#rather than something bland like the deceivers or some shit

[probablyaseamonster]

So you know how my Witchcraft SMP theory got almost 500 notes? Like I'm talking in the late 490s?

Well I'm doing it again. This time with Pirates. On Day 1. Because I can.

... I'll probably update this later.

ANYWAY

I was thinking about the weirdos who took Guqqie. I didn't catch their nametags if they had any (my screen was being super blurry, it's been a problem for like a week), so I'm starting to call them the People of the Yellow Ship (Because notably they're the only ones with a brightly coloured sail and we need more yellow as an intimidating colour. Too many derederes. Not enough Bill Ciphers).

I was wondering, because they explicitly singled her out out of a large crowd of currently loud people. Was it her bright pink hair? The mysterious gleaming circle thing on her shirt, whatever it is? Maybe, but I think it'd be more interesting if the hatred (or admiration? whatever emotion behind the intent) wasn't based on something so surface level. If the People knew some deeper things about Guqqie.

My first thought? They targeted her because she was vulnerable. Like how real cultists operate, because I assume from the shot of the temple at the end of Guqqie's animation that they're meant to be interpreted as cultists. Now obviously real life cultists don't sacrifice people most of the time (although most media doesn't seem to acknowledge that), so keep in mind that these characters are probably not going to be realistic depictions. Of course. It's a story about pirates and eldritch horror made by gamers and influencers.

ON A SIDE NOTE. I think I'm the first person (at least on tumblr) to point out that the Faction/Pirate Isles have their own temple, as shown at the end of the intro. A caved-in greco-roman inspired structure that is surprisingly more overgrown on the very-much-inhabited pirate hotspot compared to the island with the abandoned and corrupted village (and somehow when Guccie made it to the deadly temple it started snowing. How exactly was it snowing on a tropical island? I hope this will be answered... are gods real? and at least one of them condones this?... hm... the eldritch vibes are getting stronger the more I think about it). Also I want to mention that it would've been so easy to make the temple aztec or something but I'm so glad they didn't. Adventure movies do enough damage.

But back to the theory. How is Guqqie vulnerable? Well, in Owen's YouTube series so far, we only see Guqqie a few times. Mostly getting along well with Aimsey, but one time is particularly relevant. I think it was before Owen had chosen to join the Herons, when he was considering all options (as skeptical as he was). Guqqie mentioned that she rarely leaves the island, as she is uncomfortable on the open sea. Mentioned that she gets seasick, and most interestingly, that her parents say that the act of getting seasick is "unladylike".

This sentence set off alarm bells in my head. Honestly whenever someone uses the term unladylike it concerns or enrages me, but past that. We don't know much about Guqqie's home life, other than that she was probably raised a Kestrel, much like how Scott was raised a Heron. On Aimsey's stream she said that c!Guqqie didn't like c!Aimsey at first, which at least to me implies that Guqqie's parents had instilled a hatred of Kites in their daughter, which Guqqie eventually broke out of when she fell for the swag enby with the tentacle tattoos.

Guqqie's parents instilling the importance of appearing ladylike to Guqqie reads that they wanted her to be a model aristocrat (at least among pirates), much like Scott and Owen. But the part where it gets dark is they told her this in the context of her seasickness. They thought it was unbecoming of a woman to need to throw up over the gunwale (yes I looked up what the railing of a ship was called just for this post, what of it), her face green as rotting bread. Which is, in a word, scummy. If your kid has health issues like this, don't be like that. You know, if there are any parents reading this, which I doubt.

cc!Guqqie had only an hour and a bit to tell her story to the other cc!s and their chats. And she chose to tell Owen's that tidbit of information. It seems like a comedic throwaway line, but I keep coming back to it. Something tells me that this was important. That it may have been part of the reason she was chosen.

I just realized something as I was writing this out. Oh god. If I'm right, then they'll probably go after Scott next.

pt 1.

[fanpom-imagines]

Request by Anonymous: Can you do Jon snow x reader where she is his wife and she found out he cheated on her with Daenerys after they come back to Winterfell and Jon begin cold but regret it can the reader be queen of powerful kingdom that nice loyal kind. to people treat bastard as their equal and have the most powerful army in the seven kingdom and can you make also reader a warrior queen who is decent from the old gods half human half god and Aegon never conquered it because how powerful her ancestors were and (1) And can you make also make were the reader who is Jon wife a queen of powerful kingdom were they treat people equal even Bastard and reader find out Jon cheated on her with Daenerys and the reader is descend of the old gods half human half god and have armor and fight like wonder women and is respected and fear and can control the four Elements and have magic like scarlet witch from avengers her family is called the children of gods since they are half human half god (2)

Imagine finding out about Jon’s affair with Daenerys whilst also being a powerful Queen yourself.

Masterlist

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Words: 2358

Warnings: use of vulgar language and damn was this a long request, but I kind of changed some stuff in the fanfic, but it’s mostly accurate to what you had requested

Gifs aren’t mine.

(Female Reader)

I stared straight ahead and glared at the queen who gave a smile towards Sansa who approached her and Jon. My guts turned at Sansa’s next words, “Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.”

After the two women exchanged words and strained smiles Daenerys made her way to me, “You must be Jon Snow’s wife? One of those who is a descendant of gods, if I’m not mistaken?” She asked me with a bright smile having no idea of my knowledge of the affair between her and my husband.

Forcing down any comments that could have her whole army against me as well as her dragons I just smiled politely before answering in a kind tone, “You are not mistaken, I am of god blood.”

“Is it true of what they say of your people? That the ones with the god blood flowing through their veins have powers. I had heard stories as a child, but I deemed them as rumors,” She told me as she looked at me curiously.

In that moment I wanted to show her how exactly my powers worked. I could have choked the life out of her or snapped her neck without even batting and eyelash, yet she was needed for the battle to come. So really I had no other choice, but to nod my head and say, “Yes, it is in fact true.”

Without another word we both bid the other farewell as Jon pulled her aside by the waist to introduce her to other members of the Stark family as well as other important people of the North. My fists clenched as I saw Jon’s arm around the woman’s waist. I scoffed inwardly at the sight before looking around and seeing the suspicious and hostile gazes of the Northerners towards Daenerys. I guess I am not the only one who doesn’t trust the self proclaimed Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

~~~

“What the hell is your problem Jon Snow?!” I screamed out at my husband who looked shamefully down at the ground refusing to make eye contact with me.

“First I hear you bend the knee to some Targaryen Queen and now I hear who have committed adultery with her?!” I scoffed at him.

“I thought you were a man of honor Jon, a true Northerner. Yet, I find out your just like all the other King’s of Westeros,” I shake my head at him and sit down onto one of the chairs next to a small table placed next to the window which showed the breathtaking view of the cold Northern world.

“(Y/N), I’m sorry I never meant-” Jon started out, but I cut him off already knowing none of his poor excuses and explanations could ever put him in the right light.

“Never meant to what? Hurt me? Or for me to find out?” I snapped at him venomously.

“(Y/N) calm down,” Jon started as he made his way closer to me.

“Calm down? Calm down?! You want me to fucking calm down?! I have a right to be furious with you Snow! You threw away your crown for an alliance you had to gain through whoring yourself to a Queen whose desire is a kingdom and a throne she has never even seen before!” I screamed out at him getting up from my seat and closer to him.

“(Y/N) I…” I waited for him to say something, anything, but he and I both knew there was nothing that could make this right.

“I hate you, Jon Snow,” I whispered out as tears welled up in my eyes and cascaded down my face. I turned away from him and pulled out a large trunk from under the bed before opening it and placing my things inside.

“(Y/N), what are you doing?” Jon asked panicked as he got closer to me I quickly turned to him before he could touch me.

“Don’t fucking touch me Snow,” Jon cringed at the name I used. I knew full well that here in Westeros people did not believe bastards to be of any worth and gave them names to alienate them even further, unlike where I am from. In my kingdom people do not care about one’s lineage, color, or gender, rather we measure value by a person’s actions. I had deemed Jon an amazing man and truthful king, yet it seems I was deceived. In my kingdom, man or woman, a person would be punished for adultery, but here in Westeros only the women are. If a woman is caught with another man in her bed she is sent to be killed, but a man can fuck as many women as he wants and he’s worshipped and applauded. This is why I hate this kingdom. Though my lands are connected to Westeros we have never identified with them and have pushed back all forces and attempts at their invasion.

I came into these lands with these people’s foreign customs and ways for a man I fell in love with and who I thought he had loved me back, but it seems he does not love me any longer or perhaps he never loved me at all. I push past Jon as I call upon two of my guards to come and help me move my belongings out of the room.

“(Y/N) please don’t,” Jon pleaded as he ran after me and pulled me back by the hand to face him. He pressed a kiss to my lips, but I pushed him away as soon as our lips touched. The utter hurt that washed over his face sent a pang of guilt into my chest, but it faded as quickly as it came.

“I will stay to fight the Whitewalkers which means I will have to stay in the same castle as you, but I will not share a bed with you ever again. Our alliance will be cut off after the battle as my kingdom does not want to meddle in the affairs of the seven kingdoms. I do not want to play this stupid game of thrones these people have been playing for the past decade. I will call for a council to arrange and witness our divorce. I will not live and bare the children of a man who can’t put his people and wife before his own cock,” and with that I turned away from him and walked away and thought pain and regret creeped from my heart and seemed to want to crawl out my throat into a desperate cry I swallowed it down and made my way to my new chambers far away from his.

~~~

The next day I got ready and brushed out my hair and had it done up in my people’s traditional style rather than the bland Northern style I’ve had it since becoming Jon’s wife. I thanked the maid who helped me style it before getting into my clothes and asking the maid for some help with them at some difficult parts of my attire. I made my way downstairs once again towards the large room where Jon, Sansa, and the Targaryen queen sat at the large wooden table at the end of the room. I felt anger bubble in my chest as I saw Daenerys sit in my place at the table.

As I stood in front of the council Ser Daavos stood up and walked forward to address me, “Your Grace, I know you have made up your mind with severing your marriage vows to Jon, but I should advise against it. The people of the Seven Kingdoms will not take lightly to it as it is not seen as right as the two of you had taken your vows in front of the Old and New gods. This will also sever ties and alliances between the Seven Kingdoms and the Kingdom of Ainu severely.”

“Ser Daavos you are not my advisor, though you are a wise man and do what is best for your people and kingdom I do not give a single shit about your peoples thoughts or needs. I never swore to serve them only that I would stay true and faithful to my husband who also swore the same vow. Yet, he disobeyed and broke his vow and chose to sleep with a Targaryen queen. Ironically the Nights Watch would’ve hung him for breaking a vow, but I guess vows mean nothing when your a king, or well used to be one.” I said venomously all the while glaring at Jon and keeping eye contact with him as he gave me pained eyes.

“I’m sorry, but your husband and I never had such an affair with one another,” Daenerys said as she looked at me with an offended look.

“No I’m sorry that you actually think lying about something will make it nonexistent and make it disappear,” I gave her a strained smile.

“How dare you!” Daenerys yelled out as she stood up abruptly making the chair behind her make a screetching sound as it was pushed back.

“No how dare you sleep with another woman’s wife, but I guess I should thank you because if he shared a bed with you then he definitely would’ve shared a bed with someone else sooner or later. Now I’m not here to argue so sit down, I’m here to cut ties with the Stark family,” I told her as I gave her a sharp glare and cut her off before she could spit out any other remark or insulting or offended comment my way, but it seemed like she did not want to back down.

“You have no idea who you are messing with-” Once again I cut her off.

“Yes I think I do. You’re queen of many different places and have many different titles yet I do not care because you still slept with my husband and I’m not trying to fight to get him back I will not stay with a man who can not stay true to his word. I do in fact would like to finally get this divorce in order and be done for the day before I feel like silencing you. It would be a shame if you died before the battle even begun,” I told her threateningly and my last statement even came with a “sweet” smile.

“I have the blood of Old Valyria, there is dragons blood running through my veins I would advise you not to anger me,” Daenerys warned as she glared at me and puffed out her chest in pride as she straightened herself to give off a more intimidating aura. If I had been anyone else I would’ve been scared, but alas I am Queen (Y/N) of the House of Gods, Queen of the people of Arda en Ainu, (Y/N) the Honorable, Godborn, Aino Nethar, Slayer of Darkness, Light Bringer, Warrior of the People, and the Warrior of Light.

“And there is gods blood running through mine. I will not stand by as you question my actions because you deem yourself above me. We are all people and we are all will end up six feet under sooner or later. You believe yourself to be some almighty goddess yet all your power lies behind your dragons. Take away your dragons and the reason people fear you will vanish. You may have many titles Daenerys, but I have just as many. You desire a throne you’ve never seen. You desire to rule a kingdom that you barely known only because you believe it is your birthright when it is not. Robert baratheon took the throne after killing your father, King Aerys II just as your father had conquered these lands and took it from the people before him and just as the First Men had taken the lands from the children of the forest who had been there before them. You are not the heir to the throne because that is how wars work. You shouldn’t be prancing around saying it is your right because it is not. You should be telling these people that you will take it back and renew your Houses name rather than screaming it’s mine like some annoying child.” Everyone in the room froze and stared at me. I held my head high and kept eye contact with Daenerys as I could see the veins forming on her forehead.

“I am Queen Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, The rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Queen of Dragonstone, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons, Regent of the Realm.” Daenerys said in full confidence.

“And I am Queen (Y/N) of the House of Gods, Protector of the people of the Kingdom of Ainu, (Y/N) the Honorable, Turniqui of Arda en Ainu, Slayer of Darkness and Bearer of Light, Warrior of the People and Messenger of the Gods, Mahtar of the World of Gods, Savior to All and Foe of Many, the Godborn, Aino Nethar, The Last Light, Gift of the Ainu, and the Warrior of Light, and I will not be threatened by your pitiful attempts to do just that. My army and I will stay at Winterfell till the Whitewalkers come and the battle is done. After that Arda en Ainu will no longer have ties with the Seven Kingdoms and my people will go back to their families without your interference. We will not fight in your war to get some throne that has brought nothing, but pain and misery to the people of this realm,” My eyes started to glow red as I lifted up some of the soldiers around me who started to be surrounded by a red glowing ligt that increased my hands and I started to choke them.

“Enough!” I heard Jon yell and I immediately dropped them. “(Y/N) do not hurt these men.”

“Then let’s get this divorce over with before I do hurt these men.”

[everdreamts-blog]

  Wyatt hadn’t been sure what to expect from any of this.   The job offer had come so out of the blue that he’d needed a good two weeks to come to a proper decision, and only because his dreams had shown him he’d be relatively happy with the change. Getting into the police academy had been tough and draining, so a part of him couldn’t help but question just how much throwing that away for a place in an organization that calls itself “Supernatural Control Force” would be worth.   Great salary and a new apartment he wouldn’t have to pay for aside.   But Jihoon had been ecstatic immediately, and, well. As the only person intimately acquainted with all things supernatural, he had been – and still is – his best bet.

  It’s still difficult, wrapping his head around this great, earth-shattering revelation. His dreams are more frequent now, or maybe he’s simply more aware of them after waking up instead of dismissing them the moment he opens his eyes. Mundane, everyday snippets, like Jihoon dropping his favorite mug and proceeding to wallow in sadness all day over it, or Lysander coming over with a baggie full of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies. Before being told about his powers as a seer, Wyatt had always chalked those off as gut-feelings. Intuition.   Heaving a sigh, he trails his eyes up the skyscraper Jihoon dragged him to. An endless expanse of boring grey, broken up by white-framed windows. On the wall next to its double-wide entrance door hangs a plaquet, plain silver with black lettering. “GoldLeaf Networks Inc.,” it reads. Wyatt furrows his brows.   “Are you sure this is the right place?”   Jihoon comes up behind him, humming in that too-enthusiastic way of his. “There’s a glamour here. The SCF is very secretive.”   “Glamour?” Wyatt turns. “Whatever that is.”   “Just,” Jihoon says as he taps a finger against the plaquet, “look closely. You’ll see it.”   Wyatt is all but ready to turn around and change his mind, but he indulges Jihoon. He’s been doing that far too often lately. Squinting his eyes, he leans in, staring at the plaquet. Nothing happens. He stares a little harder, focusing on the letters, their crisp outlines and bland font.   The letters begin to flicker, to warp, rearranging themselves, multiplying, changing forms.   Wyatt stumbles back, his heart in his throat. “Supernatural Control Force, Seoul subdivision,” the plaquet now reads, “est. 1704.”   Jihoon grins. “See? That’s a glamour. It keeps curious eyes away. If you’re not magical or a supe, you can’t see through it.”   “Holy shit.”   Grin fixed on his face, Jihoon walks past him and pushes the door open, motioning for him to step inside. The inside is spacious, as expected from a lobby of a building this size. Warm lights line the window-covered walls, though the main light source is a plethora of sleek, circle-shaped lamps, holes in their middles and varying in size, all over the ceiling. The only two walls not covered in windows are the one all the way on the other side of the lobby, lined with a row of elevators instead, and the one all the way to the right, the reception desk sitting in front of it. In the middle of the lobby, surrounded by various plants, a waiting area has been lowered into the floor, black leather couches and armchairs, metal end tables topped with stacks of magazines, and a water cooler, gurgling every now and then.   Jihoon heads straight to the reception desk. He lacks all wonder and excitement Wyatt expected to see from him, faced with a sight such as this. He must have been here before.   The woman behind the reception desk looks up from her book, her ruby-red lips a harsh line. “Do you have an appointment?”   “Sorta,” Jihoon replies, something sheepish in his tone, “we’re here to see Lee Junsu.”   The woman makes a noise, slightly disgruntled. She marks her page in her book and sets it aside to rummage in one of her drawers. “Names?”   “Oh Jihoon and Wyatt Lyles.”   She takes two plastic cards out of the drawer, both of which read “Visitor” in bold, capital letters. After typing something on her keyboard, her printer spits out a set of stickers, glinting gold. She peels them off and sticks one each on the cards, pressing them down with a slight hitch in her brow, before handing the cards to Jihoon. “He’ll be with you shortly.” With a vague gesture towards the waiting area, she dismisses them, going back to her reading.   “What was that about?” Wyatt asks, following Jihoon to one of the couches. Jihoon hands him his card.   “Visitor passes. There’s a lot of security stuff in this building. You can’t enter some areas without a pass like this or being an employee.”   “Sounds very… non-magical.”   Jihoon snickers. “Part of it is. Sometimes, the human way works best.”   As too many things lately, Jihoon’s answer is just cryptic enough that it leaves Wyatt unsatisfied. He bounces his right leg up and down, letting his eyes flit about the premise. It’s so… normal. So inconspicuous. Modern and no doubt expensive, yes. But not at all what he thought a place like this might look like. There are no magicked items floating in the air, no people appearing out of thin air and fire places, no owls carrying letters and parcels. Harry Potter, as it turns out, is a big, fat lie.   He fiddles with his card instead of ruminating on how media cleverly managed to deceive him. Sturdy but not heavy, it’s a little like the library card he’d owned as a kid. The sticker the woman behind the desk printed out is some kind of symbol, thin, intricate lines woven together. When Wyatt rubs his thumb across it, it emits the slightest pulse. He gasps.   Of course, Jihoon snickers. “It’s spelled. Neat, huh?”   “Didn’t you just say security here wasn’t magical?”   Jihoon shakes his head. “I said part of it is. The sticker’s spelled to let you through the wards. If you didn’t have that, you’d be unable to go anywhere because the wards would simply… “ He gestures in the air, eyes roaming to the ceiling. “Kick you out. Like, physically. The not-magical part is in the card itself. There’s keypads and stuff you need to insert it in to unlock the mechanism.”   Wyatt melts into the sofa. The leather is just shy of too stiff to be comfortable. Still fiddling with the card, he says more than asks, “You’ve been here before.”   Offering a one-shouldered shrug, Jihoon shifts in his spot to stretch his legs out before him. “That’s part of being a supe. For a lot of us, anyhow. My parents brought me here after I was born so the SCF could create a file of me. It’s not mandatory, and a lot of people despise this system because it’s basically an excuse to monitor you all your life, but it comes with benefits. Like, not becoming potential targets. Unless you act up, of course. There’s health check-ups, too, and counseling, and as soon as you turn eighteen, you’re more eligible to be offered a spot here than if you weren’t registered.”   Before Wyatt has a chance to respond, one of the elevators gives a melodious ding, its door sliding open. Out walks a young man, black hair and tan skin. He approaches the both of them with a welcoming, if a little sharp, smile.   “My apologies for the wait.”   He dips into a brief, but polite bow. Jihoon rises to a stand and does the same, and Wyatt follows with some delay. The young man introduces himself as Lee Junsu, informing them that he’ll be in charge of all new recruits this year. As their supervisor and personal point of contact both. He leads them to the elevator he’d come out of, still smiling, tone casual but polite.   “I trust you’ve read the brochure you were given thoroughly?”   Jihoon nods, and so does Wyatt. They’d perused it together, sitting on the living room floor with takeaway jjajangmyeon and too much Pepsi. Back then, Wyatt’s life had been relatively normal. It feels like such a long time ago, as ridiculous as that is. Since that day, he’s found out about this whole other world mingled with that of ordinary humans, about him and Lysander being witches, about Jihoon being a shapeshifter. Although he has somewhat come to terms with it, he still wakes up sometimes and forgets until it hits him in the face like a brick.   And now, he’s here, about to sign himself up to get rid of the last piece of normalcy he had left.   Junsu’s smile turns satisfied. “Very good. I would rather not repeat myself too often.” He presses a button, the elevator smoothly beginning its journey upwards.   Wyatt gives himself a moment to take Junsu in. He’s older, but not by much, which means he’s either managed to weasel his way into this position, or he’s simply exceptionally skilled. If the SCF works at all like human companies do, promotions like these don’t come without their price.   The uniform he dons, Wyatt is more than familiar with. He’d worn one of them in a very recent dream, though his had been less intricate. Black and form-fitted, Junsu’s jacket is longer in the back, tapering off and reaching the backs of his knees. The two buttons keeping it closed are vaguely diamond-shaped. Its high collar and cuffs are embroidered with silver swirls and shapes. His pants are plain, much like normal dress pants, and he wears a pair of knee-high leather boots, laced up tightly and polished to perfection. Underneath the jacket, he wears a crisp, dark grey button-down.   A quiet peep breaks through the silence. Junsu whips his gaze down to his breast pocket, patting it gently. A tiny beak peeks over the hem, followed by the featherless head of fleshy pink, large-eyed baby bird. Junsu coos. “Well, well, well. You’re awake just in time.”   Jihoon gapes at it. “Is that… ?”   “My familiar, Velvet,” Junsu replies, rubbing the pad of his forefinger over the bird’s naked head. The bird chirps weakly, closing its eyes. “I’m afraid you’ve come at a terrible time to see him, but that’ll change. He’s been through a lot lately.”   “You’re a witch?” Wyatt can’t help but blurt out, and Junsu graces him with a snicker.   “Half, yes. And half shifter.”   Jihoon’s eyes sparkle up at him like he hung the stars in the sky. “That’s so cool!”   The elevator comes to a stop. Behind its opening doors is another, large hall, separated into several rooms by glass walls. Some rooms are large, with a long table and many chairs in the very middle, but most of them are stacked with cubicles like an office, people working away behind desks. Junsu gestures towards them.   “Once your employment has been greenlit, you’ll be doing office work for a little while, just to get you acquainted with everything. Every hunter needs to know how to do their paperwork correctly, who to contact for irregularities, how to behave during their time here. You’ll also be doing paperwork every time you return from field work, so get used to the thought of plowing through protocols and regulations.”   He leads them further down the hall, taking a sharp right at the very end of it. Behind a heavy door that only opens after Junsu inserts his card, puts in a code and scans his fingerprint, they find a smaller hall, once again separated into multiple rooms. This time, however, their walls aren’t made of glass, but something solid, clad with dark wood.   “This is where your higher-ups are,” Junsu explains, pushing the door closest to the one they just came through open. “Which includes me, of course.”   He lets Wyatt and Jihoon step in first and closes the door behind himself as he follows suit. Walking up to his desk, he reaches into his pocket, gently pulling Velvet out of his hiding place. Velvet chirps, sounding suspiciously sulky. Junsu places him in a little glass bowl padded with what looks like fluffy miniature pillows. Velvet burrows into them immediately.   “Now, let’s see,” Junsu says, letting himself fall into his office chair. He motions for Wyatt and Jihoon to take a seat, too, and they do without complaint. “I know we already have a file of you, Jihoon… ah, here we are.” It only takes a couple of clicks on his computer for him to find what he was looking for. He scans whatever’s on his monitor quickly. “Yes, you’re a good choice. Iseul has an eye for these things, but I’m still impressed every time.”   Jihoon’s cheeks pinken under the praise, but he beams at Junsu. “Thanks.”   Junsu returns the smile with one of his own, sharp at its edges again. “And Wyatt… you’re not registered, are you?”   Both Junsu’s and Jihoon’s attention snaps toward Wyatt. Wyatt clears his throat. “Uhm. No.” If he’d known about any of this, he’d have long showed up to register himself – if only to not seem suspicious. This delay hopefully won’t be an issue in the future. “I wasn’t aware of being – you know. Until a few weeks ago.”   The noise Junsu makes is free of judgment, and not even a little surprised. “I figured. Your magic isn’t very refined yet.”   And isn’t that fun. Another stranger seeing right through him, seeing that something extra in his blood he never suspected of being there. Wyatt’s stomach roils. Uncharted territory is one thing, and he’s far from being a coward, but this is unnerving in so many ways. How many people caught onto him not being a normal human? How many of the looks he’s received over the years were because of his magic? Nothing is worse than being the clueless one.   “Yeah. I know.” Wyatt’s reply comes out a lot more strained than he would have wanted. He averts his eyes, watching Velvet squirming in his makeshift bedding. “That’ll change soon. I have a mentor now.”   At that, Junsu’s brows rise high on his forehead. “Oh? How fortunate. The more tutoring you get, the better. Of course, we have highly skilled teachers, too, and you’ll be taking lessons to work on your magic, but it never hurts to have another pair of eyes on you.”   “Lessons?” Wyatt leans forward in his seat. “You’ll teach me here?”   Junsu nods. “Oh, yes. Everyone receives appropriate training. Our witches are schooled in everything magic, tutored through finding their specialization if they wish to have one, but you’ll also be undertaking combat training that’ll include more than what you’re used to. Your magic can be a weapon if you know how to use it. Mightier than a blade or gun ever could be.”   Junsu’s voice drops at his last few words, and for whatever reason, it sends a ripple of a shiver down Wyatt’s spine. He shares a look with Jihoon, who all but vibrates in his seat.   This job was going to be anything but boring.

[protezioni]

"stop saying i look like chicken little. he’s dumb, and he’s a coward. and i am NOT a coward!" for Maemi/Zuro and "yes, she is a bitch. b i c t … h." for Shima/Ko :3

Yes of course! Thank you for sending this ask and I enjoyed writing it a ton omg Love you!

STAN ZETA @zetacomic !! SOME CHARACTERS THAT WERE SEEN IN THE STORY BELONGS TO THE CREATOR SUCH AS MAEMI AND SHIMA!!!

Zuro/Maemi

Day count of suffering? Still the same. The amount of suffering he feels every day? Increased. Yes, sure- the Protezioni were somewhat like new siblings to them, but he cannot ignore the fact that they could sometimes be as annoying as some other members of Zygos. A lot of the Protezioni members may have been welcoming, and some even encouraged to be close to them--- but as months passed by, he only got to notice how some other members masked their more ridiculous side through acting like such. Well, what was to be expected from them? They may have been in the mafia, but they were certainly like normal people... They acted like a bunch of students who were glad there were no classes tomorrow...

I mean, they even had this movie night where they invited the entirety of Zygos Academy! Where? In their living room! It was easy to tell their place was bigger than the academy... Maybe even too big. Sure, whatever. Everyone was down to watch movies together... But of course, one of the more loud and obnoxious members had to bring something up- Which he, of course, did not expect. Disappointed but not surprised? Absolutely. That was a good summary of how he felt at this exact same moment when someone decided to bring up an inaccurate comparison between him and... a character from the movie. A children's movie. About a chicken discovering aliens existed. How pathetic was that?! Who in their right mind would compare him to that character?!

Maemi was staring at Zuro who was leaning on the couch, with a bowl of Doritos. He munched on the chips as he continued to look at Maemi in the eye. Once he swallowed, he coughed to capture some people's attention. "You sure you aren't Chicken Little?" He wasn't satisfied with Maemi's squinting as an answer, so he only repeated the question. "Chicken Little ain't that bad, Maemi!" Is he seriously trying to tell him that it wasn't bad at all? I mean... who the hell gets compared to a weak chicken who can hardly do shit at first? "You see, there are pros in being that little chick! He's got some cool-looking glasses!"

Maemi sighed, his heads in his hands... Wasn't this supposed to be movie night? Why were they just sitting down in the living room and making theories about how he is just a black feathered Chicken Little who somehow got red eyes? "This whole thing is dumb." Maemi rolled his eyes, refusing to sit beside Zuro who only patted the empty space beside him. "No thank you. I'll rather not stay beside you and be teased during the whole movie." It wasn't that hard to figure out that he would actually do that if he were to sit beside him. There was just a smirk written all over his face once he rejected his offer... What does that mean? "What are you smirking at?"

"Wanna know?"

"I'm curious."

Zuro handed the bowl to Sepheir, who was sitting beside him for the whole time. He cleared his throat for a moment before gesturing to Maemi. "You look like Chicken Little." That was all he said. Nothing less, nothing more. He sighed louder and tugged on his longer bang in annoyance. They were right. This man was someone who always joked around, and he was a little shit. He had enough proof of that as spent a longer time with him... Now that he was aimed at him, he could only understand it better. Of course he'd aim at him.

Shoya began smirking and he nodded in agreement. "Never thought about Mae being Chicken Little until you brought it up, bro!"

"See? Someone agrees with my theories!"

Finally, the strategist responded, irritation obvious in his voice.

"Stop saying I look like Chicken Little. He’s dumb, and he’s a coward. and I am NOT a coward!" There was silence in the room as all eyes landed on Maemi and Zuro... There were some people who laughed, some people who agreed, some others disagreed and some people only looking at the scenario before them. That was a weird line to say, but it sounded way too familiar... Was it from those Kine videos? Kine was deleted some years ago! Whatever, the scenario before them was surely interesting to experience... Even if he knew there was a reference to that or not. Now, the people only got more quiet as they noticed how even the two were silent.

"Okay yeah, you're not a coward." Even if Zuro had such a personality, he wouldn't call him a coward. "But--- Chicken Little wasn't a coward by the end of the movie! Therefore, you being Chicken Little? Still valid, I suppose!" He hated the enthustiastic grin which was still on the face of his even if he said those words. Goddamn it- did he have to diagree with this man forever? He won't even budge! You know what? What's the point of arguing with him if it would definitely lead to nothing at all. He wouldn't change. "Got anything else to say?" He crossed his arms with a playful chuckle, while Maemi just began picking a book from the shelf.

He got a book, schemed through the pages to see how long it was then decided to read it. He placed the book slightly higher so the person could read the title of the book he was reading... His face was clearly done with Zuro's bullshit, and he had no ideas how to respond to him so he could finally drop the Chicken Little subject. Zuro only read the book with his eyes before bursting into laughter. "Did you get the message, or should I get another book?" His voice was passive agressive in a way, but he didn't sound mad at all.

"I don't know, Maemi. Why are Little Shits such blockheads is a good enough title."

Shima/Ko

They were waiting for the rest of the members of the BQ Thieves inside the restaurant itself. Shima was casually eating the burger, enjoying the coupons which he got from Aki after saying some words to someone... It wasn't that big of a deal... I mean, what could get better than some coupons to one of his favorite restaurants? He took another bite from the burger and he noticed how Ko was just sipping some coke float from his straw as he dipped his fries on ketchup-- but his mind didn't seem to be with him right now. "Hey, Morga--- Ko. Something up?" Jesus Christ, he almost called him by that chatacter from his favorite game. No answer from him. "Ko?" He repeated his name and Ko jumped up from his seat.

"I apologize for not noticing you sooner, Shima." He laughed nervously as he finally began to eat... Damn, what the hell was wrong? He usually spoke more than usual, and his topics ranged from tips, things about himself, mafia life or questions about how Zygos really works... Now he was more silent than usual. "I began to think about other things, I should have paid attention to my surroundings." He personally apologized and Shima placed the wrapper of the burger away before placed his arms on top of the table. This only caused the man who was still eating his fries to only observe what he was doing and wonder what his movements meant.

He didn't remember being this caring, or at least- he didn't remember showing his kindess so easily. But well, being more of a protagonist could be fun! There were bonus positive feelings that made him feel proud of himself, so there's that. "Want to talk about it?" His face was bland for a second before he looked away for a short moment. "I mean, we still have the others to wait for, and we don't really have anything else to do..." He tried to make up several excuses to hide that he may have been a bit worried for the male he was eating with... And well, his words did work. Hell yeah, protagonist powers always worked.

"Thank you for understanding, Shima. But I prefer not talking about this specific person in public. All I have to say is I feel pretty upset over the fact she did so much and she had no warning signs." Ko's eyes suddenly became a bit sad. "She has broken several members, but they all chose to forgive or forget her. In my case, it isn't easy to do that if she..." Woah Ko, that's going to spoiler territory... "... Yeah. Anyway, why I am like this is because I decided to go to the attic and see if there are any objects I could have used for training, but instead, I gained some unwanted memories and it's been affecting me." He closes his eyes before raising a finger. "But perhaps I could forget about it, people can be much more deceiving than you expect they are."

"Yeah, people can be bitches sometimes."

"Agreed."

"And deceiving? Holy crap, I should tell you about how one of my teammate can go from "I'm cute" to "die" real quick. That's fucking deceiving."

Ko laughed a bit, knowing who he was talking about. "Go ahead, hearing your stories would certainly be interesting.

"You see..." Shima began trying to look for an explanation before placing his hands on top of the table. "One time, I said something out loud by accident and the next time I knew it, Hamlet was dramatically crying over my supposedly dead corpse as he wrapped bandages around my room." One out of the many experiences with someone from Team Omega. "Then later on, I knew Haru did it. Who else could have done it? I was fucked up with a damn knife. Just for saying shit out loud by accident." Shima shivered at the mere flashback he had with his head and it ended up making Ko burst out in laughter.

"I know who that is... I have to admit, she is fairly pretty. But as people in Zygos act, she is also deadly." He began wiping his hands with a tissue. "She's injured you, as I've heard. Also, you have a story about her so there's that. She gave Sepheir more work that one time she stabbed Ace... She truly is a wild woman." He recalled some moments he had with her, and he admitted that she wasn't someone who he talked to a lot--- but through other people he knew how she acted. "Indeed, her looks may deceiving... But I cannot fully deny that I am quite attracted to her--- Wait no, more of curiousity than attraction." Ko brought this up and Shima only placed his two hands on his shoulder like a main character from an anime.

"You wouldn't want to be curious or attracted to her."

"Oh?"

"I don't want to attend to a cat's- I mean, person's funeral."

"Is she that much of a bitch to be able to hurt someone like me?"

"Yes, she is a bitch. B i c t … h." Shima began shaking hkm slightly, as if he was trying to snap out Ko from a dream. "Did you not hear me? She almost killed me! Not only once, so that makes you not a single chance to be protected by her wrath. I don't want you to die." He finally released him before sighing. "Fuck. Why the hell do you Protezioni have some guts to be close to someone so fucking dangerous? She can probably bite your head off." A chuckle from the person he was talking to. "I'm fucking serious! She can! She's like the dam Hulk!" He began to tall about hlw she worked again. "Decent and all until she gets fucking angry!"

"Thank you for the warnings, maybe I will stop being curious." Ko said this calmly as he only continued to sip his soda. This conversation was wild, talking about girls was... surely a topic to to enjoy. Hey, at least he got to enjoy this moment because of him. If not, the whole BQ Thieves could have found him all upset over something that shouldn't even be brought up. "Additionally, thank you for talking to me about such..." His words trailed off to something else as a smirk was seen on his face. "Joker." It was a complete reference to a game Shima played and he only felt the success sharpen in his mind.

"Mission Accomplished."

"That's right... I should call you that again sometimes."

"WHAT A WONDERFUL TIME TO SEE MT DEAREST FRIENDS IN SUCH A PLACE FILLED WITH DIFFERENT PEOPLE AND AROMAS---"

"Sorry, we were late!! I and Ren stopped in a flower shop, we bought a bouquet."

"Yarohe and Ren decided to look at the flowers and Ren posed as she read the name of the flowers out loud. It was funny to watch!"

"About time you all came... We should order shit again... MOVE OUT!"

[evercharmed-a]

Wyatt hadn’t been sure what to expect from any of this. The job offer had come so out of the blue that he’d needed a good two weeks to come to a proper decision, and only because his dreams had shown him he’d be relatively happy with the change. Getting into the police academy had been tough and draining, so a part of him couldn’t help but question just how much throwing that away for a place in an organization that calls itself “Supernatural Control Force” would be worth. Great salary and a new apartment he wouldn’t have to pay for aside. But Jihoon had been ecstatic immediately, and, well. As the only person intimately acquainted with all things supernatural, he had been – and still is – his best bet.

It’s still difficult, wrapping his head around this great, earth-shattering revelation. His dreams are more frequent now, or maybe he’s simply more aware of them after waking up instead of dismissing them the moment he opens his eyes. Mundane, everyday snippets, like Jihoon dropping his favorite mug and proceeding to wallow in sadness all day over it, or Lysander coming over with a baggie full of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies. Before being told about his powers as a seer, Wyatt had always chalked those off as gut-feelings. Intuition. Heaving a sigh, he trails his eyes up the skyscraper Jihoon dragged him to. An endless expanse of boring grey, broken up by white-framed windows. On the wall next to its double-wide entrance door hangs a plaquet, plain silver with black lettering. “GoldLeaf Networks Inc.,” it reads. Wyatt furrows his brows. “Are you sure this is the right place?” Jihoon comes up behind him, humming in that too-enthusiastic way of his. “There’s a glamour here. The SCF is very secretive.” “Glamour?” Wyatt turns. “Whatever that is.” “Just,” Jihoon says as he taps a finger against the plaquet, “look closely. You’ll see it.” Wyatt is all but ready to turn around and change his mind, but he indulges Jihoon. He’s been doing that far too often lately. Squinting his eyes, he leans in, staring at the plaquet. Nothing happens. He stares a little harder, focusing on the letters, their crisp outlines and bland font. The letters begin to flimmer, to warp, rearranging themselves, multiplying, changing forms. Wyatt stumbles back, his heart in his throat. “Supernatural Control Force, Seoul subdivision,” the plaquet now reads, “est. 1704.” Jihoon grins. “See? That’s a glamour. It keeps curious eyes away. If you’re not magical or a supe, you can’t see through it.” “Holy shit.” Grin fixed on his face, Jihoon walks past him and pushes the door open, motioning for him to step inside. The inside is spacious, as expected from a lobby of a building this size. Warm lights line the window-covered walls, though the main light source is a plethora of sleek, circle-shaped lamps, holes in their middles and varying in size, all over the ceiling. The only two walls not covered in windows are the one all the way on the other side of the lobby, lined with a row of elevators instead, and the one all the way to the right, the reception desk sitting in front of it. In the middle of the lobby, surrounded by various plants, a waiting area has been lowered into the floor, black leather couches and armchairs, metal end tables topped with stacks of magazines, and a water cooler, gurgling every now and then. Jihoon heads straight to the reception desk. He lacks all wonder and excitement Wyatt expected to see from him, faced with a sight such as this. He must have been here before. The woman behind the reception desk looks up from her book, her ruby-red lips a harsh line. “Do you have an appointment?” “Sorta,” Jihoon replies, something sheepish in his tone, “we’re here to see Lee Junsu.” The woman makes a noise, slightly disgruntled. She marks her page in her book and sets it aside to rummage in one of her drawers. “Names?” “Oh Jihoon and Wyatt Lyles.” She takes two plastic cards out of the drawer, both of which read “Visitor” in bold, capital letters. After typing something on her keyboard, her printer spits out a set of stickers, glinting gold. She peels them off and sticks one each on the cards, pressing them down with a slight hitch in her brow, before handing the cards to Jihoon. “He’ll be with you shortly.” With a vague gesture towards the waiting area, she dismisses them, going back to her reading. “What was that about?” Wyatt asks, following Jihoon to one of the couches. Jihoon hands him his card. “Visitor passes. There’s a lot of security stuff in this building. You can’t enter some areas without a pass like this or being an employee.” “Sounds very… non-magical.” Jihoon snickers. “Part of it is. Sometimes, the human way works best.” As too many things lately, Jihoon’s answer is just cryptic enough that it leaves Wyatt unsatisfied. He bounces his right leg up and down, letting his eyes flit about the premise. It’s so… normal. So inconspicuous. Modern and no doubt expensive, yes. But not at all what he thought a place like this might look like. There are no magicked items floating in the air, no people appearing out of thin air and fire places, no owls carrying letters and parcels. Harry Potter, as it turns out, is a big, fat lie. He fiddles with his card instead of ruminating on how media cleverly managed to deceive him. Sturdy but not heavy, it’s a little like the library card he’d owned as a kid. The sticker the woman behind the desk printed out is some kind of symbol, thin, intricate lines woven together. When Wyatt rubs his thumb across it, it emits the slightest pulse. He gasps. Of course, Jihoon snickers. “It’s spelled. Neat, huh?” “Didn’t you just say security here wasn’t magical?” Jihoon shakes his head. “I said part of it is. The sticker’s spelled to let you through the wards. If you didn’t have that, you’d be unable to go anywhere because the wards would simply… “ He gestures in the air, eyes roaming to the ceiling. “Kick you out. Like, physically. The not-magical part is in the card itself. There’s keypads and stuff you need to insert it in to unlock the mechanism.” Wyatt melts into the sofa’s backrest. The leather is just shy of too stiff to be comfortable. Still fiddling with the card, he says more than asks, “You’ve been here before.” Offering a half-shouldered shrug, Jihoon shifts in his spot to stretch his legs out before him. “That’s part of being a supe. For a lot of us, anyhow. My parents brought me here after I was born so the SCF could create a file of me. It’s not mandatory, and a lot of people despise this system because it’s basically an excuse to monitor you all your life, but it comes with benefits. Like, not becoming potential targets. Unless you act up, of course. There’s health check-ups, too, and counseling, and as soon as you turn eighteen, you’re more eligible to be offered a spot here than if you weren’t registered.” Before Wyatt has a chance to respond, one of the elevators gives a melodious ding, its door sliding open. Out walks a young man, black hair and tan skin. He approaches the both of them with a welcoming, if a little sharp, smile. “My apologies for the wait.” He dips into a brief, but polite bow. Jihoon rises to a stand and does the same, and Wyatt follows with some delay. The young man introduces himself as Lee Junsu, informing them that he’ll be in charge of all new recruits this year. As their supervisor and personal point of contact both. He leads them to the elevator he’d come out of, still smiling, tone casual but polite. “I trust you’ve read the brochure you were given thoroughly?” Jihoon nods, and so does Wyatt. They’d perused it together, sitting on the living room floor with takeaway jjajangmyeon and too much Pepsi. Back then, Wyatt’s life had been relatively normal. It feels like such a long time ago, as ridiculous as that is. Since that day, he’s found out about this whole other world mingled with that of ordinary humans, about him and Lysander being witches, about Jihoon being a shapeshifter. Although he has somewhat come to terms with it, he still wakes up sometimes and forgets until it hits him in the face like a brick. And now, he’s here, about to sign himself up to get rid of the last piece of normalcy he had left. Junsu’s smile turns satisfied. “Very good. I would rather not repeat myself too often.” He presses a button, the elevator smoothly beginning its journey upwards. Wyatt gives himself a moment to take Junsu in. He’s older, but not by much, which means he’s either managed to weasel his way into this position, or he’s simply exceptionally skilled. If the SCF works at all like human companies do, promotions like these don’t come without their price. The uniform he dons, Wyatt is more than familiar with. He’d worn one of them in a very recent dream, though his had been less intricate. Black and form-fitted, Junsu’s jacket is longer in the back, tapering off and reaching the backs of his knees. The two buttons keeping it closed are vaguely diamond-shaped. Its high collar and cuffs are embroidered with silver swirls and shapes. His pants are plain, much like normal dress pants, and he wears a pair of knee-high leather boots, laced up tightly and polished to perfection. Underneath the jacket, he wears a crisp, dark grey button-down. A quiet peep breaks through the silence. Junsu whips his gaze down to his breast pocket, patting it gently. A tiny beak peeks over the hem, followed by the featherless head of fleshy pink, large-eyed baby bird. Junsu coos. “Well, well, well. You’re awake just in time.” Jihoon gapes at it. “Is that… ?” “My familiar, Velvet,” Junsu replies, rubbing the pad of his forefinger over the bird’s naked head. The bird chirps weakly, closing its eyes. “I’m afraid you’ve come at a terrible time to see him, but that’ll change. He’s been through a lot lately.” “You’re a witch?” Wyatt can’t help but blurt out, and Junsu graces him with a snicker. “Half, yes. And half shifter.” Jihoon’s eyes sparkle up at him like he hung the stars in the sky. “That’s so cool!” The elevator comes to a stop. Behind its opening doors is another, large hall, separated into several rooms by glass walls. Some rooms are large, with a long table and many chairs in the very middle, but most of them are stacked with cubicles like an office, people working away behind desks. Junsu gestures towards them. “Once your employment has been greenlit, you’ll be doing office work for a little while, just to get you acquainted with everything. Every hunter needs to know how to do their paperwork correctly, who to contact for irregularities, how to behave during their time here. You’ll also be doing paperwork every time you return from field work, so get used to the thought of plowing through protocols and regulations.” He leads them further down the hall, taking a sharp right at the very end of it. Behind a heavy door that only opens after Junsu inserts his card, puts in a code and scans his fingerprint, they find a smaller hall, once again separated into multiple rooms. This time, however, their walls aren’t made of glass, but something solid, clad with dark wood. “This is where your higher-ups are,” Junsu explains, pushing the door closest to the one they just came through open. “Which includes me, of course.” He lets Wyatt and Jihoon step in first and closes the door behind himself as he follows suit. Walking up to his desk, he reaches into his pocket, gently pulling Velvet out of his hiding place. Velvet chirps, sounding suspiciously sulky. Junsu places him in a little glass bowl padded with what looks like fluffy miniature pillows. Velvet burrows into them immediately. “Now, let’s see,” Junsu says, letting himself fall into his office chair. He motions for Wyatt and Jihoon to take a seat, too, and they do without complaint. “I know we already have a file of you, Jihoon… ah, here we are.” It only takes a couple of clicks on his computer for him to find what he was looking for. He scans whatever’s on his monitor quickly. “Yes, you’re a good choice. Iseul has an eye for these things, but I’m still impressed every time.” Jihoon’s cheeks pinken under the praise, but he beams at Junsu. “Thanks.” Junsu returns the smile with one of his own, sharp at its edges again. “And Wyatt… you’re not registered, are you?” Both Junsu’s and Jihoon’s attention snaps toward Wyatt. Wyatt clears his throat. “Uhm. No.” If he’d known about any of this, he’d have long showed up to register himself – if only to not seem suspicious. This delay hopefully won’t be an issue in the future. “I wasn’t aware of being – you know. Until a few weeks ago.” The noise Junsu makes is free of judgment, and not even a little surprised. “I figured. Your magic isn’t very refined yet.” And isn’t that fun. Another stranger seeing right through him, seeing that something extra in his blood he never suspected of being there. Wyatt’s stomach roils. Uncharted territory is one thing, and he’s far from being a coward, but this is unnerving in so many ways. How many people caught onto him not being a normal human? How many of the looks he’s received over the years were because of his magic? Nothing is worse than being the clueless one. “Yeah. I know.” Wyatt’s reply comes out a lot more strained than he would have wanted. He averts his eyes, watching Velvet squirming in his makeshift bedding. “That’ll change soon. I have a mentor now.” At that, Junsu’s brows rise high on his forehead. “Oh? How fortunate. The more tutoring you get, the better. Of course, we have highly skilled teachers, too, and you’ll be taking lessons to work on your magic, but it never hurts to have another pair of eyes on you.” “Lessons?” Wyatt leans forward in his seat. “You’ll teach me here?” Junsu nods. “Oh, yes. Everyone receives appropriate training. Our witches are schooled in everything magic, tutored through finding their specialization if they wish to have one, but you’ll also be undertaking combat training that’ll include more than what you’re used to. Your magic can be a weapon if you know how to use it. Mightier than a blade or gun ever could be.” Junsu’s voice drops at his last few words, and for whatever reason, it sends a ripple of a shiver down Wyatt’s spine. He shares a look with Jihoon, who all but vibrates in his seat. This job was going to be anything but boring.

[mondregen]

 Wyatt hadn’t been sure what to expect from any of this.  The job offer had come so out of the blue that he’d needed a good two weeks to come to a proper decision, and only because his dreams had shown him he’d be relatively happy with the change. Getting into the police academy had been tough and draining, so a part of him couldn’t help but question just how much throwing that away for a place in an organization that calls itself “Supernatural Control Force” would be worth. Great salary and a new apartment he wouldn’t have to pay for aside. But Jihoon had been ecstatic immediately, and, well. As the only person intimately acquainted with all things supernatural, he had been -- and still is -- his best bet.

 It’s still difficult, wrapping his head around this great, earth-shattering revelation. His dreams are more frequent now, or maybe he’s simply more aware of them after waking up instead of dismissing them the moment he opens his eyes. Mundane, everyday snippets, like Jihoon dropping his favorite mug and proceeding to wallow in sadness all day over it, or Lysander coming over with a baggie full of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies. Before being told about his powers as a seer, Wyatt had always chalked those off as gut-feelings. Intuition.  Heaving a sigh, he trails his eyes up the skyscraper Jihoon dragged him to. An endless expanse of boring grey, broken up by white-framed windows. On the wall next to its double-wide entrance door hangs a plaquet, plain silver with black lettering. “GoldLeaf Networks Inc.,” it reads. Wyatt furrows his brows.  “Are you sure this is the right place?”  Jihoon comes up behind him, humming in that too-enthusiastic way of his. “There’s a glamour here. The SCF is very secretive.”  “Glamour?” Wyatt turns. “Whatever that is.”  “Just,” Jihoon says as he taps a finger against the plaquet, “look closely. You’ll see it.”  Wyatt is all but ready to turn around and change his mind, but he indulges Jihoon. He’s been doing that far too often lately. Squinting his eyes, he leans in, staring at the plaquet. Nothing happens. He stares a little harder, focusing on the letters, their crisp outlines and bland font.  The letters begin to flimmer, to warp, rearranging themselves, multiplying, changing forms.  Wyatt stumbles back, his heart in his throat. “Supernatural Control Force, Seoul subdivision,” the plaquet now reads, “est. 1704.”  Jihoon grins. “See? That’s a glamour. It keeps curious eyes away. If you’re not magical or a supe, you can’t see through it.”  “Holy shit.”  Grin fixed on his face, Jihoon walks past him and pushes the door open, motioning for him to step inside. The inside is spacious, as expected from a lobby of a building this size. Warm lights line the window-covered walls, though the main light source is a plethora of sleek, circle-shaped lamps, holes in their middles and varying in size, all over the ceiling. The only two walls not covered in windows are the one all the way on the other side of the lobby, lined with a row of elevators instead, and the one all the way to the right, the reception desk sitting in front of it. In the middle of the lobby, surrounded by various plants, a waiting area has been lowered into the floor, black leather couches and armchairs, metal end tables topped with stacks of magazines, and a water cooler, gurgling every now and then.  Jihoon heads straight to the reception desk. He lacks all wonder and excitement Wyatt expected to see from him, faced with a sight such as this. He must have been here before.  The woman behind the reception desk looks up from her book, her ruby-red lips a harsh line. “Do you have an appointment?”  “Sorta,” Jihoon replies, something sheepish in his tone, “we’re here to see Lee Junsu.”  The woman makes a noise, slightly disgruntled. She marks her page in her book and sets it aside to rummage in one of her drawers. “Names?”  “Oh Jihoon and Wyatt Lyles.”  She takes two plastic cards out of the drawer, both of which read “Visitor” in bold, capital letters. After typing something on her keyboard, her printer spits out a set of stickers, glinting gold. She peels them off and sticks one each on the cards, pressing them down with a slight hitch in her brow, before handing the cards to Jihoon. “He’ll be with you shortly.” With a vague gesture towards the waiting area, she dismisses them, going back to her reading.  “What was that about?” Wyatt asks, following Jihoon to one of the couches. Jihoon hands him his card.  “Visitor passes. There’s a lot of security stuff in this building. You can’t enter some areas without a pass like this or being an employee.”  “Sounds very… non-magical.”  Jihoon snickers. “Part of it is. Sometimes, the human way works best.”  As too many things lately, Jihoon’s answer is just cryptic enough that it leaves Wyatt unsatisfied. He bounces his right leg up and down, letting his eyes flit about the premise. It’s so… normal. So inconspicuous. Modern and no doubt expensive, yes. But not at all what he thought a place like this might look like. There are no magicked items floating in the air, no people appearing out of thin air and fire places, no owls carrying letters and parcels. Harry Potter, as it turns out, is a big, fat lie.  He fiddles with his card instead of ruminating on how media cleverly managed to deceive him. Sturdy but not heavy, it’s a little like the library card he’d owned as a kid. The sticker the woman behind the desk printed out is some kind of symbol, thin, intricate lines woven together. When Wyatt rubs his thumb across it, it emits the slightest pulse. He gasps.  Of course, Jihoon snickers. “It’s spelled. Neat, huh?”  “Didn’t you just say security here wasn’t magical?”  Jihoon shakes his head. “I said part of it is. The sticker’s spelled to let you through the wards. If you didn’t have that, you’d be unable to go anywhere because the wards would simply… “ He gestures in the air, eyes roaming to the ceiling. “Kick you out. Like, physically. The not-magical part is in the card itself. There’s keypads and stuff you need to insert it in to unlock the mechanism.”  Wyatt melts into the sofa’s backrest. The leather is just shy of too stiff to be comfortable. Still fiddling with the card, he says more than asks, “You’ve been here before.”  Offering a half-shouldered shrug, Jihoon shifts in his spot to stretch his legs out before him. “That’s part of being a supe. For a lot of us, anyhow. My parents brought me here after I was born so the SCF could create a file of me. It’s not mandatory, and a lot of people despise this system because it’s basically an excuse to monitor you all your life, but it comes with benefits. Like, not becoming potential targets. Unless you act up, of course. There’s health check-ups, too, and counseling, and as soon as you turn eighteen, you’re more eligible to be offered a spot here than if you weren’t registered.”  Before Wyatt has a chance to respond, one of the elevators gives a melodious ding, its door sliding open. Out walks a young man, black hair and tan skin. He approaches the both of them with a welcoming, if a little sharp, smile.  “My apologies for the wait.”  He dips into a brief, but polite bow. Jihoon rises to a stand and does the same, and Wyatt follows with some delay. The young man introduces himself as Lee Junsu, informing them that he’ll be in charge of all new recruits this year. As their supervisor and personal point of contact both. He leads them to the elevator he’d come out of, still smiling, tone casual but polite.  “I trust you’ve read the brochure you were given thoroughly?”  Jihoon nods, and so does Wyatt. They’d perused it together, sitting on the living room floor with takeaway jjajangmyeon and too much Pepsi. Back then, Wyatt’s life had been relatively normal. It feels like such a long time ago, as ridiculous as that is. Since that day, he’s found out about this whole other world mingled with that of ordinary humans, about him and Lysander being witches, about Jihoon being a shapeshifter. Although he has somewhat come to terms with it, he still wakes up sometimes and forgets until it hits him in the face like a brick.  And now, he’s here, about to sign himself up to get rid of the last piece of normalcy he had left.  Junsu’s smile turns satisfied. “Very good. I would rather not repeat myself too often.” He presses a button, the elevator smoothly beginning its journey upwards.  Wyatt gives himself a moment to take Junsu in. He’s older, but not by much, which means he’s either managed to weasel his way into this position, or he’s simply exceptionally skilled. If the SCF works at all like human companies do, promotions like these don’t come without their price.  The uniform he dons, Wyatt is more than familiar with. He’d worn one of them in a very recent dream, though his had been less intricate. Black and form-fitted, Junsu’s jacket is longer in the back, tapering off and reaching the backs of his knees. The two buttons keeping it closed are vaguely diamond-shaped. Its high collar and cuffs are embroidered with silver swirls and shapes. His pants are plain, much like normal dress pants, and he wears a pair of knee-high leather boots, laced up tightly and polished to perfection. Underneath the jacket, he wears a crisp, dark grey button-down.  A quiet peep breaks through the silence. Junsu whips his gaze down to his breast pocket, patting it gently. A tiny beak peeks over the hem, followed by the featherless head of fleshy pink, large-eyed baby bird. Junsu coos. “Well, well, well. You’re awake just in time.”  Jihoon gapes at it. “Is that… ?”  “My familiar, Velvet,” Junsu replies, rubbing the pad of his forefinger over the bird’s naked head. The bird chirps weakly, closing its eyes. “I’m afraid you’ve come at a terrible time to see him, but that’ll change. He’s been through a lot lately.”  “You’re a witch?” Wyatt can’t help but blurt out, and Junsu graces him with a snicker.  “Half, yes. And half shifter. Though I’ve always connected more with my witchy side.”  Jihoon’s eyes sparkle up at him like he hung the stars in the sky. “That’s so cool!”  The elevator comes to a stop. Behind its opening doors is another, large hall, separated into several rooms by glass walls. Some rooms are large, with a long table and many chairs in the very middle, but most of them are stacked with cubicles like an office, people working away behind desks. Junsu gestures towards them.  “Once your employment has been greenlit, you’ll be doing office work for a little while, just to get you acquainted with everything. Every hunter needs to know how to do their paperwork correctly, who to contact for irregularities, how to behave during their time here. You’ll also be doing paperwork every time you return from field work, so get used to the thought of plowing through protocols and regulations.”  He leads them further down the hall, taking a sharp right at the very end of it. Behind a heavy door that only opens after Junsu inserts his card, puts in a code and scans his fingerprint, they find a smaller hall, once again separated into multiple rooms. This time, however, their walls aren’t made of glass, but something solid, clad with dark wood.  “This is where your higher-ups are,” Junsu explains, pushing the door closest to the one they just came through open. “Which includes me, of course.”  He lets Wyatt and Jihoon step in first and closes the door behind himself as he follows suit. Walking up to his desk, he reaches into his pocket, gently pulling Velvet out of his hiding place. Velvet chirps, sounding suspiciously sulky. Junsu places him in a little glass bowl padded with what looks like fluffy miniature pillows. Velvet burrows into them immediately.  “Now, let’s see,” Junsu says, letting himself fall into his office chair. He motions for Wyatt and Jihoon to take a seat, too, and they do without complaint. “I know we already have a file of you, Jihoon… ah, here we are.” It only takes a couple of clicks on his computer for him to find what he was looking for. He scans whatever’s on his monitor quickly. “Yes, you’re a good choice. Iseul has an eye for these things, but I’m still impressed every time.”  Jihoon’s cheeks pinken under the praise, but he beams at Junsu. “Thanks.”  Junsu returns the smile with one of his own, sharp at its edges again. “And Wyatt… you’re not registered, are you?”  Both Junsu’s and Jihoon’s attention snaps toward Wyatt. Wyatt clears his throat. “Uhm. No.” If he’d known about any of this, he’d have long showed up to register himself -- if only to not seem suspicious. This delay hopefully won’t be an issue in the future. “I wasn’t aware of being -- you know. Until a few weeks ago.”  The noise Junsu makes is free of judgment, and not even a little surprised. “I figured. Your magic isn’t very refined yet.”  And isn’t that fun. Another stranger seeing right through him, seeing that something extra in his blood he never suspected of being there. Wyatt’s stomach roils. Uncharted territory is one thing, and he’s far from being a coward, but this is unnerving in so many ways. How many people caught onto him not being a normal human? How many of the looks he’s received over the years were because of his magic? Nothing is worse than being the clueless one.  “Yeah. I know.” Wyatt’s reply comes out a lot more strained than he would have wanted. He averts his eyes, watching Velvet squirming in his makeshift bedding. “That’ll change soon. I have a mentor now.”  At that, Junsu’s brows rise high on his forehead. “Oh? How fortunate. The more tutoring you get, the better. Of course, we have highly skilled teachers, too, and you’ll be taking lessons to work on your magic, but it never hurts to have another pair of eyes on you.”  “Lessons?” Wyatt leans forward in his seat. “You’ll teach me here?”  Junsu nods. “Oh, yes. Everyone receives appropriate training. Our witches are schooled in everything magic, tutored through finding their specialization if they wish to have one, but you’ll also be undertaking combat training that’ll include more than what you’re used to. Your magic can be a weapon if you know how to use it. Mightier than a blade or gun ever could be.”  Junsu’s voice drops at his last few words, and for whatever reason, it sends a ripple of a shiver down Wyatt’s spine. He shares a look with Jihoon, who all but vibrates in his seat.  This job is going to be anything but boring.

[captain-zajjy]

Solstice, Chapter 5 - A Final Fantasy XV Story

Pairing: Ignis x Female Original Character

AO3 | Chapter 1 2 3 4

A/N: Based on his accent in the English version of the game, I headcanon that Ignis is originally of noble birth from Tenebrae, and was taken in by his uncle and moved to Lucis after his parents passed away when he was very young. Normally, I wouldn't try to foist my headcanons on you in a 'canon-compliant' story, but I like to think the background I've come up with for him informs a lot of his character (to be meted out throughout the story), and him being of foreign extraction is actually going to be plot relevant later on.

Also, I’m going to post the next chapter pretty soon, rather than next week - originally I planned to post it all as one chapter, but I think the scenes work better separated...and I wanna give you guys more Iggy!

One would think that encountering not one, but two Gods in the span of a week would prove a sufficient distraction, but for Ignis, such a spectacle - awe-inspiring though it was - apparently wasn’t enough to cause him to forget his troubles. In the moment, he’d stared slack-jawed at the colossi along with the others, but when it was quiet (‘quiet’ being a relative term with Prompto around), when some mythical being wasn’t trying to crush them like insects, his mind immediately wandered back to Valeria in Insomnia. Was she safe? Was her wound healing properly? And, perhaps most importantly, was she completely and utterly miserable?

Ignis suspected he already knew the answer to that. She’d lost virtually everything, been shot, watched as her mother was killed, and was now effectively stranded and alone with the villains who’d done it all to her. Every time he thought of her, stuck with those devils, his world went a darker shade of red.

And even all of that was preferable to his dreams. At least when he was awake, he could take out his anger on the Imperials that seemed to dog their every step. In the ruined landscape of his mind, he was helpless, powerless as Valeria regarded him, her face streaked with ash and stained with tears. One hand clutched the wound at her shoulder, blood seeping through her fingers. Every night he called out to her as she turned to disappear in the haze. And every night she stood there waiting for him, blood sliding down her arm and pooling at her feet, as the words caught in his throat.

“I want...” Why could he never finish that sentence? Eventually, unable to remain any longer, Valeria would vanish into the fog. And then, having lost her, Ignis would wake up.

Despite sleeping like a rock (a very loud, snoring rock), Gladiolus must have noticed Ignis’s restlessness, asking him about it one early morning at camp when they were en route to retrieve the Regalia from filching Imperial hands.

“Hey.” Gladiolus elbowed Ignis as he prepared breakfast - eggs, prairie sausage, toast, and, of course, coffee. “You alright?” The larger man began to break down the campsite, despite Noctis and Prompto remaining asleep in the tent. “Not trying to get into your business or anything,” he added. “Noct, uh, told me about your uncle.”

Ignis’s hand clenched the spatula as he flipped the toast. “He...” He took a breath, trying to figure out exactly what he was trying to say. “Perishing in service to the King...if he had to go, I suppose that’s the way he would’ve wanted.”

Something akin to a growl escaped Gladio’s throat. “I know that’s what my old man wanted, but...shit.” He kicked a bit of dirt over the fire, even though it had clearly been extinguished some time in the night. “It doesn’t make this any easier.”

“It certainly does not,” Ignis replied, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “How is Iris faring?” She’d seemed cheerful enough when they met with her in Lestallum, but Ignis understood masking one’s emotions for the good of the group all too well.

“She’s pretty tough,” Gladiolus said, somewhat proudly. “But, yeah. It’s been hard on her. Hard on all of us.”

Ignis removed the sausage from the skillet and began to crack eggs over the pan. “My uncle was a good man.” He had never been liberal with praise, but Ignis had always done his best to please him, to prove he wasn’t a useless wastrel like his late father.

“Dad was too,” Gladiolus said quietly. “We’re gonna get the sons of bitches, Iggy.” He met Ignis’s gaze, fire and determination swirling in his dark eyes. “This ain’t over. Not ‘til we say it is.”

Ignis had tasked Valeria with determining exactly where the Empire had taken the Crystal - and for what purpose, if there was one outside of insatiable greed. He’d explained to her about the Prince’s quest to gather the weapons of his ancestors and receive the blessings of the Astrals; the strength of Gods she could understand, but what good were a bunch of weapons without an army to wield them? There was power in the Caelum bloodline, power Valeria knew she didn’t understand, so she had to trust Ignis when he told her that the Royal Arms would help them drive the Empire out of Insomnia for good.

Valeria had poked around enough to learn that most of the Niffs weren’t privy to the level of secrecy under which the Crystal was classified, but in spite of that - or perhaps exactly because of that - it seemed every last one of them had developed a theory.

“The Emperor’s making it into a throne,” one of the relief workers said to another as Valeria picked up her daily breakfast ration.

“That’s too much work,” the other responded. “He’s just going to display it in the throne room.”

“Since when does the Emperor care about ‘too much work?’” the first said with a laugh.

Most of the speculation was nonsense like that. She could very well be wrong, but Valeria thought the haste with which he’d extracted the relic seemed to indicate he was interested in it as more than a trophy.

Wrinkling her nose at the gray lump that was supposed to be her meal, Valeria took a seat opposite Felix at one of the fold-out aluminum tables in the mess tent. The first few days, it had been so crowded that they had to eat in shifts, but now there were more empty seats than occupied ones. People had gone back to their homes - in part, thanks to her. They still had to wait in line for food and medicine and such, but they could return to the familiar comfort of their own private space, wearing their own clothes, sleeping in their own beds. Empire patrols were apparently constant, day and night, in the restored neighborhoods, but part of her couldn’t help but wonder - and fear - if what the old officer had said to her on that first day was true: life wouldn’t be so different under Imperial rule.

During the day, the Niffs allowed people to come and go from the relief area freely, but that wasn’t true for all of Insomnia - all of downtown was blocked off, as were all major routes out of the city. ‘For safety,’ they said. Valeria had her doubts, especially considering people like Loqi Tummelt were apparently able to come and go freely.

She poked at the bland mush she’d been served, forcing herself to eat a few bites. It had all the flavor and appeal of sawdust, but - as with all things from Niflheim - had been carefully engineered and calibrated to deliver the appropriate level of nutrients per serving. Felix had barely touched his, despite being at the age where boys could seemingly eat without end. He had his nose buried in his phone, as usual, chimes and beeps echoing from the device as he played a game that made her feel old just asking about.

“Why didn’t you leave?” he asked suddenly, eyes never straying from the screen.

“I can’t,” Valeria replied, grimacing as she forced down a mouthful of the gelatinous gruel. “Niffs want me to ‘stay close’ until they get all the power restored.” Not that she had a home to return to anyway.

“You...” this time Felix did venture a glance at her before returning to his game. “You’re not with them, right?”

Valeria frowned. It hadn’t escaped her notice the way people looked at her every time she left or returned in the company of an Imperial officer. “I just want to make it so that everyone can go home.”

Felix nodded, giving her something that almost looked like a smile, and their conversation lapsed into a familiar silence. After finishing about half of the ration she’d been given, Valeria pushed it away, unable to stomach any more of the stuff.

“Do you have any family outside the city, Felix?” she asked, not really expecting an answer.

Felix shrugged, as predicted, but then he spoke. “They don’t talk to us. They, um, don’t like my mom.”

Valeria wanted to tell him that it didn’t matter, that his family would be happy to hear from him, to know he was still alive. But she knew how this sort of thing went, had seen it play out at least a dozen times with her peers. Some perceived slight over money or favor, choosing the wrong woman or man, and the grudge was cast for life. And the older and more privileged the family, the more stubborn and prideful they were.

“Reaching out might be worth a try,” was the best she could say without feeling like she was deceiving him. Felix’s phone suddenly beeped with a sound she did recognize, the tone signalling a low battery.

“Crap,” he said, “Gotta go charge.”

“I left the cord all wound up for you in the usual spot.” Valeria rose to her feet and grabbed her plate. “I suppose I should go see what the Brigadier General has to say for himself today.” Loqi had asked her to meet him at the entrance to the camp this morning. “See you later, kid.”

“See ya,” Felix said with a wave.

Valeria tossed the rest of her breakfast in the trash and exited the tent, rolling her shoulder as she made her way through the maze of tents. Her stitches had come out several days earlier and she’d been cleared to use her left arm, but the muscles in her chest and shoulder were stiff and achy.

The infirmary tent had since been packed up and gone, replaced with something more akin to a small first-aid station. Most of the severely injured had died; those who still clung to life had been moved to a real building in one of the restored neighborhoods.

The list of the dead had more than doubled in size - nearly four hundred names were listed now - a small percentage of Insomnia’s total population, but the vast majority of the city’s leaders were gone. Identifying the body of Ignis’s uncle had been worse than her mother in some ways; she’d met the man a handful of times, but had no real connection to him outside of his nephew, which meant that she was only able to provide the Niff in charge with vague details. She’d ended up sorting through piles and piles of photos of dead men: some so serene they could almost be mistaken for sleeping, others with their faces frozen in a rictus of silent, final horror. When she’d finally happened upon the late elder Scientia, she found him looking relatively peaceful, eyes open but face slack, blood leaking from his nose onto his graying mustache. For his sake, and Ignis’s, she hoped it was quick.

She was halfway back to the entrance when Loqi Tummelt found her.

“Miss Soleil,” he said with a nod, the smile on his face most likely due to locating her and not friendliness. After working with him for the past week, she wouldn’t say Loqi exactly liked her, but he seemed to respect her, and - most importantly - trust the version of herself that she’d sold him.

“Brigadier General,” she replied. “You have work for me today, right?”

“The engineers got the generator all set to your specifications for Sector Two. We just need you to do your thing.” They’d already made the rounds in ‘Sector One’ - despite Valeria writing down the actual names of all the districts, Loqi and the other Niffs still insisted on referring to the areas by their numerical designations.

Loqi still had his limp as she followed him out of the camp, but it was far less pronounced and seemed to be causing him significantly less pain. There were still a few small band-aids on his jaw, but the large bandage was gone, revealing smooth, pink scars. They looked slight and narrow, like they’d disappear entirely in time, unlike the knotty, red oval on her shoulder. That might have bothered her once, in another life, but after watching her mother die, after sorting through all those terrible photos of dead men, getting off with a rough scar and a bit of soreness seemed like a blessing.

She and Loqi met his soldiers in what used to be an athletic field; the Niffs now used the wide, flat space to land their transport ships. He barked orders to some of his subordinates and then they were off in the transport, touching down after ten minutes or so in the designated area.

Someone of Loqi Tummelt’s rank might actually possess the information on the Crystal that she sought, or at the very least, provide a more educated guess than the relief workers, but Valeria was still waiting for an opening to come up organically in conversation so as not to arouse any suspicions. To go along with that, she’d been presenting herself as generally nosy as they made their rounds installing the magitek generators into the existing power grid.

“So,” Valeria said as they walked down the empty street. “Is your dad a bigshot in the military? Or, uh...a Duke?” She couldn’t quite recall the ranks of the Imperial nobility; that sort of thing was more Ignis’s area of expertise.

Loqi shot her a glare that said far more than any verbal response while the awful magitek troopers settled into formation behind them.

“Hey. I’m not judging you,” she went on. “I got my job because of nepotism. I’m very good at my job, but they don’t usually hand out executive positions to twenty year-olds.”

Loqi shot her another look before turning back to the road and muttering, “Earl.”

“What?”

“My father’s an Earl.”

Valeria merely nodded in response. The son of a nobleman who’d likely had everything handed to him his entire life - not unlike most of the people she’d gone to school with. The more she searched for a reason to hate him, the more he seemed like everyone else she knew, just in a different uniform.

“There were Nif- uh, Imperials in the Citadel that night,” she blurted out. Part of her hoped he’d laugh cruelly at his countrymen’s demise, prove that all Niffs were truly vile, but all he did was frown.

“What are you talking about?”

“They were there, during the attack.” Valeria supposed they could have used the distraction of the fireworks display to vacate the Citadel, but there was no way they’d made it out of the blast zone in such a short time.

“Did you not know that?” She asked as Loqi’s scowl deepened.

He cocked his head, like he was about to respond, but then shook it instead. “Let’s just get this done.”

“Alright.” Valeria knew better than to push him.

She followed Loqi into the building that housed the power substation in this area, finding more Imperial soldiers who had already assembled the massive magitek generator. Valeria understood how they worked to a point, but had yet to discover what material exactly served as fuel. It wasn’t combustion, she noted, observing the glowing red haze that was apparently the byproduct of whatever reaction. Strange, she thought, unaware of any chemical or physical process that produced such an effect.

The Niffs had brought all the appropriate cords and converters, and, having already done this a few times, quickly hooked everything up under her supervision. She then booted up the computer attached to the substation, and set to work on the real reason she was brought here.

Valeria typed in the administrative password, then tapped through the menus on the touchscreen, clearing all the flags and warnings that announced the central reactors were down, and then implemented the protocols that allowed the substation to run on auxiliary power.

“You could just write all that down for me,” Loqi said over her shoulder as Valeria logged out of the computer. “Then you wouldn’t have to come out here every time.”

Valeria turned around and looked him in the eye. “That’s alright,” she said with knowing smile. “I sleep a lot better knowing you people have a very good reason not to shoot me full of holes.”

With all the troopers, the soldiers and their rifles, Loqi could have surrounded her and forced her to give it all up right there, but he merely gave her an appraising nod.

“Well then,” he said. “I guess we better get you back before the sun goes down.”

Valeria returned to the relief camp just as the sun began to set; her stomach was growling, but with the prospect of nothing but more bland rations waiting for her dinner, she turned towards her bunk instead.

More than one person gave her a suspicious look as she made her way down the row, but she ignored them. She looked for Felix instead, to see if he’d at least sit with her during her evening ‘meal.’ But his cot was empty.

Valeria assumed he must have gone to the toilets or to get something to eat, but then something else - or the lack of something - caught her eye. His backpack and Academy jacket, usually stuffed messily under his cot, were missing as well.

“Hey,” Valeria said to the nearest person. “The kid who sleeps there,” she pointed to Felix’s cot, “do you know where he went?”

“No clue,” the person said. “Haven’t seen him all day.” Every person she asked responded the same way - they either had never noticed him at all, or hadn’t seen him since the morning. Was it possible that he’d taken her advice, gotten in touch with his family and found his way out of this miserable place? It was the only explanation that even made a bit of sense, and she had almost started to feel happy for him when she saw it. His phone charger...cord still wound up in the same position where she’d left it in the morning.

[louisysl]

In some ways I just feel like a shell of myself. Well, in many ways. But I’m not just talking about dissociation.

It’s strange, how much you change and yet there are parts of you that’ll never change, not really, but maybe still you’ll be estranged from them. Like, they’re inside you, they’re part of you but they’re just not here. They’re there and you miss them, but not really?

I feel like, to be who I was, I would have to be much more selfish. I feel like I’m just a.. a canvas for other people to paint on these days. Come colour me, make of me what you will and I’ll be it. For you.

And it’s fulfilling but it’s not. There’s so much joy in giving, so much pleasure in pleasing. But how do you feel it, where do you store it when all you are is what they make of you? What’s left of you when you’re alone?

When I sit down with myself, I’m so lost. I think most people are, don’t mistake this for specialty. I suppose though that there are people who do something about it. All that soul searching crap, it’s not entirely silly hipster shit that one might shrug off, there’s truth to it. And those who splash it with black and white, bitterly crying nobody knows who they are, that everyone’s lost - I refuse to close my mind like that. It’s not true.

In the past, I felt like I had something to give. I had a big personality, not in a self-centered way though I was more selfish but really, at the end of the day, I was just comfortable being me. Or that version of me. There was a lot of discomfort, but it wasn’t with myself, it wasn’t when I was alone and free to express myself. Now, it’s reversed. That’s when I find myself distressed.

I’m forced to wonder if I’ve been trying to be somebody else. If, in my desperation for freedom, I’ve put on a front that isn’t me. Or perhaps it is me and I have yet to get used to it, and perhaps - certainly - I romanticise who I used to be, as it was a while ago and came with so much praise. I used to be told how amazing my mind was, how intriguing of a person I was, how it was a pleasure just to listen to me.

These days, I’m mostly complemented on my looks, my style, my confidence, my kindness.. But I feel so bland. I really do.

It’s not about compliments. As comforting as it may be to hear strangers tell you you’re beautiful, pretty, attractive, sexy, whatever the fuck - it’s nothing at the end of the day. Attraction is so fleeting. So easy, really. If you think of it, how hard is it to seduce? Not terribly.

Besides, that shit fades. Wait a few years and it’s all gone.

I don’t stress about that, because it’s pointless and vain. I stress about losing myself. About being perceived as something I am not, even if it’s in a positive light. Maybe especially then.

For instance, I’ve often been told how innocent I am. Fragile. Emotional. All of this is true, but there’s more to me. I’m innocent in many ways, but you’ll struggle to find common folk less vanilla than I am.

I had such an intriguing talk about kindness the other day. The person I spoke to told me how he felt that he pretended to be nice. That it’s a conscious effort to him, not lying or deceiving or manipulating. This isn’t at all how I’ve ever seen him, or do now; he’s been incredibly kind and attentive both to me and everyone else I’ve seen him interact with.

He told me he’s met plenty of people of two kinds of kindness in his life; those, who merely pretend to be kind, and those who are purely kind. Who aren’t pretending, to whom kindness comes from within, naturally.

I’ve never really known that people fake it. Not to the extent, or as well as he seemed to imply to be possible. I suppose I’m naive, and it’s so easy to perceive your own traits in others. To project, I believe it’s called. So to me kindness has always seemed pure and natural, both in myself and those around me.

I still suppose kindness, even when faked, is better than any alternative.

It’s not like I don’t have ways to express myself. Writing, it’s something I’ve never given up, even if my outlet tends to change - it’s been over a year if not nearly two since I properly did any creative writing, but I regularly express myself via writing in different ways. I also enjoy making and tuning clothes and I still do it, sometimes more, often depending on the amount of free time I have and how much of it I spend home alone, but it’s still something that’s constantly on my mind. In general just expressing myself through clothing, through the way I dress, is something I do daily as failing to do so makes me feel terrible.

I feel like every way that I do express myself, is an expression of a different side of me. Not in a dissociative way but in the regular way any person has different sides to them.

I feel like my clothing often portrays the sluttier, confident side of me. A side that’s rather new - or at least me expressing it so openly is new. And I love it. Even if partners that go past a one night stand never seem to, and I suppose I can’t blame them.. But no longer would I allow a partner to tell me how to dress.

I often feel awfully pretentious when expressing myself through writing, especialy creative writing. I feel like an asshole, really, like all that I write should be screenshotted and posted on reddit, calling me out on humble bragging, pretentiousness, or just general douche-baggery, because that’s how I feel I come across.

I also feel like I somehow come off a bit aggressive when writing, especially when it’s casually like I am now? And I think a lot of that is due to me swearing so much. I genuinely am not aggressive in the least though, and if I ever am, it’s towards myself only.

Also, where the fuck does confidence suddenly just burst out? How does that just happen? Last summer I suddenly just felt confident, and boy oh boy was the difference in how people viewed and treated me massive. And it’s still just as obvious and just as jarring, but in a thrilling way.