing that lives beneath our skin. Thomas?

Through the prophylactic of self-deception, we keep hidden what we do not want to let into our heads, as if we will betray to ourselves a secret too terrible to know… …(that the universe is) a play with no plot and no players that were anything more than portions of a master drive of purposeless self-mutilation. Everything tears away at everything else forever. Nothing knows of its embroilment in a festival of massacres… Nothing can know what is going on.

Curiously, both Ligotti and Riddley Walker have appeared in the music of dark folk band Current 93, whose track In The Heart Of The Wood And What I Found There directly homages the novel and ends with the repeated words,

"All shall be well," she said But not for me

These words, in turn, hearken back to Kafka's* famous reported conversation with Max Brod:

'We are,' he said, 'nihilistic thoughts, suicidal thoughts that rise in God's head.' This reminded me of the worldview of the gnostic: God as an evil demiurge, the world as his original sin. 'Oh no', he said, 'our world is only a bad, fretful whim of God, a bad day.' 'So was there - outside of this world that we know - hope?' He smiled: 'Oh, hope - there is plenty. Infinite hope, just not for us."

So, we walk on.

We carry this thing that's riding on our backs, endlessly bonded to it, feeling its weight more and more with every passing day, unable to turn to look at it. Buried truths come briefly to life, and are hidden from us again. Perhaps they weren't truths at all. We couldn't stand to look the truth directly in the eyes in any case.

If there is hope, it's for the thing that looks out from our eyeholes, which thinks us but cannot think like us. We'll never get to where we're going, and the thing will never be born. There's no hope for it. Perhaps we don't want it to win anyway. It's nothing, and the key to everything.

The Jesus from the Gospel of Thomas says:

'When you see your own likeness, you rejoice. But when you see the visions that formed you and existed before you, which do not perish and which do not become visible - how much then will you be able to bear?'

Kafka, writing to his father, begins by expressing the inexpressibility of his own divine terror:

You asked me why I am afraid of you. I did not know how to answer - partly because of my fear, partly because an explanation would require more than I could make coherent in speech…even in writing, the magnitude of the causes exceeds my memory and my understanding.

Kafka concludes that while he cannot ever truly explain himself, and that the accusations in his letter are neat subjectivities that fail to account for the messiness of reality, perhaps 'something that in my opinion so closely resembles the truth…might comfort us both a little and make it easier for us to live and die.'**

It doesn't bring comfort to Kafka, whose diarised remarks both before and after the 1919 letter make it clear that he views his relationship with the things (people) that birthed him as an endless entrapment that prevents him from attaining any kind of self-actualisation or even comfort, since he cannot escape their influence or remember a time before them:

I was defeated by Father as a small boy and have been prevented since by pride from leaving the battleground, despite enduring defeat over and over again.

It's as if I wasn't fully born yet...as if I was dissolubly bound to these repulsive things (my parents).*** The bond is still attached to my feet, preventing them from walking, from escaping the original formless mush. That's how it is sometimes.

Samuel Beckett returns again and again (aptly) to this pursuit of a state of true humanity and final understanding that is at once fled and unrecoverable, yet to be born, never to be born, never-existed, endlessly to be pursued, pointless to pursue. From the astonishing end sequence of The Unnameable:

alone alone, the others are gone, they have been stilled, their voices stilled, their listening stilled, one by one, at each new-com- ing, another will come, I won’t be the last. I’ll be with the others. I’ll be as gone, in the silence, it won’t be I, it’s not I, I’m not there yet. I’ll go there now. I’ll try and go there now, no use trying, I wait for my turn, my turn to go there, my turn to talk there, my turn to listen there, my turn to wait there for my turn to go, to be as gone, it’s unending, it will be unending, gone where,where do you go from there, you must go somewhere else, wait somewhere else, for your turn to go again

I’m not the first, I won’t be the first, it will best me in the end, it has bested better than me, it will tell me what to do, in order to rise, move, act like a body endowed with despair, that’s how I reason, that’s how I hear myself reasoning, all lies, it’s not me they’re calling, not me they’re talking about, it’s not yet my turn, it’s someone else’s turn, that’s why I can’t stir, that’s why I don’t feel a body on me, I’m not suffering enough yet, it’s not yet my turn, not suffering enough to be able to stir, to have a body, complete with head, to be able to understand, to have eyes to light the way

From Thomas' Jesus:

When you make the two one, and you make the inside as the outside and the outside as the inside and the above as the below, and if male and female become a single unity which lacks 'masculine' and 'feminine' action, when you grow eyes where eyes should be and hands where hands should be and feet where feet should stand and the true image in its proper place, then shall you enter heaven.

Tom's Jesus makes a particularly Gnostic habit of both insisting that the hidden will be revealed and demonstrating the impossibility of attaining a state where the hidden ever can be revealed. Contrary to C.S. Lewis, we will never have faces with which to gaze upon the lost divine and the mysteries that shaped us, and crucially, as Christ puts it, we would not be able to bear the sight of ourselves if we did.

We will never become the thing that's riding on our backs.

Jesus again:

The disciples ask Jesus, 'Tell us how our end shall be.' Jesus says, 'Have you found the beginning yet, you who ask after the end? For at the place where the beginning is, there shall be the end.'

The Unnameable:

I’ll recognise it, in the end I’ll recognise it, the story of the silence that he never left, that I should never have left, that I may never find again, that I may find again, then it will be he, it will be I, it will be the place, the silence, the end, the beginning, the beginning again, how can I say it, that’s all words, they’re all I have, and not many of them, the words fail, the voice fails, so be it

The final passage of The Unnameable, which often is hilariously shorn and misinterpreted as an inspirational quote about how if you don't succeed, try again:

all words, there’s nothing else, you must go on, that’s all I know, they’re going to stop, I know that well, I can feel it, they’re going to abandon me, it will be the silence, for a moment, a good few moments, or it will be mine, the lasting one, that didn’t last, that still lasts, it will be I, you must go on, I can't go on, you must go on. I’ll go on, you must say words, as long as there are any, until they find me, until they say me, strange pain, strange sin, you must go on, perhaps it’s done already, perhaps they have said me already, perhaps they have carried me to the threshold of my story, before the door that opens on my story, that would surprise me, if it opens, it will be I, it will be the silence, where I am, I don’t know. I’ll never know, in the silence you don’t know, you must go on, I can’t go on. I’ll go on. †

We bear this thing that's riding on our backs. We'll never get to where we're going, and the thing will never be born. If it was born, it'd be too terrible for us to bear. There's nothing riding on our backs.

It will never speak us into being.

We keep on calling out into the silence, we keep trying to explain or understand the thing that's riding on our backs, searching for a way to birth it before we die. Our words about the thing are crucial, and they're meaningless, and they're all we have, and they're nothing at all. We cannot name it and we cannot express it, but we cannot stop trying, and we will keep turning back to our words about the thing, obsessing over them, tearing them to pieces, putting them back together.

I'm fumbling at something I can't think or say, but fumbling is all we're capable of. There could be beauty and meaning and comfort in the fumbling, but it's also vain, and foolish, and pointless, and we're lying to ourselves about the beauty and the meaning and the comfort, and we're indulging ourselves pointlessly by going on and on about the pointlessness of it. Nothing can know what's going on. We will never get close enough to understand without being destroyed.

Thomas' Jesus again, warning those who seek to reveal what's hidden:

He who is near me is near the fire.

Riddley Walker, reflecting on the Punch puppet's inexplicable desire to cook and eat his own child:

Whyis Punch crookit? Why wil he al ways kill the baby if he can? Parbly I wont ever know its jus on me to think on it.

If you got to the end of this, congratulations: but the above is honestly the most appropriate patchwork of what I believe, what propels me, what I feel.

As for what comes after life, I think it's fairly straightforwardly a nothingness we are tragically incapable of fully knowing or accepting - it's Beckett's unimaginable and unattainable silence, a silence that his characters' voices keep on shattering even as they cry out for it.

-Jon‡

*I can't remember if Kafka makes prominent reference to Czech puppets in his work, which is interesting in its own right given the thematic relevance (the protagonist in The Hunger Artist is perhaps a kind of self-directing puppet show?).

However, Gustav Meyrink - who some unsourced Google quotes suggest was pals with Czech puppeteer Richard Teschner - did write a strange little story, The Man On The Bottle, about an audience watching a 'marionette show' who are too wrapped up in performances and masks to interpret the reality that they're actually watching a human being suffocate to death.

**Thomas Ligotti: "Something had happened. They did not know what it was, but they did know it as that which should not be.

Something would have to be done if they were to live with that which should not be.

This would not (be enough); it would only be the best they could do."

***Beckett's Malone Dies actually kicks off with a related sentiment:" I am in my mother’s room. It’s I who live there now. I don’t know how I got there...In any case I have her room. I sleep in her bed. I piss and shit in her pot. I have taken her place. I must resemble her more and more."

† I don't necessarily align myself in humour with Ligotti on a lot of this stuff but I imagine he would recognise both Beckett's writing and Kafka's frustrations re explaining the causes of his hatred for his father as sublimation: finding artistic and philosophical ways of sketching the inexpressible horror and uncertainty of our existence in order to reckon with it at a remove without destroying ourselves. A higher form of self-deception, but self-deception nevertheless.

‡Muna's more of an anarcho-nihilist, I think.

[lipstickchainsaw]

So let's talk about Viktor's prophet narrative. In act 1, our man is being guided by a higher power that he is putting his faith into, given that this higher power appears to him in the shape of the woman he got killed entirely on accident and feels tremendous guilt over. In a way, following the footsteps she lays out for him is a way of atonement.

By the time we meet him again in episode 6, however, we see that this relationship has become much more equal in nature, with Sky and Viktor representing a kind of dualism within him, and they exist in much more conceptual terms inside this mindscape he's conjured up.

The grand question, then, the mystery at the core of this religious narrative, is whether this higher power is one worthy of worship, of Viktor's devoted following. Is the appearance of Sky a genuine sign of her continued existence within the Hexcore now that it's fused with him, or is the Hexcore choosing to present itself this way to win his trust (in the way the Black Rose did with Mel)? And if it is the former, is Sky being manipulated just as much as Viktor is?

These are questions we can approximate answers to, of course: Hex!Sky's interest in Sky's notes, and her concern for Viktor's well-being later in the episode sure look genuine, and wouldn't quite fit with the interests of an alien superbeing trying to use Viktor for its own gain, and together we see they have access to a lot of information, existing as they do together with and within the Hexcore, so whatever game that higher power might be playing on them would have to be quite grand in scope indeed.

But none of those make for definitive answers, and the definitive answers seem well beyond our reach. This requires a leap of faith, a surrender to the mysteries of a higher power, and this is the path Viktor has chosen.

Jayce is the man who offers us the opposing perspective, that this god isn't worth following, and that this religion Viktor has founded in its name is a sinister cult preying on its followers for some grander nefarious purpose we cannot hope to see before it unfolds, and must destroy before it can get there.

The problem here is twofold: throughout this episode we get only glimpses of Jayce's actual perspective, he doesn't get to be a viewpoint character in the way these episodes convey their story, and that really facilitates him coming across as harsh and hostile. It makes it hard to understand where he's coming from, and what made him come to his conclusions.

Secondly, Jayce too seems to have bonded with some sort of higher power, as Viktor and Sky suggest here. This bond doesn't seem to be anywhere near as smooth and pleasant as the one Viktor has, because his visions were unobtrusive 'hints', like a HUD in a video game, and their size and scope seems to have grown along with his affinity for it, making this a more natural fit. By contrast, Jayce's are harsh, obtrusive flashes of something horrible, forced upon him in a way that comes across as disturbing.

So, whatever higher power Jayce was infected with has a bone to pick with the one Viktor bonded with. This at least tells us that the Hexcore isn't the same as the Wild Rune, even if they're both related to the Arcane, but what the relationship between those two things is we can only speculate about.

Personally, I think the Hexcore broke away from the wider structure in order to bond with Viktor, but this could still go a lot of ways.

[niennawept]

Moon Dumplings: A Pan-Elven Cultural Debate in Three Documents (Part 2)

Warning(s): None Rating: Gen Summary: The origins of moon dumplings, shared amongst all branches of elven kindred, are a source of frequent arguments, both culinary and scholarly. Part 1 is here.

Selected Interviews from Díril’s research into moon dumpling origins, transcribed in her own hand

Q: When did you first hear of moon dumplings?

A: They were with us even at Cuiviénen. Had them often when the nights got very cold. They are warming, you know. Good for putting some meat on your bones. You are too skinny, young lady. Respondent 1: a Sindarin elleth of unknown age, asked to estimate she shrugged and said “we did not count years back then”

A: Not until we were nearing the Anduin on the Great Journey. We made lembas out of Valarin corn, but it was not until we halted to wait for better conditions for crossing that those with minds for cooking learned to make the dough. Respondent 2: a Nandorin ellon, born approximately ninety winters before the Journey at Cuiviénen

A: They were invented during the hottest days, of course. Stews and porridges are hearty and delicious, but they leave something to be desired when it gets too warm out. The calming influence of the stars will set that right. [interviewer prompts “can you estimate the year?”] Oh! Right after Oromë gave the Noldor the right type of flour. We kept them secret, you know, from the other kindred. Respondent 3: an Exilic Noldorin elleth, who was born on the Great Journey

A: I do not remember. When I was still a small child. Respondent 4: an Avari ellon, who remembered choosing to stay rather than joining the Great Journey

Q: Why are they called moon dumplings?

A: They were not originally called that. It was only after the moon and his phases that folk changed their name. They used to be called “starbeads.” Respondent 1

Respondent 2 declined to answer.

A: Because they are cured under moonlight these days. What do they teach you in Lindon, girl? Respondent 3

A: We do not call them that. We call them “starbeads.” [respondent says something mostly inaudible, but a portion of it contained the phrase “new names for old things”] Respondent 4

Q: Who invented them?

A: The Noldor. I already told you that. Respondant 3

All other respondents declined to answer.

Q: Are the fillings of this dumpling sweet or savory?

A: Either, whatever is available. Respondent 1

A: Sweet, always. Respondent 2

A: Savory, always. Respondent 3

A: Both, sometimes. Respondent 4

Q: What is the traditional filling for these dumplings?

A: Oh, all sorts. Anything that will not tear the skin while cooking. No one wants to be picking out little bits of burned vegetables from a steam basket. It is important that the filling is soft either by nature or by cooking first. [interviewer asks “which were the most common?”] Mushrooms, wild plants, sometimes fish or fowl. Respondent 1

A: We begin by collecting sap from maple trees, which is boiled to remove impurities and concentrate the flavor. We filter it and add dried fruits and minced nuts. When it has cooked down and become rather sticky, we fill the dumplings. Respondent 2

A: Meat, obviously. [interviewer prompts “what kind of meat?”] Whatever can be gotten with relative ease. Respondent 3

A: Minced nuts are most usual. Respondent 4

Q: Are there alternate fillings that are acceptable?

A: I have already answered that question. Respondent 1

A: Absolutely not. Respondent 2

A: Have you taken leave of your senses? No. Respondent 3

A: Fruit is also common. Respondent 4

Q: What texture should the dumpling wrapping be?

A: They should have a texture that requires a bit of chewing. The flavor improves with more moonlight. Respondant 2

All other respondents answered with a variation of “not tough [like the Nandorin variety.]”

For @silmarillionepistolary week

[rahonn]

Revival 2/3

Part 1 here Part 3 here (yeah, surprise, it's longer than I expected, what a shocker) TW: none i think idk Pairing: gn!reader and Kidd (not romantic) Summary: hike in Appalachia is a bad choice for spending free time when 1. you're alone, 2. you're known for NOT staying on any trail Word count:2262

__________________________________________________

They didn’t know what happened first – deafening thud nearby that jolted them awake or the horrible stench, they could only describe as sewage full of rotting corpses being set on fire, invading their nostrils. But it definitely happened and combination of those two things made them not only freeze in fear, but gag too. Beans sat heavy at the bottom of their stomach as they slowly moved to sit up. Trying to not move too suddenly, partially not to make more noise, most importantly to not trigger another potentially final and fatal gag, they stretched their legs and straighten their back. No matter how wide they opened eyelids, there was no way they’d see anything. Far from any civilization, deep in ancient forest only light they had was small flashlight. It stayed in its place right next to their makeshift pillow. They refused to use it. If the noise came from some wild animal, they would only attract more attention using it. They fought their instinct to stay completely alert, closing their eyes and slowly taking deep breath to calm down. Since eyes wouldn’t do much, they opted to listen.

But there was nothing to listen to.

No wildlife scurrying in the underbrush, between the trees and on them. No nocturnal birds flying nearby. No crickets, no bugs in general. Not even ants walking on their tent. And definitely no bats. There were just trees creaking slightly in the wind. That’s all there was.

And they knew if the wildlife stayed still, there was a predator nearby. But what was it? Shiver ran down their spine as they desperately tried to block out the horrifying stench by breathing mostly through mouth. They didn’t know how much time passed, but it felt like eons. Countless evolution cycles of every single species happened, oceans flooded, dried out, maybe even sun exploded. Yet in this tiny clearing, in this tiny tent where their head touched the top as they sat up, time just stopped.

Heavy eyelids lifted up a bit letting portion of a light to enter their eyes. Weird, this wasn’t a color of their bedroom walls. As soon as that thought entered their head, they shot up scraping top of their head against the tent. Oh, right. They got lost in the woods yesterday. Or was it three days already? How much did they sleep? The stench emanating from their armpits and feet was nauseating as the sweat from previous day got even more sticky after new layer of it pushed through pores of their skin. It got hot in the tent quickly, so they scrambled out of it as quickly as they could. Fresh air pushed against them. Birds chirped happily as bugs continued to buzz all around. They smiled slightly. Good to know that at least now they were somewhat safe.

After quick scrub of most smelly places with remainder of the water from the first of two bottles, they packed up everything into their backpack. Taking deep breath they unlocked their phone, ready to admit the defeat and call for help. Quick look at device’s top right corner filled them with hope. They had over 80% of phone’s battery left.

As they waited for the dispatch to pick up, they scanned their surroundings, trying to maybe see something characteristic or a piece of markings they didn’t see the day before.

“911, what’s the emergency?” deep, kind of rumbly voice answered from the other side.

“Hi, um. I don’t know where I am right now” they stated quickly. “The thing is, I went out to the Appalachia trail, I wanted to go for a quick hike, two days tops. But I got lost and-“

“Okay, where did you set out from?”

“Delaware River heading east. North-east to be precise. But-“

“Approximately how long did you walk until you realized you got lost?”

“I want to say about two hours? But then I pulled out compass and it pointed south, so I adjusted the course to the north. Apparently it pulled me even deeper into the woods” they laughed dryly and waited for the dispatch to answer, maybe ask another question. But there was nothing. “Hello? Did I lose signal?” they pulled phone away to look at the screen, but no. The device still showed two bars, so they put phone up to their ear again. “Hello? Are you there?”

There was a crackle on the other end of the line, subtle as if someone picked up other receiver on the landline to eavesdrop.

“Will you send someone?” they asked a bit confused.

“No.”

The growl, followed by shrill laughter suddenly cut of in the middle by the call ending, made them freeze on the spot. It definitely came from the speaker, but it sounded inhuman, as if someone’s vocal cords got replaced with broken grinder. They looked at phone’s screen once again, but there was nothing. Not literally, the wallpaper and apps, everything was in order. But they had no signal all of a sudden. Guided by instinct they opened call log. Blood drained from their face, everything started to sway slightly. Darkness started consuming the corners of their vision.

There was no 911 call listed there.

What in the fresh hell was happening?

Quickly deciding that the call, and anything surrounding it, never happened, they picked all their things up, pulled compass out and started speed-walking towards north-east.

Sweat dripped from their forehead, lungs burned in desperate need of more oxygen. Their hands landed on their knees, whole posture moving along with every labored breath. How long were they walking? It felt like hours. They checked if shoes were still on their feet. They were. Weird, why did it feel as if they were walking on burning coals then? They looked up to the sky to maybe there find an answer to all their questions, but all they saw was specks of blue between endless sea of green and brown. Once again they moved their eyes to their phone still held firmly in their right hand. Digital clock didn’t change since they attempted to call for help, yet the battery was close to dying.

How long were they walking?

Panic once again sprouted in their chest, pushing all tears out of their eyes. They just plopped down where they stood with backpack still on their back and hid face in their hands, sobbing quietly. Reality of the situation finally sunk in. They were lost, no one knew about it. Compass didn’t seem to work properly, phone started tweaking right after they dialed 911. With no means of communication and no real way to tell where north was, there was no real chance of getting out of this forest. Deep breath in, slow breath out. Right. Panic won’t fix anything. But that didn’t mean they didn’t notice the lack of animals around, lack of basically any sounds besides few times they thought they heard heavy footsteps in the distance. At this point they already got used to the putrid smell that popped up last night. Or whenever that really was. Because panic or not, they knew for a fact that their body didn’t get drained of all energy while not even a minute passed according to the clock. Another deep, shaky breath fed their starving lungs as they moved their hands.

And they saw nothing.

Few seconds ticked by before their brain caught up. Quickly they turned their head right, then left. They got on their knees and turned around few times. Nothing. They felt everything, ground was still there, trees too since they smacked the trunk by accident. But it was suddenly dark. Temperature dropped a bit too. Heart beat in their chest wildly, trying to get out and run for help. As they sat on their heels, frozen, not really sure what to do, shadows started to take shape. Tree trunks. They blinked few times. Eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, they saw a little more than before. Although abruptly, it’s only night that came. They didn’t lose their eyesight suddenly. But they weren’t given the permission to rest for even a second. As they sighed with relief, body relaxed slowly, there it was – the footsteps. They froze again.

The wind got stronger, carried another load of this horrible putrid stench that made them gag. Sweet, nauseating, heavy. As if the person didn’t bathe for a year and then rolled in freshly fertilized soil. On top of that-

Ground shook slightly. Or maybe just shifted beneath them. There it was. The footsteps. Now they heard it clearly. Couldn’t just shrug and say it was their own steps that echoed weird. Clearly there was someone with them in this forest, followed them all this time.

Slowly, careful not to make a sound, they took their backpack off. Where those footsteps came from? Where was the source? They closed their eyes and listened. There, to their right. It was coming closer through the trees.

As soon as they opened their eyes, they got blinded by strong light, forced to close their eyes yet again. Footsteps didn’t stop for a moment, but it didn’t seem as if they were coming any closer. They cracked their eyelids a bit. Okay, this was better. They didn’t give it even a second thought that night suddenly became a day. At least they could see everything clearly. So they stood up and as quietly as possible, they moved to hide behind largest tree around.

Thudding footsteps started running. They heard trees older than he could imagine creak and break in half, falling to the ground not even a mile away. Ground seemed to split and shake every time this something made contact with it. With heart racing, bruising against their ribs, they clenched their eyes shut. It wasn’t real. Couldn’t be.

Another tree fell, ground shook from the force of it making contact with the earth.

Yeah, they probably ingested something toxic and were tripping balls. That’s probably it. Because whatever was happening, couldn’t possibly be real.

Tears fell freely down their cheeks, soaking top of their sweaty shirt. Whole body shook from adrenaline overload. The fear, primal, passed down from ancestors, now held them paralyzed. They felt their own lips move as they whispered over and over “It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.”

Everything stopped as suddenly as it started. Their chest heaved as they tried to breathe quietly. With eyelids parting, revealing darkness once again to their eyes, they could swear they saw movement from the corner of their eye. Something shiny flashed between the trees. Beam of light. Like a flashlight. But it disappeared just as quickly. Eyes wide open to allow as much light as it was physically possible, to see better, they risked turning to their right a bit. Their lips never stopped moving in the same manner as before, yet no sound came out.

It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.

They stared right down two red pits of hell, burning with all the hate this world had to offer. Stench of rotten eggs, burning human flesh, sweat, blood - and oddly enough, salty ocean – traveled up to their nose from the cave full of sharpest rock formations they ever saw. Stalactites and stalagmites moved, grinding against each other, spewing more of foul odor as they separated. Hiss came out of the cave of a unnaturally large mouth and only after few seconds they understood.

“What’s not real?”

They opened their mouth wide. Deafening screech echoed through the forest as they bolted to the left. Leaves and branches smacked them all around as they ran through bushes. They only had one goal in mind – get away from whatever was now chasing them.

They didn’t dare look back. Legs worked much faster than ever before and it was a complete miracle they didn’t trip. They just ran. Jumping over larger boughs laying in the way. Their clothes got caught once or twice on some branches, probably ripped few holes. Fresh cuts and scrapes stung, but they didn’t have time to think about that.

“You can’t run away from me now” voice from beyond this realm cackled right behind their ear, making them jump away. Dull pain pulsated from their shoulder down to their hip as their whole body collided with a brick wall. They fell to the ground with alert blared in their mind. World spun a little, but quickly they got back on their feet, frantically looking around. Trees. Nothing but trees.

And a building.

Grey stone walls of a clearly abandoned structure stood right where they were running just seconds ago. Windows, or rather remains of them, tall and skinny, only brought one thing to mind. Hopeful thing if this something chasing them was of hellish origin. They threw themselves up against old sacred ground. Door made of solid wood, even though broken in few places, stood strong against blows fueled by terror-fueled adrenaline rush. It hurt. Skin split on their hands as they bashed their fists on bloodied wood.

Twig snapped behind them. Against better judgement, they turned around. Something moved in the ever-present darkness, took step after step closer towards them. And those eyes, oh god, those glowing red eyes shone brightly from black smoke surrounding tall, wide statue.

As the last resort, they ran away from the building, just to turn around, sprint towards it and jump.

[sachingja]

「CLIMB 」 for taeju and mujin!

「CLIMB 」 / for taeju to climb into mujin's lap

it is late enough for no one to be around, the entire floor where mujin's office is located deserted, the guys retreated to their own rooms or their houses, tucked away conveniently where no one would find them, the police none the wiser, and, more importantly, other organizations, too. they could blend in easily, rugged men living with their pretty wives, children playing in front-yards and around the docks, far away from the gym, the hotel, the family, in general. normal people minding their private business, driving into offices in the morning, returning home in one piece in time for dinner. well, more often than not, anyway. mujin has met a dozen families at this point, has been to more funerals than weddings but the weddings have been there, nonetheless, and it could be nice, occasionally, to play pretend. or, maybe, they are just showing him that it could be possible; you could have it all.

but mujin has never asked for permission. he is sitting on the sofa in his office, staring out into the glittering night - dark enough to light up the city beneath them, a mosaic of colors swallowed by a blanket of fog - smoking his third cigarette, when taeju finally walks in. his hair and tie are equally undone, so the night must have been long, indeed, or the job just dirty enough for him to invest himself. he rarely gets these assignments anymore, but whenever he does, he goes, because there is no world in which he would not. for mujin, he would walk to the ends of the earth, of that he is sure. when he is close enough to touch, mujin cradles his cheek like one would pet a wild animal: gentle yet with great care. " did it go well? " he asks, though he is sure that he would have already been informed in case it would have blown up. perks of being the boss.

the boy does not answer, he has less words than mujin and, usually, will only talk if directly prompted. mujin does like it that way, but he likes it more when taeju exhales, how his shoulders drop beneath the fine fabric of his suit, and how his answer is to discard his jacket altogether, and then - it is the warmth of another body first, the weight second, and then the familiar scent that is all just taeju, cool night air clinging to him past the threshold, and suddenly he has a lap full of gangly man, his long legs digging into the cushions next to mujin's hips. who hums a disbelieving note, but reaches his hand upwards anyway, carding it through taeju's chestnut hair, damp at the ends as if he got caught in the rain or sweat a lot, the other curling around a slender hip, his thumb brushing against the bone, into the seam of his thighs. " not great then, i assume, " he murmurs, but allows himself to indulge - his mouth against taeju's shoulder, an approximation of tenderness.

[itsclydebitches]

I thought about the Ren & Yang fight in V8 again and it brought me to a sort of smaller issue: The Grimm aren't anywhere near as omnipresent as they should be. They're attracted to negative emotion. The squad's having this big emotional argument in the middle of nowhere, while the city is being invaded by the Grimm, and yet none of them are drawn to the group. The group is in complete disarray and yet this isn't punished by a Centinel ambushing them or a Gryphon swooping at them, or anything.

I think RWBY could have gotten away with this if there had been another conflict to forward that fight. Meaning, it's heavily implied throughout the series (though not explicitly stated? I honestly can't remember) that grimm are attracted to the most intense negative emotion nearby. So if one person is kinda bummed out and another is having a full-blown panic attack, and they're both approximately the same distance from the grimm, the one having a panic attack will be dealing with that Griffon. That's why Cinder was able to accurately predict that Penny's death would draw so many grimm to Beacon (a horrified crowed trumps whatever else might be going on nearby) and why fans were annoyed by the grimm in Argus just kinda flying aimlessly around our heroes when there was a panicking crowed of civilians below. If RWBY had actually kept this rule consistent--which it hasn't--I would have been inclined to say, "Of course none of the grimm stopped to attack the group. Yang and Ren's spat, though intense for the audience who is emotionally invested in them as characters, can't hold a candle to the fear and despair emanating from Atlas as Salem attacks." Plus, if we want to throw out another potential bit of worldbuilding, we might say that Salem is actively directing the grimm towards her target (the city). But really, neither the specifics of what grimm are attracted to, nor the amount of control Salem has over an entire army, is ever established. After all, this is the show that made a HUGE deal out of the Relic attracting grimm... and then had Ruby and Oscar carrying that around with zero consequences. The rules of this world exist only when it's convenient for the plot.

But to get back to my original point, even if RWBY had done the work to explain why none of the grimm made a pit-stop to attack the group, that scene still needed something to break up all the walking and talking. (Especially when, from my personal perspective, the conversations are so bad. I can't agree with the stance the show takes against Ren and I hate that instead of working to resolve their disagreements, Yang inexplicably worries about Blake and then Ren just realizes how wrong he was off screen??) Getting separated out in the wilds of Atlas should have led to some sort of danger for our group. If not grimm than the cold--another threat RWBY introduced, but then did nothing with. Really, what's the point of separating the group like that if nothing was going to happen? They can argue in Mantle. They can be found by the Ace Ops in Mantle. RWBY raised the stakes by going, "Look! They chased this horrifying grimm out into the tundra and are now stranded without transportation. Countless more grimm are wandering about--remember the problem of that hole in the wall?--and they'll be dead in no time if their aura should fail. To top it all off, they're fighting among themselves and may not be able to drum up the necessary cooperation to survive. What will happen to our heroes next?? Stay tuned to find out!"

Nothing. The answer is nothing. Nothing happens. They find a convenient house to sit in and then they leave.

In thinking about RWBY's status as a combat show in the wake of Volume 9's lackluster combat trailer, it stands out to me that so many of these action sequences are like... superficially exciting? The Hound attacks, but our heroes mostly stand still and watch it like we didn't just have a whole season about how they're the strongest of professionals now. We have a chase scene that doesn't end in a second confrontation and then they walk back, encountering nothing except their rescue. I do believe that as a show conceived as, advertised as, and heavily focused on action for the first three years, RWBY should maintain a certain number and quality of fights to meet viewer expectation--the same way I expect certain storytelling beats if you label your show as "horror" or "comedy" or a "fantasy." But that belief aside, I could far more easily accept RWBY's transition to something other than a "mere" combat show if it did something with those plot points. But as we've been saying for years now, RWBY seems wholly uninterested in exploring the new stuff it introduces. We don't get to learn about Oscar's merge, or tackle Whitley's abuse, Nora doesn't struggle with her new scars, Penny is killed off as soon as she becomes a Maiden, there's no confirmation for Blake/Yang... Ren's differing perspective is highlighted, rejected, and then resolved at some point in his own head, giving us only an unsatisfying apology later on. RWBY doesn't seem to want to be an introspective romance-drama, given that it ignores those ideas as soon as they're introduced, but it doesn't want to be a simple action show either.

Ultimately, I don't know what in the world RWBY does want to be, but the end result are scenes like this one. Do you want to see this fight have an interesting impact on the story? Too bad. Okay, do you want to see a cool grimm battle if we can't see character development? Too bad. The characters are going in circles nowadays and I'm afraid that Volume 9's trip to Wonderland and back is just going to reinforce that.

[tenebris-indutis]

FFXIV LFRP – Kuuta Noykin

Master trainers of the wild horses which populate the majority of Steppe. It is said that the horsewives of the Noykin can break any beast if given but a week.

Be sure to read the momma’s rules and detailed about too! I rp in multi-para/novella style on Tumblr and Discord. I’m willing to discuss the possibility of rping in-game, too, but it’s not my preferred medium.

This is a sideblog to avaritia-ffxiv.

THE BASICS

Name: Kuuta Noykin

Age: Early forties

Nameday: 3rd Sun of the 1st Astral Moon

Race: Au Ra, Xaela

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Bisexual, biromantic

Marital Status: Happily single, never married

Server: Adamantoise, Aether DC

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Hair: Black with silver highlights, shoulder length

Eyes: Light grey, pale blue limbal rings

Height: 155 cm

Build: Fit but not particularly toned. Approximate hourglass figure.

Distinguishing Marks: Additional smaller scales on her forehead and lower cheeks. Generally wears lightly applied black eyeshadow.

Common Accessories: Nothing of note

PERSONAL

Profession: Adventurer

Hobbies: Hiking, various crafts

Languages: Speaks common

Birthplace: Azim Steppe

Residence: Ishgard

Religion: Worships Nhaama

Patron Deity: For the sake of Eorzeans she will say Halone, the Fury

Fears: Solitude and loneliness, failing at her duty to protect, watching someone be harmed without the ability to do anything about it. Being unable to fight back.

RELATIONSHIPS

Spouse: None

Children: Kaidun Noykin (son)

Parents: Yeguldai Noykin (father), Tueren Noykin (mother)

Siblings: Quidul Noykin (older sister), Jagadi Noykin (older sister), Sarkadul Noykin (older sister)

Other relatives: Cousins, aunts, uncles, the usual

Pets: None

TRAITS

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between /  Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

HABITS

Smoking Habit: Every once in a while

Drugs: No

Alcohol: In moderation

CHARACTER HOOKS

A Sight in Ishgard: Making her home in the snowy city, Kuuta can be met going about her daily business on the city streets, as well as stumbled upon during her more... Under the table activities. Nothing like chance encounters, and it could be she stands out a little among all the Elezen and Hyur.

Adventurer of the Land: Although her base of operations is up north, she spends great amounts of time traveling Eorzea, letting the problems of others take her to new locales when she sets about solving them—for a price, of course; a person needs to make a living somehow. That’s how it’s supposed to go, anyway.

Gifted: She doesn’t advertise her Echo, but with her visions coming and going as they please, it is possible for one to put two and two together based on her strange lapses. Would that happen to be of interest to you?

Of the Noykin: Of course, she is a Steppe raised Xaela that left her homeland without grudges. Always eager to see others of her kind, she’s glad to reminisce about shared backgrounds with other Steppe-born, or to answer questions about her upbringing for anyone curious.

Friend of the Animals: Horses are in short supply in Eorzea, but Kuuta has put her animal expertise and experience to use with the local chocobos—and other creatures as well, occasionally. If you need a hand with your companion of any sort, she will happily share her thoughts if so requested, or simply appreciate the chance to make an acquaintance out of a new critter.

Blackblood: Does she come across as the traditional Dark Knight? In some ways yes, in others, no, but a Dark Knight and student of the Abyss she nevertheless is. Should you share that brand of dark arts, she’s always looking to learn more, or to teach others if it happens she knows more despite how in-progress her own training is.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Mun is located in Northern Europe.

Discord is available if we’re planning to rp together.

As a general rule there’s nothing I'm entirely unwilling to write, but let’s discuss everything and make sure we’re on the same page. I’m also cognizant of in-character consequences and might refuse to rp something as a result.

Should IC events lead to it, I am open to ERP, and if there’s chemistry between the characters, I’m open to shipping. Neither are my or the muse’s goals, though, so expect both to be unlikely.

I mostly write in a single timeline, but I’m not completely opposed to canon-compliant AUs.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

dive into you

[bennett x reader]

author’s note: lil fic for bestest boy benny inspired by the song by nct dream and the summer season :’)

word count: 3,600

There’s a bakery opposite of Angel’s Share, just across the cobblestone road, and every morning the smell of freshly baked bread wafts from its open double doors, ready to welcome patrons and the crisp air of the early hours. Bennett has easily fallen into the routine of making this his first stop of the day. When he wakes, eyes slow to open and greeted by little squares of light on the ceiling of his bedroom from the sunlight shining through the window, he swears he can already smell that bread and the pastries and the care put into each one. He doesn’t often find it in him to be lazy, to be sluggish this early, for a new day was a new promise of adventure, and whether he’s swept along by the wind to the wilds or to the bakery, it’s an adventure all the same.

He always picks out food for his dads. He considers carefully what they might like to have (some prefer to have the same each time, others don’t mind the variety and like to be surprised), and carefully, slowly he fills the tray. Usually it isn’t busy during the time he’s there, but he doesn’t want to take risks as he holds it securely with both hands whenever he’s perusing the selection. Even if there were no people to bump into, with his luck, he might bump into one of the displays in the middle of the shop instead, consequence of paying more attention to the shelves against the wall where there are loaves baked into fun shapes like fish or crabs, rather than to what’s in front of him. He’d hate to drop everything on his tray and waste it.

Sometimes the bakery keeps the doors closed, and while uncommon, it’s nothing unusual. On these occasions, the entry of each customer is announced by the small bell jingling just overhead. It’s the only sound in the shop, ringing several times in the past ten minutes but it’s mere background noise, easily ignored, as Bennett absorbs himself in choosing what to buy today.

“Good morning!”

Bennett’s hand freezes just above a loaf of bread that looks like a bear and he glances behind him to the counter because the sound of your bubbly voice, conversely, is much more difficult to ignore. Though to be fair, to him, you’re no mere background noise.

You’re carrying a basket of more loaves just taken from the oven, half of them regularly shaped into circles and the other half like turtles, and grin at the customers who have just walked in. He watches you make your way over to a shelf several feet away from him to arrange the bread, and he stares long enough that you’ve taken notice. Your smile is bright and reaches your eyes, and he’s embarrassed to have been caught. His cheeks grow warm and you can probably see the dusting of red across his face, a speculation which doesn’t help alleviate this embarrassment one bit.

“Good morning, Bennett,” you greet him, more quietly since he’s closer.

He likes when you say his name, and it never fails to make his heart skip a beat and he stutters out an O-Oh, um… as if surprised that you’re talking to him, much less that you know who he is. It shouldn’t take him off guard that you know, considering how often he comes to the bakery, so he supposes it has more to do with the fact that he can’t believe his name should be spoken by a voice as gentle as yours, honeyed tones like the softly plucked notes of the Holy Lyre der Himmel.

Finally he musters an equally quiet Good morning in response, smiling back but he’s certain it looks more like a cringe, owed to his nerves. If it does, you don’t point it out, and simply return to your task. Only when another patron comes up to Bennett’s other side, muttering a pardon as they grab a loaf from the shelf he’s standing in front of, does he break his gaze from you. His hand that had been hovering above the bread that whole time he drops back down to his side, and he scoots to make room with another stutter and a sorry.

You’re back behind the counter when Bennett is ready to pay. The pile of bread, cake slices, sandwiches, and other miscellaneous pastries had in the past led you to ask him if these were snacks for the road, for you’d guessed him to be an adventurer doing commissions for the guild by the sword at his side. He’d chuckled and explained his actual purpose for buying as much as he did, and your grin had widened, and if he wasn’t imagining things, you’d been extra careful when packing every treat.

I’m sure they’ll really appreciate your gesture, you’d said. That’s sweet of you. And it’s not frequently that events in the course of his life run smoothly, but that day they had, and with no falter in his words he remarks it’s thanks to you, for you’re the reason there’s anything to bring back to his dads in the first place. You’d laughed and his chest tightened and he thinks that’s the point where he started to fall (to where, he hesitated to state exactly). But in any case, it was true—without you, there was no bakery filled to the brim with delicious food, and if he had anything to say about that, Mondstadt would be worse off for it.

This morning, Bennett is digging around his wallet for the appropriate amount of Mora while you pack what he’d picked out. Having gone through this process many times prior, he knows approximately how much it should cost.

“Ah—”

A few coins slip from his hand and clatter to the wooden floor, and he bends to pick them up. But on the way down, his head knocks into the tray that he neglected to push all the way onto the countertop, so part of it still stuck out. You blink in surprise at the jostling of the tray and his subsequent Ouch!, muffled because he’s obscured by the counter.

“Are you okay?” You sound genuinely worried, but to Bennett the accident had been no big deal. At least none of the food had fallen.

“Yeah,” he assures you. He’s still trying to gather up the stray Mora, fingers failing to get a proper grip on them and he huffs in slight exasperation. His face once more is burning from the embarrassment of being so clumsy. He’s clumsy around everyone, and it’s something he has long since come to accept, but it matters a lot more when it’s you.

Finally he stands back up, the money clutched in his fist victoriously. “Yeah!” he repeats now that you can hear him clearly. “It’s no big deal.”

For a second you don’t quite believe him, but it’s hard to argue with that smile on his face. There’s no pain he’s trying to hide (embarrassment, on the other hand, is a different issue entirely).

Upon handing him his package you tell him you’ll see him tomorrow and he feels sort of special because you don’t say it to anyone else. To others, you say Thank you, come again! but you know his routine and you know to expect him at the same time each morning. Judging by the look in your eyes and the sound of your voice when you see and greet him, you anticipate his visit every time, and his heart wants to soar out from the confines of his chest upon this realization and he is exhilarated. The wind and the new day have fulfilled their promise of an adventure, and the clock hasn’t even struck noon.

One day you’re a little distracted, focused on a paper in your hand as Bennett approaches the counter with his tray of baked goods. For the most part, your face gives nothing away, but then your brows furrow slightly, a subtle action he doesn’t miss, and he proceeds to ask if anything is wrong. He asks it kindly, keeps his tone neutral, wordlessly conveying that you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. He would hate to pry.

You purse your lips, pausing like you’re caught between saying yes and no. He waits patiently for whichever one it might be.

“I ran out of sugar and had been meaning to make more,” you start, opting to share with him what’s been troubling you.“I bought out Flora’s stock of sweet flowers but it wasn’t enough, so I may have to set aside time to pick more myself later.”

The mention of heading outside of the city makes Bennett perk up, for he never turns down a chance to go exploring. He’s about to offer to do it for you, but it’s the thought of possibly going with you instead that makes him hold back and rephrase his question.

“This afternoon?” he inquires, head tilting. You nod, and up until now he’d felt confident in the offer he was going to present, but then his nerves get the better of him and it doesn’t come out quite the way he was hoping. “I-I could go with you! You know, if you want! To protect you… Just in case…” He trails off and he wants to go hide in a hole. There are few other ways this could have gone worse.

You don’t answer right away, and he regrets having said anything at all, but your beautiful smile soon follows the silence and it sets his mind at ease, and you agree with a concise and cheery Sure! Well, at least the worst way this could have gone had not come to pass. It was the small victories for Bennett—just as important as the big ones. The next challenge would be to avoid making a fool of himself out there, in what should be his natural element; he does want to impress you. But that’s a big ask for someone like him…

Both of you agree to meet at the front gate in the late afternoon. By then, the traffic in the bakery is slow enough that you’re able to step away earlier than the normal closing time. You’ve changed into clothes more appropriate for walking around: in lieu of a dress, your typical work attire, you sport a tunic and trousers you don’t mind dirtying. The trousers are tailored to fit properly but the tunic is a tad big, the sleeves a bit too long, but Bennett thinks you look cute in it. A basket hangs on your forearm and you wave as you walk up to him.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting too long,” you say.

Bennett shakes his head. “Not long at all.” Technically the agreed upon meeting time was only five minutes ago, so you aren’t very late. Though he does refrain from sharing that he’d arrived early, in fear that he could end up late somehow and you would be the one who had to wait. Really, it’s been more like fifteen minutes for him, but he just keeps quiet about that.

One of the nice things about summer is that the sun sets later. There’s still a sufficient amount of light to illuminate the fields as you walk around in search of sweet flowers. At first, the extent of your conversation is discussing where you might be able to find a high concentration of them, then silence filled with the sifting of grass beneath your shoes and the occasional exclamation of having spotted a flower to be picked and tucked away in your basket.

Honestly, walking with you around the wilds of Mondstadt hadn’t been anywhere on Bennett’s list to do today, or any day really, not until he could muster the courage to invite you out like this, and who knew when that might be. Your need for sweet flowers had dropped the opportunity right into his lap, and thankfully he hadn’t squandered it. But now he’s at a loss as to what to talk about; he didn’t think he’d ever get this far.

Maybe you sense his struggle to come up with a topic of conversation because you’re the one to speak up, asking about his adventures and the commissions he takes. Done anything exciting recently?

Bennett’s eyes light up, a reaction which you can't help but smile at, and he regales you of the goings-on of his latest missions. He omits the instances where his clumsiness had made things more difficult (of which there were many), but each story is still truthful. Most of his commissions the past month hadn’t been anything too bold—after a mission that involved nearly getting himself trapped in a ruin due to solving a puzzle wrong then getting food poisoning on top of that from the snack he’d prepped that day, he’s been choosing jobs that he knows he’s more capable of.

To him, they aren’t too exciting, and in the larger scope of things, perhaps they aren’t, but you don’t seem to think that as you hang on each word. You’re absorbed in his story about trying to dismantle towers in a hilichurl camp, and gasp at the mention of their reinforcements coming to attack in the midst of it. Wow, you remark after he finishes his recounting of the event. You’re amazing, Bennett!

His heart does a flip again at the sound of his name and he shrugs offhandedly. He’s not inclined to think so, but your awed comment is sincere and has him reconsidering: yeah, that was pretty cool of him, wasn’t it? For all his clumsiness, he doesn’t often see the feats for what they are, accompanied by blunders or not, but you’re the fresh perspective he’d been missing, and he wishes you’d stepped into his life sooner.

The entirety of your outing together has thus far been free of any monsters, but as soon as Bennett makes this observation it’s like the universe has heard: hydro slimes suddenly pop out from the ground, halting you in your tracks. You squeak in surprise and Bennett is quick to shift into a fighting stance, knees slightly bent and one arm out in front of you protectively.

“Just stay there!” he instructs before drawing his sword and rushing forward.

Luckily there aren’t many slimes to fight off, and they aren’t very big. His sword cuts through them easily, cleanly. They burst and spray water upon being sliced apart, so at the end, when they’re all dead, the only evidence they had been there to begin with is the slight dampness to his clothes and the squish of dirt turned to mud. With a sigh of triumph, Bennett resumes a relaxed stance, then sheathes his weapon and turns to you.

As instructed, you’ve stayed in place, but it seems to have been more out of being frozen in fear than anything else. You’re clutching your basket close, and once the slimes are gone, you follow Bennett’s lead and relax, shoulders releasing the tension they had been filled with for the duration of that fight. You let out a deep exhale of relief, hand placed over your heart which has yet to slow back down to its normal pace.

“Thank you.”

Bennett flashes a toothy grin and waves his hand as if to say It’s not a problem. “That’s what I’m here for isn’t it?”

You smile back. “I’m glad we went together.”

Together. He likes the sound of that. He thinks to himself that he’d go with you to other places too; you need only to give the word. To the edge of this world, and through a portal to the next? He’d meet you by the front gate at dawn.

He’s surprised that the encounter with those slimes had gone as smoothly as it had. It isn’t uncommon for him to get hit a few times, bruises quick to form on his arms or his legs. And it’s quite the run of luck, of which he’s ordinarily in short supply, that he should get through a fight with nary a scratch on him while with you. His efforts to impress are actually succeeding.

However, this is another case of speaking too soon, because he starts to walk back to you, but then his foot gets caught on a rock concealed by the tall grass, and he tumbles to the ground.

“Oof!”

His chest collides with the earth as he lands with a thud and the breath is stolen from his lungs. You gasp and close the gap between you, and in viewing you in his peripherals, he notes that you are much more graceful at it.

“Are you all right?”

Bracing his hands on the dirt, small bits of rock digging into his palms, Bennett pushes himself up to sit on his knees. “Yeah, I’m okay!” Here he thought he had handled himself perfectly well, but then just like that, his clumsiness returned, and once more before you he is awkward, blundering Bennett.

Unlike the incident at the bakery when he’d bumped his head into the tray, this fall had actually hurt, and he can’t hide it successfully, a slight wince of pain crossing his face in spite of his smile. Even if you hadn’t caught on to that, the injuries elsewhere on his body give it away completely.

“Your arms are all scraped up…” After Bennett stands back up, you gingerly take hold of his forearm and angle it to examine the scrapes there, thin red lines from tiny stones tearing the skin.

Your grip is light, like you’re scared to injure him further, and Bennett is thankful for the darkness that is setting in as the sun disappears and the moon begins its trek across the sky, for it conceals the way his cheeks redden to be this close to you, to be touched by you. The concern in your gaze as you look at his arm makes his chest squeeze but not in the good way, and he bends his knees slightly to duck into your line of view.

“Don’t worry! I’m fine.” And it’s true. He’s sustained worse, though he steers clear of sharing this part. He doesn’t like to see you worried.

He straightens up when you finally meet his eyes and dons his smile again, easy and reassuring. It seems to convince you, as you nod and let go. He drops his arm back down to his side but he’s already missing the feather-light sensation of your fingertips. Successfully reassured, your smile also returns, replacing the thin line of worry that your lips had previously been set in.

It’s dark now but the air is still warm, a consequence of the season. In the daytime the heat is more extreme, made even more so by the fire curling from the edge of his sword. At the conclusion of whatever commission he has taken, he’s left sweating, satisfied but exhausted. Missions in the summer are more difficult to get through, the sun beating down with little mercy and its heat lingering into the night, but he thinks that if he were to have you there with him, he’d hardly notice.

Your delicate gaze is the cool ocean breeze and your soft smile the deluge of waves washing over him, a force he receives gladly because he is falling into you, deeper into the expanse of your heart. He’s diving into the sea, the unbearable heat of summer long forgotten as he makes his way to the bottom. What he hopes to find he isn’t sure, but he’d be content to remain there forever, consumed by you and all the love you have to offer.

“Okay?” he asks, voice soft. You had nodded but he also wants verbal confirmation that you won’t burden yourself with worry anymore.

You catch on to his own need for reassurance, and he wants to sink into the refreshing fondness of your eyes as you watch him. “Okay.”

The moon up above illuminates your face, and he wants to run his fingers along all the parts it touches: the line of your cheekbones, the bridge of your nose, the cupid’s bow of your lips. He yearns to be closer to you than that moonlight adorning your skin, and maybe it’s strange that he should be envious of it, of that light which has the privilege to hold you so near, but the feelings he has for you are what’s written about in books, and in those stories, people do tend to do strange things.

In the morning, he stops by the bakery as usual but this time is surprised when you set a cake down alongside the other baked goods he buys. You answer his question before he can voice it.

“For yesterday,” you state simply. “For my hero.”

Your—?

“I think ‘hero’ is too strong a word for it,” Bennett replies, chuckling quietly and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. After all, they had just been slimes.

You hum noncommittally, corner of your mouth lifted in a grin. “Maybe, but yesterday you were mine. So please take this as thanks.”

He’d like to be yours every day, and the thought of how nice that would be makes his whole world just a little brighter, like the crystal butterflies fluttering around him in the wild on the warm summer nights; and he hopes that the next adventure the wind guides him on leads straight back to you.

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 24 - If You Want Me... 

Masterlist; Chapter 23

Summary: Tension reaches its boiling point when you overhear an unfortunate conversation. With unexpected allies, you attempt to break the impasse once and for all.

Warnings: ANGST (still but... well you’ll see ;)); at few points R! is being a little dramatic which can be triggering if you’ve been dealing with intrusive thoughts (nothing too bad though); swearing.

Author’s Notes: Finally! It’s been a wild ride... and god am I happy i’ve managed. This part took a lot of effort but I quite like what I came up with... even if sometimes it gets too angsty. Can’t wait for what’s coming next, however... :)))) Hope you enjoy and all feedback is always appreciated! <3 

The shooting range on the icebreaker was a strange place. It occupied a large proportion of the deck floor in the accommodation part of the ship, next to the turnstile and sparring grounds. With darkness swallowing every corner that was not lit up by the blinking fluorescents, it was a perfect place to hide. Soon it became your go-to solace when things got difficult, and the only other idea you could come up with involved going outside without the oxygen mask attached. You did not want to go that far. Yet. Target practice became your favourite occupation. It was simple and did not involve talking to people that could give you worrying looks or comment on the dark circles underneath your eyes. Sleep was no longer a thing, with you catching three-hour-long naps at best, in between never-ending worrying and staring at the ceiling, reminiscing the past. The constant headaches were something you soldiered through, accepting them as a part of reality. The worst part of that new life was the fact that you and Neil stopped talking to each other altogether. Not even empty pleasantries could get through the stone-cold awkwardness and tension capable of killing you before the heartache would. After a day of near-misses and horrifying mistakes that culminated with you accidentally spilling boiling water all over the sweater when Neil entered the galley, you both mastered the art of hiding. You only saw him once afterwards, sitting at the table in the corner of the canteen. That was almost two days ago, and you were thankful.

Once you went through the assigned daily rounds, you moved onto the task of cleaning the guns and rifles. Polishing the metal cases and arranging the bullets was as close to therapy as it could get. With the repetitive action occupying your brain, there was no time to get emotional over things you could not change. Only at the shooting range, you did not feel so utterly hopeless. So terribly unloved. A sudden noise by the airlock made you look up. Conveniently the air in the range was sealed so that you need not to worry about oxygen masks during the target practice. It also meant you got approximately five seconds warning to check the identity of the intruder. This time you were surprised.

“Hi, Y/N. Thought I’d find you here” TP’s dark gaze slid over you cautiously.

Taking off the mask, he joined you at the makeshift table, looking at the arsenal you have spread over the surface. You eyed him with curiosity. That was unexpected. So far, he has never interacted with you outside of the meetings. And every time he did, you could not stop thinking about how much he knew. Who did he see when he looked at you?

“Afternoon” shaking off the reverie, you offered him a tight smile, “Is it afternoon?” glancing at the watch, you grimaced, “Oh,”

The last time you checked, it was 3 pm. The blue numbers on your wrist were mercilessly ticking away. 8:30 pm. How the fuck. TP caught your silent crisis as he asked:

“How long have you been down here?” looking up, you encountered a glimmer of worry in his eyes.

Interesting.

“Umm, five hours?” it felt like the best estimate.

It was probably longer. But he need not know that.

“Jesus,” wincing, he directed his taxing gaze back onto you, “When was the last time you had food?” tone strictly business.

The truth was that you did not remember. With everything falling apart and losing meaning, food became an afterthought. Half the time you would realise you only had one meal around 1 am, forcing you to tiptoe to the kitchen and grab something from the cupboard. A hungry stomach was nothing compared to all the other issues. It could be ignored.

“Breakfast. I’m not hungry though,” brushing off the concern you chose defiance, “Is this an interrogation?” you arched one eyebrow and cocked the gun you have wiped clean.

TP snorted at your comedic timing.

“No, I come here in peace” he raised his hands in defeat and added, “To see if you’re… alright” the hesitation made you scoff.

“You know that I’m not. Because things are generally far from alright,” letting annoyance slip into the sentence, you let go of the tools and met his gaze with coldness.

The deepening frown was concerning. You were being unfair. After all, it was not him who has caused all this pain. Remorse nipped at your heart as you sighed heavily.

“Sorry, that was unnecessary,” he accepted your apologetic smile with a nod, giving the courage to continue, “And I’m also sorry that you all have to witness that mess in the meetings. I’d rather it stayed between him and me... but he seems to disagree” you shrugged.

Sometimes you did wonder why Neil seemed so intent on making your arguments a public spectacle. Whether that was a part of the intricate plan to make you look like an idiot or a result of his emotions boiling over. Not that it mattered. Everyone on the team knew what the deal was anyway. A poor, naïve you, desperately in love with someone who could not care less. Nothing out of the ordinary. Judging by TP’s passing frown, for him too the topic was rather uncomfortable. He took a long moment to respond, looking for answers in the rows of bullets you have arranged on the table.

“Not going to lie, it’s awkward, but at least I know what’s going on, and I can offer to listen” he met your gaze with newly found determination.

Okay… Confiding in TP was quite low on the list of things you expected to have the opportunity of doing. But then so was having to convince Neil not to get himself killed for the sake of the operation. Anything goes.

“Aren’t you taking a side?” that suspicious voice in your head was difficult to get rid of, “Agreeing with him that I’m stupid, emotional, and overall a burden?” you recited the memorized litany of epithets with a stone-cold expression.

The words have lost their meanings after you have put them apart in the quiet of your mind. Now they were just sounds, incapable of inflicting pain. It was the least that could be done.

“He went too far with that” TP winced, his eyes expressing traces of disapproval, “I might not know you well, but you’re none of these things,” a sympathetic smile softening the tone.

An open hand. An olive branch. Why not? Taking a deep breath, you got ready to open up before the most unexpecting of allies.

“In a way, he was right though…” you looked down, trying to find the needed strength, “I am stupid because I have allowed myself to care too much for him” there it is, “And now I’m paying for it” when you met his eyes again, you found nothing but thoughtfulness.

It was something you thought about often as well. The fact that Neil was right, you did care, and that it was perhaps the reason for your demise. But who could blame you for falling for the bastard looking like the devil? And equally charming too.

“Maybe it’s a little too forward, but-” TP’s tentative tone made you grin.

In moments like this, you acutely remembered that he was still a rookie. Not used to the half-truths and strange tenets you accepted as your credo. His innocence was adorable even.

“In this profession, a it’s sometimes nice to say the truth. Shoot away” you waved your hand dismissively, anticipating the question.

There is a first time for everything.

“Fair point” he mirrored your smile before asking, “Do you love him?”

Plain and simple. Ignoring the panic, you took a moment to ponder the answer. It was… obvious. You told Neil as much twice before, and no amount of pretending and lies could ever undo it. The words were his. Just as you were. Unfortunately.

“I’d want to say no, that I got over it, but… Yes, I do,” you offered the answer with a helpless frown, “Think any idiot can see it” noticing a hint of embarrassment briefly you patted TP’s shoulder, “No matter how much he hurts me, I always find myself wishing things could be… like they once were”

Whatever that meant. In truth, you wanted more. You wanted to wake up next to him every morning. You wanted affirmations of love every day as you tasted his coffee-stained lips. You wanted to lie in his embrace, feeling desired and loved. But most of all, you wanted to be able to lace up your fingers with his, following the instincts that became your second nature. To card your fingers through his silky golden strands and to give him everything he would desire. You wanted to be his. He was supposed to be yours. Or was the universe wrong?

Thoughts of that kind could be lethal. Shaking yourself awake, you met TP’s eyes. Apart from the lack of surprise at your admission, you noticed something strange. A passing realization. As though he has heard something similar before but was afraid to speak up. Once again, you found yourself wondering what Neil told him. What did he mean by ‘things you and I should explain to each other’? For a moment, you wanted to jump head in and ask. But what good would knowing the truth be when you could not act on it? As though aware of your increasing dilemma, the man spoke up again.

“I’m sorry for Oslo” your eyes widened at the reminder.

“Why?” blurting out the question, you eyed him cautiously.

The deepening discomfort radiating off him confirmed your assumptions. That was it. He knew what nearly happened that night. And he was flustered about his role in it. That was not the conversation you ever expected to have.

“I can’t help but think that maybe if I hadn’t… interrupted you, it would’ve-” he stumbled over the sentence somewhat endearingly.

Perhaps it was the lack of care that made you say the next words. Or maybe just the fact that nothing mattered anymore, and so who could judge you for the purest form of honesty.

“Doubt it,” interrupting him with a sour smile, you added, “Maybe it’s good you knocked then… Least he doesn’t have absolutely everything” noticing the alarm painted on TP’s face, you blushed.

Yep, too far. Still true, however.

“I’m sorry, you didn’t have to know that much” you brushed off the sudden awkwardness with a sincere apology.

“I can pretend I’ve never heard it” it was his turn to give a reassuring shoulder squeeze.

You could feel the strange companionship forming. Sure you did not mind. Relaxing back in the chair, you spoke up:

“Thanks,” as TP also visibly reclined, you brought up the thought that was not letting go of your mind, “I don’t know how much he has told you about… this,” gesturing vaguely, you bit your lip.

Somehow you knew that he would not betray Neil by sharing with you everything that has been said. But even crumbs would do…

“Quite a bit,” you watched him closely, intrigued by the hesitation, “Enough for me to know that you’re someone I can trust and that he had reasons to be acting that happy in Tallinn before the action” oh.

That painful pang in your heart was heart to ignore. You winced, feeling the steady gaze fixed on your face. The analysis was mutual. Neil, happy, back in Tallinn. Because of you. You have lost too much.

“What do you mean?” treading carefully, you asked the safest of questions.

A small smile on his face showed you just how obvious you were. Lovesick idiot.

“Hours he has spent texting someone, phone calls he would pick up instantly and then come back grinning like a madman” TP offered you examples with a glimmer in his eyes “It only clicked when we were inverting, and I asked him about you” the blush on your cheeks deepened under his taxing gaze “Suddenly all of that made sense if you were in Estonia with us” he shrugged, finishing the thought.

Oh my god. While you experienced it all firsthand during those chaotic yet hopeful days in the safehouse when everything seemed to have infinite potential, hearing about it from someone else’s perspective felt strange. Almost like a slap in the face. Because it only confirmed what you knew – he once loved you. Once.

“Well, it seems like he has changed his mind…” you muttered, feeling the resentment settle in.

You wondered whether one day it would stop hurting. If you could ever get over this and find someone else. That darkest part of your brain knew the answer well enough. Nothing could come close. And nothing ever would.

“Or he’s just an idiot” the cheeriness felt forced.

But judging by the way TP was staring at you, you could tell it was his attempt at dispersing the sudden melancholy. It was strange to see him worried about you of all people. Perhaps your shit attempts at diverting everyone’s attention from your declining mentality were failing. And that was a reason to be concerned.

“That too,” plastering on an unconvincing smile, you stifled a yawn.

That caught his attention.

“You should get some rest” upon further thought, he added, “And food,”

The intensity of his look was stifling. You hated being the centre of attention. Especially in moments like this when you felt vulnerable, an object of pity and unease. Stupid, weak, and useless. The sabotaging voice came out in full force, making you want nothing but to curl up in bed and disappear. Not yet, however.

“Yes, sir” you raised your hand in mock salute.

Your face fell when instead of a laugh, you got a frown in response. Oopsie.

“I’m serious” TP seemed to consider something quickly before placing his hand on your forearm, “I’m… I’ve been a little worried about you” he met your eyes with a clear purpose.

Shit. That is exactly what you wanted to avoid. Being seen as pathetic and a burden. Internally, you cursed yourself for not being strong enough. For letting anyone see the cracks. You would not let them see you shatter into pieces.

“I’m doing fine,” mustering the happiest of grins, you tried to mask the urgency.

Please buy the bullshit.

“Are you?” he didn’t. Before your brain could fully arrive at the panic station, his inquisitive expression softened. You held his gaze for a beat, hoping to convey everything. Hoping to convince him to let the conversation go. It worked for TP gave a final taxing look before backing off. You exhaled slowly, relaxing a little. Maybe the worst was over…

“Before we go… there’s one more thing I wanted to talk to you about…” TP changed the subject, looking down at the table “The lock. You want to go with him”

It was not exactly a question, yet you knew he expected an answer. That one you could easily give him. It was obvious, even if you have never said it out loud. Up till now.

“Yes... Maybe it is an impulsive and stupid thing to do, but I can’t let him do it alone. I can’t let him get killed” the word felt foreign in your mouth.

As though ‘Neil’ and ‘death’ were two irrelevant concepts that did not fit together even in theory. They could not. You would not allow it. And you were willing to accept the worst of risks to make sure it would not happen. Hell, you would even fight against fate and time to assure that.

“I’d rather avoid that too” TP’s quiet comment made you look up, “He deserves so much more than…” there was something startling in his gaze.

As though he has stopped himself before saying too much. Much more than what? And why was he looking at you like that? Like you were missing something tragic, and his heart was breaking for your loss. You felt like going insane. TP cleared his throat awkwardly, resuming the conversation, not at all fluently:

“I don’t buy the whole ‘what’s happened, happened’. What does that even mean?” the irritation shining through his strange tone was distracting.

“Don’t ask me,” you shrugged, “I like to think there’s a different solution to this. One that doesn’t involve Neil sacrificing himself. And I need to be there with him because if it comes to it… I’d take that bullet for him” you did not know where the honesty came from.

Or why you would admit something that fundamental to TP. His response was just as anticipated – a gasp and widened eyes. Nibbling on your lower lip, you broke the eye contact and chose to stare at the forgotten gun lying on the table. It was the truth, so why did admitting it feel so… radical?

“Are you sure?” when he found his voice again, it was hoarse.

“It’s that kind of love,” you replied, still unable to meet his gaze.

You never expected to reveal yourself like that to TP. Wheeler? Maybe. Even Kat seemed like a probable option, but not the boss himself. And especially not at this stage of his story. Yet he was there, willing to listen, and that was enough. You would deal with the consequences later, in your mind that would undoubtedly rebel against such a display of fragility.

“I don’t want it to sound patronizing… but you’re still young. There might be someone else for you along the line if Neil-” his voice broke through your reverie as you interrupted him with a start.

“I know” finally, you raised your head again, showing the sincerity of expression, “But something tells me it’s him or nothing. Call it fate or insanity” biting back a dry chuckle, you felt a single tear form in the corner of your eye.

That was something you have spent most of the time thinking about. At the start, you desperately wanted to believe that you would get over this. That it was just another disappointment, and like before, eventually you would forget about those blue eyes and maniacal grin. But your heart knew better, constantly reminding you that it was not that simple. That Neil was not someone you just forget. Because how could you?

“Reality?” TP’s eyes were filled with thoughtfulness.

“Perhaps,” you cracked a smile, feeling heaviness in your heart lift by an inch.

Always something. Another yawn ended the delicate moment seconds later, making you scowl in annoyance. What was the point of tiredness when you could not even rest properly? TP laughed at your pained expression and got up:

“Now, you into the kitchen. And try to get some sleep” he offered you a hand which you took and stood up.

“I’ll try” a lie, “Thank you… for checking in and listening” sheepishly, you tried to find any words of gratitude.

“I owed you that after those hours in Oslo, filled with plans, coffees, and awful songs you’d sing to entertain us” the knowing smirk suggested that he did remember what you hoped would be forever forgotten.

MTV in Norwegian. Your knackered brain deciding that singing along to ‘Like a Virgin’ and ABBA was what had to be done to make everyone smile. Mistakes have been made.

“Don’t remind me,” TP laughed as you smacked him on the shoulder.

*** You did not sleep after you bid goodbye to TP. That night too was spent tossing and turning in bed, thinking about how everything could have crumbled so quickly. It has only been weeks since Tallinn. In fact, looking from the linear point of view, it has not even happened yet. The normal you have been enjoying the confusion of those days before Oslo when everything was difficult yet hopeful. Too good to be true, at times. Well, now you knew that those moments never lasted too long.

The next morning you quickly grabbed breakfast and sneaked into the sparring area, hoping to catch a few minutes with the punching bag before the troops would take over space. However, that day it was not meant to be.

You heard the voices as soon as you opened the airlock and entered the large room. It was divided into a few sections, each devoted to a different training exercise. To your advantage, each was also separated with a thin plastic screen. Cautiously, you approached the nearest divider, trying to determine whether your mind was not playing any tricks. After one second, you knew. TP and Neil were having a rather heated conversation on the other side of the screen. A sparring ground was the place you least expected to encounter them. And yet… You wanted to turn away and leave before more damage could be done, but the moment you heard the boss’s voice, you froze on the spot:

“Why are you so hard on her?” TP’s question rung out clear in the highly domed room “The only crime she has committed was falling in love with you. I don’t think that’s worth all that pain you’re inflicting”

There was no doubt as to who he meant. Your heart sank. Oh my god. On one hand, it was encouraging to know someone was fighting for your side and pointing out the unnecessary torture Neil was so keen on. But the fact that they were discussing the nature of your feelings was terrifying. Listening on felt wrong, yet you could not move away.

“It would be better for her if she hadn’t” Neil’s cold tone made your blood turn to ice.

There was something frightening in how distant he sounded. As though he was nothing like the man you fell in love with, only a cold impostor that borrowed his face and voice. He was right.

“Why? You told me that you love-” TP’s voice rose, incredulity tinging every single word.

Neil told him his feelings. You expected that, and it still felt like a punch. You leaned on the wall for support.

“It doesn’t matter what I said” the biting edge to Neil’s voice was new, “Or how I feel. The sooner she gets over it, the better for all of us” he threw it without caution, as though he was done with your bullshit.

With the fact that you were stupid enough to love him. He did not want your love. Never did. The crushing weight on your chest would not give way.

“You’re cruel” TP was surprised, as though he could not believe what he was hearing.

“That’s mercy” Neil was begging for the conversation to be over, “Cruelty would be letting her entertain the idea that we can...” he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Christ. All those nights spent wishing for answers, and when they came you wanted to forget you ever heard it. It was foolish to believe anything could ever happen between you.

“But why? Neil, you are in love with her” TP raised his voice yet again, utterly done with whatever the blonde bastard was doing.

You could not care less. Nothing mattered anymore. But you did not expect the very next punch. Or the pain you would feel.

“I’m not” clear-cut rejection; nothing to interpret “I don’t love her. There’s no need to look at me like I’m a monster”

Enough. You heard enough. The pain was as bad as ever as you walked away. Your mind set on one simple thing - tea. Yes, that would solve it.

*** Going to the galley felt as though you were stuck within a dream you could not shake off. Half-aware of your surroundings, you nearly walked into Dominic, whose survival instincts kept him off your path. Muttering apologies, you undid the zip lock and sauntered into the kitchen without a care in the world. With a start, you noticed Kat sat at the table. She gave you a welcoming half-smile as she sipped the tea from the metal cup. Your autopilot stuttered, overwhelmed by the company. Blocking off any attempts at thinking, you followed the muscle memory. Setting the kettle on. Putting teabag into the mug. Earl Grey because it reminded you of those morning kisses in London. No. Wrong memory. You shook your head, waiting for the water to boil. The fridge was too loud, the buzz making thoughts appear. Sighing, you leaned on the counter. Your eyes were burning, the sensation increasing with every single blink. It was alright. So why did it feel like the world was ending?

The kettle switched off. Without sparing a single thought to the reality, you poured the water in, watching with fascination as the teabag floated up. Kat’s spoon let out a clink as she placed it on the edge of the plate. You jumped up, startled. That was enough to break through your carefully woven barrier. The thoughts came rushing in. Neil didn’t love you. Your chest tightened as the next breath came out strained. The air was gone. Your hands shook as you tried to take out the teabag. Fuck. Everything was over. A single gasp was all you could manage before you shattered. The tears fell down your cheeks in a steady stream, blurring everything with tragedy. Choked sobs shook your frame as you desperately tried to hold on. To sanity. To reality. Anything to make the pain go away. But it would not disappear, only getting stronger. As though through the glass, you could hear someone say your name. Voice tinted with worry and urgency. But you did not care. The sobs turned into a howl as you slid down to the floor. The sounds coming from your throat sounded foreign and harsh, tearing at your vocal cords mercilessly. Oh my god. That was the break you always feared. There was no end to tears falling down your cheeks onto the floor and beneath your shirt. Slowly breathing became almost impossible, forcing out those pathetic half sniffles that only made everything worse. You wanted to do something. Anything. To make it stop. To forget. To lose the ability to feel things. Your fingers clawed at nothingness, barely losing against the desire to make all that internal pain physical. By any means necessary. Because then at least you could blame it on something concrete. And not just heartbreak. A word you despised because it sounded weak. Stupid. Easily avoidable for everyone but not you. A lost cause. A failure.

“Hey…” warm fingers gently touched your shoulder.

You raised your head. The pounding headache and lack of oxygen, making everything seem twice as difficult. Kat’s blue eyes bore into yours with concern. You have made quite the show. Self-preservation told you to get up and leave, save yourself some shame. But you would not even know where to go. Or what to do. You did not trust yourself to make reasonable choices.

“Are you alright?” Kat’s voice brought you back to the present moment.

An anchor. Maybe this could work… She was still eyeing you closely, unsure about how to act but wanting to be helpful.

“Mmmm no,” you sent her a broken smile, grateful for the handkerchief she handed, “But it’s okay. Sorry about this. I didn’t mean to-” you gestured vaguely, knowing she would catch on.

Tears were still flowing steady, threatening with dehydration should this continue. But at least the wailing subsided to quiet sobs interrupting your sentence every few words.

“Don’t apologise, we all break sometimes,” Kat squeezed your shoulder, joining you on the floor, “Do you want to talk about it?”

It was tempting. Even if terrifying. But you felt like maybe she could be the listener you needed. Someone objective enough, without any ties to Neil or you. Someone safe to confide in that would keep your secrets in safekeeping. But…

“What if someone comes in?” grasping the most idiotic of excuses, you glanced at the airlock with apprehension.

You could just about imagine what would have happened should Neil walk in during your conversation. Your heart would not take it.

“We’ll just tell them to leave,” Kat’s cheeky tone made you turn to her, “I think they’re all a little afraid of me for some reason,” she added, with a small smirk.

She crossed her long legs and sat next to you with both your backs supported by the cupboard doors.

“As they should be,” you replied, feeling strangely at ease, considering everything.

That spark in her eyes was worth the stress over being too forward for someone you barely knew.

“So…” she nudged you with her shoulder as further encouragement.

There was no more escaping it. You took a deep breath, urging your heart to stay strong. Words started spilling out without sense or order.

“Is just... the world is potentially ending in a few days, and here I am crying over the fact that someone doesn’t love me” your throat contracted upon the word as though it was forbidden “I should’ve known better. He never could want someone like me because why would he” more tears as you realised the ultimate truth “I’m not extraordinary. It all feels so stupid, pathetic. But I can’t get over it because I still love him. And I don’t know how to stop” you finished the rant on a sob that forced you to cover your face with your hands.

There it was. Out in the open. You wondered how you could have ever been naïve enough to think your feelings could be reciprocated. For him, it was just a crush. Amplified by the troubles you had to face and the recent difficulties. Nothing more. You were conveniently there when he needed someone to lean on. But if it came to it, he would never choose you.

“It’s about Neil, isn’t it?” something in her voice made you meet her gaze.

You were that obvious, huh? A panicked thought convinced you that everyone on the bloody ship knew about your weakness for the blonde bastard. Yes, even that mess sergeant that always gave you a sorry smile when you approached the counter at mealtimes. Before you could spiral down another wretched rabbit hole, you asked the most innocent of questions:

“How do you know?”

There was no point in trying to convince Kat she got it wrong. She seemed to consider something for a moment before she looked at you with newly found resilience:

“Let me tell you a story,”

You quirked your eyebrow, confused and intrigued. Might as well… Nodding at her silent question, you rested your head against the cupboard. Dried tears tinged your chapped lips with salt.

“When we were in Oslo, staying in a hotel for two nights, TP went out, and Neil stayed with me” she set up the scene with a neutral tone, “We talked a lot about everything really. He asked me about Andrei...” you glanced at Kat, noticing a passing grimace, “Normally I would shut off, but there was that calm curiosity about him, and I didn’t mind saying too much” she admitted with a sheepish smile.

You knew the feeling well, always telling Neil too much because he was such an excellent listener. Confiding even the darkest of secrets and thoughts never felt like anything significant when he reacted with that same confidence and acceptance. That was one of the reasons why the fall was unavoidable.

“Neil has that sort of effect on people,” you returned her smile, shrugging slightly.

Kat patted your hand gently, noting the look on your face. The infatuation and yearning you could not get rid of whenever you did as much as spare a thought towards him.

“I can tell... the point is that he mentioned you, as well” your eyes widened as she paused, “His friend, as he referred to you but not without stumbling over the word a little” she grinned upon your struck expression, “He told me about your role in this. That you’re an asset, excellent sharpshooter, brave as hell and equally reckless at times” my god

You blushed, feeling Kat’s taxing gaze. Friend? Suppose that’s one way of introducing you to people. It was fascinating to know that even after the mess of Tallinn, Neil valued your contributions to the mission. That he would mention you to anyone. Favourably, at that.

“Sounds about right,” frowning, you pondered the implications of her words, “So you knew who I was that morning on the bridge?” the sudden realisation felt refreshing.

That explained her looks directed at you and Neil back then. The visible consternation about the matter of your relationship.

“Yes, it clicked pretty quickly” upon your perplexed gaze, she picked up the story, “I could tell that there was more underneath all the praise. There was that longing in his eyes and a spark that lit up only for you,” Kat added, smiling as you gasped, “I asked whether love was allowed in your line of business” there was boldness in her eyes that made your heart clench. Something important was coming, “He said yes, but it’s dangerous and best avoided. Only that’s not always possible. Sometimes it gets you, and before you realise you can’t breathe another word without missing that one essential person. Your heart doesn’t belong to you anymore, and nothing can be done” oh my god.

You stared at the floor as her words sunk in. It felt surreal, as though you have wandered into a dream. A good one. But dreams could only last so long… Shaking off the haze, you glanced at the woman sat next to you. She was observing you with an enigmatic smirk gracing her features.

“He said that?” your voice came out raspy.

Just a clarification. In case you have misunderstood. But Kat was not surprised.

“Yes,” she nodded, that same sympathetic expression on her face, “Considering what I’ve seen with you and him... there’s only one person he could’ve meant” your heart dropped, as though unused to the idea “I understood it that morning on the bridge when despite the awkwardness, he was willing to defy everyone else for your sake”

Your mind wandered back. Neil’s constant presence by your side, his hand touching the small of your back and then staying there for longer than necessary. His support and trust placed in your hands without hesitation. Right now, even something that insignificant felt unattainable. But it did happen. Could it be that he meant you? Unable to withstand the whirlwind of emotions, you stood up. Pacing in the tiny room, a protest came up, spilling out of your mouth:

“But I just heard him tell TP that he doesn’t love me” you swallowed hard as the reminder of the reality hit.

It was one thing to know it. Another to put it into words once again. You felt like screaming, demanding answers from the main culprit of this whole mess. But it was too dangerous. Another heartbreak could be lethal in its consequences.

“Sometimes we lie to ourselves to save the pain” the quiet certainty of Kat’s voice kept you grounded.

It felt risky to believe that he was pushing you away out of fear. But what if… No. You met her inquisitive gaze, hoping to convey the confusion and desperation. She must have understood for she added:

“He’s still coming to check up on me every evening, and the last two days he’s been a little… strange” the meaningful pause felt like bait.

One that you did not hesitate to take.

“How do you mean?” stopping mindless trotting, you sat down on the stool.

“Quiet, wistful, as though something was troubling him, threatening to spill out if he wasn’t too careful” a long taxing look; it sounded familiar, “Trust me, I don’t mean to give you false hope, I just thought you should know that before deciding on any further action” Kat got up and approached you.

Placing a hand on your shoulder, she squeezed it. You felt immensely grateful. Even if a little speechless… Because all of that was a lot to take in. You desperately needed a long afternoon spent in bed, staring at the ceiling and processing the eventful morning. Was it still morning?

“It means a lot, I’m not sure how I could repay you” finding the words again, you gave her a helpless smile.

“Just try to be happy. And don’t give up on things that seem too good to be true. Sometimes those are most worth keeping around” the depth of melancholy in her eyes was startling, “What will you do now?” the tentative tone assured you of the intent behind the question.

It was Kat’s way of saying: don’t do anything stupid. You could not promise that to anyone. The wounds were too fresh; emotions barely kept under control. Anything could happen. But you did not want to alarm her.

“I’m not sure. Think, probably” an unconvincing nonchalance had to do, as unprecedented honesty took voice “But I’m beginning to realise that if I won’t be able to… have him… I’ll just let him be. He deserves the best more than anybody else” you finished the thought and met her eyes.

A passing shock you found there was intriguing. As though your words reminded her of something, and she needed an additional moment to recover. God knows what sort of secrets everybody held on this god-forsaken ship… If the weight of the past and the unsaid could sink boats, it would have been long over. For everyone.

*** You thanked the gods (and Ives) for letting the topic of the lock wait out a little longer. Instead, the next morning’s meeting concerned the splinter unit, the who, and the how. As a result for once, no voice has been raised throughout the two hours spent on the bridge. Nothing much has been decided, but you did not mind. The burden of the last few days rested on your shoulders, preventing sleep or any form of relaxation. The word ‘tired’ did not even begin to describe it. But duties had to be put ahead of any personal issues and so you took part in the confab as usual. Seeing Neil after everything felt like a stab straight in the heart. His silence and the complete lack of acknowledgment of your existence were the added twist of the hilt.

The moment the meeting was over, you bolted out of the door in desperate need of fresh air. It was bound to rain later as the entire deck was covered in strange puddles that formed out of nothing. Perks of inversion and all that. Lost in thoughts concerning the locks, blonde bastards, and the torture of love as a concept and a feeling, you forgot about the golden rule of inverted rainfalls in the making – caution upon stepping on the wet surfaces. Turning around the corner, your foot slipped. Fuck. All you could do was flail your hands helplessly while praying that the fall will not be painful and that it will not detach the oxygen tank. Suffocation was not the death of your choice.

Suddenly the fall was interrupted with a strong grip on your waist. Hands pulling you upright, back to standing. The hold felt familiar. And forbidden. Turning to face the saviour, you were struck by the sight of the blue eyes that haunted your every waking hour. Every dream too. He was close, with hands wrapped around your waist securely. Somehow this felt worse than the fall. You half expected Neil to let go any second now, step away and yell at you for being clumsy. Or maybe just for existing. But he was still there. One of his hands slipped down onto your hip. Speechless, you kept on gazing into his eyes, trying to understand what was going on. All you could see was increasing the confusion. Desire. The boundless depths were drawing you in. Neil pulled you closer. Something in his face made you believe that if it was not for the oxygen masks, he would have kissed you. His gaze roamed across your features, intense, relentless, as though he could never have enough of you. It felt like being stripped bare, left exposed and vulnerable. Despite trying, you were unable to put up a guard, showing him all that he was not supposed to know instead. Everything you tried to hide and deny, bury deep inside so it could be forgotten. Well not anymore… Whatever Neil saw in your eyes woke him up. You noticed a passing frown, replaced with increasing shock. And then horror. What the hell. Before you could even process what happened, he let go and took a hasty step back. He looked sick, pale with fear and panic. Then, just as you tried to find any relevant words, Neil spoke:

“Be more careful next time,” cold and curt as though nothing happened.

He walked off briskly, disappearing into the darkness of the training grounds. What the fuck? A single drop flew up from the deck, splashing onto your chin. The rain has begun. You felt strange. Suddenly mourning the fact that you have been saved from suffocation. It would have been simpler. Less painful. Less terrifying.

*** No matter the hours passing by, or the thousands of different grounding techniques you have attempted, nothing was helping. Lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, you wanted a multitude of things. To get blackout drunk in the hope of forgetting this morning ever happened. (You checked the galley, utterly disappointed to have found nothing with the necessary voltage). You wanted to talk to someone, briefly considering visiting Kat further down the corridor. But that would have meant being even more vulnerable. And a burden. So nope. At one point, you once again considered marching outside without the mask, letting the inverted lung membranes and fucked up rain do the rest. But you did not want to end the life itself. That was not all that bad. You liked your job, the various people you have met along the way. It was only that the current predicament was… unbearable. There had to be a different option.

Then mindless pacing replaced the stillness of lying down. Window, door, and back again. To be repeated for at least an hour. Your thoughts swirling around everything that has been said. Everything that happened. Kat’s story. The look in Neil’s eyes. What if… what if? The unknowns kept multiplying in your head, driving you insane with the extent of what you did not understand. You always hated those moments of suspense. Unsure whether to give up, let go and try to move on, or to keep trying, hoping. Your heart could never process them well without breaking and shattering into millions of pieces. Fuck.

There was one way out of it. One that you tried to push to the back of your head for the few past hours because it was too terrifying. But you were slowly running out of alternatives. One look out of the window told you that you had spent at least six hours like this. It would not do. It was either him or nothing. But you could not survive the insufferable without knowing which one it was. Taking a deep breath, you stopped in the middle of the cabin. This is it. You knew what had to be done. You put on the sweater as though in a trance, making sure to repeat silly affirmations in the quiet of your mind. It had to be alright. If it wasn’t, there were always the seals left…

The walk down the short corridor felt like ascending the steps to the guillotine. Only whatever might happen could be worse than beheading. Your hand shook as you rapped on the door to Neil’s cabin. The sound felt like the worst mistake you ever made. It was too late to turn back. After a very long moment, you heard shuffling inside. When the door opened, you were shocked by a few observations all at once. Neil’s eyes were reddened, hair in absolute disarray. When he realised that you were the intruder, his hands automatically went to smooth the strands in some way. Making even more mess in the process. In any different situation, you would have found that endearing. But your heart was too heavy. You eyed him instantaneously, gaze slipping over the fitting black thermal shirt and the joggers with narrowed cuffs. Not helpful. As you glanced back at his face, you noticed the intensifying confusion. That was the chance to speak…

“Can I come in?” a tentative start to make him more likely to agree.

The shock in his blue eyes slowly changed into careful curiosity. Neil gave you a once-over before opening the door wider and stepping back.

“Of course. Friends are allowed to visit each other” a hint of impatience as though he already had enough.

But that was not the most infuriating bit…

“Friends?” you crossed the threshold and met his eyes with the face of stone, “Sure, that’s one way of looking at what we are” the lack of reaction was inspiring, “Or were” you took a look around his room.

Equally small cabin, littered with a few personal objects. His was phone abandoned on the bedside table, a change of clothes on the floor. A naïve idiot would have taken a moment to consider the fact that maybe he was not as well as you thought. But you were past that, desperate to get answers. A reaction. An end to this madness. With resolve ever-increasing, you sat down on the edge of Neil’s bed, ready for the battle ahead. Meeting his perplexed gaze, you let the penny drop:

“I wonder with how many friends have you been kissing on the bed for two hours” a flash of recognition and then a frown.

As expected. But it still hurt.

That moment from the afternoon before the morning plane to Tallinn was one you often replayed in those desperate hours when nothing seemed to help. You were lying in bed in your room back in London, enjoying each other’s company, exchanging kisses like compliments every few minutes. Sometimes Neil would let his hands become more daring in their caress, causing goosebumps all over your skin. Bringing out sighs and making your heart overflow with love and hope that you finally found what you have been looking for. You felt wanted. You talked a lot about the future, sharing different ridiculous plans for how it could play out. Neil promised to visit your prospective farm with the sheep and dogs. Back then, judging by the look in his eyes, you dared dream that perhaps he would want to be a part of those days still to come. Now, looking at the blonde man awkwardly perching on the chair in front of you, nothing made sense. He stayed for the night then, allowing you to hug him close until the morning. You woke up first, watching him for a few minutes. The steady rise and fall of his chest. Relaxed face with hair sticking up. Calm and content. The warmth spreading from your heart inspired you to press a kiss to his lips as a means of wake up. The sight of Neil sleepy-eyed, peering up at you with a fond smile gracing his features was worth much. Maybe even the current tortures…

Facing him now, you could see the frown deepen.

“Painful memory?” you countered, watching him closely for any hints.

A mask was put on well. But there were flashes of something there. A potential… A possibility of getting burned too.

“In a way,” Neil grimaced, avoiding your piercing gaze.

He was uncomfortable, mindlessly picking on the skin around his nails and tapping his foot. That was the signal to keep on pushing. Until he would be forced to be honest.

“That’s a shame. It’s one of my favourite ones” as he looked up, you offered a deadpan smile, “Just like Oslo,” a shrug complemented with a quick scan of his body, “Though I’m not sure about that… ending,” feigning thoughtfulness you ended the harsh scrutiny.

The point was to back him up against the wall without making him throw you out. That tiny voice at the back of your head told you that he would have done that already if you were not in any way important. That voice was too confident.

“What is your point?” Neil bit back, betraying the level of annoyance you have brought with the innocent reminder.

You knew there was no more skirting around the issue. Now or never.

“Why did you do that earlier? Why did you hold me like...” you trailed off, unable to put into words what it felt like.

Like what? Like a lover. Like someone you actually cared about and not just an irritation. Like someone you could want in your life. But you could never say that to him.

“I was being a gentleman” Neil glanced at you with painfully fake indifference, “Women tend to appreciate that,” a shrug that could not fool you.

Women. The spark of jealousy burned bright. Because what if you were just another distraction. Nothing special. But then the things he said to Kat suggested otherwise. You held onto that thought and squared your shoulders. The game was on.

“...Right,” a sceptical glance in his direction before you continued, “Was that look gentlemanly too? Because last time I checked, gentlemen didn’t tend to look at women as though they wanted to…” trailing off, you awaited the response.

That would mean he took the bait. And the case was not yet lost.

“What?” the lazy tone made you meet Neil’s gaze.

He looked… off. As though before you knocked, he was not exactly fine. It was that nervousness and unkempt appearance that betrayed him. On its own accord, your heart gave out a painful thump, anticipating the fact that Neil too might have been hurting. But why? Ignoring the distraction, you found the needed words and dropped them carelessly.

“Devour them” you held his gaze confidently.

The verb felt right. As though Neil was not trusting his instincts, he looked down, breaking the contact. Putting up further guards. Bingo. He scoffed, throwing in cruelty to the mix:

“And here I was thinking you’re over… this” a vague hand gesture to show what this meant.  

You. And him. That something that both was there and was not. Or rather, he wanted it to cease to exist. Only it was not that easy.

“I never said that” putting on the necessary emphasis, you kept on staring at him until he looked up.

Mouth open for another quip. That same steel-blue eyes and clenched jaw. Whatever you have been doing was working. Slowly aggravating him to the point of discomfort. You had to keep the upper hand. Neil seemed to consider something, restlessly fiddling with a pen he picked up from the bedside table. After a beat, he spoke up:

“Why are you here?” weariness in his eyes as he gave out a long exhale.

Easy question… right?

“Because I want answers” it could not be any simpler.

He flinched, letting you see the extent of panic hidden underneath the annoyance and casualness.

“What makes you think I’ve got them?” an arched eyebrow adding the mocking intonation.

The meter of space between you felt like an ocean. He was close enough for you to brush away the strand that has fallen into his eye if you only leaned in. And yet so far that you felt alone, alienated by the cold scrutiny. You had to keep going, tearing at the carefully build up armour hiding him away from you.

“Because you always have words. An abundance of them” you waited till he looked at you again before pressing on “Be it things you probably wish I have forgotten that you have once whispered between kisses” a pause, noticing the boundless unease in the blue eyes “Or all those lovely adjectives you have given me the last couple of days” using the moment of hesitation, you added, “But maybe you were right, and I am stupid, emotional-”

You could give him the whole litany. Your legacy. Exactly how much you were worth in Neil’s eyes. Unless it was a lie…? Before you could begin, Neil raised his hand, interrupting sharply:

“Okay, I get your point” no pride in that frown, almost as though he regretted it, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that” the apology took you by surprise.

As did the sudden change in his face. Neil held your gaze with unusual sheepishness. As if even the act of looking at you was dangerous. Tearing the skin from his lower lip, he was the epitome of insecurity. There was no time to falter.

“Everything?” you prodded, mindful of the poker face you had to maintain.

You could not lose him now. Neil hesitated for a short moment before responding:

“Yes,” another second of eye contact, and he got up, impatiently touching the doorknob “If this is all you wanted, then I’d rather be alone-”

No. You leaped up, reaching out before he could finish the sentence. As your hand landed on his forearm, his eyes snapped to you in shock. He was not expecting you to breach the touch barrier. But there was no other choice. With heart hammering in your chest, you felt your throat tighten. Please not now…

“No,” emotions exposed in the tiny voice crack, “Neil, I’m tired of this, of you not making any fucking sense and expecting me to accept it” pleading, you let your fingers wrap around his wrist.

That had to do. Judging by the terror in his eyes, it was already too much. You could feel your resolve waning. Terrified of the consequences if this backfired. Of what you would have to do if he rejected you once and for good. Of the pain you would have to face then. But you had to be brave. He swallowed hard. You wondered what caused the goosebumps on his skin.

“If this is about earlier, then you’re blowing it out of proportion. Be more reasonable” there was a raw edge to his voice that was new.

You were close now. Enough to force Neil to stare at the ground to avoid looking at you. You noticed those dark circles under his eyes. And the tension spilling out in waves. He was scared of you. And that was a horrifying discovery. Your eyes were burning as you begged your heart to hold on. You had to survive this.

“It’s not just that” betraying the nerves, you took a greedy inhale, “It’s what you told Kat in Oslo. It’s how you look at me” following potentially disastrous instincts, you tipped his chin to meet his eye, “It’s all those sudden switches when you seem so cold and calculating and yet so separated from the real you” running out of breath, you could only stare at Neil.

The widened eyes and parted lips told you exactly how shocked he was. You did feel bad for bringing Kat into it. The argument was too strong to let it go. And it worked if his silent panic was anything to go by. He was desperately searching for words, unable to tear his eyes away from yours as though what you said was a binding charm.

“Why do you think you know the real me?” finally, Neil settled upon the question.

One last attempt at making you forgo this madness. Only there was nothing convincing in his delivery. Eyes hazed, showing you fear and uncertainty. A blood droplet on the lower lip where he tore through the skin. Ignoring the most innate of desires to wipe it off, you cupped his cheek. Neil gasped, frozen in the spot. Could it be working? Sliding your hand down, you interlocked your fingers with his. Everything felt surreal. As if you were not a part of the scene. But you had to persist. To finish what you started.

“Because you once told me that you’ve never lied to me. That I’m very important. Your everything, even” your voice broke again on the last sentence as you tightened your hold over Neil’s hand, “And I understand that you could have changed your mind, but…” you hesitated, feeling him shudder.

Oh my god. Your heart broke for the umpteenth time as the fact dawned on you. Neil was shivering slightly as though he was cold. But there was no draft. Nothing to cause it apart from your presence, words, and the physical touch. A choked sob built up in your throat.

“…why are you trembling when all I’m doing is holding your hand? Am I that revolting?” the questions were interrupted by a sniff you could not hold back any longer; there was time for honesty, “The last few days have been awful, making me want to stupid things just to feel something different than heartbreak. I’m not saying that to get your pity, but if I got it all so wrong then tell me now. Because I’m not sure I can survive much longer like this” after finishing the speech, the tears trailed down your cheeks uninvited.

It was all there for him. Nothing to add. Your heart was beating fast, blood pounding in your ears. For a second, you felt suspended in time, unable to do anything but stare at Neil, who seemed utterly speechless. And then his face fell. Eyes fell shut as he let out a heart-shattering whimper. Tears started falling down his face as you tried to brush them away. You have not seen him that broken since the aftermath of TP’s death. He tugged his hand out of your hold to cover his face, turning away. Christ… The searing pain was back, this time making your heart bleed for Neil. You did not know what to do, powerless and paralyzed with a multitude of thoughts and feelings. After a minute which felt like an eternity, Neil faced you again with red-rimmed eyes and tragedy in his gaze. That was the needed wake-up. Stepping back into action, you placed your hand on his chest. Just over the beating heart. A gentle encouragement.

“I can’t… I can’t tell you that it’s over because I still…” the breathless words tinged with panic and struggle as he fought for every gust of air, “I can’t keep on…” another sob, shaking his whole body “You’re…” a sharp intake followed by instant defeat.

Immeasurable anguish in Neil’s eyes was another reason to find the strength you did not know you had. Maybe it was worth it.

“What? I’m here with you and willing to listen. To do anything but please just make me understand” holding back more tears, you made sure he saw the determination painted on your face.

Slowly you were coming to terms with the reality. You would do anything for him. Anything he asked.

“I don’t know how to…” Neil trailed off, looking for answers all over the floor and ceiling, “I’m tired of having to pretend when you’re all I…” a moment of hesitation as his eyes widened.

He did not intend to say that much. You’re all I… what? Before you could find ways of pressing on, he turned away again and sat down on the bed. A frown etched deep into his forehead. Eyebrows furrowed. Eyes glistening with unshed tears. This was bad. Awkwardly, you shifted from one foot to another. Words were escaping you both.

“Then don’t. I won’t bite” your useless quip was received with an ill-disguised dry chuckle, “Call it naïve, but I don’t think it’s anything we can’t fix if we…” shit.

You knew what was there on the tip of your tongue. It was too early. Fuck knows if he even… But he had to. There was no other force in the universe that could cause this much pain.

“If what?” Neil caught your mistake with strange emotion in his eyes.

As though he wanted you to spell it out. You could not give in. Some words had the potential to destroy, and it was too fragile. A freshly opened wound you still had to mend somehow.

“Don’t make me say it again” a whisper to make him understand your actions.

After a beat, Neil nodded. He seemed exhausted, slouching and staring at the floor unseeingly. That feeling of helplessness threatened to come back with force as you were running out of ideas to make it work. To get him back somehow. Then his voice broke the tense silence:

“Christ…” a long exhale before he looked at you again, “I don’t even know where to begin, but…” resignation passed through his face.

You felt a strange spark of hope flicker in the depths of your heart. It did not look like rejection. It did not look like anything you have ever experienced, and yet it made so much sense. Because after everything you have been through, there was no way this could be easy. Kindling that building fire, you cautiously took a step forward, maintaining the eye contact:

“Yes?” the most neutral of tones, holding the emotions at bay.

Everything not to scare him off. You made it so close. You could give up now. A hint of a sad smile upon Neil’s lips was encouraging…

“Come closer. I want to…” he reached out a hand you gladly took, letting him pull you nearer.

It did not matter what he wanted. Only that you could give it to him. Anything. Everything. Upon the sudden surge of courage, you covered the remaining inches of space and straddled his lap in one smooth movement. Another gasp as Neil glanced at you with obvious amazement. Then, as though he worried that even this was too much, he looked down at where his hands tentatively settled on your hips. This position was familiar. And yet, you felt different, unable to make sense of the myriad of emotions and thoughts occupying your mind. All that mattered was Neil. His hesitant but intimate hold. The hair falling into his eyes. Shallow breaths escaping through the parted lips.

“It’s alright, look at me,” gently you lifted his chin so that you could meet his gaze.

Blue eyes full of longing. For you. Exhaling sharply, you knew well enough what to do. You wound your hands around his waist, drawing him into a tight embrace. That too felt natural. After a second, Neil relaxed, melting into your hug as if that was exactly what was missing. At that moment, with head resting in the crook of his neck, at last feeling as though there was a point in all this, your eyes welled up. No matter the suffering, this had to be it. Your everything. Neil breathed you in, warm puffs of air causing shivers all over your body. There was no point in pretending.

“Please come back to me,” you whispered against his skin, letting tears trail onto his shirt.

Neil tightened his hold, hands roaming over your back, pulling you even closer. All it took was a kiss he pressed onto the exposed skin of your collarbone to make you tremble.

“I never left,” the hesitancy told you he did not believe it either.

“You did. But maybe… I’ll do anything to have you back” the urgency in your voice causing Neil to lean back.

He wiped the stray tears from your cheeks, taking an additional moment to caress your neck with tenderness. You could only lean into his touch, feeling as though whatever might happen has already been decided. There was no way you could let this go. Neil seemed to consider something quickly before he spoke:

“All those words… they fail me when I’m trying to explain what I was doing” his voice was raspy with the weight of emotions, “Or why. Because I’m scared of making it come true. It’s as if once I say it… it might…” he paused, searching for words in your eyes.

“Become real?” you offered, running your fingers through his unruly hair.

You were right. It was all an act. The elation was restrained by worry and love. It didn’t matter.

“Yeah…” Neil swallowed hard, “And then there’s all this mess in my head… The thoughts that just won’t shut up. I’m so fucking tired of… of-” the familiarity of his words causing another flash of pain within your heart “I can’t ask you to-” he cut himself off as though the idea was unspeakable.

You caught a sight of something darker within his gaze. They always said that actions speak louder than words…

“Neil, I said I’ll do anything. I mean it. What do you need?” you met his panicked eyes with resilience.

It took him a longer minute to stop staring at you. To wake up. And then, as simple as it can be:

“You. I need you,” touching his forehead to yours his breath ghosted your lips, “But after everything I did, I wouldn’t expect you to want me… like that” the depth of remorse was heart-breaking.

You already knew what the answer would be. Nothing else mattered. Regrets, worries, and fears had to be abandoned for the sake of this.

“The trouble with the heart is that it doesn’t care what you’ve done. Only that this is you,” smiling lightly, you cupped his cheek, “Just… kiss me. Like you mean it. Like you could love me. And then we’ll see if we can make it work,” unsure where the words came from, you faltered.

But before any vicious doubts could step in, Neil closed the gap. His lips slowly glided over yours, reminding you what it felt like. It did not take much persuading for you to open your mouth, deepening the kiss. It felt like coming home after a long time away. Like that first step over the threshold when one is unsure what they will find. Only to realise that everything is in the right place. That they should have never left. You tangled your fingers in his hair, bringing him even closer. He groaned upon the sensation, teeth grazing over your bottom lip. A sigh escaped your throat as Neil’s hands ventured underneath the sweater. For the first time in a while, everything made sense. You tugged at his shirt just for the sake of it as a means of showing him how wrong he was. You wanted him more than before if that was possible. The kiss consuming you both with its intensity and force. Your tongues participating in their dance, brushing against each other, increasing the intimacy of the moment. It finally felt right. Slow, unhurried, but desperate. Unforgettable.

You did not even know when it ended. One moment you were willing to give up breath if only to make it last longer. The next Neil had you pinned to the bed, breathless and shocked. When you met his gaze, the depth of expression told you what it meant. Finally.

[darlingpetao3]

Thank You For Ruining My Life: An Homage to Tom Cavanagh

“You’ve ruined all my future expectations of men.”

The costume-clad woman had the courage of steel to say this to the then 53-year-old actor, Tom Cavanagh of The Flash, in front of a ballroom filled with a couple hundred people. This brave utterance was spoken during the 2016 Fan Expo Vancouver convention during a Flash question and answer period with actors Tom Cavanagh and Candice Patton. In its third season, the show was undoubtedly still hitting its stride in popularity, and the room was packed to hear these two speak.

The brave woman whose turn it was at the microphone was referring to Tom’s role as Ed Stevens on the NBC 2000 hit, Ed. I had not known of this show previously, but having now heard such a proclamation intrigued me. “You’ve ruined all my future expectations of men.” That was a tempting notion, and as I continued to listen to this disarmingly charming and wittingly funny man steal the stage, Tom intrigued me even more. I’d watched him play three different versions of Harrison Wells on The Flash since the show’s premiere date, yet I hadn’t truly noticed him in a “life-ruining” way before.

Little did I know that Tom Cavanagh would not only eventually ruin my expectations for men as well, but he would change my life in other ways, too.

After the Q&A, I had this urge to buy a S.T.A.R. Labs T-shirt from one of the vendors at the convention. In my head, I thought I would purchase something so that I could have an excuse to talk to Mr. Cavanagh at his signing booth. Again, he intrigued me, and I wanted to experience more of his incredibly likeable personality. So, I dragged my friend with me to wait for what was maybe ten minutes in a queue. Shortly, I was paying the assistant for my autograph I would soon acquire. They wrote my name on a sticky note so that Tom would know how to sign a personalized message to me. And then, it was my turn.

His eyes sparkled when he turned his attention to me. I instantly had a feeling this was just the way he was naturally. Oh yeah, and I swear to God I’d never seen eyes that blue in my entire life. It genuinely stunned me.

“Hi!” he greeted me.

“Hi!” I responded, equally as thrilled. Tom admired the T-shirt I had brought and took note of my name on the piece of paper. I remember us joking together about the extremely lax security in and around S.T.A.R. Labs on the show, which prompted his message to me on the heather-grey cotton. He wrote my name, [followed by a heart!] and a very welcoming, ‘Come on by, just walk right in!’

I had official clearance from Harrison Wells himself.

I thanked him very much, leaving with my treasure folded over my arms. My friend and I walked towards the hall’s exit, and I couldn’t shake this feeling inside me. It felt strange—I couldn’t name it for the life of me. It felt like an odd fluttering with a simultaneous yet contradictory slightness of breath. My head was confused and would continue to be so for the rest of that weekend.

As I waited at my gate in the airport on that Sunday evening to head home, all I knew was that the moments at the con featuring Tom were the highlights of the weekend for me.

And that I was going to begin watching more of the other films and television shows he’d been in. What was the show the brave cosplaying woman had said ruined her expectations of men? Oh yeah, Ed.

Maybe I’ll start there…

***

Feliz Navidad, Feliz Navidad…

In my house, it’s never really Christmastime until Michael Bublé croons through the speakers of the wooden stereo system in the living room. It felt especially festive as it was now Christmas Eve—a month and some change since the con. It was late, possibly ten o’clock. I was lying on the floor in front of the Christmas tree with my trusty laptop, a word document open. I was writing three holiday-song short stories featuring the new muse in my life, Harrison Wells. I wanted to be able to post them the next day, so my fingers were taptaptapping away.

I had written a handful of things before 2017, most of which had been Marvel-related, under my second, ‘rebirth’ pen name online. I was a little fish among all the grand and fabulous writers on Archive of Our Own, and in many ways, I still feel like that little fish. I was only just learning and feeling out the psyche of the Wells characters. Each one is so different. In my rewatch of the previous seasons of The Flash, I’d taken diligent notes, and as I’d later learn with each following rewatch, I would know them all—what they think, how they talk and behave—like the back of my hand. It was fun to suss out these guys, and I found that I was growing to love the act of writing even more.

One month later, in January, I would post all the stories I’d written thus far on Tumblr. I’d just created an account and, who knows? Maybe I’d get a wider range of readers on here, too.

Might as well give it a shot, right?

***

Wild horses couldn’t keep me from attending Fan Expo Vancouver 2017, especially when the big news dropped. Not only would Tom Cavanagh be attending again, but so would Carlos Valdes, Danielle Panabaker, Candice Patton, and the convention-elusive star of the show himself, Grant Gustin.

Before the moderator for the Flash cast’s Q&A panel could utter the final thanks to the actors at the end of the session, I bounded from my seat and sped down to the photo op booth where the cast would be taking “Team Up” photos with fans. ‘Sped down’ has to be the most appropriate couple of words because I indeed felt like a true Speedster dressed head to toe as the small screen’s adaptation of Jesse Quick, the angsty and brilliant daughter to Harrison Wells turned superhero.

After waiting in a queue that felt like ages, I was next to stand with Team Flash. As I took a step forward, all of the actors’ and actresses’ eyes—the people I spend time with every Tuesday evening—were on me. I heard a familiar voice approve of my costume. It was Danielle.

“Tremendous.”

Grant even joked that he thought for a second Violett Beane, the actress who plays Jesse Quick, had shown up to surprise them. “I was like, what’s Violett doing here?” he said.

I stood in the back row, happily sandwiched between Tom and Carlos. I dared to let my hands rest on their backs, and I couldn’t contain my joy. Shortly after, when I received my near-instant physical photograph of the moment, I saw Tom had pointed at me. In my mind, it felt as if in his gesture, he meant, hey, look at this cool person. Haha. I couldn’t be further from it.

I would go on to further be uncool in public as I later found myself virtually shaking and almost hyperventilating in line for a one-on-one photo op with Tom. The guy dressed as Kid Flash behind me gave me a few encouragements of the “it’ll be okay” variety. As my turn finally arrived, the lovely man of the hour greeted me with a bright smile in recognition of my Reverse Flash T-shirt (I had done a quick change before this photo op because I had worn a Flash T-shirt for a photo with Grant).

“Great shirt!”

The internet comes up with many hilarious and fitting words, but none such so than the term “Cavanarms.” One of the said Cavanarms found its way around my shoulder in such a casual way. My hand rested on his back, and I have told anyone who will listen about how soft his sweater was. What was approximately a five-second interaction will stay with me forever. And to this day, I will always regret how I’m standing beside him in the picture—there’s a distinguishable gap between us. I could have been closer—should have been!—but I like to use the fact that I felt as if I’d combust into flames if I were any closer to the man.

Maybe I’d have another chance to combust later again that day because, believe it or not, this fan hadn’t had enough of seeing Mr. Cavanagh in person. And since he was appearing at the con for this day only, there was no way I was going to squander any opportunities. Besides, there was still one final thing left on my convention docket: the autograph. In my mind, going to get his autograph was an excuse to get to talk to him and simply be in his presence for longer than five seconds. Here, take my money. I’m a sucker, and I’m proud of it. I saved all year for this kind of thing, and Fan Expo has always been my ultimate nerdy Treat Yoself Day.

Plus, this year I came equipped with a question for Tom (something for which I may have prepared a little too far in advance).

“Which of your characters would win in a lawyering battle: Ed or Miles?”

Miles was Tom’s latest character from his newly released project Darrow & Darrow, a fellow lawyer as Ed Stevens (remember, the man who ruins women’s expectations of men?), whom he portrayed almost two decades prior. What I loved about Tom when I got to ask him this was that he was silent for a moment following the question. He was genuinely putting thought into my question. As he pondered, Tom continued to autograph the photo of us together taken mere hours ago.

“Ed. He would wipe the floor with that other guy. Like, Miles is great, but Ed has a rapier-sharp mind, you know?”

I wholeheartedly agreed with his answer and felt relieved inside for some reason. We thanked each other (as politely as two Canadians can) before I left him to pay attention to the next lucky soul in line. I made the mistake of casting my eyes downward at the signed photo.

Tom had signed two little hearts over the I’s in my name. He really needed to stop adding hearts to my things, or I was just going to melt to the floor. In fact, I started to make these strange noises as I tried not to completely maul everyone in front of me while exiting. My friend ushered me as fast as physically possible on our way out of the main hall. One man took one look at me and asked, “Are you okay?”

No.

“Yep!”

The second I made it out of the herd, I broke out into open space. First came the minor hyperventilating. Then came the squealing followed by laughter. Top it off with various fangirlish comments of, “He’s so beautiful!”, “His eyes are so blue!” and “I love him!” and I was probably quite the sight to see (but at a convention, that’s considered normal!). My friend smiled on as she let me express everything that I had to keep inside until I had the right time to expel my emotions. I was on cloud nine. Ten, if at all possible.

The next day would be the con’s final day, which I would attend alone. My friend needed to catch the ferry in order to prepare for her courses the day after. I did a scan of the convention hall one final time in case there was something I missed purchasing. Afterwards, I sat on the cold hard flooring of the convention centre hallway for a bit of a break. I was wiped out. With my phone in hand, I smiled at the messages from this one Tumblr blogger who had been following my posted adventures at the con. I had seen and replied to many of her comments on my stories I’d written thus far, and I enjoyed her matching enthusiasm for Tom and The Flash in general. I felt her to be a kindred spirit. I had no idea then that I was chatting with one of my future best friends, L.

***

I spotted her.

She was wearing an identical shirt to the one I had on—a light grey T-shirt with a sequinned Spider-Man mask in the corner, which around it read, We met on the Web. A giddy me couldn’t wait for the short escalator ride to end. Her back was to me and facing the baggage claim, so here was my chance to surprise her instead.

I towered over my friend, E, and donned a low, authoritative voice.

“Excuse me, Miss, can you come with me?”

She squealed a greeting to me and I returned it as we hugged for the very first time after two and a half years of online friendship. We would still have about two hours to kill until our mutual Tumblr best friend, L, touched down at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport from across the Pond.

Something I noticed was that E and I carried on talking during our wait like it was second nature, that we hung out like this all the time. Whereas when I met L in person for the first time the year previously, our first meeting was that of quiet, delighted shock, unknowing how to react to one another’s physical presence. It almost felt like a fantasy. The closest thing we’d ever gotten to this was visiting over video chats! I’m not sure what each of these different reactions in these separate meetings meant, but what I do know is that I’ve never had such strong female friendships such as these—so full of uplifting support and love for one another. They are the greatest ladies I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

And as a searching L eventually turned the corner to meet us in the Arrivals terminal, I caught sight of her Tom & Grant bandana tied around the handle to her carry-on bag. It was an item she had received in return for helping fund the short film produced in 2018 (I’d bought the ringtone). Seeing the accessory jolted me to remember that the former of the titular short was the reason for this long-awaited get-together holiday in the Windy City in the first place. Tom Cavanagh, unbeknownst to him, had just officially united three online friends, each from a different country, to spend six full days of in-person bonding and a whole lot of fun.

***

I should have been shelving books.

I should have been doing a lot of library-related tasks, but my head was elsewhere. Anywhere other than the small-town public library where I work. Instead, I sat on the carpeted floor of the Junior/Young Adult section with my phone in hand and a dreadful article title staring back at me.

“The Flash: Carlos Valdes and Tom Cavanagh to Exit after 7 Seasons.”

My world felt like it was falling apart.

Tom was leaving? There had been rumours and wonderings spreading around the fandom regarding whether he was leaving the show. With a storyline ending with a monumental sacrifice and a time-travelling man saying his farewells, it all seemed to point to the fact. I should have known… I could have rivalled Supergirl as being the Paragon of Hope after all the optimism I doled out to my followers and friends who would come to me worried Tom would exit the show. I would always give reasons to deny such a thing could happen, claiming that I’d believe when I saw it.

Well, there it was, and I definitely saw it.

One could feel the ripple effect over the internet of the shards of broken and riled-up hearts around the world.

Tom’s exit was on his terms, having not felt challenged by his character’s plotlines, as mentioned in a recent Entertainment Weekly article. As a viewer—and I am a viewer (Mike and Tom Eat Snacks, anyone?), it has been increasingly difficult to look past the missed shots made by story editors and showrunner, so understandably, the actor would want to seek something more exciting and meatier. That said, Tom has always shone on-screen and taken what he’s been given in stride. He turns unearthed material into diamonds and indeed shines on screen. Steals it, even! Tom easily makes the episodes he’s in better, and when he’s missing, you feel the loss. The few episodes of Season 7 without him only give us a tiny hint at how the show will be without him going forward. It much resembles when you might bring out your favourite jigsaw puzzle, only to find that the one piece you need to complete it isn’t there.

***

On a personal note, as I write this, I am roughly 20 followers away from reaching a milestone of 2,000. I have written well over 200 stories for The Flash alone (whether they be short or long, one-shots or chaptered), and goodness knows how many words I’ve generated altogether over the course of these many years with inspiration from the show and my favourite character. I’ve written and co-written novel-length stories, one monumental Wellsian story of which was done alongside L and E (almost solely done through alternating text messaging in the app, Line) that reached over 108,000 words and consisted of 42 chapters. And when I’m not writing for my blog, I’m also working on trying to accomplish my dream of becoming a published author. Just as I thought before I launched my Tumblr blog, I think again now: Might as well give it a shot, right?

***

I have watched virtually everything Tom has been in that I could get my hands on, both physically and electronically. Sure, a few titles are out of my reach and probably lost to the very early 90's forever, but from what I've seen through Tom's filmography is enough to know that he can do anything. He can play the romantic leading man that will make you fall head over heels for him or a deranged killer that will have you genuinely scared of him. That is talent. Tom always brings something new to the table from each role to the next, and (when he's not playing those psycho killers) you can't help but admire his craft.

Not only is his acting stellar, but from what we as fans have gathered on the man, Tom has got to be one of the kindest men in the business. His humour and sheer ridiculousness could get anyone through a tough time (we’ve seen plenty of bloopers and behind-the-scenes videos to prove this!). He has clearly bottled and stored an endless supply of Fountain of Youth™ and each year continues to wow us with his handsomeness. Tom is charming, dedicated, and yes, arguably holds the world record for Bluest Eyes.

In my eyes, Tom Cavanagh gave me the two best friends I could have ever asked for, as well as plenty more lovely friends I’ve continued to make online. (One day, I hope to meet him again so that I can tell him in person how because of him, I’ve met such very important people in my life). Through Tom, I have truly found my passion for writing, and in doing so, segued me to dare to dream of becoming a published novelist. I wholeheartedly believe all of this would not have happened if it weren’t for those first series of events that led me to meet Tom and love and admire him immensely. He is indisputable proof that there are indeed men like him out there. Indeed, he did ruin all of my future expectations of men. He ruined my life in the absolute best way and I am eternally grateful.

I am very much looking forward to what Tom will do next. I think it’s rather needless to say that I will follow him in his career, as he has gained a devoted fan for life. He represents so much to me and so much of it I have gained since meeting him that fateful day, when I thought to myself, Maybe I should buy this T-shirt and get this guy to sign it. Wherever Tom goes in life, I’ll be here to cheer him on.

I have a pretty good feeling plenty of others will, too.

[heroofpenamstan]

—OC PROFILES: JOANNE & MICHAEL

tagged by the lovelies: @shallow-gravy​, @shellibisshe​, @belorage​, @honeysides​, @strafethesesinners​, @faithchel​, @blissfulalchemist​! thank you, dears! x since i’m tragically late to the party as per usual, not going to be tagging anyone since i assume most of my mutuals have done it, but if you want to go right ahead and tag me too so i can see! :”)) also, fair warning: 80% of the questions i answered at ungodly hours overmedicated on paracetamol and it shows because re-reading this in the morning was a Yikes

GENERAL

name: joanne burton alias(es): jo, annie ( mike exclusive ), burton, dep, jr. deputy, rook, traitor, sinner, wrath/pain in the ass ( john exclusive ), rabbit ( jacob exclusive ), heinous fucking bitch—( also john exclusive ), black widow ( new dawn au ) gender: cis. female age: 29 birth: 30th october, 1988 place of birth: meridian, idaho spoken languages: english; may or may not recite some hebrew lines over the holidays sexual preference: bisexual occupation(s): junior deputy of hope county, montana/menace to all cultists everywhere ( in a certain radius of said hope county, montana, anyway )

APPEARANCE

eye colour: brown hair colour: black height: 157cm ( 5′2 ), or approximately 7′11 when balancing on michael’s shoulders to peer inside john’s windows scars: split right eyebrow ( thanks, jake ), minor cuts and incorrectly healed bruises and gashes, scarred bullet wound on left hip ( you’re welcome, jake )

FAVOURITE

colour: orange or yellow or cyan, or whatever is more stupidly eye-catching and not at all fit for her current environment song: i’ve been thinking by handsome boy modeling school food: various stir-fries, fruits and protein ( or anything that she claims to be “healthy” when, truly, bitch is one step away from living off of instant noodles and canned pineapple and cigarette buds from dutch’s stash ) drink: beerherbal teas and infusions

HAVE THEY

passed university: no, but passing the police academy was already a pleasant enough surprise for her had sex: today? no. two weeks ago? probably had sex in public: probably said two weeks ago gotten pregnant/ someone else pregnant: yes, but we don’t talk about it kissed a boy: yes ( derogatory ) kissed a girl: yes ( affectionate ) gotten tattoos: yes, loads: most were practice scribbles for her ex-girlfriend, and the only true meaningful one she possesses is lydia, scrawled into her pinky in remembrance. otherwise, john seed do not even engage with that rusty ass tattoo gun— gotten piercings: yes, loads multiplied; if there’s a place for a piercing in her ears, she has them. also, an old septum piercing she hasn’t worn in a hot second been in love: yes, loads squared ( girl rents out her heart on the weekdays and cries about the scratches she notices on saturday, but still repeats it all over again come monday; falling in love for her is easy, but actually loving someone and getting over her self-loathing to do so is a whole different ball game ) stayed up for more than 24 hours: she’s probably on hour 31 as we speak ( someone knock her out pls )

ARE THEY

a virgin: whitehorse has heard enough horror stories in the break room between her and joey to last him a lifetime a cuddler: closeted cuddler, yes a kisser: most definitely; woman has to play up her natural assets scared easily: her response time is too lagged for that jealous easily: depends; she’s more jealous of what she should have/could have/would have had in a general sense than being jealous of a particular person or a thing trustworthy: in her own way, yes dominant: disgustingly so submissive: not in this lifetime in love: very much so single: very much so part 2

RANDOM QUESTIONS (tw for self harm/suicide mention)

have they harmed themselves: yes, but it’s more by means of unintentional yet severe substance abuse thought of suicide: not as often as one would assume; joanne has a very strong sense of self-preservation, but tends to run from her bleak reality by means of one harmful way or the other attempted suicide: once or twice during her lowest points in life wanted to kill someone: on the daily have/had a job: girl had juggled three part-time jobs; there is nothing she fears anymore have any fears: ( see above ) to fall back into old bad habits, loss of control, death, failure, a bad future, poverty, being abandoned and forgotten, long stays at a hospital, the judges, the bliss, the power of john’s hair gel

FAMILY

sibling(s): micah burton ( older brother ) parent(s): abigail burton née belman ( mother ); jim burton ( father ) children: asher seed ( daughter in new dawn au ) significant other: jacob seed ( circumstantial lover/”could do without” mentor/#prisonwife #prisonhusband #imkidding #kinda ) pets: boomer for the cuddles, cheesecake for the throttles ( bitch naturally attracts the judges but will forget her dog 101 and run away like what does she think will happen then?? )

GENERAL

name: michael scott-hughes alias(es): mike, mikey, mickey ( mary may exlusive ), mike the bike/fall’s end’s bicycle, resistance’s poster boy, manwhore, cassanova, the archangel ( joseph exclusive ), the antichrist ( also joseph exclusive ), war dog, hughes boy ( fairgrave exclusive ) gender: cis. male age: 30 birth: 6th july, 1988 place of birth: fall’s end, montana spoken languages: english, russian, basic chinese mandarin and turkish sexual preference: pansexual occupation(s): residential shady, shady man ( international arm’s dealer, most recently demoted to local resistance leader and occasional general goods store co-owner )

APPEARANCE

eye colour: green hair colour: brown height: 181cm ( 5′11 ), and 6ft on tinder jkjk man’s confident enough to not grasp for that extra inch, unlike someone ( john ) scars: heavily burnt left hand ( from trying to fish out his ex girlfriend’s boiling corpse r.i.p. to that steaming puss— ), gash on his right temple, nicely healed gun wound on left shoulder, not so nicely healed amputated right hand ( man’s not having the best time in my canon, is he ), various incorrectly healed cuts and bruises

FAVOURITE

colour: green and rustics song: wild world by yusuf/cat stevens food: unlike the faker above, michael actually likes to cook and eat healthy meals, so anything from salads to veggies to oatmeal to soups will do ( and meat; man’s been a vegetarian for a grand total of 4 days in his entire life ( or 14, if you count the time he got abducted to john’s bunker womp )) drink: sugary drinkswhiskey, fresh juices, “water can be so, so sexy, annie—”

HAVE THEY

passed university: no, though michael really busted his ass to self-educate on subjects that will be beneficial to his line of work had sex: we stopped keeping tabs and numbers nearly ten years ago had sex in public: we stopped blinking at these types of shenanigans nearly ten years ago too gotten pregnant/ someone else pregnant: yes? no? maybe? ( mike’s too afraid to even think about it, but hopes he hasn’t fathered any babies any time soon ) kissed a boy: yes ( affectionate ) kissed a girl: yes ( affectionate² ) gotten tattoos: yes: the sword of damocles on his left inner forearm, intertwined snakes running across his right ribs, a tiny smiley face on his ass lord save him gotten piercings: yes, and everyone hated his attempt to revive the 90s with his lil earring like c’mon you already have a reputation of being a sleaze— been in love: yes, but surprisingly not as many times as one may think ( truthfully, three times: mary may, lana, joanne mary may again ) stayed up for more than 24 hours: sometimes it just cannot be helped

ARE THEY

a virgin: maybe in a past life as an amoeba a cuddler: yes ( try to escape his hold during a summer night i’ll give you 5 bucks if you can break the deadlock ) a kisser: he just exists to smooch at this point scared easily: truthfully, he’s quite desensitized as is, so it’s really hard to truly rock him jealous easily: no; though he might get a bit petty and bitter if someone mentions merle and mary may becuase, like, c’mon, mary—merle briggs? trustworthy: one of his better traits, but past events have shown that boy tends to lose some of his morals for love dominant: yes submissive: yes part 2 man will accommodate and switch it up in love: often single: loosely, often

RANDOM QUESTIONS (tw for self harm/suicide mention)

have they harmed themselves: michael has bad mental health trips stemming from having a lot of insecurities as a child; these may evolve into bad habits and pure recklessness on his part to prove his worth thought of suicide: these thoughts don’t come often, but when they do, it’s harder for him than most to shake them off and recover attempted suicide: once, during the boiling pit incident wanted to kill someone: yes, but it comes more from need than want usually have/had a job: yes, though no retail until he was 30 and stuck providing hope county with slugs and bullets have any fears: loneliness, rejection, abandonment, repercussions and consequences, not being good enough, powerlessness, loss, the angel pit, the process of dying

FAMILY

sibling(s): none, but: jackson hughes ( uncle ) parent(s): jessica hughes née scott ( mother ), david hughes ( father ) girl i have his whole family tree drawn up like you wouldn’t believe children: andrew hughes ( son in new dawn au and maybe canon ) significant other: mary may fairgrave ( childhood sweetheart/awkward ex/once in a rare cosmic event fuck buddy/volatile lovers ) pets: peaches loves him she doesn’t; she just wants to chew on his hair

[solicuttle]

Hello :) Could you possibly do a fic about Kuboyasu and the reader trying to keep their relationship a secret from all their friends cause it’s both their first relationship but slowly everyone starts to find out on their own but hide it to themselves since they think they’re the only ones who know (and saiki is ready to just out their relationship since it’s just getting ridiculous at this point) im sorry if this is a lot

Howdy! It’s fine 😊 I really liked this idea too, anyways:

———

The Not-So-Secret Secret

———

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: None

Characters: Kuboyasu Aren

———

“No one is here right now,” at your words, Kuboyasu slinks into the classroom after you, shutting the door behind him. He’s a bit nervous; then again, it’s not his fault, today has been one of the hardest days since he first started dating you! Kuboyasu wouldn’t trade your relationship for anything in the world (especially considering he’s already thought of a perfect house for the two of you with a great view) but also because this is Kuboyasu’s first time in a relationship, and he doesn’t want to mess it up.

Messing things up is the special skill that only belongs to Nendou and Kaidou – and as much as Kuboyasu considers them part of his friend circle, he knows they’d blow things out of proportion! Your privacy would be over, Kaidou and Nendou always around to coo at you guys or just be general nuisances.

It didn’t take much effort for you to convince Kuboyasu that you should keep your relationship on the “down low” until you felt prepared to take the next step together. But that made moments like these much more special, much more desperate so forgive Kuboyasu for being antsy to kiss you. It’s not his fault you’re so damn attractive! In his haste, Kuboyasu hadn’t locked the door.

Usually that wouldn’t be an issue at all but today just happened to be the day that Kaidou was hunting down Dark Reunion. And for some unknown reason Dark Reunion was lurking around your class. Kaidou glances past the class – no Dark Reunion there – but there are definitely two people in a corner. Could they be possessed? Kaidou leans in, pushing the door open slightly -- expecting to catch supernatural activities; instead he catches you and Kuboyasu… making out.

Kaidou nearly screams but instead bites his tongue. He’s about to cry from the pain but you two are too focused to see him. Kaidou leaves immediately, in shock from what he’d seen. He’s got to tell everyone now.

And then he enters class, ready to divulge your secrets but for some reason he can’t speak. (You owe Saiki a favor for that). Could this be some higher power telling Kaidou not to out your relationship? He is the only one who knows… it must be his task to protect your relationship! That’s it!

“Oi shortie, why are you standing there like an idiot?” Kaidou blanks at Nendou’s words, is he getting called an idiot by Nendou of all people? Nendou?!

“Take that back, I’m not stupid like you!”

“Duh, it’s ‘cuz you’re stupider!”

By the time you walk in, Nendou and Kaidou are going at it like a bunch of wild cats.

———

If you ask Kuboyasu, he’s been doing a great job at this “hiding your relationship” game. Sure, he’s almost kissed you twice when Takahashi walked by; Kuboyasu had to grab a chair to threaten Takahashi into silence – it’s not one of his finest moments.

You’ve managed to only call him by his first name twice, and Saiki had been walking by, but the pink-haired male hadn’t reacted, so you should be safe for now. Truthfully Saiki had heard everything clearly (Saiki could even hear Kuboyasu’s overly romantic thoughts) but Saiki would much rather pretend he heard nothing to avoid having to hold a conversation with you two. Saves him the hassle.

And things were going perfectly too – and then they weren’t because you’d called him Aren and Hairo had passed by. Unlike Saiki, Hairo didn’t seem willing to let it go.

“Oh wow, when did you become that close?!” His excitement isn’t dulled by the awkward expressions you and Kuboyasu are sporting. Your boyfriend is tempted to knock Hairo out and run away but the red head would get up almost immediately.

“Last weekend!” “Yesterday!”

Hairo ignores your double answer, “ah is this something private? That’s okay then! Don’t mind me!” He leaves, leaving both of you dumbstruck. Kuboyasu lets out a sigh of relief – today you’d once again escaped being caught.

Unbeknownst to both of you Teruhashi had been hiding in a conveniently placed closet (not because she’s stalking you or trying to hide from her adoring fans, definitely not) and had overheard everything. The minute you leave she’s scrambling out with a squeal, barely containing her excitement.

They’re so cute! I wonder if I could have a secret relationship with Saiki in the future…

(Saiki unconsciously shivers in class, for some reason he thought he felt someone with bad intentions…)

———

The next person who finds about your not-so-secret-secret relationship is Toritsuka. He didn’t mean to find out, but one of the ghosts Toritsuka had been begging to help him get a relationship had mentioned it.

“Your behavior is the reason you aren’t in a relationship like [Name] and Kuboyasu!” Toritsuka had purposefully ignored the ghost’s rebuking, instead focusing on the important part. Kuboyasu is dating you! That swine Kuboyasu hadn’t even thought to mention it! Was Kuboyasu purposefully making fun of the eternally single like Toritsuka?

He’s about to question the ghost further but the ghost vanishes before he can ask any proper questions. This leaves Toritsuka one option.

Stalk you both to get the evidence with his own eyes! When Toritsuka finally gathers concrete proof, he could burst in and have his righteously earned yelling match with Kuboyasu. You don’t just not tell your friends that you’ve gotten an S/O and get away with it.

His plan is foolproof, just follow you guys around. It’s actually surprising how Tortisuka didn’t notice earlier.  Kuboyasu tends to drift towards you, sometimes without even knowing. In group projects you’re always partnered together… it’s like you’re conjoined twins.

Is this the will of the universe, that those who are blessed will naturally be lucky in their romantic endeavors? Toritsuka glances to the side and catches Yumehara and Teruhashi fawning over Saiki – he barely stifles a sob.

On the upside if your relationship is secret then you can’t flaunt your relationship! It’s the reason he doesn’t say anything even after confirming that you two must be dating. As far as everyone else is concerned, all three of you are single.

———

You think you’re doing a great job at keeping your relationship secret! You know you have to be doing a great job. No one has noticed yet! What you don’t know is that literally everybody is aware.

And Saiki’s getting tired of the shenanigans that surround it. At first, he could just ignore everything, but that was before Kaidou found out, then Toritsuka, Saiko, Yumehara, Mera and even Hairo and Nendou! He could stand everything until Teruhashi found out – your relationship seemed to give her fantasies about the possible secret relationship Saiki and Teruhashi “should” have (it’s not going to happen).

While he could barely tolerate those antics, it hit a boiling point when you started to use him as an excuse. Someone ask what you were doing with Kuboyasu? Your instant reply is that Saiki had asked you to get something from Kuboyasu. Normally that would be fine, but Kaidou had taken it upon himself to hound Saiki into “giving up on [Name]”, as if Saiki had been interested in the first place.

Approximately half a month had passed, and Saiki swears if you try one more word, he’s going to tell everyone and get it over with. Kuboyasu had been wanting to mention it for a while too, so it shouldn’t cause that big of an issue.

The only good thing was when you finally admitted that you were dating Kuboyasu, and everyone had to put on their best “I’m totally surprised face”.

Spoiler alert: No one was surprised.

[i-am-thedragon]

Error Codes

Error Codes- A fanfic about how ƎNA was brought into the world. Content warning: Mentions of death, vomit, mental breakdowns

Rows upon rows of iridescent icosahedrons hovered tranquilly within large pods, each guarded by a watchful, ever-open eye. Overseeing the haunting yet quiet display was Kubiak and Ganymede, a pair of beings vague in appearance yet clear in their desire for this new brood of lifeforms to emerge successfully.

With the sound of a chime, the first of the twenty-four eyes closed.

“Finally!” Kubiak exclaimed with a sigh of relief. “And just in time, too. Boss is going to be here soon, and she’ll be furious if we’ve got nothing to show for our work.”

The icosahedron below the closed eye unravelled to reveal a humanoid figure, split vertically down the middle into two striking colours- Yellow on the left, and blue on the right. Her head and limbs were detached from her torso but floated harmlessly in place regardless. She lifted her head, brushing her long black hair off her face and scanning her surroundings with pleasant curiosity.

“Hello, world!” She exclaimed jovially, raising her arms with glee.

 “ƎNA-Alpha, status: Emerged successfully.” Ganymede began recording, approaching the newly hatched figure. “Errors: None, Action taken: Proceeding.”

“I’ll take it from here, Ganymede.” Kubiak interrupted. “You take the ƎNAs to the presentation room and put the tracker bracelets on them.”

“No problem, Kubiak”.

Ganymede gently took the ƎNA by her hand and lead her out of the hatchery.

 ƎNA LOG

ƎNA-Alpha Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Beta Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Gamma Status: Deceased Errors: Error 523 – Missing vital object – Head Comments: Oh geez, this one just kind of… Flopped out of the ƎGG… Without any head… Action taken: Discarded

ƎNA-Delta Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Epsilon Status: Emerged successfully Errors: Error 88 – Bilateral mirroring Comments: Well, this one’s blue on the left and yellow on the right. Not likely to be an issue, however. Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Zeta Status: N/A Errors: Error 404 – Failure to exist Comments: Nothing came out of the ƎGG. Trust me, I checked. No ƎNA anywhere. Action taken: Discarded…?

ƎNA-Eta Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Theta Status: Not yet emerged Errors: Undetermined Comments: This one hasn’t hatched yet. Might be a dud, I don’t know. Action taken: None

ƎNA-Iota Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Kappa Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Pr Status: Deceased Errors: Error 183 – Sudden explosive termination Comments: This one violently exploded approximately eight seconds after hatching. Made a huge mess. Yuck. Action taken: Discarded

ƎNA-Lambda Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Mu Status: Deceased Errors: Error 54 – Bilateral splitting Comments: This one’s split in half, like the two sides didn’t fuse properly or something. Shame. Action taken: Discarded

ƎNA-Nu Status: Emerged successfully Errors: Error 546 – Hue shift +90 Comments: This one’s magenta and green… Shouldn’t be a problem though, I guess. Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Xi Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Omicron Status: Corrupted Errors: Error 657 – Physical corruption Comments: This ƎNA’s physical form is corrupted beyond recognition, I’d better put her out of her misery. Action taken: Terminated and discarded.

ƎNA-Pi Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Rho Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Sigma Status: Deceased Errors: Error 873 – Failed to emerge, ƎGG corrupted Comments: Yeah, the uh, the ƎGG just melted. Action taken: Discarded

ƎNA-Tau Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Upsilon Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Comments: This one called me ‘Jim’ for some reason. Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Phi Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Chi Status: Paralysed Errors: Error 372 – Missing movement scripts Comments: Frozen like a statue, unable to move or speak. Unsuccessful. Action taken: Terminated and discarded

ƎNA-Psi Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Omega Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

SUCCESS RATE: 15/24 (62.5%)

END LOG

 “Kubiak, why do we have so few successful ƎNAs?!” Ganymede demanded, growing visibly anxious. “Boss is going to deem this whole project an immediate failure if we don’t have a success rate of at least 2/3!”

“Well maybe if you went and upgraded our software like I asked you to three years ago we would’ve had better results!” Kubiak retorted, gesturing at the rather underwhelming crowd of live ƎNAs.

“So, what are we going to do now? We need a miracle to bump that number up and meet Boss’s requirements!”

Before Kubiak could answer, Ganymede caught sight of the unhatched ƎGG of ƎNA-Theta. Among all the empty pods and closed eyes, there remained just one open eye above a lone ƎGG.

“That ƎGG, is that one a definite dud?” They asked.

“I haven’t confirmed it yet.” Kubiak answered, approaching the idle icosahedron. “But she should have hatched with all the others if she was incubated successfully.”

“It’s a long shot, but ƎNA-Theta might be our last hope.” Ganymede suggested. “Help me override the system and force-hatch the ƎGG manually.”

 The iridescent icosahedron shuddered and spun erratically as Kubiak and Ganymede tampered with its incubator, finally coming to a stop as the eye watching over it closed. The ƎGG unfolded itself, allowing the final ƎNA to stumble gracelessly out of it.

“My sincerest apologies!” ƎNA-Theta exclaimed. “I had no idea I was so late; I simply lost track of the time!”

Ignoring the ƎNA’s apology, Ganymede began to cautiously examine her for errors. Immediately they noticed that her right side and most of her torso hadn’t formed properly, appearing geometric and low poly compared to the smooth surfaces of her left side.

“Seems like poor surface subdivision across approximately, hm, sixty to seventy percent of her body?” Ganymede noted out loud. “Kubiak, what’s the error code for that again?”

Before Kubiak could respond, an ominous pink haze filled the air as a doorway to a long corridor manifested itself on the wall of the hatchery.

“Never mind that, Ganymede!” Kubiak squeaked anxiously. “We’ll finish updating the log later; Boss is here! Get the ƎNA ready for presentation!”

 Though Kubiak had dealt with Boss many times before, she still intimidated them a bit. Whether it was her authority, power, or her many arms and eyes that were numerous yet of no exact number, Kubiak wasn’t sure. They just hoped she’d approve of their latest project.

“Well, Kubiak, I’m just glad that you and Ganymede had the foresight to get my approval before releasing this latest batch of creatures into the overworld.” Boss stated, with displeasure in her tone as she recalled the earlier incident.

“Yes, our sincerest apologies about that, Boss.” Kubiak responded meekly, leading Boss through a distorted labyrinth of colourful corridors. “We hadn’t realised the ƎNAs would figure out how to travel between worlds so easily. They caused a fair amount of mischief.”

“And I assume you and Ganymede dealt with them before they got out of hand?”

“Well… Yes and no. All twenty of them died on their own before we could recall them.”

“How so?”

“Three of them were killed by wild animals. Two by angry locals. Four of them drowned in script, three in code, and one in a volcano. One was torn apart at the digital-molecular level, still no idea how, and the remaining six starved to death.”

“That is incredibly depressing.” Boss sighed.

“But don’t worry, Boss!” Kubiak reassured. “Our latest batch of ƎNAs is greatly improved, and we’ve equipped their tracker bracelets with kill switches in case anything goes wrong again!”

“You’d better hope nothing does go wrong, Kubiak.”

 Before Kubiak could offer any additional hollow reassurances, Ganymede came rushing around the corner in an obvious state of panic. Upon seeing Boss, they made a poor attempt at hiding it.

“Ah, good to see you, Boss!” Ganymede greeted nervously. “Welcome! Ah, uh, may I speak with Kubiak privately for a brief moment?”

“Do what you must.” Boss replied.

Ganymede wasted not a single moment dragging Kubiak around the nearest corner of the corridors and gesturing at them to keep quiet.

“I think there’s a problem with one of the ƎNAs!” Ganymede hissed in a frantic but hushed voice.

“What do you mean?!” Kubiak exclaimed back in a similar harsh whisper.

“If there is an issue with the ƎNAs, I would like to be made aware of it.” Boss’s voice boomed demandingly from around the corner.

“Ah, everything’s fine boss, we’re working it out!” Kubiak called out, before they turned back to Ganymede and whispered once again. “Is it Theta?”

“It’s ƎNA-Theta, yeah.” Ganymede sighed. “But maybe Boss won’t notice?”

“I would like to see your work now, do not keep me waiting any longer.” Boss’s intimidating voice boomed once again.

 The presentation room was quite pleasant, decorated in marble tiles, old stone pillars and crystal-clear water fountains. Among the gentle scenery was a small crowd of sixteen ƎNAs mingling politely with each other as they awaited Boss’s judgement. As Kubiak and Ganymede entered the room their gazes immediately locked on ƎNA-Theta, who glanced back at them with a calm smile. To their relief, she didn’t seem to be having any problems at that moment.

As Boss entered the room, the ƎNAs gazed up at her with simple curiosity, unaware of her authority and unintimidated by her presence. She gazed back at them critically.

“Begin.” She spoke.

 “Although our first introduction of the ƎNA into the overworld didn’t quite go as well as we planned, Kubiak and I are confident that our new batch of ƎNAs will make a lovely and colourful addition to the population.” Ganymede began. “These charming characters may look all… Mostly… The same, but there’s more than meets the eyes! The ƎNA has a flexible personality and a shapeshifting ability to match! ƎNA, if you would please demonstrate!”

At the command, the ƎNAs began to shift into various different forms. ƎNA-Iota took on the form of a fanciful dragon, while ƎNA-Beta shifted into a simple geometric shape. Some changed colours, some changed size, and some barely retained their humanoid shape. All except ƎNA-Theta, who merely struck a dramatic pose and hoped no-one would notice. Unfortunately, the discrepancy was noticed by both Ganymede and Kubiak, and Boss.

“A-alright, let’s try that again!” Kubiak called out.

The ƎNAs shifted once again, all taking on new forms except ƎNA-Theta, who once again failed to shapeshift.

“That ƎNA isn’t shapeshifting.” Boss remarked, pointing at the defective ƎNA with one of her many arms. “Does she not understand your command?”

“Oh, no no no, I understand perfectly clear!” ƎNA-Theta responded directly with enthusiasm. “I just, eh, I uhm…”

“Well, I did notice a small issue with ƎNA-Theta regarding shapeshifting.” Ganymede explained. “But I’m sure it’s not a major issue!”

“I’m useless!” The defective ƎNA shouted, the left side of her face suddenly becoming pitch black as the right side turned stark white. “I can’t even shapeshift properly! I can’t do anything properly!”

The sudden shift in tone caught not only Ganymede and Kubiak by surprise, but Boss too.

“All I’ve ever done since I was born is disappoint everyone!” ƎNA-Theta shouted, her voice growing more and more distorted as she threw her head into her hands. “I was a mistake! Why don’t you just get rid of me now?! Go on! Do it! DO IT!”

Everyone in the presentation room began to step back, distancing themselves from the unexpected outburst. ƎNA-Theta’s meltdown grew continuously worse, her cries devolving into agonized shrieks as her form began to distort uncontrollably.

“HURRY UP AND PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY!” She wailed, convulsing as her colours, geometry, and facial features fluctuated. “EVERY MOMENT I’M STILL HERE IS MAKING EVERYTHING WORSE, SO HURRY UP AND END IT!!”

The other ƎNAs began to huddle together in fear, while Ganymede and Kubiak cowered at the other side of the room. Boss stared daggers at the malfunctioning ƎNA’s chaotic display in a mixture of pity and disgust. Entirely displeased with the outburst, she extended an arm at ƎNA-Theta and launched a powerful electric current through her fingertips. As the shock coursed through her body, ƎNA-Theta let out a scream that came out as little more than a sickly rasp, before falling to her knees and violently vomiting white noise onto the marble-tiled floor.

 The silence that followed was only broken by a single command from Boss.

“Terminate the project and all remaining ƎNA specimens.”

“Yes, Boss.” Kubiak spoke softly.

“For the record, this isn’t about not meeting my expectations or success rate goals.” Boss added. “It’s clearly cruel to bring these ƎNAs into existence in the first place. Your ambition is… Appreciated… But from now on you will return to creating simpler life forms. Understood?”

“Understood.” Kubiak and Ganymede answered in unison.

Boss left the presentation room without another word.

 After the incredibly dismal series of events Ganymede and Kubiak had endured, they couldn’t bear to see their functional, living ƎNAs be terminated in front of them. Instead, they jettisoned the ƎNAs out into the nearest barren void of code they could find, and only activated the kill switch once they were out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind. Except, it was never quite that easy. Where had they gone wrong? Was the ƎNA really doomed to failure from the beginning? It was no use contemplating it, however, as the project would never see the light of day again.

All that remained was a room of twenty-four empty incubators, and nine unused tracker bracelets. Nine. Ganymede froze as they counted the bracelets and compared them to the number of ƎNAs that never made it to the presentation.

“Kubiak…” Ganymede called out nervously. “I hate to bear additional bad news, but… I think I forgot to put a kill switch on one of the ƎNAs…”

Kubiak approached the pile of bracelets and counted them for confirmation. Sure enough, the numbers didn’t add up. One of the sixteen ƎNAs had been jettisoned without a kill switch. Kubiak could’ve asked which one went without, but deep down they knew the answer already.

“We terminated every ƎNA except the one that literally begged for death.” Ganymede lamented. “At this point I understand why Boss has no faith in us anymore.”

“Hey, don’t worry, Ganymede.” Kubiak reassured. “I’m sure she won’t last long out there on her own anyway.”

[plutoswrath]

The blessing in evil: harsh aspects

I decided to make this post, since I get a lot of messages of people being frustrated in some way or another with their challenging aspects. Astrology is neutral at its core and will forever consist of the positive and the genative, both live together in unison and always will. I think it goes without saying, that difficult aspects have (of course) their positive sides to them, and can be just as much of a blessing as naturally positive aspects: but how to deal with them and how to look at the challenge harsh aspects provide?

I decided to list the aspects I get asked about the most, as well as a few of my own selection that I’ve have seen people in real life struggle with a lot. Keep in mind, that the specific interpretation of the aspects can differ depending on the planets, signs and houses involved. This is a general post about them, but I’ll try to go as much as in depth as possible. Some of those aspects listed are still debatable in their interpretation, it seems to me.

The Opposition

This aspect has an orb allowance from approximately 10°, it is formed by two planets that are seperated by ca. 180°. The Opposition is self explaining, somehow. It’s the other side of the coin, two siblings starring at each other, so similar, yet unbelievably different and none tries to give in to the other. The cold sholder they think another rightfully deserves. Imagine it as two quirling siblings, that stand in front of their parent (you), explaining and justifying why they are in the right. You on the other hand have to find a middle ground and make your children understand that both of them are right and both of them are wrong. While every aspect is somehow in a way about balance and power dynamics as well as structures, this one is especially about balance and a dynamic balance only. Oppositions force you into extremes easily. One time you handle exactly like one energy, neglecting the other, then you go after the other energy, leaving the first energy out in order to satisfy both needs. This can ultimately lead to stagnation, being irritated to the point that you can go after any energy, identifying with both and yet with none. Key message behind the Opposition: Balance is dynamic, an never ending ungoing process, a status we have to create and that won’t last forever, once we realized our problem or thought about a solution. Both energies are right and need each other in order to find harmony, they ultimately have been born somehow on common ground, it’s a beautiful symbiosis, that lets you unravel and discover lifes lesson of regenerating the self, self healing and how to connect two dots to create the full picture (imagine it like coloring by numbers!). The Opposition is often about getting to know what one wants and needs, it’s undeniably equally important for one to figure it out in order to fully focus on ones destiny or at least to fully visualize all the opportunities and chances in ones life path. More than often, the Opposition takes time to figure out even when the answer seems to be clear and obvious - don’t pressure yourself, take your time and be kind.

The Square

The Square is an aspect that is created by a difference of 90° with an orb allowance of 7.5 degrees. The Square is different compared to the Opposition, here the energies seem to not even bloom from the same family or at least have little similarities. Now, the square is usually two different ideologies clashing, they create a melting pot of frustration and even agression, where the Square sits the native will find themself unconsciously falling back into difficult behavior, thoughts and situations. The square is about questioning what energy is rightfully here, demanding to be pleased and lived out and which is wrong. Of course, none of them is wrong, but really, the native might ask themself: how can they ever work together? Extreme neglect and totalities might be a consequence, wanting the problem to ‘vanish’ already, pleading for growth. It’s really about appreciating the total differences and using them for the best. The individual might feel like they can’t fully chose one ‘option’, but this constant ‘figuring out’ how to channel their energies and when to rely to them, as well as to accept them as strong and reliable forces, keeps the individual active and on the go. They are forced to be quick and clever in a way, to explore people and the self, to assert the self and to overcome an inner blockage. This blockage makes you either disarm yourself - unable to move on and to let yourself be washed away by the rough and wild sea - or you become the boat that wisely reads the sky and water and moves forward without sinking and so is able to see the wild unknown places that the world has to offer. Key message behind the Square: Master of the forces that seem to hold you in a tight grip, seeing the benefit in even the worst and constantly developing the self and setting an example as the master of self understanding and development.

The Inconjunction or Quincunx

The Inconjunction is an aspect of 150° and has an orb allowance of 2 degrees. This aspect feels unable to ‘balance out’ or to find common grounds, since modality and element are both not compatible. More often the Inconjunction can lead to acceptance. We don’t need to force desires and wishes together only for the sake of apparent constant harmony. Both these energies have their own area, both need to live their energies out and have the right to do so. In a negative way, an individual might develop an unhealthy behaviorism in order to satisfy both needs. When being true and honest with the self, the native will think about neutral/benefitting/healthy ways of secluding both areas of the planets energies and needs in their life. Key message behind the Inconjunction: Acceptance first, be honest with yourself and let go of the constant need to create a harmony that can not be reached. Be greatful for the differences and allow yourself find ways to enjoy both with a good will, heart and gratitude. Adjustment will come naturally then.

The Semi-Square

It is an aspect of 45° with an orb allowance of ca. 2 degrees. The Semi-Square is a harsh aspect that manifests as an emotional/inner blockage and inner pain that will manifest subconsciously as outer problems that reoccur, similar in its outcomes and how they happen. The Semi-Square can easily lead to losing the self, losing faith in the self or self-pity but whilst the native struggles with inner blockage and adjusting, the external events will put them in the position to actively take action: one can not not ignore the problem inside the self when it’s presented right in front of them, however if you choose to keep on hanging on to your frustration and desires, if you keep on pushing it aside, wanting to deal with it later or purely neglecting lifes offers for growth one might find themself left behind at times. Another problem might be a lack of discipline, holding on to old, bad behavior or attitude. Key message behind the Semi-Square: Don’t ignore your inner pain, even if it seems small at first. Be open and observant and willing to deal with problems. It’s normal that adjustment will take time, don’t decide where’s the limit when it comes to growth. Be open and content about changes to expand your mind, challenges by life that test you. Be persitant.

The Sesquiquadrate

The aspect in a degree of 135 with an orb allowance of 2-3. This is about holding the self accountable for our actions and problems,  to not ignore them. It’s about inner control and to accept aid. The energies of the Sesquiquadrate are subtle, sometimes not noticed by the native. Usually it’s when we want to break free of negativity/a problem but know for a better that we are bound to something holding us back, hence losing our courage. It offers creativity, since this aspect is usually easier mastered by strong positive aspects in the natal chart, that strengthen your decisions and actions. If this challenging aspect is noticed, the feelings of being unable to do anything leads easily to ignoring the problem. Now, this is the point, that’ll potentially make it bigger emotional baggage than it has been before. There is a desire to act and it involves the self, to combine to sides inside of you, to stimulate two sides that have strong expectations. To break boundaries by combining them. Key message behind the Sesquiquadrate: Reflect on the self and acknowledge your flaws and problems. Be active about them, don’t pile emotional baggage up. Be open for guidance and be open to think constructively. Seek out outer guidance/help/opinions, it’s not a shame, at best they will only heighten your intuiton. Embrace oppositions.

[akaluan]

Erich/Kisuke: One Night Stand Turned Serious + Balcony Wooing Scene Part 5

Kisuke jerks awake at the sound of footsteps, the breath catching in his throat and one hand reaching for his blade—

“Woah, hey, just me,” a vaguely familiar voice announces even as the footsteps halt. “There’s no danger around.”

Kisuke scrubs at his face, trying to shake the cobwebs from his mind, and then glances blearily up at the healer. “How long…?”

The young man shrugs and casually walks an arc around Kisuke, never coming within arm’s reach, as he makes his way to the other side of the table. “I was gone maybe fifteen, twenty minutes? Not sure how long of that you were asleep for.”

Kisuke grimaces at the answer and forces himself straight despite the exhaustion weighing on his limbs. If anything, he’s even more exhausted now than he was before he closed his eyes, but he refuses to show any more weakness—

A bowl of miso soup appears in front of him, fragrant steam wafting from the bowl. He blinks at it, then up at the young healer in question, uncertain when the man had time to make — or even just heat up — anything for him.

(Damn.)

(He hates being like this!)

(Especially around unknowns.)

“Eat,” the man says sternly as he sits down with a bowl of his own, clearly taking his own advice. “I know you probably don’t want to, but your body will thank you later.”

Kisuke makes a face at the man, then carefully picks the warm bowl up and starts to eat without any more fuss; he knows the man is right, everything he’s ever learned agrees with him, but it still burns to be told to eat as if he’s a recalcitrant child.

“I should probably introduce myself,” the young man muses after a moment of silence. “Sorry about that, I’m Sora.”

“Kisuke,” he introduces himself, then twitches towards the doorway as a sound catches his attention—

There’s a tiny child standing in the doorway, with brilliant orange hair and wide, wary brown eyes. She’s staring at him, her little hands clenched tight and her body tense, and Kisuke… Kisuke doesn’t know how to react.

She’s smaller than any child he’s ever met before and clearly terrified of him as well, though he has no idea why; he’s not exactly an imposing presence at the moment, Benihime aside, though he is a stranger, so… perhaps that’s the reason? He has no idea.

“It’s alright, Hime,” Sora says gently, setting his bowl aside and beckoning to the little girl. “Do you want some food?”

Hime nods shyly and then darts across the room, giving Kisuke a wide berth in the process, and practically glues herself to Sora’s side.

Kisuke considers the picture they make as Sora rises and heads back to the small kitchen with Hime, trying to figure out their relationship; Sora looks far too young to be Hime’s father, but the wisps of power that Kisuke can sense from both of them indicate a familial relationship. Siblings, perhaps, or maybe cousins, Kisuke isn’t entirely sure.

Not that it really matters, he reminds himself, shoving his curiosity aside in favor of refocusing on his food. Whoever they are, however they’re related, it’s none of his business.

(No matter how curious he is.)

Sora returns to the table with Hime still glued to his side, and Hime promptly settles in Sora’s lap the moment he sits back down, a small bowl of soup cradled carefully in her hands. Sora seems accustomed to it, at least, so Kisuke sort of hopes it is her usual way and that it isn’t because of him.

He tears his gaze away from them. Focuses on his food. Reminds himself that Sora insisted he stay so there’s no point in worrying about it.

Tomorrow he will see Erich, will assure himself that Erich is fine, and then… then he’ll do… something.

(He’ll figure it out later.)

(He’s too tired right now.)

(Later will be fine.)

\\\

The sound of footsteps down the hall wakes Kisuke at a frankly horrific hour — the sun isn’t even above the horizon yet! — and he rolls over with a groan, pulling the blankets high over his head.

(Morning people are the worst.)

(Ugh!)

He manages a bit more sleep before the drumming of tiny feet racing down the hall wakes him once more.

(At least this time the sun is over the horizon, but damn these people are early risers!)

Kisuke rubs a hand over his face, debates burying himself in his borrowed bed for another few hours of rest, and then reluctantly sets the thought aside and drags himself out of bed: the sooner he’s up and about, the sooner he can check on Erich.

(The sooner he can set his worries aside and figure out what his next step will be.)

(He still hasn’t decided.)

(Doesn’t know if he wants to decide.)

(Doesn’t even know if Erich will allow him close—)

(No.)

(One step at a time.)

“Morning,” Sora says as Kisuke steps into the main room, then nods towards the table and adds, “Take a seat, I’ll have breakfast ready soon.”

“Maa, you don’t—”

“So I’m supposed to ignore you and just feed myself and Hime?” Sora asks sharply, then closes his eyes and take a deep breath, shaking off the edge of anger in the process. “Erich won’t be awake for another hour or so,” he says with confidence. “So sit down, eat, and let me make sure that I didn’t make a mistake last night when I let you go to bed without checking you for injuries first.”

“Ah, I’m fine, you don’t—”

“Kisuke,” Sora bites out, then tips his head back to stare at the ceiling as if praying for patience. “Stop arguing with me,” he says in exasperation. “You aren’t burdening me or whatever else is going through your mind right now. I have more than enough food to share with you, and healing is what I do for the townsfolk here. Just… let me do my job. Please.”

Kisuke grimaces but concedes the argument with a nod. He’s fine, he knows he’s fine, but he can use this opportunity to assess how skilled a healer Sora is.

Healers — actual, trained, powerful healers — are rare out in the wild-lands, with most people resorting to the more reliable methods using herbs and poultices and a simple needle and thread to keep a body together. Those skills, at least, can be passed on to anyone with the patience for it, unlike Healing.

So he sits across from Hime, and he settles his mind, and he watches as Sora dishes out breakfast and brings the trays to the table, setting one in front of Hime, one next to her, and the third in front of Kisuke: it’s a very traditional looking meal, with miso soup, rice, some seared fish, and some vegetable sides, but Kisuke’s portion is certainly larger than he expected to receive.

(Not many people understand exactly what it means to be a Shinigami, especially in regards to their food intake.)

(The consideration is… nice.)

Before he can remark upon it though, Sora is kneeling next to him, power gathering around one hand, and—

Waiting.

Expectantly, but waiting, instead of simply reaching out to touch. Sora’s power is calm-patience-focus to Kisuke’s senses, but it doesn’t stray far beyond Sora’s body, just pools around his right hand and stays there.

(Not entirely untrained, then.)

(Good.)

(He can work with that.)

Sora doesn’t move until Kisuke nods, and even then he doesn’t do anything abruptly: he just casually leans in, telegraphing his movements in a manner that feels like habit, and sets his hand on Kisuke’s shoulder. His power slides into Kisuke’s body like water, not a single rough edge present, and slowly spreads out, lingering in all the myriad scrapes and bruises and minor wounds that Kisuke had picked up during the previous day’s combat.

Kisuke breathes through the uncomfortable sensation of a stranger’s power wending beneath his skin and forces his mind to focus, forces himself to pay attention—

Sora is not exactly an unskilled healer, Kisuke decides as the young man carefully heals him, and he’s certainly not an unpracticed healer, he’s just… not trained to the level Kisuke would expect of a Shinigami healer. Through no fault of his own, of course, but gaps in knowledge can be deadly, especially out here.

As Sora withdraws his powers and pulls back, Kisuke gives the young man a considering look, debating if he wants to offer lessons, if he wants to share Shinigami secrets with an unaffiliated healer—

“Thank you for letting me check,” Sora says with a small bow, interrupting Kisuke’s thoughts. “Forgive me for ignoring you last night. I knew you’d been fighting, but—”

“You were exhausted,” Kisuke cuts in with a shake of his head. “We both needed sleep more than I needed healing.”

Sora grimaces at Kisuke’s words but gives a shallow nod of agreement. “This time, yes. But—” he cuts himself off and looks away, rising to his feet in order to move to his spot at the table next to Hime. “Never mind,” he murmurs as he sits back down. “Please, eat. And let me know if you need more. I know approximately how much Erich needs after a fight, but I’m unfamiliar with a Shinigami’s precise needs.”

“This will be plenty,” Kisuke reassures Sora even as he files away the man’s clear displeasure with his current level of skill; with luck, that means Sora will be open to some lessons, especially if Kisuke can convince Tessai to be Sora’s teacher.

(It’s just good business to have trained healers in places where Kisuke frequents.)

(Really, that’s his only motivation.)

(Whatever else Sora does with his lessons is up to him.)

Kisuke takes a few bites of food, considering how best to ask, then decides to simply go for it. “Would you want to learn more healing skills?” At Sora’s wide-eyed look, Kisuke shrugs awkwardly and focuses on the food in front of him. “I could ask a friend if he’d be willing to teach you, if you want. Tessai wasn’t an official Healer when we were Shinigami, but he knows more than enough. And… if he doesn’t want to, I, uh… I’m not unskilled, just… not the best at teaching people,” Kisuke can’t help but ramble as Sora continues to simply stare at him.

Sora’s chopsticks click against the rest as he sets them down, the sound weirdly loud in the silence that falls as Kisuke stops talking. At his side, Hime blinks up at him and then across at Kisuke, clearly understanding that something important is going on, but not entirely certain what.

“Ah… sorry if that was out of line,” Kisuke mumbles, resisting the urge to hunch his shoulders at the attention. He doesn’t know if — or how — he’s stepped wrong, but an apology seems prudent.

(It’s the best way he’s found to deal with these sort of mistakes, especially when he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong.)

(People always seem to overlook that when he apologizes.)

“What’s the catch,” Sora asks, his brows furrowed and something dark-wary-suspicious creeping into his presence.

Kisuke blinks. “Catch?” he echoes in surprise, then pauses, frowns, and slowly says, “I’m not expecting anything except future healing in return.” He meets Sora’s gaze firmly, hoping to convince the young man of his sincerity, and adds, “I’m an ex-Shinigami, and so is Tessai. This is where we live now, so… doesn’t it make sense to offer? Someday, one or both of us might need a skilled healer.”

Sora watches him, wariness slowly fading, then nods once and picks his chopsticks back up. “I’ll think on your offer,” is all he says on the topic.

“Let me know whatever you decide,” Kisuke says as he turns back to his meal. “The offer will remain open.”

Sora hums softly, a touch of disbelief in his tone, but says nothing else.

Kisuke figures that’s the best he’s going to get.

(The offer’s there and that’s all that matters.)

(That’s good enough.)