#let me tell you. when your father says ‘‘you’re my mirror’’ in a cautionary way. it’s really something.

[raceydays-hopelesshaze]

Both my parents are (separately and independently) trying to coax me into coming out to them as a lesbian and my dad is deadass begging me to read some self-help books he gave me. What an interesting situation.

[raindownforme]

When

Charlie Slimecicle x reader [they/them used]

They stared at the box in front of them. In it was a camera that would easily hook up to their computer. It would easily record with OBS. It would easily reveal what they looked like to thousands of people, including their closest friends.

“You don’t have to you know.”

“I know Wilbur. I mean I want to.”

“Then why not?”

“What if they’re disappointed?” y/n poked at the box. “What if they thought my eyes would be a different shape and my nose would be smaller or my hair was a different length or color-“

“You don’t have to worry about that. You look like you. That’s all.”

“Yeah but they don’t know what me looks like. They just see the animated icon and they’re used to it.”

“You don’t have to start fast. You could do a little bit at a time. You could show, I don’t know, me, or Phil, or Niki first.”

y/n sighed and turned back to their monitors. One had discord pulled up, where they were in a call with Wilbur, one had a paused spotify playlist, and one had the instructions for installing the camera. “I could start with you.”

They could hear Wilbur clapping on the line. “Yeah! Let’s get it goin!”

The two kept talking as y/n installed the camera. Not before long it was ready to go.

“Okay. All you have to do is turn it on. Here I’ll do mine.” Wilbur’s face flickered to life on the front monitor.

“Okay. Just a second.” They looked at the mirror next to their desk and frowned. Maybe they could’ve done their hair a bit different. Or they could’ve worn a different shirt. Maybe some mascara? Would that be what Wilbur was expecting?

“Come on! I’m excited now.”

y/n nodded and pressed it on. They stared at the monitor, watching their face show up. Wilbur gasped a bit and stared at it. “What? Is it alright?”

“I owe Charlie money. He said your eyes would be a different color.” y/n felt their face flush and looked down at their keyboard. Wilbur laughed and smiled at them. “I can see you get embarrassed! Oh this is so cool!”

“I’m gonna turn this shit off.”

“No no! Keep it I like it. Here wait smile.” They smiled at him and he cheered again. “That is exactly how I thought you’d smile! Oh I’m so good at this.”

They both laughed together, but stopped when a ringing noise came through discord. Tommy and Tubbo were calling. “Wilbur, I-“

“Hey, it’s okay.” The ringing kept going. “If you’re not ready you can turn it off. If you are then we pick up. Which is it?”

y/n paused, holding their breath, then picked up the call. Everyone’s icons came onto the screen, then they all slowly turned the cameras on.

“Sorry didn’t realize we’d have- wait who’s that.” Tubbo moved closer to his screen, as If studying what he was looking at.

“Is that y/n?” Tommy stared wide-eyed as they nodded. He began cheering as did Tubbo. “FUCK YEAH! FUCKING POGGERS- sorry mum. What-“

Tommy walked off from his chair and y/n laughed at him. They looked up at Tubbo and saw him smiling. “What?”

“That’s not how I thought you’d look at all! Does anyone else know?”

“No just you three. I had just showed Wilbur when you two showed up.”

“We should show Philza! Or Niki! She would love to see this.”

“y/n doesn’t have to show anyone they don’t want to.” Wilbur’s voice was cautionary, but they just shrugged.

“Maybe it would be alright. We should start with Niki.”

“Yeahhhhh!!” Tommy cheered as Wilbur went to ring her. It only rang a few times before Niki joined. She turned her camera on and began talking about something or other, but paused and looked back at discord.

“Who’s on y/n’s account?”

“I am.”

“Oh. Oh! y/n......” She dragged out the name as she stared on. “Awe, you’re cute! I love it.”

“Right? I wasn’t expecting it but look!” Wilbur gestures to his screen with an exaggerated smile.

“Philza’s next right? Let’s get him on!”Tommy seemed overly enthusiastic for the reveal to the group father figure, but y/n was excited too.

“Do it! I wanna know what he thinks.”

It rang for about a minute before Philza answered. He didn’t turn on his camera though. He sat there in silence.

“Phil? You there?” Tommy leaned in closer to the camera.

“y/n? Is that what y/n looks like?”

“Hey Phil!”

“Oh my god! Wait can I show Kristin?”

“Of course!”

He called his wife into the room and everyone heard her gasp. “Oh you’re so pretty y/n.”

“Philza I’m going to steal your wife.”

“Okay that’s enough.” Kristen chuckled as Philza took the headset back. “Maybe I don’t get divorced today.”

The group laughed and fell into a comfortable silence. y/n wasn’t sure what to do. “It’s weird being able to like. Smile at you guys and stuff.”

“I’m sure you’ll get used to it. It’s like face time. You can leave it on when you play games or you’re streaming, and only we can see if it help you get adjusted.”

“Yeah!!! You get used to us you get used to everyone.” y/n laughed at tubbo’s excitement.

Tommy rubbed his hands together. “Who we showing next? Charlie?”

y/n tried to keep her composure but still felt her face fall a bit. The idea of showing Charlie was terrifying. Probably more so than showing her audience. Charlie had no idea what they looked like, but they knew what Charlie looked like. They knew his laugh and his smile and that they absolutely adored it. But if Charlie saw what they looked like? What their smile looked like and their laugh? Their eyes and their nose and everything else, would he like it? Would he treat them the same?

“y/n?” They snapped their head up at Wilbur’s voice. “Are you okay?”

“Yep!” They forced a fake smile and Wilbur frowned.

“Is there a problem with showing Charlie?”

They didn’t want to talk about this in front of everyone. Having a crush on Charlie was one thing. They’d had feelings for him for a long time now. But they hadn’t admitted to it. Ever. “I think I’m alright with just you guys for now.”

“That sucks. He just asked to call.” Tommy was glancing away at other monitors.

y/n stared blankly at the computer in front of themself. “You guys go ahead I think I’m gonna go.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll come back on in a bit and play. I just need to do a few things.”

Wilbur furrowed his brow. “Alright. I’ll see you in a bit then.”

y/n nodded and their face disappeared from the screen. It was quickly replaced by Charlie’s.

“Hey goofy gamers what’s up?” He smiled as he turned on his face cam, but was only met by a crowd of confused or disappointed looking people.

“y/n was on just now.”

“What they were?” Charlie sat up quickly and smoothed his hair down, blushing horribly. “I- are they coming back or-? What were you-? Wait, why-?”

“She bought a camera and did a face reveal for us.” Wilbur fiddled with a pen between his fingers.

“Oh that’s so cool! Tell me what they look like! Are they pretty? Wait, are you allowed to tell me? Did I win my bet?”

“You won your bet. Charlie I think they’re afraid to show you.”

“Why? I’m gonna love them no matter what it is.” Everyone froze as the gears clicked in Charlie’s head. Tommy and Tubbo, the children the are, did a terrible job at trying to not laugh at Charlie. “Love it! Their face! I bet it looks great I’ll love their face! Wait that’s just as-“

“You have crush! You have a crush!” Tommy started yelling as Charlie tried to gesture at him to shut up. “You love y/n! I’m gonna tell them!”

“Listen I will fly across this goddamn ocean and kill you-“

“I think it’s cute.” Phil tried to speak up over the sound of the children.

“Me too! If anything they like you too.”

Charlie paused and stared at the monitor, his face growing redder by the second. “They do?”

Wilbur nodded. “Charlie, trust me they do.”

He smiled to himself. “Uh. We should- uhm. Minecraft gamer time.”

“Charlie? Are you-“

“Processing.” He cut Wilbur short. “Planning. Proceeding. Gamer.”

“Gamer.” Tommy echoed the flustered boy.

“Gamer.” Charlie booted up the Minecraft world and examined his wooden house. He bounced his game character over to y/n’s house. When they had joined the game they had picked to be a shulk, so they lived in a dug out home near the Pube.

Charlie’s character ran into the cave home. It was quite lovely for what it was; wooden floors with support beams and plants everywhere. There were pots on the floors and on the shelves and vines from the ceiling. As he looked around the room he felt the gears clicking in his head. Knowing exactly what to do.

A few hours later, y/n signed back into discord. They could see a few people being active in solo vc’s, including Charlie. They did their best to ignore it, simply moving on to open Mojang. They logged themself into the Origins SMP server and checked around where they were. They had last logged off in Wilbur’s house, so they were very ready to move around when they got a set of private messages from Charlie.

Are you streaming?

y/n didn’t hesitate in saying no. It was an honest response. They had only logged on today in the hopes of grinding towards gathering ores and other basic needs. But if Charlie needed something, who were they to say no?

Can you meet me at your house?

y/n responded and went on their way towards the familiar cave. It wasn’t a long walk. They were there soon and were greeted by a closed door and a sign telling them to join Charlie’s VC.

“Hello? Charlie?”

Looking over at discord, they watched as Charlie’s camera turned on. He was sitting in his streaming room wearing a blue button-down shirt with short sleeves. “Hey, uhm, so, I wanted to say something before you go in your house.”

“If I go in will you be there?”

“Well yeah but-“ y/n opened the door and gasped. The entirety of their floor was made into grass and there were flowers blooming everywhere. Every single floor block had been made grass, actually.

“Charlie, how did you do this?”

“Well, bonemeal, and some Ranboo help.”

“Charlie, it’s gorgeous. Aww, and the flowers…” They just now noticed that most of the flowers in the room were their favorite - blue cornflowers.

“Yeah! I just,” Charlie took a deep breath. “I wanted to say that I know you don’t think I want to see you or that I wouldn’t like what I see, but I know that I would feel the same way about you as I did this morning, or yesterday, or four months ago. Because it’s you, and I’ll always feel the way I feel about you. But, until you feel comfortable, I’ll be here. waiting.”

They sighed, making sure their camera was plugged in before they turned it on. “Charlie, this is the sweetest thing.”

“Oh fuck.”

The two of them seemed to freeze. Charlie looked mortified, his face pink as can be, while y/n looked incredibly confused. “I’m sorry, what-?”

“No no no you’re just really pretty.” The words spilled from Charlie’s mouth faster than they’d ever been. “Like gorgeous. Top tier. 10/10. On God. Have I told you I’m in love with you-? Your face! In love with your face! Please tell me this is going well.”

y/n giggled. “So you’re in love with me now?”

Charlie sputtered, stumbling over his words. “No-! Maybe, I- that’s not what I meant-“

“Charlie it’s okay.”

He paused, pointing at his own chest. “You? Me you? You do? Me?” y/n nodded and watched as Charlie threw himself backwards cheering. “SHIT-“

“Charlie?”

“Yes! Yes I’m here I’m here for all of this. Oh my god I’m so happy.” y/n watched Charlie’s Minecraft character dance around and jump. “Oh my god. Oh my god! Wait does this mean I can meet you now? If I meet you can I kiss you? Please?”

“When I meet you, you can kiss me all you want.”

“When? When!” They watched Charlie’s camera as he got up and danced around. He stopped and dashed back to the camera, getting absurdly close. “I love you. I can’t wait for when.”

[nctsjiho]

Burning Question

warnings: none

❀ Sungchan asks JiHo a rather personal question and some of the boys end up getting their “feelings hurt” (ft. Shotaro)

There were always moments during the year which were more busy than others, but with SM deciding to do another full NCT unit, like they did 2 years ago with NCT 2018, 2020 was just busy all year round. The practise rooms were always used to there fullest potential. 24 members jumping around and singing loudly in preparation for that year’s promotions.

Amongst the intense training there was some much needed time pushed aside for breaks, and the members made sure to enjoy every second of their breaks. Shotaro and JiHo, during this particular break, had been talking about everything and nothing. The girl asking Shotaro about how he liked being apart of the time so far.

Sungchan was seated next to the duo, preoccupied scrolling down social media on his phone. He had been excited to see what the fans were expecting from NCT this year, feeling a bit proud since he knew more than the fans did. But after a while reading comments got a bit boring and he turned towards Shotaro and JiHo, who were still very immersed into their conversation. He didn’t want to interrupt them, but he felt a bit left out, his Japanese lacking way too much to understand the two. JiHo who had noticed Sungchan’s gaze on them by looking at the mirror and changed her position so they were sat in a triangle, all able to look each other. Sungchan slightly blushed in embarrassment, causing JiHo to hold back a smile.

“What have you been up to?” The girl asked the younger boy, nodding towards the phone in his lap. “O-Oh, I was just reading comments from the fans.” Sungchan didn’t expect a question really, causing him to stutter a bit before finding the right words. They continued making a bit of small talk, of course including Shotaro in the conversation, before they had gotten to a comfortable silence.

As the three of them sat with their backs against the wall, Sungchan suddenly sat up straight. There was something he had been curious about for quite some time now and it didn’t help that JiHo wasn’t one to talk about herself a lot, so he never found out naturally. It came to a point where he was a bit afraid to ask her even, since there might have been a reason he still didn’t know the answer to his burning question, but no one else seemed as interested in it as he was. Maybe he was just nosy? Maybe everyone knew, everyone but him? He wasn’t fully sure at this point.

“What’s up?” JiHo chuckled a bit at the younger boy’s weird behaviour. After suddenly sitting up he had just stared out in front of him for a minute or two, seemingly lost in thought. Sungchan shook his head as if he was getting his thoughts straight before looking at JiHo. “Noona... I have a question.” He sounded a bit nervous which promoted the girl to sit straight as well. “You can ask me anything. Go ahead.” “But I don’t know if this is appropriate to ask you...” His words trailed of. “Don’t worry if you’re asking me who my favourite NCT member is, I’d probably say Taeil oppa.” She said seriously, only to receive a laugh from both Sungchan and Shotaro.

The other boys weren’t sitting too far from them and had heard her statement which earned her a few words of protest. “Hey! I thought I was your favourite!” Haechan yelled and JiHo rolled her eyes at that. “Dream on Haechan.” She waved him off and said boy scoffed. Her eyes than met Jaemin’s who was pouting at her. “You know, I would’ve been okay if you said Jisung, but Taeil hyung?!” He feigned hurt causing everyone to laugh and JiHo to quickly apologise.

Finally calmed down and with the mood definitely lightened at this point, JiHo turned back to Sungchan. “No seriously, you can ask me anything.” Sungchan nodded before speaking up. “So your mother is Korean, but you are half Japanese half French... And isn’t your father French? So how...” Sungchan didn’t dare to finish his question as he noticed some of the boys, who were closer to them, become more quiet and look at them. “I mean you don’t have to answer-” JiHo cut him off by putting up her hand motioning to calm down. He had started rambling. “That’s right, I guess you were never there when I talked about it. Don’t worry, Sungchan, it’s not a big secret or anything. I just never bring this up really.” She sounded so calm and understanding, but it didn’t help Sungchan feel much better with his hyungs staring at them intently.

“My real mother is Japanese and my real father is French, but they couldn’t take care of me. So when I was a year old my real parents wanted to put me up for adoption. However, my real father’s older brother had a wife and a stable job and they weren’t opposed to having children. So they adopted me.” JiHo explained. “It’s a bit complicated isn’t it?” Telling that story was clearly not something JiHo liked doing, but she still smiled at Sungchan. It slightly hurt his heart hearing about her family, definitely because he did know about how her mother got sick when she was 6, which resulted in JiHo living with her grandparents for around 6 years.

“So your dad is your real dad’s older brother?” JiHo nodded. “I look a lot like my real father, and they look like each other as well so that’s why I look like my adoptive father.” He didn’t realise it, but Sungchan was nodding along with JiHo’s words, his mouth slightly agape as he listened to each word attentively. “But if you were still a baby when you were adopted, how can you speak Japanese so well?” The boy was now very interested in everything JiHo could tell him about her past. Some of the older boy’s noticed and thought it was very cute. “At some point I just felt like I had to know Japanese and learn about the culture since it’s part of my blood you know? It almost felt wrong knowing more about Korea than Japan. That’s when I decided to learn Japanese.”

The conversation had continued on with Sungchan interrogating JiHo about her life. It was so interesting to hear about how it was like growing up in France. How she used to go to school with her friends with their inline skates or skateboards. How she had huge gatherings with all her friends and their families. How she had so many hobbies. It kind of made him sad in her place that she gave that up to become a singer in Korea, leaving all her friends and family behind on the other side of the planet. But he also felt happy that he ended up being in the same team as her, just being in her presence alone was so soothing yet fun. His respect for her had skyrocketed just because of that one conversation.

“Do you miss it?” JiHo looked up at the boy with wide eyes before thinking about it for a second. “Don’t we all miss some parts of our childhood?” That was a good question, Sungchan missed hanging out with his friends in elementary school, not having so many responsibilities yet. “Of course I miss it, but I love what I’m doing now, so I’m all good.” She said, her smile just barely reaching her eyes. It always hurts thinking about the past, and Sungchan could only imagine how much more it hurt for JiHo who basically had left her whole life behind and it wasn’t just an arms length away from her to reach back for it.

“And now you two are part of the team which makes it even better.” Both Sungchan and Shotaro blushed a little at the girl’s comment. Johnny noticed and couldn’t help but tease the younger boys. “Hey JiHo, calm down with the compliments, we don’t want the boys to form a crush on you.” JiHo burst out laughing the two boys next to her becoming even more flustered. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just being stupid.” She pointed an cautionary finger at Johnny who just walked away while laughing.

“Anything else you want to know?” JiHo asked Sungchan in an attempt to change the subject. In the corner of her right eye however, she sees a big shadow quickly approach her. After turning in its direction she found Yuta who had dragged Taeil along with him, sitting in front of her.

“I heard Taeil hyung is your favourite NCT member?” He raised a brow before shaking the oldest a bit. “Are you sure of that?” Taeil sighed not amused. “You’re right I’m sorry, I guess it isn’t Taeil.” JiHo replied which made Yuta smile brightly and he let go of Taeil’s arm. “Hey! Why not? I-” Before Taeil could protest any further Yuta intervened. “Who is it then?” He asked hopefully. JiHo smirked before reaching both her hands to either side of her and grabbing Sungchan and Shotaro by their arms. “Our two newest members.”

A new kind of chaos broke out in the practise room. Everyone of the members who felt worthy of the role as JiHo’s favourite member started yelling out their own reasons why. “I’d say run before Yuta catches you guys.” The girl warned the 2 boys before she ran away herself to hide behind Taeyong. 

[talks-refined]

Why azula, in my opinion, shouldn’t have had a redemption arc

i know it’s a complicated subject in this fandom but i wanted to give my two cents on it! i promise this isn’t me just going “booh evil”

okay so here’s the thing. the reason this is so complicated to answer is because it needs to ask pretty existential and complex questions like, can everyone be redeemed? how is evil made? how much of you is really only your upbringing? is it possible to be inherently bad? what do we fundamentally deserve? can you separate yourself completely from what you’ve been since birth and if so, what’s left?

now if you walked up to me and asked those questions, my answer would probably be something along the lines of “i don’t know, i just got here”. so that’s not what i’m gonna try to answer here

notice how i said “shouldn’t have had” and not “deserved”. i can’t tell you what azula “deserved”— probably a nicer childhood and therapy— but i can also say azula didn’t “deserve” anything. she’s a character, she’s words on paper, animation and voiced acting. there isn’t a real azula, an actual 14 years old child soldier out there awaiting to turn good. characters are story arcs, development, goals... what makes their value isn’t morals but what they bring to the story. and azula brings so much that, in my opinion, being ultimately redeemed would cheapen

first off: zuko. i’ve seen people say azula shouldn’t get a redemption arc because then her story would just be the same as zuko. it’s... not true, obviously, they’re different characters for a reason, but there is a part of truth i wanna point out here:

zuko and azula’s stories are diametrical opposites. two siblings, a boy and a girl, a firebending prodigy and one who’s average at the very best, one favored by his mother, the other favored by her father, one impulsive and one calculating. At the beginning of the story, one angry and unstable, the other calm and confident, one banished, desperate and without honor, and the other a princess and leader, acclaimed by all, who radiates regal energy.

“(ozai) said she was born lucky. he said i was lucky to be born. i don’t need luck, though. i don’t want it. i’ve always had to struggle and fight and that’s made me strong. that’s made me who i am.”

( zuko, to aang, season 1 finale )

that first sentence was the hook that told the viewers azula would come in the picture in season 2 and it tells you exactly the opposite dynamics their characters would develop on. azula is perfect, zuko is a failure is the message we’re supposed to get, at least that’s how they view each other and themselves, because that’s what their father taught them. but here’s the thing: luck is by definition elusive, and perfection is by definition unattainable. azula spends her life building herself around the vision that failure is inexcusable. because she’s at such a high place, because she’s so perfect, she can never fail, because she can’t and because she’s not allowed to. that mentality is bound to doom her, it’s inevitable. it’s a direct opposition to zuko, who builds himself in the fact that he’s failed so many times, that he made so many mistakes, that each taught him lessons. when zuko fails once, he knows he can get up because he was miserable for so long that it taught him he can survive anything. when azula fails once, she crumbles. azula is a cautionary tale of perfectionism, and cautionary tales can’t have happy endings. zuko’s approach of life has to reach a happy ending, because he’ll always look for one, it has to reach a redemption arc because he’s not scared of the mistakes he’s made in the past and he is always trying to better himself (the redemption comes when he realises he was trying to meet the wrong standards). azula’s approach of life guarantees a downfall because she’s convinced that failure is the end.

both their stories mirror each other, backwards. when we meet zuko, he’s failing, always, and when we leave him, he finally won. when we meet azula she’s winning, always, and when we leave her, she finally (by which i mean that it’s inevitable, not that it’s good) fails.

and there’s another reason (let’s pretend this is structured, okay?), that’s a little more complicated, and it has to do with ozai.

you know how ozai is barely present in the series? i’ve seen some people argue that azula is a better villain because she’s scarier or because we see her more. here’s the thing:

when you’re trying to portray something that’s really, really awful, it’s easier not show it. when you show something, in it’s entirety (in that context that would mean making ozai a deep, 3 dimensional character that we see develop) it’s... small. to define is to limit (- oscar wilde). when you only show small things tho, details, in movies it can be shadows, think the beginning of stranger things when you don’t see monsters, but can feel a threat, that’s when it can get scary as shit. because whatever limited, physical (or character-ial? is that a word) form you chose for the villain isn’t there in people’s minds, it’s only their own imagination trying to comprehend what you made them feel. and what people imagine based on only fear, or anger, is easily scarier than any five headed monster you can put onscreen.

that’s what ozai is: a looming threat. hell, i’m not even sure we see his face until season 3. he only has a handful of scenes. but i hate him. i hate him so much i could scream into a pillow and he’s so vicious it sends shivers down my spine. you know why? because of what he did to zuko and azula.

when you wanna keep your main villain mysterious, it’s good to give the audience characters that he’s interacted with. characters that he’s close to enough to have had an effect on them, so they can perceive a part of him. and boy did he have an effect on his children

( to be fair here: that idea and most of what i’m saying about it came from Overly Sarcastic Productions video on minions as a trope. it’s really good i love their whole channel, red is amazing)

season 1: meet zuko. he’s a sixteen years old. he’s a bad guy, but written so that you sympathise with him to a certain extent. then comes the Tragic Backstory Episode and you learn that he was challenged to a duel as a thirteen years old by his father after he spoke without permission in a meeting, begged for mercy, got half of his face burned off at the hands of his father, and was banished from his home to search for the avatar, who was dead as far as anyone knew.

now you’ve seen very little of ozai after this episode, but you’re ready to fight that guy, right? i know i am.

it gains a level of depth with azula. after being introduced to a character who is starving for his father’s love and approval, we’re introduced to a new character, who seemingly has all of that. azula is zuko’s ever winning rival. she has everything he wants, her honor, her title, her father’s favors.

(i think it’s worth noting that making your children compete for your love is already a red flag for noticing pieces of shit)

but it’s not enough. azula has everything, she is everything ozai values (cunning, strong, ruthless) and even then it’s not enough to please him. nothing will ever be good enough. and you see two children fighting, breaking themselves to please a father that is seemingly incapable of love, but keeps baiting them, giving them impossible standards to reach so they’ll always keep trying to please him.

okay, now you hate him, right?

but here’s the thing: because azula was a firebending prodigy, she got a taste of her father’s approval. he saw himself in her, where he saw too much of iroh and ursa in zuko. he was proud of her.

he was never proud of zuko. too soft, not strong, or fearless enough. because of that, zuko was never close to his dad. all he got was disdain. because of that, he forms bonds with other people (with his mother and uncle, at first) that expose him to another vision of life. and in exile, after chasing relentlessly, part of him is pushed to the realisation that he can live without his father’s approval. because he had to.

azula on the other hand, quickly becomes all ozai’s. from flashbacks you can clearly tell each of them gravitates around one parent, zuko around ursa and azula around ozai. even in her other relationships (zuko, tylee, mai...) she behaves according to what her father taught her, how to manipulate and hurt others

and ursa has flaws, god i’m not saying she doesn’t. that deserves a post in itself. but she values things like kindness, softness and love. ozai values strength, power and cunning. childhood is a formative stage: you often build yourself on the way you were raised. zuko had those conflicting values, because ursa, and ozai more indirectly, both taught him. but ozai isolated azula from other (adult) presences. this is more speculation but i really think it’s true, for what it’s worth. we rarely ever see ursa and azula interact, and when we do ursa is i think always? reprimanding azula for something that ozai taught her. it doesn’t seem like they spend enough time together for her to teach her daughter a better way.

that’s the thing. ozai’s “love”, or at least approval, was azula’s curse. zuko thinks it’s something he has to aim for, and later realizes it’s only ever going to be conditional and manipulative and stops trying. because he knew another way. but azula always lived with it. it isolated her, prevented her from ever finding a better way. his “love” is what did this to her

so yeah. none of this is saying that azula could never have been good. she was 14, she had a whole life ahead, i’m not some psychology master that can tell you exactly if it’s even possible to unlearn so much manipulation and abuse- i want to believe it is. but this is a story, and to me it’s the more nuanced, more interesting, better story they could’ve written. i think having those two very different and very paralleled stories, for a show that doesn’t shy away from complexity the way atla does, was very important.

while i was writing this, i showed it to a friend, who can speak for toxic households better than i can, and gave me a new perspective and the best conclusion: when in an abusive parental relationship, there’s always a tearing hesitation between ‘breaking free’ and doing what’s best for you, and staying loyal to your parent, someone you’re supposed to love and who’s supposed to love you. zuko is a message of hope ; azula is a warning

[blacknight1230]

Judge of Character

Damian Wayne Imagine

Damian Wayne isn’t big on friendship. From a young age, he has been taught not to trust anyone, including so-called family. Since he was taken under the Batman’s wing, he only trusts a very few, limited to his family. So it's no big surprise the blood son of world’s greatest detective reacts hostile towards a surprise guest in Batcave. But when he sees how his pets behave around her, he might change his mind.  

Gotham Academy. The most prestigious school in the dangerous city. All of the city’s elite sent there children there. Unfortunately for Damian, he was also sent there for a highschool education. The blood son of the Bat hated it there; it was full of fake people, ones who snobbishly flounted themselves in the school’s halls all because their parent was the head of some notorious company, or something along those lines. Damian knew the only reason they put up with him was because of his father and his ties to Wayne Industries; anyone not on par with their wealth and status were considered lesser than them and they barely tried to hide it. This, coupled with Damian’s cold exterior, made it hard for him to make friends. One thing the young Robin did not need was groupies. 

“How was your day, Master Damian?” Alfred asked the young teen when he picked him up from the academy. “Uneventful as always, Pennyworth. Teachers teaching, and I mean that loosely, subjects that a toddler could figure out and hormonal hazards gossiping and pretending to care about my wellbeing ... should I go on?” Damian tsked, looking out the sleek car’s windows. “So, high school, basically?” Alfred replied, eyes not moving from the road in front of him. “A high school full of uptight snobs. I don’t understand why Father makes me waste away there. I could probably teach better than the teachers there. And they supposedly have taught in Ivy League colleges.” “I understand your frustrations, Master Damian. But Master Bruce wants you to experience normal teenage life. Maybe even make some friends.” Damian scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I swing from rooftop to rooftop, battling the criminals of gotham’s seedy underworld and fight alongside metahumans. Tell me how that’s normal exactly?” “That way be true, but then again you don’t really hang out with people your own age, do you?” Alfred pointed out, raising an eyes at him through the rearview mirror. Damian remained quiet, his arms crossed over his chest in frustration. 

The rest of ride back to Wayne Manor was silent, even as the expensive car parked in front of the main doors. Damian wordlessly strode into the mansion, after Alfred opened the door for him of course, dumping his backpack on the ground. “Master Damian, I’d like to inform you that Master Bruce has a guest that will stay in the Manor for awhile as they help your father on a case,” Alfred said as he picked up the discarded backpack, placing it next to the jackets and shoes. But when the butler turned around, Damian was nowhere to be found. 

Damian hadn’t heard a single word that left Alfred’s mustached mouth for he already was making his way towards the secret entrance to the Bat Cave. “Father, are you here? I would like to have a word with you?” he called out once he made it to the Cave. Silence met him, even the bats that gave the cave its name were quiet. Damian was suspicious as he thought his father would be here. He specifically remembered that he had a case he was working on that was particularly difficult. 

As he strode into the center of the cave, he could hear the sound of keys clicking as well as images popping up on the monitor, showing that someone was on the Batcomputer. But who? All he could see from his position were feminine gloved hands working across the keyboard. Intruder, he thought. Without a second thought, he grabbed a sword from the nearby weapon rack and lunged at the mysterious infiltrator. With a yell, he slashed at the back of the high chair in front of the supercomputer, slicing it right down the middle. He grabbed what was left of the chair and turned it around only for there to be no one in the chair. How? he thought. Where could they have gone? A voice calling out to him answered his question. 

“That was close,” it said. Damian spun around to face the unknown intruder, sword pointed at them and his body in a defensive stance. In front of him stood a girl in hero attire, hands on her hips. This girl looked to be young teen around his age, yet she appeared to be wise beyond her years. The (f/c) and (2nd f/c) clad teen raised an eyebrow as she stared at him, also studying his appearance. “You must be the current Robin. It’s nice to me you. I’m -” she tried to introduce herself. But Damian did let her finished as he already leapt her. The girl was able to effortlessly dodge his multiple attacks, on the defensive as Damian relentless went after her. 

In his effort to land a hit, Damian led the both of them to where the numerous Batsuits were located. The young Robin eyed his mysterious opponent, who didn’t show any signs of being worn out. Suddenly, he stabbed at opening he foresaw knowing there would be no way that the mysterious girl would be able to dodged it. Everything seemed to go in slow motion, the pointing tip of his sword stabbing through the air and towards the middle of the girl’s chest. But when the sworded entered the vicinity of the young girl, with a wave of her gloved hand a bright filled the air. Damian yelled in pain as the light blinded him and he felt his body rebound as if he ran into a brick wall. 

He quickly regained his footing, skidding a foot or so across the hard metal flooring. When he regained his eyesight, his eyes widened at what was in front of him. The mysterious teenage girl was floating several feet off the ground, a bright electric blue light surrounding her, eyes glowing the same bright blue as electric blue glyphs surrounded her. Shit, Damian thought to himself. She’s a magic user. Before he could do anything, he was encased in a cube of translucent blue magic. Damian tried to break his magical prison, first with his sword and eventually with his fists, but it was useless. He was stuck right where he was and would not be able to escape. 

“Maybe this will teach you a lesson,” the girl said, her glowing hand raised as she held up the magic barrier around him. “Let me out of here, intruder! How did you get into here! Who do you work for?” Damian yelled pounding his fists against his magical prison. “Intruder? I’m a guest, you snot nosed brat! I’m helping your father on a case in my mentor’s place,” the girl explained, acting insulted. “A likely story. My father just doesn’t trust any amateur vigilante,” Damian scoffed. “And yet this ‘amateur vigilante’ happened to trapped you in an inescapeable magical prison,” she sassed back. Damian glowered in response, opening his mouth to say something when a dark shadow enveloped both of them. 

Batman glided down to them, his shadow shrinking as the legendary detective came closer. Damian smirked to himself, thinking that his father would now deal with the young intruder himself. The Bat landed on the cold metal platform, surveying the scene from under his cowl with calculating white lensed eyes. To the surprise of the young Robin, his father turned to the magical girl and said with a deadpan voice, “What happened?” “Father! I caught this witch snooping around the Cave and on the Batcomputer trying to -” “Excuse me, but I’m a sorceress, not a witch, you arrogant bastard. And I already told you I was invited here to help Batman!” the female vigilante interrupted. 

Damian frowned and set his sights on the Bat, silently asking for confirmation. “She’s speaking the truth, Damian. I’ve asked (supernero name) to help due to her knowledge of the occult and its arts,” the older vigilante explained. “Didn’t Alfred tell you we would be having a guest? I specifically told him to remind you.” So that’s what Pennyworth was saying when I left him talking, Damian thought to himself. He realized his mistake, but remain quiet, not one to admit he was wrong. 

Bruce sighed, his shoulders dropping as if he was exhausted from his younger’s sons actions. “(superhero name), can you release my son now?” he ordered sternly. “Yes sir.” With a wave of her hand, the magical prison surrounding the young Robin faded away. Damian took a cautionary step forward, just in case there was a hint of barrier left. Luckily there wasn’t and he was able to approach his father. 

“Father, who this miscreant? How could you trust her? I never heard of this so called ‘(superhero name),’“ he complained. “Damian, her mentor is Zatanna, one of the members of Justice League Dark. I asked her for help but she was unable to come so she sent her apprentice instead,” Bruce patiently explained. Damian took a moment to remember everything he knew about Zatanna and the auxiliary Justice League group. If he remembered correctly, his father helped the group once to defeat a world-wide demonic threat. 

“I don’t care if she’s the sidekick of a knock-off Justice League member. That doesn’t make her trustworthy,” Damian replied snarkingly. “Damian,” Bruce said, using his ‘father voice.’ “Sometimes the right thing to do is just give someone a chance. Only then will you find if it was worth it to trust them.” 

Bruce walked off, leaving him silently stuing in place, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the knowledged passed onto him by his father. Alfred was the one to break the stiff silence, having come down to the cave with a silver platter in one hand. “Master Damian, if you’re not going to listen your father’s sound advice, would you at least like a sandwich I prepared?” he asked, an eyebrow raised as you stared down at the fuming teen in front of him. “Maybe later, Pennyworth,” he answered. Damian brushed past the elderly butler, making his way out of the Batcave. “Would you like one, Ms. (superhero name)?” he heard Alfred say. “I would love one. Do you happened to have (favorite sandwich)?” “I believe I do. Here you are.” Damian could only ‘tsk’ grumpily. She might have Alfred under her spell already but I won’t fall for it, he thought.

~ Time Skip ~

It’s been a week since the disliked newcomer arrived. A week of Damian having to deal with (superhero name) whenever he got back from school. The young Robin had enough; it seemed wherever he turned in the manor, she was there. Just her presence got him in a bad mood, despite the young heroine never have done something to warrant his grump disposition. What seemed to get even further on his nerves is that Alfred and even his father were friendly towards the girl. Well, as friendly as the Bat could get that is. Damian still did not trust the (f/c) clad hero, keeping his guard up whenever she tried to get him to warm up to her. 

The blood son of the Bat was currently wandering the halls of the manor, caught in quite a predicament. “Alfred! Alfred!” he called out, eyes searching his surroundings. “Did you call me, Master Damian?” the elderly butler asked. It appears he was in the middle of dusting the decorative furniture in the hallway, as he had a feathered duster in hand and apron to protect his uniform. “I was calling for Alfred the Cat, actually. Have you seen him anywhere, Pennyworth?” Damian cleared up. “A yes, your feline companion named after yours truly. I should known you meant him. I haven’t seen him while I was doing my duties. But I believe he might be in family room as he quite likes it there,” Alfred replied. “Thank you, Pennyworth. I’ll leave you alone to continue with your work.” 

Damian steadily made his way towards the family room, taking the magnificent wooden stairs down to the main floor of his ancestral home. In no time at all he had reached the informal room, where he his family usually spent their free time when guests weren’t over. But as he stepped into the room, he stopped in shock at the unbelievable sight in front of him. Sitting on the floor was (superhero name) leaning against a resting Titus and Alfred the Cat relaxing on her lap. 

It was as he was in a daze, walking up to the young heroine. “What is going on?” he questioned. (superhero name) looked up at Damian in surprise, yet Alfred the Cat and Titus didn’t even move. “Oh, hi, Robin. How are you?” she responded nonchalantly as if she didn’t see Damian’s perplexed exterior. “You didn’t answer my question. What did you do to my pets?” Damian ignored her suggestion, face hardening as thousands of possible scenarios ran through his head. Why are they so comfortable around her? They usually dislike strangers, he was thinking. 

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you are talking about. I’m just taking a break from the case so I can clear my head. Is that so wrong?” (superhero name) said, gloved hand running through the fur on Alfred the Cat’s back. Damian picked up on the sound of the feline purring, infuriating him further. “Whatever spell you put on them, you better take off right now. I don’t take kindly to magic being used on my family,” he ordered, crossing his arms across his chest, trying to look as threatening and serious as he could. But it obviously failed, as (superhero name) started to laugh at him. Damian growled, insulted at the sound of her mirthful bell-like laughter. 

“Wow, you really are caught on this whole I’m-untrustworthy-and-possibly-a-criminal idea,” (superhero name) snickered once her laughter died down. “For all I know, you are a criminal. Or at least you’re not currently breaking the law. A mysterious past, no indication on whenever what you view as ‘right’ is actually ‘wrong’ ... Why would I trust you?” Damian pointed out rather harshly. (superhero name) just frowned, stopping her caressment of his pets. “Listen here, Bird-Brain,” she practically hissed. “If I really was such a bad person as you say, then why are your pets okay with me being here. They know nothing about me, just like you, yet they can tell I’m a good person.” 

Damian tried to argue, but was unable to come up with anything and so remained silent. He thought over what she told him, fighting with himself over her words. If she what she said is true and that they aren’t under some type of spell ..., one part of his brain was saying. ... then maybe I should give the benefit of the doubt and trust her. But he other part was refusing to budge, scolding him. How do you know she’s trustworthy? Your pets being friendly with her doesn’t mean anything, it told him.

(Superhero name) saw how Damian was fighting an inward battle and sighed. “Listen, Robin,” she began, looking deep into his green eyes with her (e/c) one, refusing to look away. “There is reason why your pets are so comfortable with my presence. Its because they can tell I’m a good person. Animals have a rather exceptional judge of character, can’t you tell.” Her words hit him, settling into his brain. Damian couldn’t help but regret his previous actions, especially when Titus nuzzled his head into (superhero name)’s side and she wordlessly caressed his black fur with a warm smile. 

Damian gave up, groaning loudly as he tried to apologize, albit awkwardly as this wasn’t something he did often. “I’m ... sorry, (superhero name). I see now that might have been a bit hasty with my judgement of you. I can see that you are a kind and worth of my trust,” he struggled to say. “I accept your apology. But please, call me (y/n). If we’re going to start over and be friends you should at least know my real name,” 

“Damian. My name’s Damian,” he told her. (Y/n) gave a bright smile, one that caused a genuine smile to make its way to Damian’s lips. He couldn’t help but go over the word ‘friends’ in his head. I’ve never had a real friend before, he thought. It sounds nice. (Y/n) broke him out of his inner dialogue, patting a bean bag chair next to her as she smiled. “Come sit, Damian. I’m sure Titus and Alfred would love to have another person to cuddle with,” she joked. Her smile was contagious, making one appeared on Damian’s face as he silently did as she said. As soon as he sat on the cloth beanbag, sinking into the bean filled cushion, Titus shuffled himself so his large head was laying on his lap. A pang of amazement shot through his heart at the sight. Seeing Alfred the Cat doing the same to (y/n) made him feel all fuzzy inside. He let himself relax and leaned back into the plush bean bag, quietly chilling with (y/n) and his beloved animals. 

~ Timeskip ~

Before long Damian and (y/n) went there separate ways. The supernatural case she was working on was solved and she left Bat & Co. to return to Zatanna. Meanwhile, Damian went back on with his public life, going back school and so on, and eventually back to the Titans. In the limited time they had with each other, Damian was able to bond with the magical teen. Their shared interests in art and love of animals of course brought them closer together. Alfred, the butler not the cat, was shocked that they had gotten so close, especially after their initial meeting. Even the big Bat himself raised an eyebrow as Damian and (y/n) gushed about one thing or another. 

So when he had to return to Titans Tower, Damian secretly missed his fast friend. Sure, he had Raven, Beast Boy, Jaime, and Starfire, but it just wasn’t the same. I wonder what she’s up to now, he thought as he roamed the barren hallways. 

Suddenly, Beast Boy rushed up to him in the form of a green cheetah. “Bro you’ll never believe this!” he exclaimed once he returned to his normal form. “What is it, Garfield?” Damian replied, hiding his curiosity behind a passive face. “We’ve got a new team member! They’re coming any minute now!” the shape-shifting teen bounced with excitement. “What?” Damian didn’t have time to process this new information, for Beast Boy grabbed his arm and pulled him along. 

Now, Damian could have forced Garfield to let go of hi, but he decided it was better to just let the green teen do what he wanted. So in no time at all, he was in main entrance of the tower alongside the rest of the Titans. Garfield finally let go of him and immediately started to chattered Jaime’s ear off. “I see Garfield brought you up to pace,” Raven spoke, voice monotone as always. “Wish it someone told me the news sooner. Did you know about this?” he asked his goth friend. Raven nodded her head no, watching Starfire preparing for the newcomer. “I’m just as clueless as you are,” she replied. “I have feeling the League has a hand in this,” Damian scoffed. 

Out of nowhere, a portal appeared, enveloping the area in a (f/c) glow. “Oh, they’re almost here! Everyone smile for our new friends and be on your best behavior,” Starfire ordered, excitement oozing off of her in waves. Through the magical interdimensional circle a figure appeared, silhoused by the intensity of the portal’s light. Everyone shielded their eyes until the figure stepped fully through and the portal disappeared behind them. Damian finally got a good look at the newcomer, gaze rising as he took in more of their appearance. When his green eyes stopped when he saw a familiar face. 

The new team member was (y/n), dressed in a new uniform and an extra guest perched on her shoulder. A medium sized cat gazed at him with two different colored eyes, one blue and the other green, with a distinct fur pattern that made one half of its face orange with stripes while the other was completely black. I remember here telling me she always wanted an animal familiar, Damian thought. I see she finally got her wish. “Well, isn’t this a surprise,” (y/n) said, a smirk on her lips. “Didn’t expect to see here, Boy Wonder.” The rest of the team looked on shocked as Damian confidently strode up the sorceress. “Me, surprised? You give yourself too much credit, (superhero name),” he tsked. (y/n) just smiled , maneuvering her cat to be held in her arms. Things just got a lot more interesting. 

[sailorsanghelios]

Some backstory fic for my Au’ra WOL

I meant to get this done during Au’ra April but uhh -looks at calendar- yeah that didn’t happen. But some backstory stuff for my Thel Vadam inspired Au’ra, Seiro, who I’ve posted stuff for before.  Uhh CW for fantasy racism stuff and imperialism, cause there’s a lot of Garlemald focus in this. 

----- It was a beautiful day, a sunny day, as he rolled down one of the vast hills that rolled across his homeland.

“ you won’t catch me, Papa!”

The tall Au’ra who followed after him, his face was hard to make out, more of a dark blur with horns then anything. And yet he could tell the older man was smiling, “I have never had a man escape me, and I will not let you be the first.”

He had giggled at his father before descending down the hill. His father had immediately broken from the jovial mood, “Seiro be careful!”

He had landed  right into the rice paddies below, gasping for breath as he re-emerged soaking wet. His mouth was barely above the water, his limbs and body were weighed down, and his head felt like it was being shoved down into the water below.

He looked up, hoping to see his father about to rescue him, and all he saw on the hill above before his head submerged a final time was a sleek soulless black uniformed figure.

“Seiro..”

Wait, that was…

—-

Seiro jolted awake, the fields of Doma had disappeared, into a stark white bedroom, the beautiful Doman sun faded into the cloudy overcast of Garlemald barely seeping into the window.

And Lord Veritas was peering over him looking very displeased. “Seiro aan Veritas” He had a tendency to use his full name, when he was displeased, emphasizing the “aan” portion. He motioned with his finger to get up, and Seiro didn’t spare a second, instantly getting up, and bowing to his benefactor.

“You’re still wearing your nightshirt… did you truly sleep until the afternoon, and did nothing productive all morning? Knowing I'll be arriving home today?” 

Seiro awkwardly crossed his arms around the offending garment in embarrassment, “I’m sorry Lord Veritas. The servants must not have awoken me.”

Seiro did suspect perhaps it was deliberate to make him look like a fool. During Lord Veritas’ two month stay in Bozja, Seiro had in essence been left in charge of the manor, a very large responsibility for any twelve year old, let alone a non Garlean one. And one the servants had obviously resented. He had heard them whispering, when they thought he couldn’t hear him, calling him names and talking about how degrading it was to have to serve him, even though Seiro himself only depended on them for necessities. 

“Only a child would sleep that long. A baby even. I am very disappointed in you.”

“Yes Lord Veritas.”

Lord Veritas gave out a sigh, almost dismissively “I hope you at least had good sleep. You looked quite intense. What were you dreaming about?”

Seiro realized this was a prompt for him to speak, and he had no idea how Lord Veritas could read him so well, and know what he’d been dreaming about, “I was dreaming about Doma...and my father- the samurai I think…” If he attempted to lie he knew that Lord Veritas would call him out on it.  And he never liked him referring to his father, the man who had killed Sosius eir Veritas. His son.

“You think?”

Seiro looked down to the ground, “... I.. I can’t remember. His face...or anything...”

“That is what I hoped for. He should only be remembered as a cautionary tale.” Lord Veritas looked at him from head to toe, “Stand up straight, boy,”

Before the command was even finished, Seiro did so, and Lord Veritas genuinely seemed surprised and caught off guard, “You’re taller than me.”

This shocked Seiro but there was no denying it. It was only by an ilm. “I think I grew while you were gone.” He sounded apologetic about it. The servants had been side-eying him a lot, for what felt like an unending appetite, and his clothes had felt unusually tight. As much as he didn’t want to be a burden, he’d probably have to ask for new ones. 

Seiro was surprised by what followed from Lord Veritas, “It suits you. You’ve grown so much over the past five years, Seiro. I never thought I’d miss that little boy so much. Those little horns..” Seiro couldn’t help but crack a small awkward smile, as Lord Veritas stroked the end of one of his horns, that were not quite as little and were beginning to sharpen and harden into their adult forms, “ And I was thinking about that, and you the entire time I was in Bozja.”

Seiro tilted his head in confusion.

“ I brought an orphan home with me. With all the success I had with taming you, I thought perhaps I could be of help to another aan child.”

“...what?” Seiro’s voice cracked childishly, “ Lord Veritas I’m.. are you sure?”  It was a rather bold question to ask, but Seiro also knew he wasn’t exactly taken in by choice. If his father, no if the samurai, hadn’t killed Lord Veritas’ son, then he probably would never have been noticed by him. “What will the senators think? I know they already-”

“ Do not concern yourself with such things. It isn’t your lot to worry about Garlean politics. Now make yourself presentable. You don’t want our new...resident to know how lazy you are, do you?”

“I’m not-” he began protesting, but then the glassy cold gaze silenced him, “Yes Lord Veritas.”

‘Make a good first impression.”

---

Seiro had come down, half an hour later, ready to prove himself to whatever interloper this was. 

All dressed up, and hoping that no one would take notice of how ill fitting his clothes were, Seiro made his way into the dining room, barely getting a look at the small hairy figure before he heard a  metallic clang and he was suddenly pulled back, shouting in pain and surprise. 

The little interloper turned around and began laughing, uproariously, as Seiro realized in mortification, that his horn had become caught into one of the light fixtures on the wall. He began pulling at it in vain, though from behind he was unable to figure out how to unstick it. 

Lord Veritas had gotten up, sighing, almost too dramatically, and walked toward Seiro, almost effortlessly freeing his horn. “I told you to make a good first impression.” he hissed.

“I didn’t mean to I-” he felt his face flush as the little one kept on laughing at him, “What are you laughing  at?” he demanded. 

He had assumed when Lord Veritas first entered his bedroom, and announced this new housemate, that it’d be another Au’ra. He had hoped it’d be another Au’ra, he never expressed it, but it made him sad sometimes the only time he ever saw his own kind was when he looked in the mirror.  But this little creature, covered in fur, was obviously the farthest thing from an Au’ra. He had never seen one in person, but he knew from his lessons on the many provinces and peoples of Garlemald, it was a Hrothgar. In fact he should have expected it, the Hrothgar were the natives of Bozja. 

“Seiro, don't be a bully. Trajan has had a long journey, and is still adjusting to a new place.”

“I don’t care. I will not be laughed at. Especially not by a little kid.”

“Then maybe don’t be so stupid looking.” 

The smug little face on the furry little creature made Seiro’s blood boil, but he was stopped by a placating hand

“ Don’t be so clumsy, and watch where you’re swinging those horns of yours,” Lord Veritas said, barely even blinking at the fuming preteen. He turned back to Trajan, “I'm sorry, boy. Seiro is used to being an only child. Even before he came into my care, he was a very pampered and spoiled only child. I’m sure he is willing to learn to cooperate though. Aren’t you Seiro?” Seiro found himself cringing as Lord Veritas patted his back. 

“...yes Lord Veritas,” Seiro felt very overwhelmed by this, and he still felt groggy enough from his sleep that his patience was thin.

Seuro sat down, in his usual spot next to Lord Veritas, and across from Trajan.  He avoided eye contact with the Hrothgar, but he could hear the sounds of Trajan eating loud and obnoxious. It surprised him that Lord Veritas wasn’t scolding him, he knew if he ever ate like that he’d be in deep trouble. 

Ifa anything Lord Veritas seemed to encourage it, “I’m glad to see you have such a hearty appetite.” He looked over at Seiro, “I remember with you, how long it took for you to accept a meal from me. Or to do much of anything really. I genuinely thought you were trying to hunger strike me. But you gave in eventually.”

Those eyes were bearing into him again, and Seiro shifted awkwardly,“...I think I thought if I didn’t listen to you, you’d send me back..” His memory was faded, but he still vaguely could recall the way he smashed plates of food given to him, and screamed and cried, and refused anything given to him. His seven year old mind had hoped and prayed that maybe if he was terrible enough, he’d be sent back to his mother as a lost cause. 

“Why would you want that?” Trajan snorted. 

Seiro looked down at his plate, feeling the judgmental stare of the younger boy, and simply shrugged. It wasn’t something that he could actually put into words. Both because it’d upset Lord Veritas, and honestly...he wasn’t sure. 

Lord Veritas seemed to have an answer though, “Pride clouds judgement. I’d say that it came from youth, but knowing the samurai...perhaps Seiro simply didn’t know better. A habit I am very glad I broke you of before it was too late.” 

Lord Veritas’ dark eyes always looked so glassy, and the way Seiro’s own gold eyes seemed to reflect back when he looked back in their inky abyss, always made it feel like he was being looked through. His food felt like it went down him painfully, and any hint of appetite felt like it was gone. “ I want to go.”

“Whatever for?”

“He looks sad.'' Trajan’s helpful reply, there seemed to be a curl to his overly toothy expression, that made Seiro’s face flush with shame.

“I'm not hungry I guess and umm..” he racked his brain for an excuse, “ the history tutor is coming tomorrow, and I want to study.” 

“Indeed he is. I am interested to hear your progress in your studies.”

Seiro found himself stumbling nearly tripping and invoking more amusement in his misery, as he bolted from his seat and out of the dining room, barely hearing Lord Veritas’ admonishments not to run indoors before he ran up the grand staircase and into the safety of his room, away from prying eyes. 

His room had always felt like both a sanctuary and a prison to him. Before Seiro had been brought to the manor it had been a guest room for dignitaries and even five years later it retained that feeling of being comfortable but devoid of personality. Truly the only sign of a child living in this room, was the pile of school books Seiro was digging through before finally sitting in his plush reading chair.

He was embarrassed to realize any attempt to refresh his knowledge on the properties of ceruleum engines led to his vision blurring with tears. Especially when he heard his door open with no knock before which could only be one person.

“Seiro, what was that display at the table? And why are you crying?”

“ I don’t know”, he choked out, “ I just don’t know. “

Seiro looked up and was surprised to see the look on Lord Veritas’ face was rather sympathetic as he knelt down and hugged the boy, making him drop his book in shock.

“I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be so hard on you Sosius, I just-“ he realized the name he just said and suddenly disengaged from Seiro, revealing a face of realization and genuine anguish.

“ Lord Veritas…” Seiro said softly, “I’m sorry..,”

He shook his head, as he stood up straight, “Don’t be my boy. You did nothing wrong.”

“But my father did.”

The words felt heavy in the room as if they were echoing in a cave. But Lord Veritas responded very gently, “you are not your father. And besides...I will hate your sire until the day I die, for what he took from me. But at the same time, how can I really fault him? My only son was a fool of a man, who thought he was invincible. Who poked a trained samurai, one of the greatest warriors in Doma, until he broke. And Sosius was not strong. He was rather sickly in fact at least in his childhood. He could barely exert himself without nearly suffocating himself to death. It wasn’t until we conquered more territories, learned more about the magical cures of these places that he became more healthy. But certainly not healthy enough to be in the Imperial Legions. And he always resented that, and for some reason he kept on being rewarded for how bloodthirsty he was toward the aans. He desperately wanted nothing but to prove himself.  And someone finally had enough of it and ran him through.”

Seiro had never heard Lord Veritas speak much about his son, let alone so candidly, and he couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t be offensive and get him in more trouble.

“I’ll be honest by the time he died, I hadn’t talked to that boy in years. I never saw eye to eye with him. I dare say I couldn’t stand him, and he felt the same toward me. But he was still my son. My heir. And how he turned out, I only had myself to blame.” He gave a wistful sigh, “His mother had died when he was so young, and I poured myself into my work, barely able to even look at the boy. And then when I finally did I hated what I saw, but there was little I could do to ever influence him,”

At this point, it was as if Lord Veritas wasn’t even looking at him, and suddenly his eyes focused back on Seiro, “I will say you are a much more agreeable child then Sosius ever was, with much more promise.  If you were a Garlean by blood, you’d go very far. And that's part of why I took in another boy.”

Yet again Lord Veritas’s eyes seemed to wander around the room, past the still sniveling and confused boy, “I’ve been alive a long time. I remember before the empire was ever an empire. Back when my family’s title of “Lord” still meant something. But at the same time it also meant nothing, because Garlemald meant nothing. And yet as we expand, I find myself wondering why we don’t allow the Domans, or the Bozjans, or the Ala Mhigans, and all the others, have the same opportunities we do. Everyone is so quick to forget how we were once on the bottom. No matter how I train you, and no matter how much skill you have, you will never have the opportunities my foolish son had. And that’s quite a shame.``

“... Is that why you took me in as a ward? You saw potential in me?”

Lord Veritas shrugged, “I’ll be honest, my boy. I was angry. That the samurai killed himself and escaped the consequences of his actions of killing my son. Or at least escaped them coming from my own hand. I wanted justice. And you were that justice. He took my son away, so his son is now mine. That was my thought, when I met you. An eye for an eye.”

Seiro shifted uncomfortably. It did seem like a fair exchange, in theory but… it still made him uncomfortable to realize he was essentially collateral. 

“...but then I saw you as another opportunity, to not repeat my mistakes that I made with Sosius. And then I became fond of you.  And I find myself wishing you could have been my trueborn son. And I feel the same toward Trajan, from my time meeting him.”

“Thank you Lord Veritas. It means a lot to hear that.”  Seiro said in shock. 

Lord Veritas sighed, “And I probably should have told you before picking the boy up. I’ll be honest another reason I did so was I always worried you were lonely. It was always so hard to find anyone in the Senate or the Ministry, who didn’t just view you as some pet pro of mine, let alone anyone who’d allow any sort of play date with their child. And now you’re too old for such things. But what kind of life could you be having, just reading,studying, and training all day. You and Trajan can give each other companionship, and can understand each other. Both as children, and as aan.”

“I’m already happy, Lord Veritas.” Seiro said, “I’m fine being by myself.”

“And that's why I didn’t tell you. I knew that’s what you’d say. But give the boy a chance will you? Maybe apologize to him for your behavior.”

Seiro wanted to protest, for he had done nothing wrong. That little furball had been the one who had humiliated him in the first place. But he knew better than to argue. ‘I’ll do it-”

“Do it now.”  The words were firm. And final.

------

The little Hrothgar’s room was similarly sparsely decorated as Seiro's, perhaps even less so. It still had that smell of dust to it that Seiro still distinctly remembered his own room having when he first entered it five years before. 

Trajan was busy drawing, the childish scrawls that were incomprehensible reminded him a lot of the drawings Seiro did when he was younger. It was a good way to pass the time in this house.

“What is that?” Seiro asked, trying to break the ice.

Trajan looked up, frowning at him, before covering the paper up. “Go away.”

“ Is it from Bozja?” As a child, especially when he first arrived, Seiro had found himself drawing things from Doma, such as the tigers that his father had brought home before as trophies, or the sheep that sometimes strayed too close to their settlement before their shepherds hurried them off.  

The boy glared at him, making a face similar to the fury that had been frozen on those tigers Seiro’s father had brought home long ago, “ I’m just drawing, it’s none of your business.”

“What’s Bozja like?” Seiro asked, trying a different approach, “ I know it's one of the oldest territories, so you’ve always been Garlean right? Where are your parents?”

The boy’s face contorted, focusing more on his drawing than on Seiro, “What sort of question is that? Dead of course. I think. I never really knew them. And that's pretty normal in Bozja. I had an uncle, but he just left me at the orphanage a few months ago. I was lucky they had a bed. I don’t know where he went.” 

Seiro was shocked by how nonchalant Trajan was, as if he were simply discussing the weather. “I’m so sorry I… I lost my father… and I don’t know what happened to my mother.”

It was easier for Seiro to process the loss of his father. He knew it happened, he knew the man was dead. But the last time he’d ever seen his mother, she was screaming and pleading, after the Garleans had torn him from her arms. And for her husband’s crimes, she too had lost everything, all of her beautiful hair pins and kimonos, all of the status that came from marrying into the Byakuyas, their ancestral home itself, and of course her only son. And the older Seiro got the more grim he realized her probable fate was. In many ways, it was easier just to not think about her. 

“Lord Veritas told me everything about you. You’re not like me, so shut up.”

Seiro’s brow furrowed as he crossed his arms, “I came here to apologize for earlier. Lord Veritas wants us to be friends.”

“But you don’t want to be my friend. And I sure don’t want to be yours. So leave me alone.”

Seiro didn’t expect this kind of rejection to hurt so much, but he took a step back, mouth agape.

Trajan continued, “ You just think you’re better than me because you’re bigger than me and have been here longer. You’re no better than all the big boys at the orphanage. You just want me gone, but I’m here, and I’m going to make you gone. Already he likes me better than you.”

Seiro fumed, at this childish logic, “Fine. If you hate me, then I hate you too. I hope he realizes his mistake and sends you back to your shite orphanage!”

The door slammed with an extreme force that echoed through the hall, as Seiro left the room, returning back to his own room, to have a good cry. 

[in-arlathan]

Eyes Wide Open

Back in the writing game with a new Solavellan story. When I started writing, I was convinced it would be this short fluffy thing. Oh boy, I was so wrong. It turned rather dark towards the end and I love it. I hope you do, too.

A want to give a big shoutout to @serial-chillr who beta’d this for me and help me really polish this piece. Your advice was amazingly insightful. I can’t thank you enough ♥︎ 

This is available on AO3, too.

___

One of the first things her father had taught her about hunting was to watch out for the green light. 

“When you’re in the forest and see the faintest glimmer of green, promise me to run. When the Fade opens, terrible things are bound to happen.”

She remembered his words with such clarity it was as if he was standing right next to her. A flicker of emotion danced on her skin, making the small hairs on her arms and neck stand up.

“Don’t let the patches of sunlight in the underbrush distract you,” she heard him say. “Your eyes won’t know where the Fade is thin and where it’s not. In some places, it quivers and if you’re not careful, you will attract attention from the other side.”

His words carried all the grief and sadness of a man who had lost a brother to the temptations of the Fade and even without an ounce of magical talent, Elenara could see the trauma it had caused him. She had wanted nothing more than to reach out to him and hold him close. 

She wondered what he might think of her now that she bore the mark upon her hand. Would he be afraid of her? Would he run? Or would he hate her for what she had become?

Elenara leaned closer to her own reflection in the mirror, tracing the fine lines around her eyes with her fingers. At 32, age had already begun to mark her and the blood writing of Dirthamen was slowly fading. But that was not what set her teeth on edge…

With two fingers, she pulled open one eyelid. Her eyes had always been as green as the leaves of a birch tree. Her mother’s eyes, as her father often reminded her. Another cause for grief he never learned to let go. Another loss she would rather not remember. A wave of guilt washed over her.

The dead never leave us, do they?

Pushing her feelings aside, she focused on the color variations in her iris – the fine lines of dark green intertwined with strands of lighter green and yellowish-brown that reminded her of the woods near Wycome. And flecked across it all, new sparks of ghostly green that  gleamed like stars in the vast and endless sea of the night sky. Green as the rifts that had been torn open all over Thedas. Green as the Breach that threatened the world. 

She let her hand sink, resting it on the washbasin below the mirror. It hadn’t been an illusion then. Her eyes had changed since getting the mark. 

When the Fade opens, terrible things are bound to happen.

The demon that had tempted and consumed her uncle had come from a rift that barely deserved the name. More like a fissure, as her aunt, Irileth, had told her. And yet it had been powerful enough to let Desire slip through, possess Tere’lan Lavellan and claim his life.

Oh, how she wished her aunt were here. Her father, too. But one was with their clan on the other side of the Waking Sea, and the other rested forever in a burial site in the Vimmark Mountains.

Elenara sighed. Since the keeper had graced her face with the blood-red vallaslin that declared her an adult among her people, she had known so many things – her place in the world most of all. And she had known what she was capable of. Now, she was not so sure. The explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes had changed everything, and now she walked among humans to fight in the name of a god she didn’t even believe in. 

“Creators, I have no idea what to do”, she whispered as her eyes filled with tears. She wiped them away and sniffled, pushing back her feelings once more.

Outside her cabin, Haven was slowly awakening. The talk of townsfolk mingled with the bells of the Chantry ringing in the distance. Not long until her party would set off to Val Royeaux. Surely, Cassandra was already saddling their horses. 

Elenara splashed a few drops of water from the wash-basin on her face, then turned to the bed and grabbed the boots standing next to it. They were sturdy and warm and not nearly as uncomfortable as she had expected them to be. Still, she hated those boots with a burning passion. She missed her foot wrappings and the feeling of grass between her toes as she stalked the open plains of the Free Marches, looking for a ram she could hunt down for dinner. 

Someone came knocking on her door while she was still struggling to tie the laces.

“Lavellan, are you still in there?”

That was Varric’s voice.

She coughed, then said: “Yeah, I’m here. Come in.”

A second later, the door swung open and Varric walked in. But he wasn’t alone. Solas was beside him, carrying his staff as if it was a holy relic. 

“Andraste’s ass,” the dwarf said. “You look like shit, Lavellan.”

Elenara forced herself to smile. “You’re a real charmer, Varric. Has anyone ever told you that?”

If he took offense, he did a perfect job of not showing it. “Did you even sleep last night?” he asked. “Or any night since we returned from the Hinterlands? Because you sure don’t look like it.”

“Not a wink,” she said and sighed deeply.

“Well, shit.” Varric scratched his head. “Is it because of the Chantry folk in Val Royeaux? I know they can be a bit intimidating, but Cassandra and Chuckles and I will be there to have your back. If they so much as point a finger at you, we’ll be glad to chop it off.”

Elenara smiled again. Genuinely, this time. “Thanks, Varric.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Solas pursing his lips. Was he pitying her? 

“What are you looking at?” she asked, more bitterly than she had intended.

Solas blinked and his chin jolted upwards as if she had awoken him from a pleasant dream. “Oh, I’m sorry.” He raised a hand. “I was just… wondering…”

Her brows furrowed. “Wondering? About what?”

“Have you noticed any… changes since you stopped the Breach from growing?” he asked.

She cast a curious side-glance at Varric, but the dwarf just shrugged. 

How can he possibly know …

The thought perished as she remembered what Varric had told her about Solas. How he had stopped the mark from killing her while she lay unconscious. The apostate clearly knew what kind of magic they were dealing with. Or he had a decent grasp of the situation, at least, and that was more than Elenara could say about herself.

Once more, her father’s voice echoed in her mind. “Promise me to run”, he’d said to her. But she couldn’t, not any longer. All those cautionary tales about the dangers of magic were utterly useless to her now. Maybe her best option was to give herself to magic and have a skilled mage help her deal with the problem at hand. 

“There is something,” she said slowly. “My eyes… they’re…”

Solas didn’t let her finish her sentence. He bridged the distance between them with three quick strides and kneeled before her. Then he placed the staff beside him on the stone floor and took her face into his hands, his fingers resting lightly on her cheeks. “Look at me,” he said and his voice carried a sense of urgency.

Despite herself, Elenara held her breath and stared at him.

She had never noticed the true color of his eyes before. From a distance, they looked grey, like a storm cloud on an autumn day in the Free Marches. Now, she saw the hues of blue and violet mixed in there. 

“Fascinating,” she breathed.

“Indeed,” Solas said, lost in thought while examining her eyes. “It seems your body is responding to the magic that has placed the mark upon your hand. An uncommon occurrence but not completely unheard of. Most mages undergo a process of change when their talents make themselves known.”

“And that’s supposed to reassure me?” 

Solas offered a smile, his gaze still locked with hers. He brushed her cheek with one thumb.

“I would not worry if I were you. As long as the Breach remains stable, you are safe. Still, if you find any other changes or feel pain of any kind, let me know. I will look into it and help as best I can.”

Elenara felt her hand twitch with the urge to reach out and touch his face to trace the lines of his chin and mouth. She licked her lips and wondered what it might feel like to kiss him. 

Don’t be foolish, she told herself. This must be the worst of all the bad ideas you had in your life. For all you know, he’s an apostate who has no love for the Dalish. Creators, he might leave as soon as the Breach is sealed, just like you. 

And yet, there was a fluttering feeling that had settled in her stomach and refused to leave – like some kind of premonition.

“Thank you, Solas,” she whispered breathlessly. 

“It’s okay.” He chuckled. “I came to help after all.”

“Yes, you did,” she replied.

Varric coughed as noisily as possible.

“Great,” the dwarf boomed. “So, we’re done here, right? We should get going before the seeker sends a search party to look for us.”

Solas pushed back and let go of her face. She, in turn, rubbed her cheeks to cover up the blush that bloomed there. “Yeah,” she murmured and hurried to collect her travel bag. Solas, however, took his time to pick up his staff and get back on his feet again.

“It doesn’t seem like a good idea to keep Cassandra waiting,” he said.

Elenara shouldered her bag, casting a sidelong glance at Solas. He cradled his staff with one arm and watched her intently while she readied herself for the journey, a soft smile tugging at his lips. It almost seemed like he was enjoying himself. To say she was confused by this would have been an understatement.

“Tell me about it,” Varric said to Solas, then turned to Elenara as she grabbed her bow and quiver. “You’re good to go?”

“Yes,” she told Varric and nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Lead the way, Lavellan. We’re right behind you.”

********

Solas cupped her cheek with one gloved hand. She wished she could feel the warmth of his skin on hers as she stared into his eyes, searching for the man she loved so deeply.

Two years had gone by since she had been this close to him. Two years wondering where he had gone, why he had left her. And now she knew. 

His name was Fen’Harel and he was about to shatter her world.

“My love,” he breathed.

The magic of the anchor flared and sent a wave of agony through her body. She bit her lip and forced herself not to cry out in pain. In this moment, she wanted to pretend that everything was back to normal and that nothing had changed between them.

She wondered if he could still see the light in her eyes. It had spread more and more with every passing day since the Exalted Council began. The green glimmer flickered and flared just like the anchor and the pain almost blinded her. Still, she kept her eyes fixed on Solas while he leaned closer, caressing her cheek with his gloved hand.

She had promised him that their love would endure. There was nothing in this world or the Fade that she wanted more. And yet, as the magic drained her life, she couldn’t help but wonder if her father had been right after all. Maybe she should have run when she still had the chance. If not from her duty as Inquisitor, at least from the elven mage that she had come to care about so deeply, despite knowing so little about him. When he had left her in Crestwood, she should have seen it as an opportunity to begin again and find someone new. She could have been happy, for a while.

And still, when he brushed his lips against hers, the world began to make sense again. He was her destiny and her duty and she would hold on to him as long as she could. He was hers again and that was all that mattered, even if it was only for a moment.

Elenara focused on the delicate movements of his mouth and pushed aside the pain that seared through her left arm. She remembered the day when she thought about kissing him for the first time. Back then, she had brushed the impulse off as just that: a terrible idea that had crossed her mind. Now, she felt incapable of going on without him. 

Tears filled her eyes, as he withdrew from her and got back on his feet. She didn’t even dare to look at her left arm. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on Solas. He gazed at her with a stricken expression on his face.

“I will never forget you,” he whispered.

She saw him turn away ever so slowly as if walking away from her caused him physical pain. 

And with that, it was over.

Light erupted behind her closed eyelids, rendering her blind within seconds. She leaned forward, clasping her healthy hand around her left upper arm. The magic of the anchor went wild, roaring inside her body and soul one last time. She cried out in pain as her left hand and arm dissolved into nothingness. 

Overwhelmed by agony, she barely heard Solas slipping away through the eluvian. All she could think about were the words of warning her father had spoken to her all these years long ago that she had completely failed to follow.

When you see the faintest glimmer of green, promise me to run.

“You were right,” she hissed, repressing another wild cry. “You were always right.”

She had failed her father, just like she had failed her clan. Maybe she should have turned her back on all of this when she still had the chance to flee back to the Free Marches. She might not have been able to save her clan from the treacherous dealings of the Venatori in Wycome, but at least she would have died knowing she had honored her father’s teachings. Instead, she had chosen to run into her own misery with her eyes wide open.

What was she supposed to do? she asked herself, hoping secretly that a voice from beyond the Fade would answer her call. The world was in grave danger. And it still was. 

I’m sorry, father.

Elenara inhaled sharply, still blinded by the green light that reached across the Veil, and focussed on the low thrum of her own heartbeat. Steadying her breath, she waited until the pain in her arm slowly faded away.

Carefully, she let her right hand slide down her arm. A dry sob escaped her when her trembling fingers reached her elbow–or what was left of it. Through the remains of the chainmail that had protected her arm, she could feel the cauterized wound. And then… nothing…

She let out a long, controlled breath. To stop the mark from spreading, Solas had taken a part of her with his ancient magic. Maybe she should be thankful. Without the anchor, she had one less burden to carry. If only her heart did not feel as heavy as if it was made of pure lead.

When she opened her eyes, the world remained a bright haze of light. She blinked and new tears streamed down her cheeks. Slowly, the shadows came back. Blurry shapes of rocks and foliage surrounded her as she drew herself upright. Her knees shook violently as she made her way back to the mirror she had come through, passing by the frozen shape of the Viddassala. Elenara paused and pushed back the urge to touch the stone statue’s arm. You had no idea what you’d gotten yourself into, she thought. Just like me.

As she walked over to the eluvian, the shapes sharpened around her and the world regained its vibrant color. She saw bushes and trees swaying in the wind and the golden streaks of sunlight dancing on their leaves. “Creators help me,” she whispered with a bitter taste in her mouth. The words had never felt so hollow before. With all that she had uncovered at the Temple of Mythal, her faith in the elven gods had faltered. Now, it was all but shattered. 

Maybe I should evoke the Maker instead. Or even Andraste. They haven’t had their chance to let me down yet.

The eluvian was still dormant when she finally reached it. Weakened from the fight against the qunari, exhausted from the truths she had learned that day, she leaned against the silvery surface of the mirror and closed her eyes. 

She had come so far only to realize that she had been set up to fail right from the start. Oh, how stupid she had been. All her meddling in politics to steer the world onto a safer path had ultimately amounted to nothing. Maybe the hunters had been right to mock her for her interest in history and shemlen politics. She should have run like her father told her to. 

When the Fade opens, terrible things are bound to happen.

But in truth she had known there’d be no going back ever since she had seen the terror of the Breach with her own eyes. With a threat that dark and powerful, there was nowhere safe to run to. And so she’d done the only thing that had seemed plausible at the time–she had joined forces with Cassandra and the others to heal the sky. And along the way, she had come to know the world so much more intimately than she could have imagined as a young girl devouring books about faraway lands and long-forgotten kingdoms. She had her companions to thank for that. With their love and friendship, their ambition and folly, their victories and failures, they had shown her what Thedas truly was and what it might be. It had kept her going despite all the fear and darkness she faced.

And while she thought of Varric, and Cassandra, and Cole, and Dorian, and Blackwall and all the others, she knew she had to take at least one more step. Because all these years of fighting would have been for nothing if she gave up now.

“I have to get back”, she whispered and her breath fogged the mirror’s surface. “Please.”

She could feel a ripple as her naked hand touched the eluvian. A moment later, the portal unlocked itself, its surface warping into a cascade of violet light. 

Elenara breathed a sigh of relief and stepped through. 

“She’s back.”

“Inquisitor!”

Before she knew it, Dorian was by her side, slinging an arm around her waist to help her stand. Varric and Cassandra, who had been standing by the corpse of the enormous Saarebas they had been fighting before, rushed to meet them. The Divine hissed as she beheld Elenara’s missing arm.

“Holy shit, Lavellan.” Varric looked more miserable than she had ever seen him. “What happened over there?”

“I found him...”

Her knees gave out and she would have sunk to the ground if it wasn’t for Dorian. “Careful,” he whispered soothingly.

Cassandra swore under her breath, brows furrowed. “Solas did this to you? Why would he do such a thing? I thought he and you were… ” 

The former seeker let her sentence trail off

“I’ll explain later, I promise,” Elenara replied wearily. “We have to get back and warn the others.”

Dorian cast a quick glance at the dead qunari that lay scattered among the old elven ruins, then cocked his head in disbelief. “Warn them? About what?”

She gave him a sad smile. “This is not over yet.”

____

Thanks for reading. <3

[gleefail]

Glee Memories: 1x10 Ballad

A long, long time ago, as Glee was approaching graduation in Season 3, I found myself nostalgic with some rare free time on my hands. So I decided to rewatch the series from the beginning and jot down some memories, discrepancies that have arisen since, fave quotes, tally solos - all that good stuff, strictly for shits and giggles.

8 years later (eek!) and once more I find myself with an unexpected abundance of free time. With so many revisiting or being newly introduced to the show between binge watching during Quarantine and all the tragedy that has surrounded the show since it went off the air, I figured I’d finish what I started. And by finish, I mean go through the end of S3. Cause I truly cannot acknowledge what happened after that. Except for 5B.

Kicking this off by reposting the first 15 episodes I already went through. Enjoy!

1x10 Ballad “Ok, who can tell me what a ballad is?” “It’s a male duck”

ok, I disagree with Schue’s definition of a ballad. “Stories set to music” – um…isn’t that every song? Or is it just in musicals that it’s supposed to be, lol?

“Looks like my weekly letter to the Ohio showchoir committee FINALLY paid off” and the look she gives Puck. Haha. This Rachel Berry is funny. Cause they’re letting us laugh at her right along with her. Not asking us to put her on a pedestal and/or take her seriously all the damn time. I’m not even gonna get started. I’m watching this post Props/Nationals, and though I didn’t think it could, my hate has grown. In abundance. Trying to keep it in check. Moving on…

“I bet that duck’s in the hat”

“Matt’s out sick today. He had to go to the hospital cause they found a spider in his ear” Um, ew. Also terrifying. However, humorous nonetheless. And an effort to explain a random absence of a Glee club member. Remember how they used to do that?

Aw, Artie drew Quinn’s name out of the hat. :) 2 seasons later and they’ll get 2 duets (both of which I loooove). Shame they didn’t do it this ep. Romantic or just friends, I ADORE the chemistry with Diana and Kevin. I really wanted to see more of that. :(

omg. Kurt’s face when Finn pulls his name. Adorable. Also, I love that Finn is not cool with it but a year later Sam is totes fine. Maybe that’s just cause I love dudes that are comfortable enough in their sexuality to do things that d-bags in high school might tease them about being gay for. Or maybe that’s just cause I love Sam Evans. Couldn’t tell ya. Except yeah, I totes could. It’s cause I wants a Trouty Mouth to call my very own. *lesigh*

“other asian” Ha!

Brittana!

“The fates talked, Mr. Schue” #BlessFinnsHeart

I love the voice-overs during Endless Love: “Screw him if he thinks he’s taking the Diana Ross part from me” “I love the days when I wear no underwear” “I never noticed how nice Rachel’s butt is…oh crap! I think Quinn knows I’m staring at it!”

I also love the facial expressions of Rachel and Mr. Schue here. Hilarious.

Haha – Brad’s like “wtf is happening?”

“Crap – she looks crazy right now!” hahahahahaha

Because of Rachel’s realization through this song, it means Lea Michele can’t squint nearly as much. Wow. It’s like a whole new Rachel with her eyes open while she’s singing.

Artie’s face after the duet. It’s like someone stepped in dog poop.

Ok, Charlotte Ross was in a show in the 90’s I used to watch that, if I recall, failed miserably but nonetheless had a brief stint as my guilty pleasure show. And I can’t remember what it is for the life of me and keep forgetting to look when I have access to google it. Anyone?

“I don’t want you to lift a finger for me. I’m your wife!” Oh wow. So unhealthy. So republican. Soooooo some parts of Ohio. These are the folks that voted for Bush. :/ Yep, I’m still ashamed to be from Ohio when I think of that election.

Suzy. Pepper. Yes. I love this actress. Bright and Hannah were my OTP on Everwood. I miss them.

“You knew it was me just by the sound of my breath. That’s so romantic.”

“Listen, you little psycho, this is Will’s wife, and if I don’t get enough sleep my anti-depressants won’t work, and then I’ll go crazy and I’ll kill you.” Oh Terri. So maternal and loving.

Suzy Pepper is sobbing to More Than Words. That was my jam back in the day!

“Your lashing out at me is fantastically compelling…and….inappropriate.”

“Thank God I never missed a piano lesson” – really Kurt? Is this the first and only time we’re to believe Kurt can play piano well enough to accompany someone from memory?

Finn singing I’ll Stand By You to a sonogram dvd on his laptop. I have no words. I don’t think I thought it was this weird the first time I watched it.

So Finn’s mom busts him singing to said laptop sonogram dvd…and he doesn’t close the laptop…or stop the dvd…or try to hide the screen. He sits up next to it as she approaches him, almost begging her to see it. I felt the same way then as I do now – it was an opportunity for him to not tell her necessarily but for her to find out anyways and I think he really wanted her to know so he could go to her for help and comfort and to relieve everything he couldn’t deal with about the situation. I’m just sayin’.

Oh old school Carol with her denim and that hair…she’s still such a great mom though. And this actress. My God. She’s amazing.

“You’re wrong, I’m right. I’m smart, you’re dumb.”

“Dude. Impulse control!” haha

“I dunno why I find his stupidity charming. I mean, he’s cheating off a girl who thinks the square root of 4 is rainbows.” #BlessFinnsHeart

Oh Young Girl/Don’t Stand So Close to Me mash-up. I fell in lust with you from the first moment I laid eyes on you.

Seriously. Matthew Morrison is so hot in this mash-up. Yowzah.

“So, Rachel, do you think you understood the message I was trying to get across with that ballad?” “Yes! It means I’m very young and it’s hard for you to stand close to me.”

“You’re a very good performer. He’s very good.”

Finn and Kurt bonding over their lost parents. This is a sweet scene.

“You think I should bring a gun?” #BlessFinnsHeart

“Casserole’s almost ready. Hope you like venison!” Ok. TERRIFYING to come home and find Rachel Berry in an apron, cooking you dinner, in your home.

Hey, remember that time that Rachel literally sang 3 lines of Crush and they released it in its entirety as a single from this episode? Ridonk.

“I found out today that my hamster was pregnant in biology class and I just started weeping!”

Aw, Mercedes and Puck are paired up for duet ballads.

haha. Babygate.

“Finn’s not the father! I am.” People be spilling out their truths to Mercedes y’all.

“Alright, look, you need to get something through your Mohawk real quick: you’re the baby’s daddy. It takes a hell of a lot more to be a father and that role’s already been cast because Quinn chose Finn. You need to accept that and move on cause you have no business messin’ up that girl’s life more than you already have. You need to back off. You owe her at least that much. ”Aw, Mercedes. Laying down tough love. And looking out for Quinn before they were even friends. Man. I love Mercedes.

Oh that’s right – Quinn has an older sister! Why did we never meet her?

“He wears a helmet when he plays, right?” – THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYIN’! #BlessFinnsHeart

“I have to go, they’ll think I’m pooping.” Hehehehe.

omg. So I love this still. Finn is doing karate moves in the bathroom mirror to pump himself up to sing to the Fabrays that Quinn’s pregnant. That is so effing funny. What happened to this Finn?

You’re Having My Baby. Haha. This song is so cheesy. This scene is so uncomfortable.

So Quinn’s parents, unlike Finn, are NOT simple-minded and have figured it out. And it’s terrifying.

“We didn’t even have sex” #BlessFinnsHeart

Quinn’s parents are kicking her out. Well, her dad is and her mom isn’t standing up to him. This is rough. Especially when you realize they’re supposed to be 15. So wrong. Poor Quinn. And her dad just screamed at her that she was a disappointment. Yeah…she’s had to deal with some shit. And in the end, they don’t acknowledge that she did and try to make her out to be the bad guy, and selfish… Way to go, RIB.

Oh good ole Carol, without a moment of hesitationlets Quinn stay with them.

“Honey, you can stay here as long as you want.” Carol’s the best. So glad she found Burt.

“We’re not so different, you and me. We’re both mildly attractive and extremely grating. Love is hard for us. We look for boys we know we can never have. Mr. Schue is a perfect target for our self-esteem issues. He can never reciprocate our feelings which only reinforces the conviction that we’re not worthy of being loved. Trust me. I’m a cautionary tale. You need to find some self-respect, Rachel. Get that mildly attractive groove back.” Suzy Pepper, ladies and gentlemen. Dropping truth bombs.

“There’s some boy out there who’s gonna like you for everything you are, including those parts of you that even you don’t like. Those are gonna be the things about you that he likes the most.” Hmm…might be true. Never thought about this, but I’d say that describes Jesse. But not Finn so much. Maybe recently. But…he has made several comments about her being annoying or controlling as they were dating. And not in a ‘those are my favorite things about her’ kinda way. Just sayin’.

Aw. Kurt seems like he feels really bad about Quinn getting kicked out.

“Open your eyes! I didn’t tell you to close your eyes.” “Is there a cake?” No, there’s no cake!” #BlessFinnsHeart

Lean On Me. Watching this now, with one ep left and it’s graduation…yeah, I’m crying. Dammit, Glee.

haha, Mercedes just kinda pushed past Rachel who was front and center to sing her solo. Probably not intentional but still funny.

Damn, Kevin McHale.

Damn, Amber Riley.

SOLOS: Rachel (1), Will (2), Finn (2), Artie (1), Mercedes (1)

[growingstronglikeahighgardenrose]

Night Divine

Title: Night Divine

Prompt: Night Divine

Pairings: Sidney/Charlotte, Babington/Esther, Clara/Crowe

Short: Based on an idea I saw on authorinmyhead’s Instagram account: at exactly midnight on new years eve, following their 22nd birthday, everybody possesses the body of their soulmate and tries to leave notes so the other can find them. Crowe had managed to ruin his chances by being too drunk to leave behind a clue. Sidney and Babington were determined to learn from his mistake. But not all soulmates want to be found.

AO3

Scholars had studied ancients texts for centuries trying to understand how it had come to be.

But in the end, they all came to the same conclusion: the beginning of the new year had always been celebrated. There were enough tales by the romans and greeks confirming they, and even the pagan regions had their ways of celebrating the event.

After the collapse of the roman empire, written documents were harder to come by. By the time another document was written about the celebration of the New Year, it was noted that all people of twenty-two years of age were transported into the body of their soulmate for sixty seconds at the end of the year in which they turned twenty-two.

Whenever someone turned twenty-two, the New Year Party was usually moved to New Year’s Day, so that on the last night of the year, the whole family could gather and organize a party for the family member turning twenty-two. It had become known as Night Divine, since God showed his divine judgement on that night, creating unions as he deemed fit.

Though this was tradition, many preferred to have at least some measure of privacy when it happened. It was also rarely celebrated by those in the highest ranks in society, where soulmates rarely married, and many young ladies were wed before they reached the age of twenty-two. They spent the night in private, and when they were transported into the bodies of their soulmates, they tried not to find out who the other was. They shed their tears in private as well, for having seen their soulmate without ever being able to meet them. Unless money troubles forced young people to wed, most refrained from it until they were past the age of twenty-two. This was not to say love was not found before that time. Many young couples dreaded the moment the first of them turned twenty-two.

Of course, the day wasn’t always a happy one. There were struggles: people who reached the age of twenty-two and weren’t transported into another being. In the best case their soulmate wasn’t born yet or too young so they couldn’t leave a note or name behind , and they would have to wait until their soulmate turned twenty-two so they could find them in turn. Then there were those who didn’t have a soulmate or a soulmate who had died too soon. There were quite some people who got notes in another language, or with an address from another country. However, most times, the person seemed to be from their own country, a grace of God.

 It was 1813 when Matthew Crowe was catapulted out of his own body on the Divine Night of New Year’s Eve, and thrown into the body of another lady.

He had been home for all of three months after the war had ended, and had not spent a day sober since. As the fourth son to a baronet, he’d tried gaining glory and rising in his father’s esteem by joining the military. This had not been an original idea, since sons two and three, who had always been better people, had joined first. However, Crowe was the only one to return home. And he was the only one of his friends to return home as well. He’d quit the military the second he set foot on English soil again, but the haunting memories hadn’t quit him. He quickly discovered that if he drank too much, he’d have a deep dark dreamless sleep. As one might imagine, he was in London away from his family, and had spent no thoughts on the importance of the New Year’s Eve he was about to have. He’d stumbled out of the cards room where Parker and Babington sat to relieve himself, when the bells started ringing to announce the new year.

In a spacious green living room he didn’t recognize, sat people he didn’t recognize. Everything was strange and weird and he was still drunk. He stumbled through the room, through a pair of white doors and landed in an apartment hallway, before being catapulted back into his own body.

He’d ran back towards the card room as fast as he could, and threw up before being able to tell his friends about it. He was glad they asked so many questions, and he was glad they weren’t as shitfaced as him, because the next morning, he woke up with an incredible hangover and didn’t remember a thing. His friends managed to tell him he’d gone into the body of a young woman somewhere in a city. But they couldn’t tell him anything about her name, country or looks. He’d fucked up beyond compare. But the shock of having squandered away his soulmate was enough to get his alcohol problem back to a manageable level.

Luckily for Crowe, there was a backup, since the day he had visited his soulmate, there had been a link between the two. He knew things he used to know nothing about, like slavery and politics. And sometimes his body ached without him having injured himself. It was the bond. Crowe found it a lot of bollocks. He didn’t need their pain or knowledge, he needed their name.

It had also been a lesson for his friends, who turned twenty-two the following year. They had prepared for the event as well as they could. They knew all pieces of advice out there: don’t waste time on any talking until you get your name and address out, try to write in multiple languages if you can’t figure out where you are, don’t let propriety keep you for calling out for help as quickly as possible, if all else failed they had to use pieces of furniture to spell their surname or write their name in their own blood. They had chosen to celebrate New Year’s Eve in private. They’d put down papers and pens, mirrors and personal attributes in case their soulmate reached the age of twenty-two as well. On top of that, Crowe would be there to talk to their soulmates when they entered their bodies.

But instead, Crowe sat there as the bodies of his friends slumped lifelessly into their chairs.

••••••••••

The first thing Sidney Parker registered was the sound of breaking glass. Looking around him, he spotted shards of glass at his feet, or rather, her shoes, for he was thrown into the body of a sizeably shorter woman.

‘Charlotte?  Charlotte?’

Sidney looked up in confusion.

‘You’re not Charlotte, are you? Oh dear, that’s quite the age gap. She’s five years younger’, the woman bemoaned.

‘No. So her name is Charlotte?’

‘Yes! But dear wife, five years is fine, it’s not too bad. I am her father, this is her mother, and these are her grandmother and grandfather on my side of the family, that’s her grandmother on her mother’s side, and these are her siblings.’

There were more siblings than Sidney could count.

Dear God, these people clearly loved each other a lot.

His seconds were dwindling however.

‘My name is Sidney Parker. I live in San-‘

He’d managed to get his name across, but was frustrated that he hadn’t caught hers. There were thousands of Charlotte’s in the country. But her family was friendly,

  ••••••••••

  Babington’s encounter was possibly even worse than that. For when he entered his soulmate’s body, she was already kissing someone else. He drew back quickly, red hair fluttering around his head.

‘Who are you?’

‘Who are you?’

‘You turned twenty-two too?’

The man with the blond hair nodded.

‘They don’t have pens or paper on them.’

‘They probably thought they were soulmates. Quick. Let’s call for paper and pens and tell everyone our name. We have no time to lose.’

‘Yes!’

They threw open the doors and started running, calling for paper and pens and servants. They weren’t about to end up as cautionary tales about people who took too long to analyse their situation and then failing to leave a trace behind.

‘Edward, Esther! What’s with the shouting?’

A moody old lady, whose look screamed wealth, looked at them with suspicious eyes.

‘Edward, what news of your soulmate?’

‘I’m Lord James Babbington!’

‘And I’m Miss –‘

 ••••••••••

  Sidney and Babington were thrown back into their own bodies.

‘Well?’

‘No one came here. Congratulations. You both got yourselves younger ladies. So tell me, how was it?’

‘She had a big family. A very big one. Her name was Charlotte. Her father mother said she was five years younger than me. But the father started introducing the whole family. I only got my name across, not hers.’

‘Sucks man. But hey, they can find you. There aren’t that many Parkers in England. Now Write everything down. Every little detail. Babbers, how about you?’

‘She was kissing someone else.’

‘Ow man’, Crowe sighed.

‘The man she was kissing had just turned twenty-two. The couple probably thought they were soulmates.’

‘I’m sorry’, Sidney said, and laid a supportive hand on his shoulder.

‘It was quite confusing. The girl in the body of the blond man wasn’t the girl whose body I was in, otherwise she would have recognized herself. So the couple had gotten it wrong. We started running around, looking for a way to get our name across. Then there was this woman who addressed both me and the girl on a first name basis.  I managed to say my name but then I was thrown back. I just wonder who is in the position to call both parts of a couple by a first name basis. Isn’t that odd? And then she only asked the boy about his soulmate.’

‘Perhaps the girl is still under the age of twenty-two?’

‘Yes, that’s what I assumed. But why would the woman address both parties with their first names? Come to think of it, why would you ask someone who already has a partner about their soulmate? It would destroy the relationship.’

‘If there is one.’

‘What?’

‘People only use first names in close family circles. If the couple were married, she would address at least one of them with their surname or title. So they’re not married. And the old woman knew both of them. They could be family, or very close friends. And the most logical reason one would ask such a harmful question would be if they were unaware of the inappropriateness.’

‘Have you even drank today?’

‘Not a drop. But now I can start.’

‘Those were some very strong deductive skills Crowe, you could be great if you didn’t drink so much.’

‘I’ve done my part for my country.’

‘So… They’re family… And in a secret relation?’

‘The last part makes sense, taking into accord the first. Congratulations, Babbers. You got yourself into a proper mess.’

‘Don’t talk about them that way. We’re just jumping to conclusions right now. I wonder if they’ll be able to find us.’

‘Time will tell’, decided Sidney. He hadn’t been looking forward to discovering his soulmate, after Eliza had ripped his heart out by marrying someone rich before either of them reached the age of twenty-two. He didn’t know whether he should be relieved or sad that his soulmate hadn’t been Eliza. But it did help him to process the years old heartache. He now knew he wasn’t destined to be with her, and knew he wasn’t intended to stay alone.

••••••••••

Three years passed, and they weren’t contacted by the girls. Sidney could only guess at the reasons, but Babington feared his soulmate might have decided to stay together with the blond man she’d been kissing. People sometimes didn’t want their soulmate. It had happened before. Most of the times they’d found love before finding out their soulmate, or they hated the principle that someone else decided what was best for them.

They did feel them though. Babington rarely felt anything. Sidney woke up with grazed knees a lot, and he sometimes felt annoying tingles on his arms during daytime. It was clear his soulmate was an active one. Crowe however, had it worse. He was woken up in the middle of the night a lot. His night shirt wet, and his body aching all over. Sometimes, even during the day in the middle of a conversation, he’d fall to the floor, suffering pains he could neither describe nor place. He never wanted to talk about it, but his friends were there for him.

On the end of the third year, something changed. They all kept each other from drinking too much before the stroke midnight, as they did each year since Crowe got drunk and lost his soulmate. They were playing cards at the New Year’s Eve party of the prince regent when Crowe suddenly shot up. Sidney recognized the sign and immediately took the pen and paper he’d put in his coat.

‘Who are you?’

‘Clara. Clara Brereton.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘He never looked for me before. He especially shouldn’t start now. Please, don’t let him start looking.’

‘Our friend was drunk. He couldn’t leave you a message because of it. He deeply regrets it. He knew not how to find you. Who are your parents?’

‘They’re very poor. I don’t live with them. Where am I?’

‘You are in the body of Mr. Matthew Crowe. I am Mr. Parker, this is Lord Babington. You’re at the New Year’s party of the prince regent.’

‘Oh my God.’

They’d never seen such a terrified and simultaneously impressed look in the eyes of their friend. If she was poor, it was no wonder that she felt shy to share any information when she was catapulted into such wealth.

‘Tell Mr. Crowe that I am so sorry for all the pain he must have felt. I tried to prevent it. I tried. I’m still looking for ways to put an end to it, for his sake. Do tell him I apologize. I’m fine as a person, it’s just that sometimes… Painful things happen. Don’t let him look for me please. Goodbye.’

A muscle spasm signalled that the lady had left Crowe’s body and that their friend had returned.

‘It feels so weird. When your soul isn’t the one doing the travelling, you actually stay put and you can feel them in you. She’s a strong feisty one. I like her.’

He grinned at them, but upon seeing their furrowed brows, his smile fided.

‘What?’

‘She didn’t want to give us her address.’

‘What – why?’

‘I believe she might be in bad company. She mentioned her parents being poor and being in a bad place to be visited. She also apologized for all the pain she’s caused you and wanted to assure you that she tried to prevent the pain. Crowe, could you tell us what that was about?’

Mr. Crowe ignored Babington and directed his next question at Sidney.

‘Didn’t she tell her name?’

‘Miss Brereton. Clara Brereton.’

‘I’ve heard that name before, I think. But it’s a really distant memory. I don’t know where from’, confessed Lord Babington.

‘Doesn’t sound familiar to me’, Sidney sighed.

‘But Crowe, what of it?’ Lord Babington encouraged. The curly haired man stood and shook his head.

‘I’ll be needing that drink. Night Divine my ass.’

His drinking worsened after that night. She wasn’t going to look for him, and Lord Babington tried really hard to remember where he got the name from, but he couldn’t.

Crowe checked the registers in every town he passed through, but there was no Brereton household in which any Clara lived.

He drank even more after that.

••••••••••

Once a year, he did his best to remain sober until midnight, so that he could help his friends. This year was the year Sidney knew his soulmate would reach the age of twenty-two.

Lord Babington still hadn’t heard a thing from his soulmate, he’d given up the hope that she would magically change her mind about him. So he started philandering like he had before New Year 1814, but he never got attached, and nothing ever satisfied him. She was still there, on the back of his mind, an invisible presence with no personality or surname, yet connected to him by divine fate. Though he’d gathered she was quite stubborn, from years of refusing to unite with her soulmate, or even just contacting him out of curiosity.

He hadn’t expected that, on December 31st 1819, he would get a visit from his soulmate as well.

Crowe, who was still hungover from the previous day since he hadn’t drank enough that day, Crowe, whose hands were shaking violently, almost jumped out of his chair when both of his friends fell backwards in their chairs before shooting upright.

His two friends looked around, the grouchy face of Parker being replaced by a surprised and amazed expression, and the face of his good humoured friend become guarded and haughty. It were quite strange expressions on their faces.

‘Right. Hello there, before you are mirrors so you can check out your future husbands. Please, write down your full names and addresses on these papers. Full names and addresses of Parker and Babbers are on them as well. Memorize them as well as you can, though my friends will do their utmost bests to contact you. I’m their friend: Mr. Crowe.’

Parker started writing immediately, but Babington stared at his hands, before reaching for the mirror. He looked to be quite apprehensive, touching his own face.

‘How is he?’ asked Parker’s soulmate.

‘Sidney’s a caring young man. Good sense of humour, but rather ill-humoured most days. Can be gruff, but I’m sure a kind wife will be able to knock that out of him. I’ve seen him being warm and friendly before. He’s the youngest brother of three, no worries though, he’s still rich. Yours is too, even more so, Miss.’

Babington looked up and frowned. It was a mighty strange look on him, and Crowe wished Babington would never scrutinize him in the way his soulmate was now scrutinizing him with Babington’s eyes.

‘I don’t care about wealth.’

‘He’s got a great personality too. Very friendly, very caring. He puts up with a lot of my shit.’

Babington looked away. He still hadn’t touched the paper.

‘Could you please write your name? He knows you might be together with someone else, and he won’t force himself on you. He just wants to know who you are.’

‘He would? That’s… Very kind. Tell him that even in my darkest dreams I couldn’t imagine him forgiven me for what I was doing at the moment he entered my body. That man is dead to me now.  It’s why I never contacted him. I was too ashamed. And I’m not worth having. I’m not going to contact him, and I don’t want him to find me. I don’t know him, he doesn’t know me. There’s no reason why we should be together. I –‘

Despite the fact that they had all talked at an incredible speed, there still hadn’t been enough time. The bodies in front of him shook, and his friends returned to him, looking at him with expectant eyes.

  Sidney grabbed the paper. ‘Charlotte Heywood. Willingden. Heywood Farm. Didn’t contact you because my parents wanted to make sure we were matched’, he read out loud.

Babington looked at the paper in front of him. ‘I’m sorry for what happened. I wish you well, Esther.’ She hadn’t given any new information.

His eyes connected with Crowe’s. His friend was crestfallen. ‘She’s not together with the man she was kissing. She was too ashamed by the event, that’s why she never contacted you. I don’t think she has a lot of confidence.’

‘She doesn’t. I could… I could feel her. It was so dark. There was humour, and a softness, but she’s not doing great I think.’

‘She said something about not being worth having. Welcome to the club man, these women just don’t want to be found.’

‘We’re forgetting someone, Crowe. Parker, how was your lady?’

‘She…’ He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t keep himself from laughing. ‘She’s like a ball of energy, excitement and joy. Quite overwhelming. She’ll be a handful.’

‘Congratulations, dear friend. Seems broody old you can finally meet your match. May she be the sunlight that lights your dark mood.’

Sidney Parker tried his best to scowl, but failed to do so. He set out for the Heywood farm the day after the holidays were officially over, a ring in his pocket.

••••••••••

Esther Denham hadn’t thought her life would go this way.

At the age of seventeen, she was certain that she and her stepbrother were going to be together forever. Edward wasn’t an affectionate man. But he was the only one who was there for her after her parents died. The only one who took the trouble to know her and keep her company. He also claimed to love her and promised to never leave her.

At the end of her eighteenth year on this planet, at the beginning of December, she’d overheard some town girls talking about how he’d been intimate with a maid of Lady Denham’s. She’d confronted him, and first he’d denied it, but then he’d admitted to it. He promised her that it was an accident and that it wouldn’t happen again, for she was his true love. In an attempt to prove how certain he was, he kissed her at midnight.

It had been the end of all promises. It was their first kiss, and their last kiss. Because she suddenly felt a presence in her body which was decidedly not Edward. The presence of this person filled her up with warmth. And he simultaneously felt like a cool bath on a hot summer’s day. Edward had never felt as soothing and gentle as the man. Edward was fire: burning everything he encountered on his path; he was ice: cold and unyielding. At the same time his body had been inhabited by a girl apparently, or so their aunt told them afterwards.

Her aunt wished she’d contact Lord Babington immediately, but Edward told her soulmates were forced upon them by deities and society. “What does some God above know what is good for us? Why do we let them decide.” Esther listened for a year, and kept anyone from contacting her soulmate. A year in which Edward grew even more money hungry and merciless, visited his aunt when she was ill as if her sickly form was some kind of theatre piece for him to watch, and kept screwing around.

She decided that perhaps God couldn’t know everything, but both God and she herself could clearly see that Edward was bad for her. She gave up on his empty promises. It had been a hard thing to do. He turned her life into a living hell, calling her names, berating her and exercising all male control he could. All the while he kept on screwing Clara in an attempt to disgrace her, but Clara managed to avoid the truth getting out to anyone except Esther. She became isolated. And all his comments on her stupidity seeped right through her skin. She was too proud to show him how they got to her, but in the privacy of her room she couldn’t help but break down a little more each day. She hated herself for ever having been in love with him. She hated herself for trusting men. She hated herself for being stupid and powerless. And the only thing which could have been good about her life, her soulmate, had been taking from her by her own stupidity as well. She’d been seventeen and had still been years away from turning twenty-two, but she’d known that others could get into her body at the stroke of midnight. The only impression her soulmate would have, would be that instead of awaiting a soulmate or celebrating the New Year, that she’d been kissing someone else, without a wedding ring in sight that would excuse it.

She refrained from contacting her soulmate in the following years as well. She felt she’d ruined it. He was a lord. He’d be wealthy and well acquainted with the ways of the world. Meanwhile she was poor, was involved in an improper relationship as far as he knew, and had spent all her life in a stupid seaside town. Nothing about her would be attractive to a lord. She hadn’t made a good first impression, the only thing she could do was avoid him to keep him from discovering more bad things about her. If they met, he’d find out she’d been kissing her stepbrother. If that didn’t make him run: her stupidity and lack of wealth would make it happen. Besides, she didn’t know if she could trust another man, even one whose presence felt like a comfortable blanket.

In her twenty third year of life, she knew their paths were bound to cross again. She wondered if he was the way he seemed when he inhabited her body for a minute. She wondered what he thought of her. Though she knew she wouldn’t get answers. She decided it would be for the best if she didn’t give him a way to contact her. The only thing she wished to do, was to find a way to apologize.

She hadn’t expected to interact with someone. She hadn’t expected him to be this prepared. She hadn’t expected to be forgiven. She hadn’t expected to hear what he was like, and she hadn’t expected to be able to look at his face. He was actually quite handsome. But her confidence was so low, hearing of his forgiveness only made her feel worse. She felt too self-aware. She couldn’t believe she was matched to wealthy lord, who was so kind he’d forgive her and wish her all happiness. She wasn’t worth the forgiveness, and she wasn’t worthy of such a fine spouse, she was so much less.

She was glad that she’d managed to apologize. But going into his body had been a curse, for now his face filled her dreams, and her mind kept conjuring images of situations which could never happen.

 ‘Is there something the matter, cousin?’

‘Nothing you should know of, Clara.’

‘I’m not your enemy.’

‘How can you be something else, if we’re vying for the same thing?’

‘I would like to have some of her money, yes. I have none of it myself. This is a competition, but it’s not worth this fight.’

‘You have no problem fighting over it with my brother in the most creative of ways.’

‘Don’t tell me you want him? Whatever you imagine, that is quite impossible. And he’s not a good man, you’re a fool if you can’t see that. Besides, it’s all on Edward. I never initiated anything. He keeps forcing himself on me, and I keep barely avoiding scandal. I don’t want him, and I don’t want scandal. A scandal will be the end of me.’

‘I don’t want him. And I don’t really care about the money either. That’s always been Edward. I just wanted a happy life.’

Clara nodded.

‘We could be allies, you know. The two of us are stronger and smarter than him.’

‘And do what?’

‘I don’t know. But we could stop him from influencing our lives so much. We could support each other… You turned twenty-two last year, do you know your soulmate?’

‘Yes but… I… We can’t.’

‘I rejected mine as well. I told you before I managed to survive Edward because I was used to someone a lot worse in my previous home. There’s an automatic connection between soulmates, he probably felt what happened to me. To anyone who knows the extent of what I’ve experienced, I’m ruined goods. And he’s so privileged. I would risk his reputation if he’d have me at all, since he probably knows or suspects what happened.’

Eshter didn’t feel comfortable confiding in Clara yet. She was still suspicious, despite her cousin’s openness. But in a matter of months, that changed. Clara made sure Esther spent a lot of time in Lady Denham’s house, away from Edward’s influence. The old woman wasn’t particularly enjoyable, but Esther managed to score some points for making an effort for her aunt.

In turn, Esther made sure to follow Edward and Clara. An end came to Edward’s days of trying to ruin Clara. In Juli of the same year, the women outed Edward’s gambling, dalliances with kitchen maids, and attempts to find and destroy Lady Denham’s will when the old woman took ill.

Edward was scrapped from the will, and banished from Sanditon.

 ••••••••••

 Charlotte and Sidney had been courting for six months. It hadn’t always been easy. Sidney had been imperious, hard, arrogant and guarded, despite being eager to get to know his soulmate. And Charlotte had been overly open and young. But by and by, they got to understand one another, and had brought out the best in each other. She’d altered him so much, that he even started feeling guilty for ignoring his brother’s pleas for help and support in Sanditon. And so, under Charlotte’s encouragements, it was decided that they were going to marry in Sanditon. Charlotte was a small country girl, and wouldn’t have minded a small wedding, but upon meeting his brother, she felt her marriage to his brother could help to put Sanditon on the map, which in turn would help Sanditon grow and bring money to the oldest Parker brother.

All Heywoods moved to the town for the summer months. As she lived there, she got to know Sidney’s ward Miss Georgiana, and quickly befriended her, despite the girl being quite reserved at first because she thought Charlotte would support Sidney in everything. But she learned very quickly that Charlotte wasn’t like Sidney, and that she didn’t have any problem opposing him if she thought it would make Georgiana’s life better. She also got to know Lady Denham and her cousins, the ladies were quite reserved and though she didn’t like the Lady or Miss Brereton too much, Miss Denham’s manners and humour reminded her of Sidney which lead to Charlotte taking an instant liking to her. She sometimes wondered if the Esther Denham of Sanditon had been the Esther she’d met at the end of the previous year. She knew that Esther hadn’t wanted to meet her soulmate, but she couldn’t help but think how delightful it would be if Sidney’s best friend would find true love in Sanditon, in a girl she liked very much. She tried to find anything which would give away whether Esther Denham was the Esther of New Year’s Eve. She was quite funny, and the Esther of New Year hadn’t been funny. This Esther also had quite a confident air, which the Esther of New Year didn’t have. She also didn’t know the age of this Esther. In the end she decided that it was unlikely that it was the same Esther, since this one gave no sign of recognition when she was introduced to Charlotte. While the Esther of New Year’s Eve should have recognized her name, and the face of her fiancé.

She befriended some of the workmen as well, and grew even closer to the eldest Parker. Before the wedding took place, Charlotte managed to create a series of events to draw attention to the town, from a regatta to a ball to entertain Sidney’s London acquaintances before the wedding.

It was a great success. Everything was booked. Even the newly built block of buildings was rented and inhabited before they had applied the finishing touches. The last licks of paint were for after the wedding. Tom was ecstatic.

••••••••••

Esther had known, the second she saw Sidney Parker after his years of absence, with a young lady holding on to his arm, that she would be in trouble.

He was the man she’d sat next to when she was transported into the body of her fiancé. If he was going to marry, his friends would no doubt come.

She felt the instinctive need to hide, but since she met the two at a dinner, she was incapable of doing so. So she just put on her habitual confident and indifferent air, and pretended not to recognize them when they were introduced. Clara had noticed her freezing when the Parker brother entered the dining room however, and asked her about it after everyone had left.

Gods ways were ineffable, it turned out, since Clara recognized the man as well. It was that even they realized they were destined to be with Mr. Parker’s two friends. And they both comforted the other with the knowledge that their soulmates didn’t know what they looked like. Though Mr. Crowe knew Clara’s surname. They vouched to keep the others identity safe in case one of them was revealed though.

At the dinner, Esther had inconspicuously asked when the guests would start coming in. First, they would the day before the wedding, but that changed when Miss Heywood made an event calendar to lure the guests sooner. News came out that Mr. Parker’s friends would come in early and participate in the regatta. Esther and Clara stayed away with their aunt, who had ‘no desire in running around on a hill to get mud on a dress , and risk twisting an ankle on the grass.’

The midsummer ball, however, was inevitable. But they were grateful for Charlotte for giving the ball a theme. In a popular twist on the divine night, Charlotte had decided to make it a costumed party. Everyone was to wear a mask. And at the stroke of midnight, everyone would reveal their identity to their dance partner, like the identity of soulmates was uncovered at midnight on New Year’s Eve.

Esther and Clara knew Mr. Crowe and Lord Babington would be present, and they knew a certain Esther Denham and the Clara Brereton would be present.

Since Miss Heywood mentioned a Clara and an Esther attending the ball, both Crowe and Babington had agonized over whether or not to go looking for them. Crowe had done the Crowe thing and gotten himself drunk, and Babington had done the Babington thing and accepted Miss Heywood’s negative answer on whether she thought it might be his soulmate called Esther.

••••••••••

Charlotte greeted Esther and Clara with a big smile. She was wearing a swan mask, and it suited her perfectly. Esther had opted for a dark blue mask covering her eyes. A blue floorlength veil was attached to it as well, hiding a good part of her hair. Clara wore a simple white mask hiding half of her face.

A tall figure which couldn’t be mistaken for anyone else’s than Sidney Parker made his way towards them, with three other men and a lady in tow.

‘Ah, ladies. I’d like to introduce my friends.’

‘Is this not a masked ball? You shouldn’t, Mr. Parker’, noted Esther.

‘Alright, but you already know my name?’

‘I think you’re a bit too recognisable, Mr. Parker’, laughed his fiancée.

‘But how am I to introduce my friends?’

‘Fake names. Anyone can be anyone tonight”, decided Clara.

‘I shall be Lord Dionysys.. sus?’, slurred a man with curly hair and a red mask obscuring his entire face except his mouth region. On both cheeks, wine bottles were drawn.

‘How fitting’, Clara smirked.

Esther couldn’t help but smile.

‘Ser Lancelot’, said another.

‘Lady of the Lake’, decided the woman with black hair in a long white and blue dress with many jewels. ‘Pleased to meet you, and nice to see you again, Charlotte.’

‘Lady Su-‘ Charlotte tried asking, but the woman laid a finger on her lips. ‘We must keep the mystery. Even though I cheated.’

Everyone now focussed on the last man. His hair was almost invisible underneath his black hat, and his face was concealed by a black scarf with holes cut out for the eyes. Fake whiskers and a goatee were drawn on his upper lip and chin.

‘I don’t want to be any ser or lord tonight, I shall be Claude Duval.’

‘I am Miss Swan tonight’, decided Charlotte.

‘I shall be Miss Bennett. Since I enjoyed Pride and Prejudice’, Clara decided.

Esther looked about.

‘I’m afraid I’m not feeling particularly inspired.’ She thought about popular works of fiction and myths and legends which might tell something about her.

‘I shall go by the name Rhiannon.’ A strong minded goddess who chose her own husband and was often misinterpreted wasn’t a bad thing to be.

    ‘Our friend assures us of good sport here, shall we find any?’ asked the inebriated incarnation of the God of Wine.

‘I believe there is very little shooting in the neighbourhood, sir’, Esther shot back. The sooner Mr. Parker’s friends left them, the better.

‘I wasn’t thinking of shooting.’

‘My friend was thinking of dancing, I’m sure’, the highwayman dressed in black laughed while looking at his friend.

‘Could we persuade any of you young ladies to dance with us?’

It was the opposite of what Esther desired. But Charlotte skipped to her fiancé, Clara was approached by the Arthurian knight and she herself was approached by the highwayman.

    ‘You do wish to dance with me, don’t you?’

‘I suppose the intention of a ball is to dance.’

‘That doesn’t mean you wish to be dancing.’

‘I didn’t think a highwayman would take into account what someone desires.’

‘I’m not just any highwayman. I’m Duval. I’m a gentleman thief.’

‘And a thief of hearts, who asks women to dance with him after robbing their husbands.’

‘Ah, I’ve forgotten something then. Pray tell where your husband is, so I can rob him first.’

Esther had to laugh and shook her head.

‘Unfortunately, I have yet to find a husband who can be robbed.’

‘Pick one, if memory serves me well, you picked your own husband.’

That certainly got a new connotation, taking into account how she was avoiding her soulmate at this very moment. She wished she could distinguish the colour of his eyes or the structure of his hair. But both were shielded by the black fabric and hat. She could currently be dancing with him. Either that, or he was dancing with the Lady of the Lake. Clara was most definitely dancing with Mr. Crowe. Mr. Crowe hadn’t worn a hat, and she’d recognized him immediately. She wondered if Clara knew she was dancing with her soulmate.

‘I do. But I have yet to find someone I deem worthy of the title.’

‘Ha! And pray tell, what set of accomplishments must a man show before you deem him worthy, or do you deem the one chosen by Night Divine to be the worthy candidate?’

If Esther stepped on his foot, it was entirely by accident. How to tackle that topic? She collected her wits, after a nervous giggle escaped her mouth.

‘We’ve only known each other for five minutes, and you’re already asking about my soulmate? You rogue. Let’s not discuss it. The whole point of tonight is to have fun and pretend that we’re looking for our soulmate  blindly, until the clock chimes midnight. It’ll be the only time we can choose whose identity we wish to be revealed. I like to choose a soulmate for tonight, let’s not discuss the more serious variant.’

The man bit his lip. ‘As you wish, my goddess.’

Her heart was definitely not beating faster, thank you very much, nor were her cheeks burning. Esther decided their interactions were going way too smoothly. She decided to remain silent for the rest of the dance.

‘You wish to remain mysterious’, he concluded at the end of the dance.

‘Isn’t that the way of deities? Their ways are a mystery to the mortals. I’ve got to keep up the pretence.’

‘And you do so excellently. In some way, nights like these are supposed to strip one of the pretence of our usual lives, so we can be our truest selves, but our true self remains a mystery still, since our covers add a new layer to us. I sometimes wonder when one can be without pretence, I’m starting to think my life has been too full of it.’

‘I doubt there are many among us who can say that they've lived a life free from pretence.’

‘Well, then, surely, if we're to lead a better life we're honour bound to free ourselves from such a burden.’

The dance required Esther to take the hand of another man, which gave her time to reflect. She did tire of pretending. Pretending to be fine to others, pretending being cold and uncaring, pretending she wasn’t worried about meeting her soulmate, but the pretence seeped deeper than that: she tried to pretend to herself that she was alright with not meeting her soulmate. She pretended the dreams filled with visions of a future with him didn’t happen. It was tiring. She did admire the highwayman for his openness and friendliness, but at the same time his openness intimidated her. She wished she could remain silent and maintain her façade, because right now, she was everything but calm. He made her laugh, he made her wonder, he made her reflect, he made her curious, and his tall form made her stomach uneasy.

Lord Babington was struggling with his emotions as well. Every day for the past five years, a girl had been on the back of his mind, popping up whenever he was enjoying himself with someone else. She did now too, as he was enjoying a dance with the vibrant young woman in blue. He knew that somewhere out there, a sad insecure Esther lived, who didn’t deem herself worthy of her soulmate. He felt guilty for enjoying himself while she was depressed, with a funny, witty and confidant woman who clearly didn’t care a fig about soulmates. He wondered whether the woman in his arms had experienced Night Divine herself. He assumed she had, most young women who hadn’t were all star-eyed thinking about the moment they could finally contact their true love, while she seemed unwilling to think about him. A woman who didn’t want to think about her own soulmate, would perhaps not mind to be with a person who had a soulmate but was still single, like himself.

‘I feel disinclined to be in agreement with you too much, too soon. I wouldn’t want to give the impression I’m enjoying the company of a highwayman.’

Lord Babington had to laugh again. ‘No, no, no, no. Whatever you do, you must guard against that. The humiliation. You have your reputation to consider.’

‘And you yours, though I’m sure yours is beyond redemption.’

The woman nodded. The dance had ended, but their conversation hadn’t, and against her better judgement, Esther was persuaded to give him the next dance as well, when he offered her his hand.

‘I admit, I am a highwayman. But I think you’d be surprised. I’m not such a good-for-nothing as I would like. Had the king known me, he wouldn’t have hung me.’

The edges of reality started to blur, as both kept on drawing from the stories surrounding their characters. Yet, though while pretending to be another, Lord Babington spoke only truth when he admitted that he had spent his life pretending to be a good-for-nothing dandy who enjoyed gambling and women, in his darkest dreams, he wished to have a domestic life, filled with peace. And he wished peace for his friends as well. He’d much rather see them all nicely settled, instead of them having yet another drunken story to tell.

‘Are you going to tell me you are a misunderstood Robin Hood, who gifted to the poor instead? How cliché.’

‘Cliché?’

‘All thieves pretend to be good. Why can’t any of them just own up to the fact that they’re thieves? Not everything on this planet is done with good intentions. One can be satisfied if something if one’s actions merit oneself, to have those actions merit others as well is quite rare.’

‘You wouldn’t mind me stealing for my own merit only?’

‘It’s not good, by any means. But I believe it is still better if your actions serve you, than if you do things simply because you feel forced by society or acquaintances, in such cases, your actions don’t serve anyone. Those are the worst kinds of actions, not the selfish ones which merit you, not those who merit others, but those you do simply because you are expected to.’

‘You are full of wisdom, goddess Rhiannon. I hope our society will, in some future, learn not to apply so much pressure on its people. But in the meantime we can fight it by leading by example. Let’s not do things simply because they are expected of us.’

Esther bit her lip. She felt that her original comment, which had been meant to be merely amusing, had escalated and turned into something far too revealing and outright. Her words surprised even herself. What had she done not for herself but for something like society or propriety?

‘Spoken as a man and a thief. Women do not have such freedom. Should we go against the written and unwritten rules of society, our reputations would be tarnished. A lady’s reputation is everything. I shall leave men to the task, since they get every other important task in the world as well, save for childbearing.’

‘My word’, he laughed. She certainly wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. Of course, he could be just about anyone, instead of a Lord who indeed got all his money and his job simply by being born into the right household, and being born male. But it was still a bold statement to say to anyone. He knew quite a few women, in the higher ranks of society, who might exclaim similar things if they were wealthy enough, and they were either widowed or married to a particularly liberal husband. He had to admit he admired her spirit.

The song ended and the lady bowed.

‘Now I shall take my leave, so you might steal another woman’s heart. I’m quite attached to mine.’

‘But isn’t the fun in risking it?’ Babington couldn’t help but ask.

‘You have an awful idea of fun, you rascal.’

She disappeared, her stunning blue veil floating behind her.

  ••••••••••

Esther, Charlotte and Georgiana went outside to catch some air, and discuss the ball. Inside, the men were doing the same. The Lady of the Lake joined them and informed Charlotte that the oldest Mr. Parker was looking for her. She apologized and left.

‘How's your pursuit of the lady in blue progressing, then, Babington? I noticed you two shared two dances, and you seemed to be having a good time.’

‘Very well. She professes she must keep from agreeing with me, and has encouraged me to find other ladies for the evening. She's deliciously witty and smart. She had no problem playing the: men get to do everything card.’

‘Saucy bitch. And you, a peer of the realm. Has she any idea?’ asked Crowe.

Babington shook his head, smiling.

‘I love it’, Crowe laughed.

‘So, how long before you, er, bring her to heel?’

‘"Bring her to heel"? She's not a dog, Crowe, she's a young lady. Besides, there’s still Esther.’

‘She needs to be mastered. And mastering a girl is a great deal of fun. You’ve held on to her for over five years, Babington. Are you going to wait for her the rest of your life? All I’m saying is if you really like this one, why not go chase her? A real woman is so much better than some untouchable soulmate somewhere on the world’, venom seeped through his words. Years of his soulmate avoiding him while he felt her pain, made him grow bitter and frustrated. Lord Babington could hardly blame him, luck had never been on Crowe’s side. He couldn’t blame his friend from wanting to move on from his soulmate. But right now, during a ball, was not the time to have a serious conversation about it.

‘Mind you, I like a bit of spirit in a girl’, Babington admitted, continuing the conversation as if he wasn’t worried… and wasn’t seriously considering pursuing the red haired woman, which he was.

‘That Austen girl I was dancing with, she’s got some real spunk about her. I like that in a woman. If I found her in a certain other setting, I would definitely take her to my chambers’, he grinned.

‘You pig!’ scolded Lord Babington.

‘Now now, Crowe, perhaps a glass of orange juice would do you well’, frowned Sidney.

‘Not now’, his friend said as he noticed the girl standing beside an old woman.

He took off in her direction.

••••••••••

  By the time Esther went looking for Clara, it was too late. Clara had gone to her aunt, and Mr. Crowe had gone to Mr. Tom Parker, who had been talking to Charlotte, to ask who the old woman who didn’t bother with a mask was. He quite forgot the charade, and pointed out that it was Lady Denham, the wealthy patron of the town, with her ward Miss Brereton. Charlotte then saw Mr. Crowe marching towards Lady Denham and Clara.

Esther puzzled together Charlotte’s words with her own knowledge. Mr. Crowe might have been drunk, but not that drunk as to forget the surname of his soulmate. He had gone to her, demanding to know her first name, and Lady Denham had ruined it further by exclaiming: ‘Clara, what on earth is the meaning of all this.’

Mr. Crowe’s anger slipped out of him, and he turned on all his charm when replying Lady Denham that he was her soulmate, and she had been avoiding him for three years. He asked Lady Denham whether he was allowed to have a conversation with her while taking a turn about the room, and she had granted it.

Now the two of them were nowhere to be seen, and Esther most definitely panicked.

‘We must find them. You may not know, but they are soulmates. Mr. Crowe is drunk, and Clara has hidden herself from him for years. She only hid herself because it was risky to make herself known. Perhaps if he was sober I might have trusted them to have a civil conversation about it. But he isn’t.’

‘I had no idea’, Charlotte stammered.

‘What can we do?’ asked Lady Georgiana, clearly the most clear headed one.

‘We need to search. Each goes a different direction. Check for any open rooms or remote places.’

‘I take the upstairs’, Georgiana decided.

‘I take the left hallway, there are some two rooms open there, and some dark corners’, Charlotte said as she took her leave as well.

Which left Esther to do the hallway on the right. She tried to look inconspicuous at first, but grew more hurried as time progressed. But no door nor corner offered relief. She didn’t find a trace of her cousin anywhere.

She remained in the main hallway, unwilling to go in without finding her cousin, when suddenly, that very person emerged in the portal of the main door leading out towards the street. Everyone had looked on the inside of the building. It hadn’t crossed their mind that they may have left the building altogether. Behind her, an unmasked man walked, he was surprisingly steady on his feet. He seemed to have sobered overtime.

‘Cousin’, Clara greeted her without revealing her name, as they’d promised.

‘Are you alright?’

‘I am. We talked things over… Well, it was more like shouting from time to time… And crying. But I’m fine. We’re engaged.’

‘You are?’

Clara nodded, unable to hide her smile as tears started slipping out of the corners of her eyes.

‘I couldn’t have wished for a more understanding spouse. We always assume the world to be cruel and unfair. And we almost assume the worst, and after what we experienced, who can blame us? But whatever deity lives up there, they’re right about who they set us up with.’

‘Stop it. You’re making us sound soppy. I might just vomit if I hear any more love and sunshine shit’, Crowe moaned.

‘Then step back. I need to say something to her in private anyway.’

Crowe raised his eyebrows, daring her to command him around. She only raised her eyebrows in return, and he stepped back.

‘Cousin. If he could accept me, there is no reason to believe your soulmate might not accept you as well. Go and have fun tonight, and try to find him. All is not lost, I can scarcely believe it myself.’

‘I don’t know, Clara.’

Her thoughts slipped to the curly brown hair and bluish green eyes of the man she’d seen in the mirror last December.  But then they slipped to the tall man in black. She still didn’t know his identity.

‘Ah, there you are. I was starting to wonder where you… Oh, we were looking for you too!’ Charlotte and Georgiana walked into the hallway together.

‘We’re here. Everything’s fine’, Esther said quickly.

‘What’s fine?’ a deep voice asked behind her.

‘Everything’, Esther said in a haughty tone as she turned to face Sidney Parker.

Charlotte floated to the arm of her beloved.

‘Let’s return to the party. I want to dance’, she cooed. Sidney Parker tried and failed not to smile.

Ser Lancelot and the highwayman remained near the edge of the ballroom. She knew she should try out Lancelot to discover whether he was Lord Babington, but she found herself being asked to dance by Lord Babington again.

  ••••••••••

 ‘Why, you would think there’s not a single other maid in the room.’

‘Do you wish it?’

‘Fine.’

‘Gone cold again in an attempt to not be too agreeable?’

‘Why insist if you’re treated with so little civility?’

‘Perhaps it is the fascination of trying to keep up with your verbal sparring. All I know is the more I speak with you, the more drawn I am to you.’

Esther bit her lip. He was being way too forthright, but unfortunately, their earlier conversations had given him reason to speak earnestly.’

‘You’ve only known me for a couple of hours. First impressions are important but they’re rarely accurate. It’s all superficial.’

‘Was our conversation superficial? I don’t believe so.’

‘We were pretending to be a goddess and a thief throughout the entirety of our conversation. Besides, isn’t there a soulmate? You have to be over twenty-two.’

‘You yourself critiqued me when I made a joke about soulmates a couple of hours ago. And you critiqued me just now for admitting that I liked you based on a couple of hours of knowing you, yet you ask about my soulmate? Someone fate links me to, despite that I’ve never met her? If I would like her upon seeing her, nobody would consider it strange. Yet, to spend hours with you and then decide I like you, is somehow considered too soon?’

Esther found herself rendered speechless.

‘I shall ignore that you wish to avoid discussing your soulmate, and shall talk about mine, as I respect our mutual wish to live a life without pretence, and your wish that men lead by example’, he decided with a smile. ‘I have one, yes. And she has no wish of contacting me even though she knows my full name and address, while I only know her first name is Esther. I have no contact with her. I felt bad about it for a long time, but I believe that if she hasn’t looked for me in years, I’m allowed to choose a fake soulmate for one evening, don’t you agree?’

It was him. It was Lord Babington. All night, she’d been drawn towards her soulmate without knowing who he was, talking to him and laughing with him had been as easy as breathing.

‘You said that this night, you wished to be free to choose the identity of someone at the stroke of midnight, while ignoring real life soulmates. I do as well. It’s only for a night, after all.’

She shook her head, considering how ridiculous their interaction was now that she knew of his identity. ‘This is ridiculous.’

‘I’m serious.’

Oh, she’d said it out loud.

‘I wasn’t expecting this.’

She wasn’t expecting to be confronted with her own words, nor had she expected she would be drawn to her soulmate. She knew what would happen on midnight if she stayed with him. All masks fell off, and she would be face to face with her fate. Stripped of all pretence. She wanted him, the man in front of her. And she had loved every part of him, she enjoyed how his soul felt, she enjoyed how his face looked in the mirror on New Year’s Eve, and she enjoyed his openness, cheerfulness and jokes throughout the night.

But he didn’t know. And she wondered how he’d react.

The music changed, and their right hands slipped towards the other’s body, as their left hands formed a circle above them. It was a more intimate number.

‘I would hate to be a hypocrite. I too wanted to choose someone to discover the identity of at midnight. I believe I have now refrained from agreeing with you for a sufficient period of time. We’ve agreed on disliking pretence, let’s drop the last bit of pretence at midnight.’

Her heart was in her throat, and she could barely breathe.

His gaze was incredibly intense as they continued their dance, which existed of testing the space between them with hands which were a hair’s breath from touching. Every step closer was followed by two steps to create distance, and every time they reached for one another, was followed by a turn away.

Her arms were covered in goose bumps and her fingers ached to touch him.

She was dancing with her soulmate, and he had confessed to enjoying her. He enjoyed her when it was only she, he didn’t know of her poverty or position in society or Edward. Though all that would come very soon, at the stroke of midnight. But right now, she lived in a world in which he actually liked her, and she liked him. And in this short-lived world, a happy ending seemed almost within reach. She wished she could leave her name behind and be like this forever, her and him, stripped down to their personality, nothing more, nothing less.

A heat pooled in her belly. She was hot and cold all at once. Just two steps removed from fainting.

And just like that, the music stopped, and the countdown started.

She could only stare as he took off his hat, revealing lovely tousled brown curls.

‘It has been a lovely evening, goddess Rhiannon.’

Esther’s mouth was dry.

She could barely keep her hands from shaking.

Even her hearing was starting to shut down, the voices counting down seemed far removed, instead of near.

Her heart was now racing at an unprecedented speech.

‘One!’

She could dimly hear the people shouting and the music starting a joyful tune. The only thing her senses could focus on, was Lord Babington reaching for the back of his head, and removing the fabric covering half his face. He used it to swipe away the whiskers and goatee as well, though there were still grayish lines on his face.

Despite the dread running through her, she couldn’t help but smile.

‘What?’

She reached out, brushing over his upper lip and chin with her thumb to remove the makings on his face.

He didn’t move an inch. His tongue flew out to quickly wet his lips once she’d withdrawn her thumb. The air between them was buzzing.

Their eyes never left each other’s.

It was her turn to remove her mask.

Then the charade would end.

With shaking hands, she tried to remove her mask, but it was in vain. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, to focus on the feeling of the knotted satin sashes keeping her mask stuck to her face. She gasped for breath as her hands were covered by large warm ones.

‘Allow me.’

And within seconds, Esther’s dark brown eyes met those of Lord Babington.

She was even more beautiful than he’d imagined, despite that her mask hadn’t concealed that much.

He was still holding on to her mask, a fact he only became aware of when her delicate hands tried to take it from his.

‘I’m Lord Babington.’

As Esther opened her mouth, she could feel the air prickling her dry tongue. Only seconds now until the evening ended, and she would discover what the rest of her life would look like.

‘My name…’ Her voice gave up on the ‘a’, and she broke eye contact for a second before looking up. ‘Is Esther Denham.’

Lord Babington smiled at her.

‘Pleased to meet you.’

She frowned. She hadn’t expected him to act like this. She didn’t know what to expect, but it hadn’t been an easy smile.

Nor had she expected him to take her hand and press a kiss to it, as he was doing now.

He didn’t know her surname. He didn’t know.

‘And I’m your soulmate.’

His eyes shot up, but he remained there, bent over with his lips hovering above her palm. And in that instant, he saw how the façade had fallen as well as the mask. Insecurity, shame and sadness shone through her glassy eyes.

She had red hair like his soulmate.

She carried the name of his soulmate.

She hadn’t been intending on finding her soulmate tonight.

She’d shown deep and dark thoughts, but had shown a certain gentleness as well.

And she’d shown a humorous side as well.

It all matched.

‘I believe you are.’

They’d chosen each other, out of all people in this room.

He didn’t know how to navigate their interactions with this newly found knowledge. Just a couple of months ago, she had no wish for him. What were they to do, now that they had met and decided to like one another?

‘Now you know the truth. Now you know that I am the one who deliberately avoided you for five years. Now you know that this is the face of the woman who was kissing another man when you entered her body. Are you not disgusted? Are you not annoyed by my refusal to meet you?’

‘I don’t give a damn about your past, I never did. I always only wanted to know you. I wouldn’t have forced you to marry me if you were unwilling. I just wished to meet you, to discover the person I was matched with.’

‘I don’t wish to be your property. Or anyone’s. I don’t do well listening to men.’ She’d done enough of that, and had learned from her mistakes. She would never be as dependent on another man as she had been on Edward. She would never again rely on a man’s opinions, or allow him to decide for her.

‘Good, because I have no wish to own you.’

‘Why else would you want your soulmate?’

‘At first, I wanted you just because you were my soulmate. Then because I felt you, when you entered my body. I could feel your soul, and I admit I liked it. But then tonight I met you, and I was amazed by your spirit, your wit, your intellect, your humour, and now by your beauty. I can just imagine myself being in love with you. I only want to walk through life by your side.’

‘But, I’m poor. And I screwed up before.’

‘You said yourself that deciding on something for no one’s merit, like for the sake of society, is a horrible decision.’

‘Very well, then.’

‘You acc- you accept me?’

She bit her lip, to keep from reaching out to him.

‘I do.’

••••••••••

And if, after he asked her aunt, they disappeared in one of the dark corners she had checked before to exchange some real affection, no one had to know.

Who said a night could only be divine once a year?

•••••••••• 

FIN

•••••••••• 

For the 12 days of Sanditon challenge day 2, challenge hosted by @sanditoncreative​

You can also find this story on Archive of Our Own: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21814399

[homesoutofhuman]

NFWMB (John Wick x You)

Thank you so much to everyone who read, liked and commented on the first part of this our bodyguard John Wick AU. Myself and @keanuwwu have worked hard to bring you the next one and we would LIVE for feedback, cheers my dears, anyway enjoy...

Part 2/? (link to Part 1)

Gif credit @justforkeanurevees 

Bodycount: 4.5k

Warnings: Smut

Give your heart and soul to charity 'Cause the rest of you, the best of you Honey, belongs to me

-Hozier, NFWMB

John guides you back to your bedroom, his hand on your lower back burning hot.  He leaves you at your door with a terse nod and goes into the room next door. Your father has asked him to stay close while the threats to your safety are still fresh. You strain your ears to hear any sounds through the wall, imaging him undressing, laying down in his bed alone. You consider creeping in and joining him but something stops you, you have to admit you are still a little intimidated by your stern bodyguard.

Taking off your dress, you place it back on the hanger in your walk-in closet. You step into the bathroom, grinning when you remember that John and you are able to share one; since no one has slept in the room next to yours until now; there’s never been a need to open the adjoining door. You hear a rustling sound coming from his side of the door, you decide to leave it be and focus on getting ready for bed. Grabbing a washcloth from the cabinet you take off the remaining makeup you had on; remembering most of it came off in the car anyway.

John’s POV

John is restless, pacing the floor of his room. He is angry at himself for losing control and letting you seduce him into a kiss, telling himself firmly it can never, and will never happen again. He focuses on his job instead, securing the windows and checking all exits. When he steps into the bathroom you share he sees traces of you scattered around; lipstick, a washcloth left discarded, and he frowns, regretting how quickly you’ve got under his skin. He tries the door to your bedroom and finds it unlocked, moving into your warmly lit room with stealthy, silent steps.

The image of you laying on your bed is almost too much for John. Forgetting to turn off the lamp on your bedside table before falling asleep, he watches as the warm light makes your soft skin glow. Taking cautionary steps, he stands beside your bed; taking in the way your hair is spread across the pillows. The baby pink night gown slowly rising up as you turn over in the bed, John has to ball his hands into fists in order to keep himself from touching you. John watches over you for a bit, loving the blissful look on your face. What are you dreaming about, Darling? John thinks to himself as you little out a small whimper.

Almost against his own will he reaches down, the silken strands of your hair sliding through his fingertips as he brushes it off your forehead. You let out another sigh, squirming against the mattress as if reaching for something that isn’t there. Your movement exposes the top of your breasts to his hungry eyes, and John bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, feeling himself growing hard. John stretches out a hand, craving to caress your skin just one more time. As his eager fingers reach your face, your eyes shoot open and John is dismayed to see you staring back at him, caught red-handed like a naughty schoolboy.

Your POV

You blink your eyes a couple times - trying to get them adjusted to the darkness of your room. You see John, standing over you with his hand caressing your hair. The puzzled look on your face causes John’s hand to shake a bit.

“John… what are you doing here?” The sleepiness pouring out along with the words you’re saying. His eyes wander long over your body before responding.

“I was just making sure you’re safe, Princess. I wanted to check up on you before going to sleep myself.” John whispers as he lowers himself to sit on your bed. You scoot closer to him, letting your head fall in his lap. You bring your arms around him, holding him at his waist. Craning your head up, you meet his eyes.

“Is there any chance you’ll stay with me tonight? Please don’t make me beg. I will, but I just want to sleep with you.”

John gives a pained, shuddering sigh at your words, petting your hair as you shift in his lap, kneading your scalp with nimble fingers. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea Princess…”

“Please?” you entreat, purring at his touch and rubbing your cheek against his thigh. You feel heat coming off him in waves and you can see his erection pressing against the seam of his pants. John groans, his voice faint and breathless.

“Well I guess I will be close enough to protect you this way…”

You motion for John to stand up, getting on your knees you perch on the edge of the bed. John’s hands set on your waist, holding you up just in case you fall over. You bring your hands to the front of his pants, eyes shooting up as you try to undo his belt - his large hand grabbing your wrist.

“Princess, watch yourself.” John throws another warning your way.

“But I just want you to be comfortable. Who sleeps in pants? Let me help you.” You plead against his chest, your eyes growing wide as he drops the hold on your wrist. John drops his tense shoulders and allows you to work him out of his clothes. You go back to his belt, pulling it out of the belt loops. Your hands skim around his thighs and you feel him give you a shudder as you pull down his pants. You reach for his shirt next. Taking your time as you slowly unbutton it, starting from the bottom. Your face inches away from his as you undo the top button. You lean towards him a bit, settling in on his neck and kissing the smooth skin there. Letting out a hiss; John’s hand flies to the back of your neck, forcing you to make eye contact.

“Are you toying with me?”

You shake your head as best you can while your neck is in his very strong grip. You feel tiny and weak compared to John as he towers above you, looking almost angry in his desire.

“Then give me a proper kiss…”

Moving your mouth to his you start with a hesitant brush of lips, growing bolder as you hear John make a low noise in his throat. Deepening the kiss, you almost feel faint as your tongue touches his. John loses patience and takes over, ravaging your mouth as you slide your arms around his neck, clinging on for dear life.

John slowly lays you back down on the bed, pulling apart to turn off the lamp. He runs his hands over your thighs, hiking up your leg so it’s laying across his stomach. With your knee colliding with his erection, he gives you a soft moan. You bring your hand to his cock, giving it a lazy pull. John quickly bringing his hands to cup your face.

“Not now, Princess. I promise I’ll give you what you want - you just need to do something for me first. Sleep.” He gives you another kiss, hard on your lips; and then another for good measure. You nod in his hands and release the grip you had on him. He grasps your hips and turns you on your side so you press your ass back into him, eliciting a moan that makes you dizzy with pride.

“Goodnight, daddy..” you whisper before letting sleep rush over you.

The sun shines bright through your large windows, you forgot to pull the curtains closed before falling asleep. You stretch out your arm in hopes of finding John next to you, instead you’re greeted by emptiness. Sitting up, you see him fully dressed sitting on the chaise near the window. He’s wearing another jacket but instead of a button down a black turtleneck is in its place. You admire him, taking in the way the sunlight hits his skin.

“Good morning.” he says, his voice level and calm, even as his eyes travel over your body as you sit up in bed.

“Morning.” Smiling you get up and brush past him to get to the bathroom. “Don’t mind if I take a shower do you? We’ve got a busy day ahead.”

John stands up and moves behind you so closely you think he might follow you into the shower. “What’s happening today? I don’t have anything on the schedule your father gave me.”

Winking at him you move to undress, John keeps his eyes fixed studiously on yours as you let your pink nightdress fall off your shoulders. “I have plans, with friends. A little get together at Rollbotto. Don’t worry, you’re good enough dressed like that.”  Nodding towards his turtleneck which you have to admit makes him look even more desirable than before.

You walk into the bathroom with John still close on your heels, he presses you against the counter and lifts your head up to look in the mirror. You stare at the image the both of you make, his black clothing in contrast with yours. John’s eyes are dark as  they roam over you once more as you let the nightdress fall to the floor.

“I’ll be waiting in the hallway for you when you’re ready to go.” John gives you a small pat against your ass before slipping back into his room. You feel your blood run hot as you turn the shower on.

Stepping back into your room you head straight for your closet. Remembering the way John was looking at you the night before, you hope to give him those same feelings. Pulling the recently bought lacy white mini dress off the hanger - you step back to look in the mirror. Your long hair flowing against your back also framed your face perfectly. You give yourself a small smile, anticipating John’s reaction.

Moving out into the hall, you see John frowning at his phone and playfully sneak up on him, hoping to make him jump.

“I can hear you a mile away, (Y/N)” he says, deadpan and not even looking up from his phone as he talks. “You might want to take off those heels if you’re trying to be stealthy.”

Rolling your eyes you come deliberately close to him, forcing him to look up from his phone and appreciate your outfit. His dark gaze scans you up and down and you fidget a little under the intense scrutiny.

“Well? How do I look?” you ask, a little insecure suddenly.

“Let’s just say, if you were mine, you wouldn’t be allowed out looking so...innocently tempting.”

“Then make me yours. I’ve been trying to tell you this from the beginning.”

Sighing with conflicted emotions John reaches down, pushing your hair behind your ear gently. “You know I find you beautiful but I cannot just give into my instincts, even if they’re screaming at me to have you, I’m not a wild animal.”

You give John a big grin, giving him a quick kiss to catch him off guard. Peering into his eyes after pulling away, you notice the hunger in them. “I’ll keep my hands to myself. I’m sorry, John.” Grabbing his arm you attempt to pull him towards the elevators. John stops in his tracks, “Don’t you think you’re forgetting something?”, John raises his eyebrows as he looks at you.

“I don’t really need anything besides Father's black card…” you mention as you check your clutch.

“Grab a coat or we’re staying here.” John shoots at you while pointing back at the door to your room. Rolling your eyes, you select the one closest in your path as you enter your bedroom - your favorite gray pea coat heavy in your arms.

“We have some time before meeting them. Mother’s birthdays coming up soon though so you’re joining me on a trip to the mall, we can knock that out of the way before.”

“Shopping?” John makes a pained noise in his throat but lets you pull him down to the car. “What did I ever do to deserve this?”

You ignore him, but once you reach the mall you find yourself wanting John to enjoy himself, so you trot beside him chatting about random things you hope he will find interesting and you even offer to buy him whatever he wants, using your Father’s card of course. He declines but you can sense he is relaxing slightly in your presence, chuckling a bit at the stories you tell about your friends and adventures.

You decide on getting your mother the most expensive earrings you could find, jewellery usually is good enough to suffice. Grabbing John’s left wrist you check his watch as you head towards the exit.

“We should head out now to meet the girls. The reservations at 3 pm and we shouldn’t leave them hanging.” John gives you a nod and opens the door to the limo, allowing you to climb in first. The drive to the restaurant isn’t long and you can feel the tension in the air as you and John force yourselves not to linger.

John pushes open the door of the restaurant with his shoulder, wanting to check the place out before you enter. “It’s very quiet in here…” he exclaims, puzzled. “Where are your friends?”

“What friends, John? I’ve been with you the past day. Did you see me talking to anyone besides you.” You grin back at him as you hear the server call out your name.

“Table for two, right?” The hostesses name tag reads ‘Linda’.

“Yes, thank you so much for being able to alter the reservation! I know how busy you guys get.” Linda places you in the large booth near the back of the restaurant, adding a little bit more privacy.

“You’ve got about 10 seconds left to tell me what the hell is going on.” Whispers John urgently as Linda leaves you to look at your menus.

“Oh, you want me to mention that I’m a genius who created this master plan to have dinner with you? To be fair, we did have these reservations for awhile - my friends are just out of town.”

John stares at you. “You did all this, just to have dinner with me? I don’t understand Princess, why?”  

“Because I like you, John. And you would’ve protested if I asked you, so I took matters into my own hands.” You peer over at him with hooded eyes. Shrugging off your coat you feel John’s stare on your chest. Linda comes around and you order a bottle of champagne along with your dinner.

John slides himself closer to you in the booth, bringing his right hand up to cup your jaw. Moving your head slightly to the left, he plants a kiss at the base of your neck. The heat from the kiss causing a warm wave to wash over you making you want more of his touch. You find yourself leaning into his hands, moving the one on your jaw to your lips, opening them slightly to suck on his middle and index fingers. John hums at the sight and takes a sharp breath.

“Look at you, you really do like me, huh?” He breathes in an awe-struck voice, moving the pads of his finger against your tongue making you moan, then remembering where you are he moves away slightly, taking a long sip of champagne. You watch his long neck working as he swallows and resist the urge to lick his throat.

You’re pulled away from your lustful thoughts as you notice a figure entering the restaurant. The tall male glances around the different tables before making eye contact with you and heading towards the bar. He looks back at you a few times, then gets up, approaching your booth. You feel John tensing beside you, his hand moving to his belt.

As the man approaches you realise he looks familiar. “Oh hi… it’s Jack, right?”

“Hey pretty girl, I just thought I’d come say hello when I saw you were here. It’s good sushi, huh?”

John clears his throat. “We’re eating.”

“Oh, my bad. I didn’t know this was a date. You’re her bodyguard, aren’t you?” Jack raises an eyebrow at the question he throws at John.

You’re able to feel the tension in the air as the two interact. John’s knuckles are turning white from how hard he’s balling up his fist.

“Is there something we can help you with, Jack? It was nice seeing you but we’d like to finish our dinner.” You try to take back the little control you know you have between the two men. John eyes dart to yours for a second, appearing dark and angry.

Jack holds up his hands and moves away. “We’ll talk later.” He sits back at the bar and even as you turn to John you can sense his eyes looking over. John puts a firm, possessive hand on your knee under the table. “The fuck is that guys deal? How would he know you were here? I gave my speech about posting on social media didn’t I?”

“I may have missed that lesson, John. I don’t know him really, only met after I bumped into him.” You roll your eyes at him, annoyed by his questioning. Jack continues to frequently look back at your booth.

“Do you wanna give him a show?” You cock your head to the side, hoping to distract John and advert his attention elsewhere.

John’s dark eyes slide down your body and he moves his hand from your knee noticeably up your thigh. “Oh my bad girl. What did you have in mind?”

“I can show you better than I can tell you.” You give him a smile before leaning in and kissing him. John allows this, moving more towards you and allowing you to deepen the kiss. The hand on your thigh rises a bit with his thumb rubbing your clit over the fabric causing you to whimper against him. Pulling away from John you look back trying to find Jack. All that’s left is an empty seat and his half empty drink. You look back at John and smile, giving him another kiss before finally diving into your food.

John watches you, amused. “Was that all for Jack’s benefit? Cause you made such a pretty noise for me, I’d like to hear more.”

“That was 100 percent for you, John. And if you think back to last night, you kind of owe me...” His eyebrows furrowed together, face laced with curiosity. You bring a piece of sushi up to his mouth which he opens without hesitation. His eyes light up for a second before he gives you a quick nod.

“Okay Princess, you got me,” he grabs your waist pulling you snug against him, “I’ve been holding myself back but you’ve broken my resolve.”  

The way back to the hotel is silent. You both manage to keep a decent amount of distance between the two of you while sitting in the limo but you manage to steal glances his way. Harry quickly pulls up and jumps out of the car to grab the things you bought earlier from the trunk. Before stepping out, John grabs the sides of your face, pulling you in and pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Now, Princess, I’m going to fuck you. You’ve been extremely patient with me but I need to know, do you trust me?” John’s voice is strong and direct, your mouth dropping a bit at his confession. He searches your eyes and bites his lip, anticipating your answer.

“Of course I do. Please, John, I’m ready.”

That was all the confirmation needed for John. He pulls you from the back of the limo, your hand secured in his as you walk up the steps to the hotel.

John lets you unlock your room while he stands behind you, tall and solid and so close you can feel his breath on your neck. You move inside, giving him a nervous glance and he leans down, brushing your lips with a gentle kiss. “Don’t look so scared. I won’t hurt you.”

Starting with your hands on his broad chest you push his jacket off his shoulders. “What if I asked you nicely though?”

John attempts to laugh, shaking his head at you, but his eyes are dangerous. “Try it and we’ll see.” John runs his hand down your back, undoing your dress as you untuck his turtleneck. John pulls the turtleneck over his head before shrugging your dress off your shoulders. His eyes brush over your body, taking in every inch of you. He gives you a low growl as he pulls you towards the bed, his grip strong enough to leave a mark.

As you reach up to undo his belt, you’re greeted with that familiar warning. “We’ll get to me, Princess. Lay down,” John puts his large hand on your chest, forcing you to lay back. You’re sure John was able to feel how fast your heart was beating which is why he resorts to petting your hair to calm you down. His hands skim over your body as he slowly starts massaging your body. You feel him move himself off your bed, not daring to open your eyes to check where he’s gone.

A yelp escapes your throat as you feel John suddenly grab your hips and pull you to the edge of the bed. He looks up with a smirk, kneeling on the floor as he pushes your legs apart and leans down to nip at your inner thigh. “Shush now...we don’t want your father rushing in.”

John’s tongue stays flat as he runs it over your core. You give him a whimper which gets you rewarded with another long lick. Your hands dive into his hair, holding him steady against you as he devours you once more.

“You taste like heaven, Princess.” You feel the blush run over your body at his confession. John’s tongue continues to swirl around you, occasionally pausing to make sure you’re okay. John brings his left hand to your mouth, pushing against your lips to be allowed in. You coat his fingers with your saliva, which he happily brings to your entrance, sliding two fingers inside you slowly.

Lifting your head up slightly you can see him staring down at you, his handsome face a picture of focused concentration. You feel your legs trembling a bit as he speeds up his movements, thrusting his fingers deeply, opening you up. “You’re so tight Princess...you feel amazing.” He whispers in awe, glancing to you and catching your gaze. You groan with embarrassment at the look on his face; pure want mixed with fondness. “Do you like how my fingers feel inside you?”

Bringing up your hands to your face, you peek through them before admitting to John you’d like more. His thick fingers are making you desperate with need.

“Daddy.. Please, can I have all of you now?” Your voice small and shaky as you lift yourself off the bed to see his reaction as you ask. John’s movements slow as he takes a moment to study you, his dark eyes continue to loom over you.

“Get in the middle of the bed.”  John directs as he undoes his belt and throws it to the side. He hurriedly pulls down his pants and you let out an involuntary moan when you see him standing over you dressed only in his white boxers. “You’ve been such a good girl, you can have whatever you want Princess, and fuck you’ve made me so hard...I can’t take much more.”

He crawls over you like a predator and you feel yourself growing hot, reaching up to greedily run your hands over John’s skin. He leans down and kisses you forcefully, moving down your neck and biting your soft skin. You let out a hiss as you drag your nails hard along John’s back, making him bite a little harder.

John settles back between your legs, trailing small kisses from your stomach and around your breasts. Your breathing becomes a bit uneven as you look up at the man above you; John’s strong hands trailing over the marks he’s made. You let your hand brush against his erection, smiling once you feel him shiver against you.

“You don’t know what you do to me.” John whispers, and with a swift motion, he’s sliding inside you. You gasp at the feeling of being full, John’s cock taking up every inch inside of you. John curses at the feeling of you stretching around him. He holds your legs together and presses them against his chest while he thrusts against you. A wave of pleasure washes over you that makes you curl your toes and ball the sheets into your fists.

“Daddy, fuck, I don’t know if I can hold on much longer.” You plead to John, your nails diving into the sides of his thighs.

“You can and you will.”

John continues to fuck you with no remorse, moaning at the tightness of your walls. Unable to control yourself, you feel multiple tears spill across your cheek and onto the satin sheets. John pauses the onslaught of his thrusts for a moment, seeing that, bending his head to your face.

“Look at me…”

Blinking through your tears of pleasure you try to hold his stern gaze. John sees something in them that makes him nod quietly to himself, reassured you’re not really hurt.

“You’re so beautiful little one, especially now you’re under me crying so prettily as I fuck you, you have no idea.”

Whimpering at his words you can only submit as John kisses the damp trail on your face, his tongue licking at the salt on your skin. He gives you a moment’s break before starting to move inside you again even deeper now, and you let go of all your inhibitions, sobbing and almost screaming at the overwhelming feeling. Somewhere in your hazy mind you realise you’re being too loud, but John of course has the situation under control, as you feel two of his fingers caressing your lips before hooking inside your mouth, stretching it slightly. You suck on them gratefully, feeling the sensation calming you.

John continues thrusting into you, burying himself deep inside you. He brings a hand to your jaw and forces you to look into his eyes, “Come for me, Princess. Let me feel you come all over my cock. You’ve done so good, baby.”

John slowly rolls his hips, causing you to tip over the edge. A ripple of warmth comes over you, causing you to moan in pleasure and making your body shake. John’s quick to put his hand over your mouth, suppressing the moan as best as he could.

“Princess, is it okay if I come in you?” John asks while brushing the untamed hair off your face. You reach up to cup the sides of his face, giving him a small nod before kissing him.

“I wanna feel you, all of you..”

John kisses you passionately before coming deep inside. He slowly thrusts against you, letting you take all of him. The feeling of John coming inside you almost makes you climax again and you hold him as tight as you can, wanting skin on skin contact, shivering in his arms as you are both left breathless. Letting out a roar louder than any of your screams, John twitches inside you a few more times before rolling off you and falling back on the mattress.

Lifting yourself off the bed, you find John already sleeping peacefully next to you. Smirking to yourself, you place a kiss on his temple before falling asleep snuggled next to him.

-----------

once again! thank you for lending us your eyes! we appreciate you all so much- Cat & Al

[lionspridetingz]

Nobody to Somebody - Trent Alexander-Arnold

Chapter Five

You looked at yourself in the mirror for what felt like the 100th time in the past 30 minutes. Time kept winding down to when Trent was supposed to pick you up. He had told you that the date was casual and to not dress up too much, but you couldn’t help but try and impress a little more with your appearance tonight. The clothes you picked out seemed acceptable for the occasion, as well as your hair and makeup done to your liking.

“if you keep looking at your outfit in the mirror, you’re going to end up changing because of something you find wrong with it.” Your friend sat on your bed looking at her phone, you made her help you with getting ready, after all she was the one who pushed you into going out tonight in the first place, well that and the attractive boy you were seeing that night.

“I just hope that I’m not too casual or too dressed up, you feel me? Kinda want him to continue to like me an-“ she cut you off

“I’m pretty sure that you won’t have a problem with that, from what I’ve seen he is pretty head over heels with you, I wouldn’t worry so much, you’re gonna get inside your own head and mess it up.” Her words somehow helped the situation. ‘He did seem pretty interested’, you thought. “Ok its almost 7, lets head down, we don’t want him to get mobbed and ruin your night.” She got up from your bed and handed you your purse and phone.

Almost there xx

The text that came through made your heart flutter. You don’t know how a boy you’ve only encountered twice could have such an effect on you. When you made it down outside the dorms you saw a really nice Range Rover pull up and your friend instantly nudged you with her mouth agape.

“Damn that’s his car, the things you could do in that car.” She smirked as you smacked her on the arm.

“Can you not make comments about it like that.” You glared at her as you saw Trent hop out of the car looking gorgeous as ever, starting to walk over in your direction.

“Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing?” She raised an eyebrow at you as you started to blush, but you had to hide it as he made it right in front of you.

“Hey, you look beautiful.” Was all he could say as he gave you a giant hug and smiled at your friend.

“I mean I hope so, you were very vague with details on your text message so we had to work with what you said.” Your friend laughed and as you glared at her you could hear the uncomfortable laugh that slipped from his mouth.

“Thank you, Trent, you look really nice too, ready to go?” You tried changing the subject so he didn’t have to deal with your friends unnecessary commentary.

“Yeah, let's go.” He smiled and grabbed your hand as he led you to his car. You thought maybe your friend would finally give it a rest as you made it to the car, but you knew better than to underestimate her.

“Be safe and use protection. I want her back in one piece.” She yelled as he opened the car door for you. ‘Ever the gentleman’ you thought.

“No promises.” He winked looking into your eyes and this time you couldn’t help but blush under his gaze. It was something about the way he looked at you, his full attention only to you and nothing else. In the short time you had known him, that was the one thing that made you feel that this actually could lead to something more.

As he entered his side of the car you couldn’t help but apologize profusely for your friends behavior. “Nah it's fine, I actually find her quite funny. She’s just looking out for ya.”

“A little too much sometimes.” You rolled your eyes and he chuckled.

“why do you think that? “ he questioned, if it were up to you, you’d tell him your whole life story, it was just that easy to talk to him.

“I mean out of my group of friends there, I’m the only one not from around here, so they all kinda put me under their wing and made sure that I know what goes on in the area. It’s more cautionary I guess.” You shrugged not really knowing what to say.

“Yeah I getchu, it’s hard to not be familiar with your surroundings.”

“How would you know hm? According to my friends, you’re a pretty big deal around here, lived here your whole life and play for your childhood team, that doesn’t happen to everyone ya know?” You raised an eyebrow at him jokingly and he chuckled.

“yeah I guess you’re right, I have been here my whole life and I wouldn’t change it for anything. Another reason I’m so glad about staying here is I got to meet you here.” He smirked at you before continuing to look at the road ahead.

“Ha ha, don’t go all soppy on me now,” you both laughed “where are you taking me anyway?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” You huffed, not one used to surprises.

You reached a park eventually and you looked at him questionably. He just smiled brightly and headed to the back of the car. When you got out and met him back there he pulled out multiple things: a basket, blanket, some small cones, and a football.

“Wow a cute park picnic, how cliche.” You said as you grabbed the football from his hands bouncing it on the pavement as he laughed.

“You know its not a basketball right? You have to kick the ball with your feet not bounce it with your hands” He smirked as he started walking ahead of you, you eventually catching up with him.

“Yeah I know, I’m actually quite good at football if I do say so myself, reckon I’m better than you.” You teased, your real personality coming out and he was just eating it up.

“really and may I ask how you learned to play football?” He teased back placing the cones that would act as goal posts down.

“I’ll have you know, my brothers play the sport and my father is an avid fan as well.” You stated matter of a factly, having too much fun teasing back and forth.

“Really, so if you know so much about football how come you had no idea who I was, was it all a lie?” He gasped as he took the football from your hands and started to juggle it at his feet.

“I only know the players from the teams my family talks about, hate to break it to you but you aren’t the only footballer on the planet you know.” You countered back sticking out your tongue.

“Damn it, I could’ve sworn I was the only one.” He laughed passing you the ball to your feet. “Show me your skills coffee shop girl.”

“You’re on Mr. Nobody.” You smirked as you dribbled the ball at your feet as he tried to block you, obviously letting you pass him with ease and put the ball in between the cones. “GOAALLL!” You ran around as he laughed at you celebrating.

“what happened, I thought you were a world class defender and tha” you teased imitating his accent a bit giggling.

“Alright that’s it, I was gonna go easy on you but now that you have questioned my skills, I have to redeem myself.” He said with the ball at his feet ready to go.

The more you played the more you realized how much time you wanted to spend with him. His laugh so infectious and his demeanor so kind and playful.

As he dribbled the ball towards you, he tried to meg you but you got the ball and ran past him. He caught up with you though and picked you up from behind taking you away from the ball.

“Hey hey hey, thats cheating. Ref I think that warrants a red card.” You said still in his arms wrapped around you.

“Really?” He said turning you around so that you’re facing him. “What will happen if I get a red card?”

“You’re the footballer here shouldn’t you know?” You smirked wanting to play with him more. That same look in eyes from earlier still, biting his gorgeous soft lips. He leaned his face closer to yours and you feel his breath directly on your face.

“yeah but I think I deserve something other than a red card.”

“yeah and what’s tha-“ you were interrupted by his lips capturing yours, at first you were a bit surprised but eased into it more as it happened.

You both stood there, you in his arms, kissing. If you could you wouldn’t stop but at some point you both needed to breath. You felt as if you could melt by the way he looked at you.

“I had a picnic planned but I guess that’s out of question.” He chuckled, his face still inches from yours.

“It’s fine, this was way better. Picnics are a little too cheesy for me.” You laughed and he pecked you on the lips once more, your smiled couldn’t become any larger at this point. “Damn I could get used to that.” You sighed

“yeah?” He smirked

“Definitely.”

[pendragonfics]

Mr. I-Abandoned-You-To-Take-Over-Your-Home-Planet-And-Got-Jailed-Indefinitely

A Gem in a Rare Trove of Treasure: Chapter One | Chapter Two

Paring: Loki/Reader

Tags: female reader, reader is a waitress, reader is cousins with Maria Hill, canon compliant, set vaguely around Avengers (2012), set in both Midgard and Asgard, fluff, healing, angst with a happy ending.

Summary:  When most people say they have taken a lover, it sounds almost Bond-ish; like they had a day job, and a classy uptown life and had to splash out one day and find a person to warm their sheets by night and heart by day. But for you, the waitress who worked downtown by the train station in your little old town, when your friends suggested that’s the label to put with you and the handsome stranger who won you over, they laughed.

Word Count: 2,253

Posting Date:  2017-04-12

Current Date: 2017-06-18

When most people say their boyfriend had to go long distance, there's a lot of sympathy. Hugs and kisses. Warm cookies left at the door, pretty notes in pretty cards saying how sorry they are for you. But for you, you had no choice in it; the love of your life had once been laying beside you in the sheets, yes, but was gone, was brainwashed, was whisked away to the land where he was raised. Fathoms away from where you stood. But when people heard that you were in love with Loki, the guy who tore strips out of New York city and destroyed their favourite cafe downtown, they frowned, and didn't care for conversation anymore.

You didn't care for conversation, either, because talking of him hurt more than dreaming. You'd see the way his eyes were ice blue, and wicked, staring deep into your soul, taunting, treachery leaching from within. You'd see the verdant green, which was always his, would always be his, but were poisoned by the blue, treacherous blue.

If it weren't for your connection to the Avengers through your cousin, you would be sure that you'd never see Loki, son of Odin ever again, and be forever scarred by the memory of the lover from out of the world you knew. But you cradled the books he had shared with you, and graciously moved into the Avengers tower in New York, and got a job down the street from where you lived. It was lovely, for the first few months, but with every passing day, every passing holiday, you felt a growing sadness inside your chest.

You understood that he'd committed a crime, and you in no way were in love with the man who had committed it, but there was something inside you which made you want to have him beside you at night, to hold onto, to greet upon coming home, to take to Thanksgiving and share a present with on Christmas. You watched as Tony moved from Pepper to May Parker, Clint leave to visit his family, Nat take to internet dating and miraculously match up with Matt Murdock, the lawyer who helped around the legal matters of the tower.

When Thor came back from a long vacation with Jane, you snapped, rising from the sad stupor you put yourself in for all of that time, and did your best grovelling to the first in line for the Asgardian crown. Thor smiled, soft and small, his beard accentuating the sadness in his eyes. It had probably been a while since he had thought of his brother, having been away with Jane, and it showed.

But, unlike other unyielding attempts to access Asgard, this proved fruitful - as he was to return in a day, and you were more than welcome to come. At that moment, all you could do was thank him in less than coherent words, and run off to your little room to pack things in and try to not forget unimportant things. Before too long, the case was full, and all but the book Loki had shared with you, the fantastical one of which you loved just short the same amount as you did he, was in your arms. And not a day later, there was you biding goodbye, or at least, a temporary goodbye to the Avengers, and riding the rainbow bridge to Asgard. 

It was all you'd dreamed it to be - the city afire with gold, the aura of stars above the skies staring down upon your skin, the white-eyes of the gatekeeper Heimdall - all that Loki had whispered in your ear, had told you of. While Thor went on his way to the war rooms to debate with his father about tensions in the nine worlds, you were escorted down below the royal castle, where the prisoners of the King were kept.

There, sat Loki. 

His hair was a mess, long and bedraggled, his skin pale and eyes hollow from emotion. His feet were bare, his clothes ripped, trickles of blood staining his sole. It had only been a year and four months since he had been taken from you, but the God before you looked like he had aged twelve, and hadn't seen you for as long. He was a dying man. Small. Hurting.

But also, Loki was standing, his hair neatly combed; regal. Long. His jaw was held high, eyes regarding all with the air you'd expect of royalty, above it all. He wore the colours of his house, the bright emerald green that you loved on him, haunting leather ensemble that caught in your mind. He was a warrior. Tall. Strong.

Those escorting you stopped, but you did not. Slowly, you approached the transparent golden wall that separated the both of you, and bent to sit upon your knees at the gate. Neither of the Loki's in the prison turned their gaze to you - in fact, it would seem that they turned their nose elsewhere, in the direction you were not present. Without realising, a tear fell from your eye, as you raised your hand to touch the barrier. The gate stung upon your skin, an irritation that would surely increase if you tried to push through, you were sure of, and the tear, the little droplet that came from within you, splashed upon the marble floor.

"Of all your tricks, Odin, this is your cruellest," His voice was thick, yet weak, sad, but without emotion. "Leave me to rot." 

Your brow furrowed, and turning to the guards, "Let me in," you whispered. "Please." 

On one of the guards' belts, they pressed a button, and the wall before you descends. As soon as you step inside, it resumes its place, and you are isolated in the room where there are two Loki's inside, where the furniture is both regal and tidy and splintered around the floor. One of them watches you intently, his green eyes following you as you navigate around the broken stools and tables over the ground. The leather-clad Loki has a haughty air to the way he holds himself, the way he regards you.

"It has only taken you years to get here," he snarks.

You raise your chin. "Sixteen months. But you cannot judge me, Mr. I-Abandoned-You-To-Take-Over-Your-Home-Planet-And-Got-Jailed-Indefinitely." You snap. "So spare me any snark and angst, Loki, because I have gone through hell and back for you. I travelled to a new world! I've been exiled from my familiar circles for associating with you!" You scream. "So, please, give this mimicry up and talk to me through your own mouth," you turn to the Loki who sits on the floor, and grabbing a short plank of wood, you throw it through the illusion before you. 

He frowns. "How did you know?" 

You smile, but it is not a happy smile. It's wan. Tight. "I can see you both. Either I'm sort of magic in a mundane way, or you're getting slack, Loki." He does not laugh. You add, "It might have taken sixteen months, maybe because my mind is at war with itself over a male who has torn my soul and taken a piece for himself, and left me to fend for myself. You know what it's like to be rejected, from your own people, now imagine it for me, who has never had it happen! All because I dared to lay in bed and love the man whose brain was washed to take over Earth." You take a shaky breath, and feel a tear slip. "Forgive me."

Adjusting himself against the wall, he glances to the space beside him, bare of splinters and unpleasantness scattered. "Will you sit with me?" It is not a question. It is a plead. You do sit, but not close, keeping an eye on the two guards that stand on watch as you mingle with their prisoner. "Forgive me."

You lay your head upon his shoulder, feeling the essence of Loki there, present, warm, alive. It can't be a dream, because you can smell his scent, can hear his breathing, the pitter-patter of his heartbeat's pulse under the hand on his wrist. 

"Aren't we a pair," you sniff, looking to his distressed hair, "The common waitress, and the alien prince," your hand on his stroked his skin, his fingers intertwining with your digits. "Don't tell me it sounds like a good story," you warn him, inhaling his scent. 

"It sounds like a good story," he repeats, despite your cautionary words, "But I should always think of that tale to be of the dreamer who watched the stars, who wanted to touch them upon her skin, and the globe-trotter who wanted nothing more than to make just one place his true home," Loki's eyes turn to you, their bright green aura stirring you with their beauty, their grace. "I have done so much wrong, have done too much bad in the world to keep this weight upon your chest."

You withdraw from his side. "Don't - don't you dare," you whisper. "If you leave me, I will haunt you until the day I die, and even then, will never cease," you threaten. "If loyalty, or devotion was defined in the dictionary, there would be a picture of me right here, right now, beneath those words. I will always love you, even if you are the monster under children's beds, even if you are a shattered mirror."

"Really?" Barely a whisper. Barely heard. But only by you.

You nod. "Honest."

There is a silence between the pair of you, but unlike before, it does not chill your bones, or break your heart. It's kind. It's healing. He clears his throat, and nodding, affirms your words, and wraps his other hand over his, and yours, and that is where you stay, silent, and, with each other's company. You're not sure whether it is half a minute, or half an hour later, but the thud of boots came, and from your heavy eyelids, you saw the dark maroon of Odin, and the crimson of Thor's cape appear. Loki shifts, aware of his brother's and father's scrutiny, but squeezing his hand, you compel him to stay seated, to stay beside you, to not fight this fight. 

The silence is broken when Odin clears his throat. "I have been in council with the lords and jury of Asgard, and heard word from your brother of this development," His voice is deep, and regal, and you cannot help but not maintain eye contact with him - it's almost like a primal fear of the peasant vs. royal complex. "I must say, Loki, my son, you have shocked me more than I believed you ever could."

Beside you, Loki narrows his eyes, but before he can spit out a burning retort, you interject. "Inciting a war while waiting for peace is not a tactic most fruitful, King Odin." 

You don't know where the fancy words have come from - you're just a human. A barmaid. A little ant in comparison to the gods you are surrounded by. But adrenaline is a funny thing, and yet here you are, and you're staring down the one-eyed bearded man you know from mythology as the ruthless King of the Gods. 

He cracks a smile. "I like this girl, Loki, she will be good for you, for all the trouble you have put yourself through." He glances to Thor, and adds, "In the discussions, we have deliberated a punishment more fit for you than solitary confinement - ten years without your seidr to live a mortal life until the next court will come to session to review the next phase. You are fit to live with the watchful, honourable gaze of the Avengers on Midgard, and with your lady, the fierce _______." 

Loki nods, agreeing with his father. "I agree to these terms, my King." 

You bow your head, heeding the words, of both your lover, and your most likely, future father-in-law. "Thank you for this offer, King Odin."

---

It is light outside, but through the thick glass of the new Avengers Facility the birdsong heralding morning have not woken you. The bedside alarm is turned off, and reads to be nearly eight o'clock, but thankfully, you do not have work today. Turning in the sheets of your bed, you're still not sure what has woken you from slumber. But as you turn, you see him - the man you have fallen for, had fallen for, will always fall for, curled onto his side, his wide green eyes taking in your face in the morning. 

"It's early, you can sleep in," his voice in the morning incites something in you, a flutter in your chest. "What is it? Why are you staring?" He asks.

You can't help but smile. "I'm just ... I'm just in awe of this, of you, of ... being here," your grin widens, and reaching out, you cradle his face in your hands, and just touching his skin, you feel a fire building beneath your fingertips. "Gods, you're beautiful." 

Loki laughs. "But darling, that's what I'm supposed to say to you," he protests, and shifting beneath the bed sheets, he is closer to you, close enough to smell, to see every eyelash on his face, "Since we have nowhere to be until later, I can suggest a method to make it up to you," he offers.

"Oh, silver-tongue," you grin, carding your fingers through his raven hair. "Show, don't tell." 

<< PREVIOUS CHAPTER

[hollywoodx4]

Sticking With the Schuylers (40)

(Not only did I stay up way too late for my schedule to write this, but I also woke up earlier this morning to finish it...it wouldn’t go the rest of the day undone. I mean, I’m a teacher and it’s the end of the year, I don’t have anything glaringly important to do....no way....)

If you haven’t given this story a chance...I mean, I’m not saying you’re missing out but it might seem daunting, but don’t we all like a little emotional roller-coaster once in a while?

1  2  3  4   5   6   7   8   9   10   1112   I  13  14   15   16   17   18A  18B   18C  I  19   20   21   22   23   24   25  26   27  28   29   I  30  31  32 33 34 35  36  37  38  39

Tagging: @linsnavi  

Warnings: This story is pretty heavy on mentions of both physical and emotional abuse.

               “I need to talk to you.”

               Eliza comes home on Wednesday night with an unreadable expression, somewhere between somber and passive. It’s later than usual; the inclusion of therapy has not only imposed on their night, which they’ve wordlessly moved to Tuesdays instead, but it has also taken a chunk of her relaxation away as well. She kicks off her snow-infested boots at the door, peeling off layers with slow and careful movements. He can’t tell if she’s exhausted or tense, mulling over her words. Her keys hit the countertop with a clang and she looks up to meet him.

               He’d risen from his chair in the office immediately upon hearing her voice. It barely even reached the room, where he’d been holed up working on a case study he’d been buried in for days. Her voice falls flat. There is a worry that sinks into his heart, cold and unforgiving, and he hesitates at the door to watch her. She lets her coat hang from her hands for a moment, fabric brushing the floor before it falls completely. The knit pattern on her scarf is traced by tentative fingers that run along its ridges, carving out each space as if the feeling of wool chilled by winter weather is something she needs to memorize in this very moment. It feels like an eternity by the time she has completely shed all of her winter garb, leaving it in neat piles by the door as she finally looks up at him.

This week had been her third session with Lisa. Eliza had warned him-as Lisa had warned her-that things would only get harder before they got better. Then she’d shaken it off, pegged it as a cautionary tale not meant for her. She’d been so sure that she’d be able to make it, to leave therapy in the room and continue on with her life as if it were completely normal. It was a mistake to think so optimistically. The night had been especially tiring; ‘we’ll leave that for the next session’ had finally caught up to her, the pass cards completely used up. There were too many things to talk about in the space of time they had to be lingering on every minute, pleasant detail within her life. She’s acutely aware of the fact that she won’t be able to move on unless she begins to talk about the bad-the unpleasant. Still, wanting and needing had become two very different places in her life, distancing themselves more every second. There’s no room for compromise. Need has to come now before want or wish or hope. This premise aches, and stings. Eliza is exhausted.

               She sinks into the couch expectantly, patting the space next to her as if she’s giving herself a death sentence. Her face has fallen considerably, eyes cast to the floor and fingers fumbling idly in her lap.

               “So I don’t want you to think that any of this is your fault, okay?” Alexander nods, curious. Eliza draws in a breath-a shot of courage, and holds it in place for a moment before speaking. She has the floor. Alexander is attentive and curious and silent, poised no doubt with the perfect turn of phrase on the tip of his tongue. Her stomach turns with nerves that roll in a docile storm, just enough to shake her confidence.

               “Lisa talked to me last week about a decision I had to make and I ignored her, thinking it would just go away. It hasn’t, and she keeps giving me all of these drawn-out reasons why we have to have this talk and at first I didn’t think it was necessary but the more she talks the more she changes my mind…”

               “Okay, it’s alright, we can work this out. I can get another job, we don’t have to have an office. You can even keep student teaching, right?-because nine months give or take would bring us to September, and that might be kind of hard but if we just sit down and talk about it we can figure this out. And then your parents-shit, your parents-they can, uh, we can just sit down with them, and have a rational talk, and you might need to cry if I’m not already crying and if your dad doesn’t murder me, and a baby’s a lot of work but I think we can do it,”

               “-Wait, Alex, slow down!” She’s nearly laughing now, alarm in her eyes and the hint of a smile playing at her lips. She moves her hands from her lap to his shoulders, tracing tracks along them as his heartbeat and his scattered mind settle. “I’m not pregnant.”

               The release of tension in Alexander is visible; his shoulders drop, his hands stop sweating. He nods his head, fervently, letting the words wash over him in excess until they finally click in his mind.

               “Good-okay, not good as in I wouldn’t support you if you were, but good as in we haven’t even had this conversation yet, and this is not the right time to be raising a child, and we have careers and family and,”

               “-It’s okay, Alexander, I understand. I’m not offended. I mean, could you imagine my father if that were the case?” He had. He’d imagined it all, right down to each gruesome detail within the thirty-second span of time he had been stumbling over his words ready to provide for her. Being maimed by Phillip Schuyler after impregnating his daughter three months into their relationship isn’t exactly the kind of rapport he wants to have with the man. He’s fine continuing the simple chats they’ve had thus far, those are enough to carry him into his good graces.

               “I-uh, I did have something important to talk to you about, though.”

               May; the school year has ended, and somehow Eliza has managed to complete every task and assignment on time, and in good reflection in her grades as well. She sits on the porch of her parents’ house with Angelica, looking over her final grades with a sigh of relief. She is genuinely surprised that she passed the year. Academically, Eliza did not find it too difficult. In fact, she excelled far above the others with her knowledge taken from volunteer work and tutoring, bits and pieces of knowledge coming in handy in her development classes. Even in math, which had proven to be her worst subject throughout school, she managed to pull a grade above her expectations.

               The second semester had been trying. Angelica can see it reflected in the dropping marks, the weight of Eliza’s GPA dipping her down to just barely missing the dean’s list, which had been her goal all along. She had tried to explain, for the fifteenth time, that making the list was exceptionally hard-especially at a school like Columbia. Eliza wouldn’t listen. Watching her little sister was like watching herself through a mirror. The high expectations did not come from their parents as much-no, Phillip and Catherine wanted their daughters to succeed by trying their hardest, not by breaking their backs. This is something internalized, built into their mismatched DNA in a harrowing representation of perfectionism that fought with their minds on a daily basis. It isn’t enough that they both are going to Columbia. It isn’t enough that they’ve made high marks their entire year. To Angelica and Eliza, there is always a higher goal to be met in academics. Angelica has achieved it for the third year in a row. Eliza has missed on her very first try.

               Angelica knows the pathway that had taken her younger sister from straight A’s to lower A’s and B’s. This is entirely a fault that cannot be placed on Eliza, who had spent late nights trying to complete school work and come to class late covered in concealer with sorrow-ridden eyes. From the moment she had moved in with James, her grades began to slip. Her assignments grew harder. Her life grew harder. She had held her head up like a warrior through it all, persevered and battled herself to keep her spot at the school she had been dreaming about for years on end. It’s her family’s legacy, to move from Manhattan Prep to Columbia. It’s their dream to keep the dignity and respect alive through the deeply-rooted tradition. And she had almost lost it-according to her own thoughts.

               “You didn’t do badly at all, Eliza. Look-your Health & Nutrition professor left a note that your final project on bringing sustainable choices to school lunches was inspired. Actually, you have a lot of comments on here.”

               “I guess.”

               “Eliza, you got really good grades for your first year at Columbia. And for everything you went through,”

               “-No.” Her voice is hollow, cracked. Eliza grabs the paper transcript from her sister’s hands, burying it in her lap without sparing a second glance. She’d already memorized the marks, anyway. “We’re not using that as an excuse. We broke up in March. There’s no reason I shouldn’t have been able to higher grades than this.”

               As summer slowly crept into view, the thought of final marks never left Eliza’s mind. There were days where she seemed fine; that she was no longer pained by her experiences and could not even remember what she had been so upset about. But most days she found that time hung suspended in front of her, where the beginning prickling heat of summer took over the streets. The world was surrounded in humidity that brought crowds stumbling inside and packing the subways with sweaty bodies pressed tight together. In this chaos Eliza never stopped. She threw herself back into the things she had missed in a manic sort of frenzy that packed her schedule from dawn to dusk. Angelica went from seeing her every time she walked through the door from work to only once in a while, in sparing moments in the holes of her schedule. And when she did see Eliza-when they sat together at brunch, or spent a moment in the kitchen over some tea and cookies-she was just an average human being with an over packed schedule and a sleep pattern to match.

               Angelica knew better-she always knows better.

               There’s one morning that Eliza doesn’t leave the house, at least not at the crack of dawn. Angelica and John have both woken up, and are sitting at the little breakfast nook in the corner of their kitchen. John pours over one half of the newspaper while Angelica takes the other. They sit in a peaceful sort of silence, the sound of birdsong and small sips of hot coffee the only accompaniment. They hear Eliza before they see her. This morning she is a slow, methodical clicking of oxford flats against hardwood. John looks up from his mug to greet her and is met with blinking eyes and a grin painted unsteadily on well-made features.

               “You’re here late.” John speaks up first, eyes lifted just above the crease of the newspaper. She nods. Although the conversation has invited her further into the kitchen she does not move-her legs won’t will it. Instead she hovers in her place, staring at the couple at the table with an inward plea she doesn’t even realize she’s sending. Prod. Her mind whispers the words, begging. Ask me what’s up. Help me.

               “Come sit, Bets.” Angelica pats the space next to her on the bench of the nook and scoots over to accommodate her younger sister, holding out a piece of toast with an inviting grin.

               “So what are you up to today?”

               “I-uh, I'm meeting someone for lunch. Actually, that's kind of why I'm…I wanted to ask…well, I got a call from James this morning.”

               “And you didn't answer it, because you're a smart girl.” Eliza’s face falls, eyes cast to the table. She picks at a piece of slightly burnt toast, no longer hungry anymore. Her stomach churns with the frown of disapproval and immediate flurry this sends both Angelica and Church into.

               “Tell me he's not the friend you're going to lunch with.”

               Another silence. The slow burn of their eyes on her-judging, accumulating facts that aren't quite there yet-that burn singes thin skin, leaving reddened marks in its place. Eliza sits under their watch. This is all she can do, as if they have magnetized her to the breakfast nook and the burnt toast.

               “Elizabeth Schuyler, I know you're smarter than this.”

               “It's not as bad as it sounds; he's getting help. He checked himself into a counseling center for abusive men. He's going to get better. And in order for him to be able to do that, his group leader told him that he has to meet the mistakes of his past. He has to reconcile.”

               “At the cost of all of the progress you’ve made? I don’t think so.”

               Angelica stares down her younger sister, who peers back at her through widened eyes. Eliza pushes strands of hair back into the bobby pins that hold them from her face before her hands drop. She picks at the fairly fresh coat of mint green nail polish, wincing as it begins to chip away. She hates painting her nails-the effort isn’t nearly worth the week they last, if that long. She does, however, love the first day with a new color on. Matching the polish to her clothing, looking down and admiring blues or pinks or nude tones had become one of the simpler pleasures of her life. And each time she began to chip away at it, she’d simply start anew. It’s easy to wipe away one round of polish to make room for the next. She does it without a second thought.

               She wonders, then, if this effort would be worth it. Angelica continues to stare, keeping her rooted to her seat at the table with an iron grip made only with the fire of an older sister’s protection. Her heart is racing, then, running through the options although her mind has already been made up. The implications of her actions are real-she had felt them before, that day in March. There is not a part of her that wants that to happen again. However, there is still a draw. As much as she would never admit it, to her sister or to John or even to herself, hearing James’s voice on the phone had brought her back. There were times, simpler times, where she had been happy with him. In the beginning he’d hold her close to his side. He’d link her arm through his, walk to a bench in the smallest green oasis in the city where they would just sit and talk. In the beginning, James was gentle. He’d speak in kindness, with those hazel-green eyes that pop against chocolate, freckle-dusted skin. The summer introduced him with a sunny disposition and a warmed heart. As the weather approaches that mark again, reminiscing on that same heat has spun Eliza’s head around and back again. Suddenly, November through March are just faded memories that run on a plane of non-existence. Suddenly, there is only summer-the sweet, gentle warmth of James Reynolds before the lack of heat had turned him sour.

               As long as one looks hard enough, there is hope in every moment. Eliza hitches herself to that belief as she finally meets Angelica’s eyes, her own full and round and ready to battle.

               “God, Angelica, I’m not saying I’m going to marry the man tomorrow. I’m saying that this is an important key to his healing. I’m not going to deny him the chance to turn his life around. He’s taken the first steps. I have to do this.”

               “No, you don’t!”

               “Angelica!” She shouts her sister’s name, then, a voice unlike her own rising from the depths of her diaphragm in an uncontrolled and sudden burst of anger. Both Angelica and John sit back in their seats, then, watching as Eliza picks herself up from the table. She paces the room for a while, force-pushing the optimistic thoughts back into her mind. John shuffles the paper. Angelica’s mug clinks against her plate. They’ve reached a stalemate, Eliza unwilling to go without the permission her sister will not give. Each with a different understanding of the situation, this is the first real fight they have gotten themselves into.

               “I could go with you.” John speaks up, then, in his calm and subdued manner. He glances between the sisters, offering a peace-a compromise. His girlfriend’s eyes are lowered, angered and betrayed. She does not interrupt. There is always a judicial sense in whatever John Church has to say. Quiet by nature, his speech is thought out and significant when given.

               “I’ll hang out at a different booth-close by, to be safe. This way, you can still talk.” Angelica has loosened, slightly, but the tension is still visible in her tight shoulders and unmoving limbs. John turns to her, a hand on her hand. “If things start to go badly, I step in. He won’t even know who I am. I’ll wear a hat or a fake beard or something if that makes it any better.”

…

               May 14th is an overcast day. The clouds seem to want nothing more than to spill their contents on the thirsting earth, but they hold off. Instead they close the city in with a shadow that spills over, the day feeling immediately gloomy. Eliza holds her nerves in the lump of her throat as she waits to enter the small café James had chosen for lunch. John had gone in half an hour earlier under the premise of waiting for a date that will never show up, an excuse to keep the center table long enough to be witness to their meeting.

               She stumbles in as soon as the clock on her phone shifts to noon, legs carrying her quicker than she wishes to the table he’d saved. She passes John, bowler hat and all, on the way. He nods. She’s nearly choking on the thrumming of her heartbeat in her chest.

               He’s wearing her favorite of his shirts; a soft blue, collared cotton he dresses underneath a navy cardigan. It turns his eyes brighter, the green of the sea on an overcast day like today. James stands to greet her, holding her hand and nodding and waiting for her to sit across from him before he joins her. She sips the water already at the table and he chats as if they’re back to the beginning. It feels like the beginning. The tapping of Eliza’s heart against her chest slows into a steady hum. She leans back against her chair. She laughs.

               The conversation turns quite slowly to the topic of his counseling; he hadn’t mentioned it yet, and it had felt wonderful to just catch up with him. But glancing up Eliza notices John in a booth near them, watching over a menu. He sits on the edge of his chair. Eliza recoils at the glaring memory that comes flying back then, back to her mission and the reason she nearly hadn’t joined him in the first place.

               “So, this is for…for your therapy?”

               “We’re working on getting back the things we lost-making peace with the past. It’s a…it’s a very intensive program, but I think it’s going well.” A pause, and then, “I miss you, Elizabeth.”

               The sound of her name from his lips, the way he’d crafted it so neatly with perfectionistic diction and a near purring of syllables, stirs something within her. It is not love, not in the way she had felt so long ago although she doubts it will ever go away. Her heart, once thrumming wildly with the potential of possibility and boundless optimism, sinks and settles at the bottom of her stomach as a sea stone set cold with a fear of the rolling tide. Her full name, once beautiful and bright, is beautifully masked venom from a snake’s scheming tongue. Eliza freezes in her seat. Like any of her actions back in the cold of their fall-winter-spring together, it does not go unnoticed.

               “What?” James inches forward in his chair, a hand on the table between them. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

               “Where does your group meet?”

               “Uptown.”

               “How’d you find them?”

               “Online.”

               “Why did you really want me here?” It takes an impulse and a shot of courage to send the words across the table, and once she does Eliza immediately regrets them. James’s lips turn, just a hint of a degree, but enough to hint at the first signs of his anger. She backs further away, feet planted sideways on the floor; a getaway. She’d gotten good at escape plans in the months with-and now without him.

               “Are you even in therapy?”

               He does not want to answer her question; the Cheshire grin he has grown fill between the lines of their conversation sufficiently enough for Eliza to feel a shockwave-sparks that light within her body as warning flares. Her chair scuffs the floor as she propels it out from under her, gathering her bag. His hand is on hers before she can move away.

               “I knew you’d come running the second I called. That’s how it works, isn’t it? Sweet Eliza. Sweet, naive Elizabeth. You need me, you know. Who else is going to keep you safe?”

               His hand is all the way up her arm now, running itself up and down in a trail that leaves icy pin-pricks in its wake. She wants to recoil-she wills her muscles to punch, or tense…anything to fight back. Instead, she stays rooted-frozen. His touch transports her to a time where she could no longer move-to fall-winter-spring, where she’d been motionless under his spell of charm and wit and poise he’d saved only for the public image.

               It feels as though time has suspended itself in mid-air as both of his hands find their way to her hips. In reality, it is only a matter of seconds before John has pulled her away, throwing filthy, daggered curse words his way as he wraps Eliza in his own arms, turning so her body is sheltered from him. He bellows in a voice she’s never heard from his reserved manner, with threats to harm she’d never intended. She’d never wanted any of this to happen. She’d never thought she’d have to be saved.

               Naive; she’d trusted James. Her heart had fluttered at its reintroduction to his eyes. Her heart had been so full of hope, of stories she’d tell Angelica of his progress and his light.

He’d come to hurt her. She’d been naïve.

John does not speak to her on their way back to the apartment. Angelica does not say ‘I told you so.’ Instead, she whispers words of her middle sister’s boundless kindness as they lay nose to nose in bed that night. Eliza pretends to sleep. She is not sure whether reality or her dreams will haunt her more, and she is not willing to gamble. One word whispers her to a lurid, sweat-laden nightmare.

Sweet Eliza; forgiving. Kind. Sweet Elizabeth, always sweet.

…

               “I think we need to live apart for a while.” She holds her breath then, the words tumbling out faster than she’d expected them to. It’s easier to speak to Alexander, simpler; even when she hadn’t wanted to have this conversation at all.

               The air is stagnant and stale and Alex fights to keep his head above it all. Eliza’s suggestion-request, really-burrows deep into his mind. With it come one thousand accusations, thoughts and shouting and terse words all aimed from his mind to his heart. Although he seeks answers and the ability to understand he is suddenly buried under the premise of what she is saying, what the suggestion might mean for them. He hadn’t envisioned a life without her in a long time. The temporary piece of their living situation had gone away long ago-or so he’d thought. It’s only been a little over a month since he’d moved in-what could have gone wrong in such a short amount of time? Is she having second thoughts about him?

               Two long, agonizing minutes and Alex still has not said anything. Eliza watches the physical manifestation of his thought process in his wandering eyes and hand that rubs the back of his neck. He nods, accepting, but his mouth hinges and unhinges in the beginnings of questions that will not form. He’s not sure whether the lump in his throat is from the now arid air or the beginnings of raw emotion that have welled up in his throat. Either way, he rests his hand on her thigh.

               “…okay. Okay. I’m not going to argue with you-this is your apartment, that would be stupid. But can I just…can I ask why?”

               “Because I’ve been going through a lot of memories…this giant, holed-up mess of things I never even knew happened to me. I’ve been so busy with you that I’ve forgotten myself again.” He looks away then, poorly-hidden guilt shrouding his sinking figure and seeping into her skin. “It’s not your fault-god no, it’s really not. It’s just this fun thing I do where I attach myself to people too heavily. Right now, I really can’t afford that.”

               “Are we still together?” His tone of voice lingers somewhere between hopeful and subconsciously chilled. Alex is not angry; he could not find it in his heart to be cold to her about something like this. Disappointment sinks into his joints, his heart. The room changes almost immediately before his eyes, as if her words could erase the painting of domesticity they’d created in just a second. His mug is an intrusion in their pile of dishes, his blanket a left-behind. He pulls it from the back of the couch, cradling it in his hands before moving to their-her-bedroom.

               “Or course we are-Alex, are you angry with me?”

               “I just need a minute!” He pulls his bags from the closet, emptying drawers and cabinets and casting them by the door in a haphazard fashion. She stands in the hallway, watching his flurried actions with tear-blurred vision. The more he packs, the less control she has over herself. Eliza lingers in a limbo between being unable to see or hear anything that’s going on and taking it all in much too fast. There is no in-between. When Alex flies by her again she stops him, a hand on his, breathing his name through quivering lips.

               “I’m not angry, Eliza. I just,” He flings the last bag by the door, holding her shoulders in his hands before wiping the warm, salted tracks of tears from her reddened cheeks. She shakes in his hold, her uncertain frown a permanent fixture. “If we need to live apart, we need to live apart. I’ll call the guys and we’ll figure it out.”

               There is something more that lingers on the edge of his sentence, tucked back away before it spills over the edge. A coating of thickness creeps in and fills the air around them, turning Eliza’s breath heavy and laborious. This is important. This is for you. You’ll be alright.

               As if to pacify the thoughts she does not speak aloud, Alex shifts over to wrap her in his arms. He feels different, radiating love but lingering with a hint of the disappointment she had seen earlier. She does not like it. She can’t blame him.

               There is a bitter taste on his tongue, one he hopes will not translate as he kisses her goodbye later that night. There is no more room for words-he has lost them all in the fight to keep himself sane-to understand her request and accept it as dutifully as he should. When she shuts the door behind him, the slow, hesitant click is one last shock to his heart. Eliza watches out the peephole as he goes, bags slung over his shoulders, with a heavy heart.

               She wants nothing more than to run after him; to invite him back inside their home. She’s already mourning his place in bed beside her, which no doubt has already run cold. The chill in the air comes from a lack of his presence, not the usual air of bitter, unforgiving January. The apartment is empty. Without his furnishings; his little souvenirs on the shelf, opened and pen-marked books on every flat surface….this is not home. But the immediate hole in her heart also speaks in volumes to her mind, which is racing with the implications of what she has just done. She’s hurt him. She’s heartbroken. In that same frame of mind, there is a light. It is small, but she figures it might just be what she needs to get by. Racing to the office, she pulls out an unopened sketch book and a tin of charcoals.

               Next Wednesday, Eliza pulls the book from her bag and opens it, wordless, and watches as Lisa nods at her work. Most of the thick paper is filled with dark blues, accented only with blacks and the occasional mint in a swirling of colors resembling a thick and tumultuous sea. A red line crosses the page from one end to the other, from the darkness to a completely different masterpiece. There, at the top, is the centerpiece of it all. A quarter-sized cocktail of yellows and whites and orange stands out among the dark, coasting above the sea as a beacon. Hope. It’s the first time she’s pulled out her sketchbook since that summer-winter-spring, since it had been filled only with the mimicking of the purples and blues that were a constant ornament to her skin. This feels different, right. And although that wire, that red tether still binds her to Alexander, it is through the light and the hope. He’s connecting her from each opposite end of the art piece. He’s there.

               The apartment is empty without him. There is a lack of light, of warmth and laughter he had once radiated brilliantly. Eliza knows that this is for the best; for healing, for finding the light…for her. Her heart and her mind and her body pull toward him. The apartment is frightening without him. Living alone is a quiet she hadn’t wanted to feel. But her goal remains the same, through Alexander’s crestfallen eyes and her own tearing heart. This isn’t temporary. This isn’t over. This is a step in the right direction.

               And maybe, if she tells herself that enough, that little yellow light will cover her thick paper one day.

[islandofkiwi-blog]

Time’s Mirror Episode 1 - A Web Series by Steven Embers

Prologue

 Someone once told me that remembering your past betrays your present. He didn’t tell me what he meant, but instead advised me to go home and think about it, which I think is a bit like saying “go talk with yourself about whether or not I actually said something profound, while I wait here and take no responsibility for my words.” I did as I was told, though, and I ended up coming to a conclusion that he was talking about how our memory is often an incomplete representation of any given situation.

           Like when the future you remembers the present you he will inevitably forget some of the little intricacies that went into creating that memory preserved in your shared brain. Maybe he’ll forget how cool your hair looked that day, or how you had a bad habit of chewing your nails when you listen to people talk, or (heaven help him) how much that one, trashy, rock chorus influenced you, and in doing so he will unintentionally marginalize the thought of you almost as if he was a stranger observing a story less important than his own.

           When I was done thinking about that, however, I started to wonder if the true meaning behind my irresponsible philosopher’s words was that remembering your past betrays you because during that time you stop living in the present and you become a shadow of the person you were in the past; never changing, never growing.

           But in the end, I resolved that the saying was just fancy wordplay, as most sayings are, and I thought that whatever profundity this particular cadence of words represented was probably not worth the internal distress I was having, so I chose to forget about the matter entirely.

           I never had the chance to ask my mentor what he meant by those words, and he’s gone now so I suppose I will never know, but now I am thinking about my past and his words have resurfaced in my mind like long lost counsel waiting for the appropriate moment to reveal its true nature.

           I think the place that I am in right now is something that I will take with me until I die and I desperately want to not misremember even the smallest detail. Yet I feel so close to my experience right now, too close to write about it, because I would rather continue living it. So I’m reflecting and typing and shivering because it’s really cold, and I’ve finally decided that trying to remember the past is not a sin or any other cautionary stigma I created for myself while pondering that old advice, and I should at least try to record the unbelievable journey I’ve taken.

           I guess I should start with an introduction.

           My name is Bailey Prince. It’s a girl’s name. I was teased for it because I’m a boy and in all the sixteen years of my life I can’t say I’ve ever been comfortable with using my name as a first impression because of an intense reflex of fear of being mocked.

           For the few sadistic people, and sometimes for the innocently curious ones who ask me where my name came from, I tell them it came from my father. My mother only wanted one child and my father had always wanted a daughter whose name he dreamt was Bailey. God let one and a half of their two wishes come true, but everyone knows that having half a wish come true is like finding a magic lamp but figuring out that the genie you summon only speaks Arabic and has to use a dictionary to translate what you’re wishing for.

           I suppose I can remove any wary doubt by saying that this is not a story about bad names; it just happens to be a circumstance of my existence. But if I were to provide any commentary about the topic to any expectant parents who want to name their kid Seafoam Green it’d have to simply be: don’t.

           My name doesn’t really bother me anymore, but I think that’s also a result of this journey, because before all this started I was concerned that maybe my name would be my only gimmick. I thought that maybe I wouldn’t get to be any more interesting than a cross-gendered name, because there’s a limit to how interesting people can be. Like when you introduce yourself to someone, you should be able to summarize all the interesting points of your life in the first fifteen minutes, and when I introduce myself to people we spend the first five minutes discussing my weird name. I thought that maybe if I was born a David or an Andrew I could put my interesting minutes to work by slaying dragons or saving princesses.

           When I was a kid I loved adventure stories: the mighty swords and steeds; the fair maiden turned damsel in distress; the unexpected hero and his crucial battle for justice against evildoers. That’s all I really wanted for myself – well, that and a dog, but I didn’t get the dog either – but I didn’t think that it was something that my tiny town in Colorado, wedged in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains, could provide me.

           And then it was. Not the dog part, I never got that. But one auspicious day, a winter wind swept through town and it brought with it the most mystifying girl and her insanely smart father and together they changed my entire life. This is my story, my memoir, and it will help me remember every pounding heartbeat; every sinking feeling that I was “going to die;” every tear I’ve shed and all the blood I’ve seen; every wonderful, mind-blowing kiss; and, yes, even the boring parts which I’m trying to make not so boring by writing this.

           These are my fifteen interesting minutes, and I feel them ticking towards eternity the longer I spend with her.

           But we’ll get to my mystery girl in a moment, for now I want to go back to the beginning.

           I guess it all starts with…

  Chapter 1

 It was ten minutes until the New Year at Eva Daniels’ house. A couple dozen of my high school classmates were packed haphazardly into the living room while the television played live coverage from Times Square of a scantily clad popstar’s dance routine of radio’s favorite pop song. The singer looked angelic as a flurry of real snow began to fall on the stage, and she played it off as if the weather was planned into the routine. I was sitting towards the back of the room with my friend Mark Daly, but I could still see the screen over the heads in the crowded room since it was fixed at the top of the wall – sometimes forcing my eyes to see the screen to distract myself when something made me feel uncomfortable.

           The night had started okay. It was the third time I’d been invited to Eva’s annual party, but this time had been a little different. While before I had been invited because we were friends going back to elementary school, this year Eva was without a boyfriend, and she made it clear that she wanted me to be her backup kiss at midnight. I had no problem with that, of course, but I also knew that probably nothing could come out of it since we had grown too different over the years so I was basically still there as her old friend.

           Mark had found me early in the night and he clung to me like plastic wrap for the entire party, unmovable even when I’d gotten tired of being smothered and tried any subtle way I could to get him to let me breathe.

           “Yo, Mark,” I said at ten thirty, seeing his girlfriend glancing in our direction for no more than a second. “Jen is staring at you, man. You better get your black ass over there.”

           “Nah, B,” he replied in his lullaby chocolate voice, completely unfazed. “You gotta make ‘em wait for you.”

           “Hey, Mark,” I said at eleven, thinking I finally had the key to my human-shaped handcuffs. “Eva said she might want to kiss me at midnight. You mind if I go see what’s up?

           “Man, B,” he responded, rejecting my metaphorical key. “There’s no way Eva wants to kiss a fool like you. Get outta with that noise.”

           It’s not like I hated Mark; he was one of my best friends since we were kids. But I could sense something was weird about him that night and I would rather talk with him somewhere more private.

           “Mark, I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” I said at eleven thirty, even though I didn’t have to go to the bathroom.

           “All right, B.”

           For a second, I thought I was free, but I made it about three feet away before the sound of his voice stopped me again.

“Hey, can I tell you something?”

           I looked at him.

           “You’re a good friend,” he said, grinning with his teeth.

           I sighed and stepped back towards him. “Okay, what is up with you tonight?”

           “What?” he asked innocently. “I can’t tell a brother he’s a good friend?”

           I considered myself intuitive or observant at least, and I knew Mark well enough to see that something was bothering him. I actually saw it on his face as soon as he came up to me for the first time that night, but I didn’t want to say anything.

           “No, you don’t get to call me a good friend. Not if you’re not going to let me be one. What’s up with you tonight? You haven’t talked to anyone else here.”

           I sat back down on the barstool at the back of the room, and I listened to Sara Baker and Tess Newman talk about prom while I waited for Mark.

           “Same old Bailey,” he said, taking a seat on the stool next to me. “Never could let anything go.”

           I said nothing and let my attention shift towards the live feed from Times Square. They were announcing the popstar’s performance, “right after these words from our sponsors,” meaning “in fifteen minutes.”

           “My brother died two days ago.” Mark finally said flatly. There was no anger or sadness in his voice despite the bad news.

“What the hell,” I whispered, too shocked to say anything meaningful.

Mark told his story like he wasn’t part of it. Like he was trying to be as disconnected as possible from the experience, but I could tell he was hurting.

“He was driving home from work on the interstate and it was kind of icy. The car in front of him went into a skid. Bobby hit the brakes but it wasn’t enough. Bobby runs into the other guy’s bumper and the car behind him was tailgating so his headlights are in Bobby’s trunk a second later. Police were there in ten minutes but he was DOA. Bobby    was the only one dead. They said he would probably have survived the first impact.”

“What the hell,” I repeated.

“I didn’t want to bring you down. Sorry.”

Everything started to fade away. The sounds of the party dimmed and all that was left was the tragic news and the welling pain in my stomach. Bobby was my friend, even though he was seven years older than me he was my friend. Now he was gone. Mark was my friend, and I hurt for him and his family.

“What the hell are you doing here? You should be with your family.”

He shrugged. “Man, you’re my family, too. My dad said that we all needed to spend some time being alive before we can know what it’s like to be dead. Being here is good. Being with you, B…” He stuck out his fist and I bumped mine into his. “It’s good.”

I looked at him. He seemed to be handling it.

“What do you need me to do?”

“You, Bailey?” He shook his head. “Man, you don’t need to do anything. Just listen to this. You remember that time…”

He recounted the story. I looked at the TV a couple times. I watched the faces in New York. I saw people from every corner of the world gathering to see the spectacle. I began to cry. I cried passive tears without trembling, fighting a public breakdown so I wouldn’t ruin the cheerful mood of the party but still letting myself feel pain. He patted me on the shoulder and it was like he became the outsider attending to my tragedy.

“Damn, B. This a’int nothing to cry over.”

“What the hell do you want me to do?” I said with tears stuffing my nose.

“I already told you. You don’t need to do anything. I’m letting you know this is a new me. The only thing I can wrap my mind around these past few days is that the life you have is so tiny. It changes like that.” He snapped his fingers as he said the word. “In a hot second it’s gone for reasons you can’t even control. Man, you don’t need to cry for me or for Bobby. All I need is for you to laugh with me, because I already decided that I’m not gonna waste any more time on stupid shit. I wanna say what I mean, and do what I wanna do.”

On the television, the singer had finished her routine and out of the corner of my eye I saw Eva Daniels approaching us. I rubbed away the tears under my eyes. It looked like Mark was going to make a finishing statement to his grand speech, but Eva interrupted him.

“Hey, boys.” She spoke in a cheerful, girlish tone. “Glad to see you made it.” Technically, it was the first time she had spoken to me at the party, not counting the subtle wink she had given me at the door.    

“Thanks for having us, Eva,” Mark said calmly. “I almost canceled, but I knew all the cool kids would be here and I didn’t want to lose my membership.”

She giggled. “Well I’m glad you’re here. Can I see Bailey for a second?”

Mark raised his eyebrows in a way that I knew meant he was up to something. “Can I just say you are looking damn fine in that dress, Eva. Is it true that you want to kiss my man Bailey here?”

She looked at me again and I looked back at the TV. The one-minute countdown to midnight had appeared in the bottom of the screen and most of the people in the room were gathering to watch.

Eva shrugged and said “I don’t think that’s any of your business, but I would like to speak with him. Privately.”

“Ah.” Mark made a show of nodding as the clock ticked down. “Okay. I understand, but we’re having a discussion right now and it would be terrible if you filled his mind with girly things while I’m trying to impart some of my wisdom.”

           “Excuse me?” Eva said, looking almost panicked. The ten-second countdown had started and everyone in the room began chanting in unison. Ten. Nine.

           “You heard me, woman.” Mark said casually. Eight.

           “Bailey,” Eva addressed me. Seven.

           I started to stand, but Mark put his hand on my shoulder. Six. Five.

           Eva took my hand in hers, it was soft and small and a little sweaty. Four.

           Mark kept his hand on my shoulder as he got out of his chair and walked around to stand in front of me. It went silent for half a heartbeat as I looked from Mark to Eva and then back again. I wasn’t exactly sure what was about to happen. Three. Two.

“I LOVE BAILEY PRINCE!” Mark announced at the top of his lungs. One.

Midnight, the new year, Mark kissed me right on the lips. He grabbed me forcefully on either side of my face and squeezed my cheeks together so that my lips puckered naturally and he pressed his face into mine. His lips were chapped and rough and smaller than I expected and the stubble on his upper lip rubbed against me and felt strange. My eyes were open and I snuck a glance at Eva during the second Mark was kissing me. Her hand was still on mine but her grip loosened and her eyes got real wide so I could see a bit of shock in her sky blue irises. Mark held his face against mine for longer than I expected and I pushed him away when I thought he was about to stick his tongue in my mouth.

Eva didn’t kiss me after that. She sarcastically wished me “good luck,” and walked away quietly. Some of the other people at the party, attracted by Mark’s loud declaration watched the whole thing and the rumor spread over the rest of winter break that Mark and I were about to be the next hot couple in town. Of course that wasn’t true, but it made for a better story.

Meanwhile, I found myself thinking constantly about how Mark had boldly claimed that he was going to be a new person. Even so close to his brother’s death, he was able to laugh and be spontaneous and not care at all what people thought. The kiss represented something more to him. It showed his determination to experience new things and live freely. He shared that motivation with me and transferred something to me that night, some virus that infected my mind and made every part of me aware of how boring my life was. His actions made me want something more: adventure or purpose or love, something I couldn’t place my finger on but that I felt was missing like a giant, gaping hole in my chest.

As winter trudged along and Bobby’s funeral came and went, I felt more and more frustrated that I couldn’t figure out a way to break out of my sense of inadequacy. I was bored, and half a month later I was still struggling with my boredom.

 I opened my locker door on the first day of school of the new year and stared at the worn out bindings of the textbooks I hadn’t seen since last semester. Outside the clouds were grey and there was supposed to be a snowstorm coming, but school continued to be in session despite the predicted bad weather. Returning to my day job made me somehow more frustrated than I had been during the break. Everything was exactly as I left it, though I didn’t know what I expected to find changed.

           I started picking at the paint on the inside of my locker, letting my mind wander absently. I held the door with my other arm and swung my body back and forth with the creaking hinge, the repetitive motion slowly rocking my thoughts away.

           I was beginning to fall asleep on my feet, when I heard a loud slam on the wall behind me that startled me.

           "Well? You gonna give it?” A rough voice echoed off the wall, disturbing peaceful morning. “Or do I have to get The Jock here to shake it out of your backpack for you?"

           I turned to see Dylan Clifford, a five foot ten punk that fancied himself a bad boy, standing over a tiny, Indian kid. The bully acted like the over exaggerated representation of an Italian mob boss from a 70’s mafia film. He had the entourage, the saucy accent, and the perfectly rounded vowels to boot. Lacked the charisma, though. Actually, he might’ve been a choir boy if he hadn’t found his place as the power saw in the assemblage of tools at our school.

           The Indian boy was a new face, but he’d found himself as prey for the biggest delinquents in the school. I was too annoyed with my thoughts to want to get involved at first, but I figured I needed a distraction and decided to intervene on behalf of the kid’s milk money.

           “Hey, Clifford,” I shouted across the hallway and approached the group. Two of his goons tried to stop me in a synchronized move that must have taken months of practice to perfect, but I pushed through them to confront Dylan. He still had his arm against the wall, cornering the boy with the help of his evil sidekick, Rodney “The Jock” Hemsworth.

           “What’s the deal here?” I asked, “This little guy giving you trouble?”

           “Oh, hey Baby.” One time when we were kids I misspoke my name as ‘Baby Prince,’ and it stuck as one of my many, disparaging nicknames.

“I heard you had a fun time on New Year’s Eve. Deal here is this little twerp won’t give me the answers to the math homework we were supposed to do over break. And I know he has it, because he never forgets to turn it in during class.” He made a threatening motion with his fist towards the kid.

           “Wait, hold on.” I moved in between them, “You need answers to freshman math homework? You didn’t fail a grade, did you?”

           “No, Princess, I didn’t. I’m a junior, just like you. I’m just taking sophomore math ‘cause they wouldn’t give me credit for my pretty sixty percent last year. And this kid’s one of those… uh, whadd’ya call ‘em…” He started snapping his fingers like he was trying to summon the word.

           “Accelerated learners,” offered The Jock.

           “Yeah, Rod. That’s it. Accelerated learners.” He took a second to spit a wad of saliva onto the floor. “Some kids are too smart for their own good. They’re bound to get hit by the pecking order at some point or another. I’m doing him a favor.”

           I nodded my head sarcastically. “You have a point there,” I said, agreeably, “but this one is my friend and I’m not going to let you torture answers out of him. So here we go.” I tried to pull the kid from the crowd.

           Dylan swatted my arm away from his victim. “Hold up, Babe. You can’t honestly expect me to believe that. I’ll give you ten bucks right now if you can tell me this kid’s name.”

           He had me. I looked down at the kid then back at Dylan. I knew any hesitation would kill my story, so I responded quickly. “His name is Raj. Can we go now?”

           “Whoa, dude. No way.” He looked over at his goons and whispered at them. “That’s not the kid’s name, is it?”

           “Oh, yeah? So you actually bothered to learn his name? You’ve really changed, Dylan.” I fake applauded and then grabbed the kid’s arm and pulled him away before any of them could protest. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

           I shouted at Dylan over my shoulder as we left. “Your problem, Clifford, is that you have no respect for others. You’d be surprised to know that some people have more to offer you than test answers.”

           And by the time I’d finished babbling we’d made it past a corner and disappeared into the crowd while Dylan stared blankly.

           I hadn’t exactly thought about what I was going to do after I saved the kid so we just stood there awkwardly for a second or two without saying anything.

           The boy looked down at the floor, unwilling to make eye contact with me. I wasn’t able to get a good read on him, so I decided to just walk away. “Okay… well, see you,” I said awkwardly.

           I was just starting to turn as I heard his timid voice call out behind me. “My name’s Henry.”

           “Oh.” I turned around, but kept shuffling backwards. “Yeah, sorry about that, I was just trying to get you out of there.” I scratched my head but continued moving down the hallway.

           I knew it.” I heard Dylan’s shout come from across my shoulder and I whirled around. “Give me those answers, Henry, and we won’t have a problem.” He laughed. “You almost made me forget that I really needed to pass this class, Bailey.”

           “Hey, you didn’t call me ‘Princess’ this time.”

           “This is too serious for great nicknames. I need to copy those answers before second period.” Dylan made a lunge at the kid, whose favorite form of self-defense seemed to be The Possum because he went limp.

           I was a step faster than Dylan, and I grabbed the kid’s arm just in time to turn and run. “All right, man. Just run as fast as you can,” I whispered to him.

           I half-dragged Henry behind me, because it seemed like he only knew how to move with the robotic motions of a silicone doll. Luckily, he was only about as heavy as one, too, so I pulled him through the crowded hall and hoped that someone would eventually stop the stampeding group of low-lives. I snuck a glance back over my shoulder and saw Dylan and his posse pushing over anyone and everyone, even the people trying to get out of his way.

           My goal was the library. I figured if I couldn’t lose him in a sea of people it would probably be best to take shelter in an open space with adult supervision. We were still in high school, and judging by how hard he was trying to cheat his way through Sophomore level math he still had to worry about the authority.

           We dashed down the hallway, rounding a corner before arriving at the library. I checked behind us to see if Dylan was still following us and, seeing a sea of people part the middle of the hallway for him to pass, I assumed he was. I pushed Henry through the library doors and ducked in after him. Hopefully, Dylan would just give up, because my heart was already pounding from the unusual amount of exercise so early in the morning.

           The library was an open area with tables in the center of the floor and bookcases lining the walls. At the front of the room were small, study alcoves and a very simple check-out counter leading out to the only door. Some teachers were helping kids with early morning questions in the study alcoves and the school librarian was busy reading a book behind the counter so I decided it was a safe place to stay. I led Henry to one of the center tables and I sat across from him so I could watch the door.

           There was silence for a couple moments, during which Henry just stared at the floor and started wheezing to find his breath and I looked at the door behind him waiting for a crazed Dylan to bust into the room and order my execution. Nothing happened and finally, I couldn’t take the silence and had to break the tension.

           “So how was your Christmas break?” I asked.

           The kid was in worse shape than I was which only made me feel worse. “My family doesn’t celebrate Christmas,” he managed to say through shallow breaths.

           “I meant more along the lines of you doing anything special.” I kept one eye on the door while I actually looked at him for the first time since I’d seen him. He had features like a mouse with a nose that seemed to draw any attention directed towards it.

           “Why are you asking me this?” He sounded upset.

           I shrugged. “I don’t know, really. We’re going to have to wait here awhile though, so I thought I’d try to make conversation.”

           “Why do we have to wait here?” His voice started to sound almost hostile.

           “I mean, isn’t there someone who wants to kill you out there?”

           He looked down, avoiding eye contact. There was more silence before he finally squeaked “Why did you save me?”

           I thought for a moment, and felt like I didn’t know the answer myself. I spoke uncertainly.

           “I don’t know if ‘saved’ is the right word for it, but it looked like you needed help and I really don’t like Dylan.”

           “Oh.” He sat quietly for a second before looking up at me with fairy tale doe eyes. “I thought you might have wanted to be my friend.”

           Just so we’re clear, the sparkling eyes is an effect that only animated characters can accomplish. I took one look at him and decided his was a ridiculous theory, but I knew I couldn’t say that to his face.

           “It wasn’t really part of my plan,” I stated, but I saw his face get very sad which was almost an effect worse than the doe eyes, so I added quickly, “But, you know, I’m never above making new friends,” which elicited a toothy grin.

           Normally, I probably would have melted on the inside when such a childishly innocent creature made that kind of face at me, but somehow all I saw was a mistake of nature smiling at me with unusually large gums and braces restraining a massive overbite.

           I shoved the ugly feeling to the back of my brain and forced a smile back at him.

           “So how’s school, then?” I decided to give him a chance to let his shining personality break through his rough exterior.

           “It’s good. I have straight A’s.”

           “That’s… well that’s good.” I couldn’t think of anything more to say and I was suddenly aware that my chair was really uncomfortable.

           We sat like that for a good minute and I started to think that the mind-numbing silence was worse than getting beaten up by Dylan.

           “So, class is probably starting soon and I don’t want to be late,” I lied. “Why don’t we pick this up some other time?”

           “Okay,” he said, innocently.

           I stood up and started to walk away.

           “Actually,” he stopped me, and I was only two steps out of my seat, too close to pretend I hadn’t heard him. “Can I ask you something?” His voice was shaking.

           “Um.” I gazed longingly at the door, but forced myself to sit down because I knew I would feel bad if I just left. “Sure, what’s on your mind?”

           “Well, it’s about high school.” He kept stopping after every phrase, like he couldn’t get a complete thought to come out.

           “Okay. What about?” I tried to guide him, “Girls? Bad teachers? Did you meet Rocko? Don’t buy whatever he’s selling.”

           “It’s just that…” He paused again and I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. “Well I moved here during the fall and I’ve been here for a semester already, but I haven’t really been able to make any friends. Everybody just seems to stare right through me and the only time people talk to me is when they have questions about homework.”

           When he finished, I felt bad about my previous thoughts. First impression, oppression, as my mother would say.

           I tried to come up with an answer for him, but it was hard because I knew I would definitely be one of those shameless people asking a freshman for help and I was obviously one of those people who wouldn’t bother to talk to him afterwards.

           “I can relate a little bit,” I lied, trying to give him what he needed to hear. “People like to pick on me because of my name; I have a really girly one. Bailey Prince.” I reached over the table to shake his hand and he giggled a little bit which made me smile.

           My awful concentration on his physical appearance seemed to melt away as I began to see just a lonely kid looking for a friend. I wanted to inspire him somehow, to help him escape from the natural, defensive shell that always seems to hinder the real, human experience.

           “You just have to stop worrying about what people will think about you if you just put yourself out there,” I said. “High school is this time when you’re supposed to figure out who you are. And all your classmates will pretend like they’re so complicated or they have everything under control, but they’re not and they don’t. We’re all the same, us high school students, we’re just looking for love, and direction, and test answers. So don’t be afraid to say what’s on your mind. Because it’s okay to make mistakes. Just, really, don’t buy anything from Rocko; those aren’t the right mistakes you want to make.”

           It was cheese straight out of an afterschool special, but I figured everyone could stand to watch a little more, trashy television. I did feel a little pretentious trying to make generalizations about teenagers when I was clearly not any more mature than my peers, but my ego took a back seat as I tried to advise this kid who just wanted to be noticed by someone.

           I was about to tell him something about talking to girls when I saw the library door open. I nearly fell out of my seat expecting Dylan to show his face when I had just talked myself into a vulnerable position, but I let out a sigh of relief when the second librarian walked in, whistling cheerfully over the top of his coffee mug.

           Henry looked behind him and when he turned back around I gave a lopsided smile to acknowledge how stupid I looked. He giggled again and a warm wave of something I could only call serenity filled my insides. When the moment passed he told me he should probably get to class and I told him I’d see him around. But as I watched him walk away with his uneven gait, I started to realize something.

           I was finally ready to accept what my high school years had to offer. I wanted to take my own advice and learn something about what I wanted to do with myself. Mark had planted the seed in my heart, and the conversation with Henry had watered it, but I was letting it take root.

           I sighed as I realized that I was ready to leave.

TO BE CONTINUED!