#remains to be seen of whether i succeed. crossing my fingers.

[orcelito]

1 thing to know about me is that fancy little drinks are my entire mode of focusing

i have a thai milk tea rn. made with oat milk. if you care

[shadowsfiguresfigments-blog]

A good place to die Chapter 25

Warning: Harsh language, violence

His jaws closed around me, swallowing me whole. Powerful muscles moved me further down his throat, driving my body against the myriad of teeth that sliced my skin. Pitch black darkness consumed me. As I was moved further and further down that fleshy tube, it didn’t stay dark, though; through the pain I noticed some sort of light slowly approaching me. In the emerging twilight I could see the little tentacles sprouting around me, eagerly sucking up the blood gushing from my open wounds. After several heartbeats, the light source finally came into my view, and I forgot everything around me, even the pain.

Three fiery, rotating orbs slowly approached me. They circled around each other in a mesmerizing dance, spinning faster and faster as they came closer. Their glow reflected off the yellowish teeth and the slimy pink flesh, casting a whirlwind of dancing shadows and rainbow reflections along their path.

It was the most beautiful sight I’d ever beheld.

The orbs radiated an incomprehensible otherworldliness that would have certainly frightened the living shit out of me if I had been able to be afraid. Distant cries and screams echoed all around me; however, I only perceived peace – it reminded me so much of my dream, when I had been engulfed in that warm, glowing bubble.

Finally.

I didn’t even notice the grin spreading across my face, nor the taste of my own blood in my mouth. Meanwhile the orbs where spinning so fast they melted into a fiery ring, ever growing before me, until it was big enough to fit all around me. When they reached me, I closed my eyes, perfectly at peace for the first time. I felt their touch on my face, an electric jolt of enormous proportions, and gave myself up as they flowed through the tears in my skin, burning their way into my core.

_____________________________________________________________

Of course, it wasn’t over – why would it ever be? The sensation only lasted for a heartbeat; then I was violently jerked backwards. The lights disappeared from my sight with superhuman speed, whilst the iron hard muscles crushed me as they pushed me backwards through the tube of flesh and teeth. That also meant the pain was back, the teeth not only slicing my skin, but digging deeper and further into me, slashing into my muscles, whilst the tentacle-like suckers writhed as if in extreme agony.

Fortunately it didn’t last long – it could only have been a few seconds – and I was spat out unto the cold concrete. The sensation of the hard ground and the freezing air came as an utter shock after the tranquility before.

A familiar wail filled the air. Disoriented and half-blind with blood and saliva, I crawled towards it, until my hands found the silk ruffles. I buried myself in them and felt them close around me, engulfing me in cool softness. Nestled deeply in the fabric, I was dimly aware of being moved at a ridiculous speed.

My eyes were still crusted with fluids, and the shock of what had happened left me only half aware of my surroundings. My nostrils and my ears worked just fine, however; and a familiar scent soon filled my nose. Together with the sloshing sounds it told me where I was – back in the Derry sewer system.

Home at last.

My broken body was gently lowered on a soft surface, and something warm and very wet washed over my face. Again and again it touched me ever so gently, until I could feel the grime and crust dissolve. Simultaneously the pain lessened and lessened, until it became more of distant thumping rather than a sharp burning.

The licking sensation now extended to my entire body, washing away all discomfort. I sighed and opened my eyes.

Penny loomed over me, his clown features barely recognizable beneath layers of my blood. His eyes had turned the deepest shade of orange I’d ever seen, but he didn’t radiate any aggressive energy. He was quite busy licking every inch of me, and his saliva had already closed most of the wounds, leaving only pink lines criss-crossing all over my skin. The tattered, crusty remains of my clothes were the only left-overs from his attempt to eat me.

I was still very much in shock – not from fear, but from being exposed to the unforgiving world after that tranquil place. Being born must feel the same way, I thought to myself. My hands reached out on their own, cradling Penny’s cheeks against them. His face slowly spilled out from between my fingers, and I sat up to pull him closer to me, to contain his melting form between my thin limbs. He was so big and there was so much of him; how could I possibly succeed? Still, I couldn’t NOT try to; even if I did my body wouldn’t have listened to me either way.

Between the aftereffects of the shock, the numerous substances I was covered in and Penny not having a solid form, I only realized after a while that the liquid running over my hands was neither saliva nor blood.

Penny was crying.

So was I, I discovered.

Like so many times before, I couldn’t tell in hindsight how long we stayed like this. Only when the feeling in my body was back to somewhat normal I dared to speak again.

“Are you alright?” It was a poor, pathetic attempt to tell him how worried I was, how much he meant to me, how sorry I was.

“I don’t know.” His voice echoed the same confusion I felt, somehow magnifying it because it was Pennywise who said it.

“Why… Why didn’t you eat me?”

No answer, though I felt it was because he truly didn’t know.

I tried a different approach.

“What were those lights?” Since Penny remained silent, I added: “They were so beautiful.”

His huge frame started twitching, and I realized he tried to get his form together. At last his eyes focused on me.

“Those lights… They are me. My true form.”

I traced my finger across his cheeks, gently stroking them.

“Well, I always thought you were handsome. So when they… when you touched me… What happened?”

Penny’s gaze drifted away, but I was sure he was only gathering his thoughts. After a while he sat up and cradled me against his chest.

“I don’t understand it, little one. Normally, seeing me… my true self… would kill you. You’d die of fear, and I’d absorb you soul and digest your flesh. But when I touched you, I couldn’t absorb you. I don’t know why, I just couldn’t; physically, if you will. And then all your emotions flooded into me.”

It took me a while to process that new information. I had always thought my lack of fear only meant he wouldn’t enjoy my taste, that eating me would be equivalent to forcing down some disgusting vegetables or something; not that it would make him throw up. What had been the most wonderful experience for me had made him sick.

I had made him sick.

“Am I… dangerous for you?”

“I don’t know, little one. Are you?” Though he cackled at the question, I could tell he was honestly wondering.

“I could never intentionally hurt you. I’m sorry for what I said before. I was frustrated.”

Penny reply was slow, as if he was testing out the words that left his mouth.

“I believe so was I, little one. I’ve never, in all the eons I’ve lived, ever experienced anything like this.”

“So, no one has ever seen your true self… and lived?”

“No…” Penny stopped, and his eye color changed once again, turning dark red.

“There once was a girl… She and her friends nearly killed me.”

I sat up and stared at him. Penny appeared to be just as shocked as I was, though perhaps for other reasons.

“You mean, a human did that to you? That a human was the reason you were so wounded when we first met?”

He nodded, looking away. He’s embarrassed, I realized.

“Wow.” I slouched back against him, wrapping his arms around myself. “No wonder you’d think of me as a threat. But Penny, I love you.” Again, the English language failed me in trying to convey my feelings. Still, he seemed to understand, because he rested his head on top of mine and sighed heavily.

“I love you too, little one. And I don’t want to eat you. Not because you’re not delicious, but because I don’t want to you to not be around.”

I chuckled at his curious way to express himself. Fortunately I wasn’t the only one struggling with words.

“So, where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know.”

We sat in silence, both pondering what had happened between us. Finally, I found I couldn’t stand the uncertainty any longer.

“So, we need to address three things, right? Firstly; your hunger – you haven’t fed since you woke up, right? Secondly, my life and my schedule – I got the opening coming up, I got Bee moving in and I need to finish school. Thirdly, our future together – whether you’ll go into hibernation again, and what I’ll do then.”

I could feel his nod, and finally, it was accompanied by merry bells jingling again. I had my Penny back.

“Until then, let’s take it one day at a time, okay?”

Again, he nodded; again, the bells jingled. I twisted around and pulled his head towards me. “In the meantime, why don’t we enjoy each other?” His low purr was answer enough. I closed my eyes and opened myself to him.

[dercolaris]

Discussion

Hey ho everyone. A new, very short, but hopefully funny story, this time for @highwarlockemrysrage. I didn’t forget your idea and but yeah - it took me sooooo long. Sorry :/ 

Thanks like always for the beta reading, @shin-arei.

Enjoy!

Jonathan stared lost in his half-full whiskey glass, poured the remaining alcohol down his dry throat after a brief swirl. It was the third Friday evening of the month. This meant an almost 'secret' meeting of some villains, who gathered together near the Iceberg Lounge in a rather poorly frequented bar and wildly discussed future evil plans. The Master of Fear smiled a little, felt the slight sting deep in his throat. These gatherings were now the real highlights of a busy week, especially when the well selected company could talk or argue with one another undisturbed. The one and only Edward Nygma, Harleen Quinzel, Pamela Isley, Jervis Tetch and Harvey Dent in particular were part of the small group beside Jonathan. Every now and then Victor Fries also honoured the talkative group, but the serene cryologist was stupidly stuck in Arkham again for more than two months. In fact, given their questionable positions in Gotham, that wasn't really surprising for anyone. Someone was always wanted by the police and was either in a psychiatric ward or in the normal prison in Black Gate. So for better or worse they had to do their little talk without Mr. Freeze today. Before Jonathan could worry about his now good friend in Arkham, Edward thundered his glass on the rancid table without a warning. The Riddler wiped his mouth and mumbled in a voice that had grown rough from the high amount of alcohol: "And you really think that you will succeed with this - let's call it careful - 'plan' to finally overthrow Batman, Harvey? No offence, but the idea is so absurd and ridiculous that I don't even want to think about helping you with it. That would be a waste of my precious resources and especially time. Many of you probably don't care what Gotham thinks of you, but I have a good reputation to lose!” This outburst was followed by an amused giggle from the botanist. The redhead stirred the alcohol-free cocktail with a wooden stick and replied almost cynically: “What reputation do you mean, Eddy? Maybe with your beloved delivery service? We all know that you order three pizzas a day and that you insist to get the third delivery of food for free because you are such a loyal customer. I would almost laugh if it wasn't so sad. You are so close to be absolutely pathetic."

The addressee snorted angrily and cracked his fingers threateningly. Ivy had hit an open nerve in the quick-tempered nerd again. Before he could answer, however, Jervis came before him, who replied quietly: “Please don't listen to Mr. Nygma. He loves to talk about things that he doesn't really understand. I think your idea is brilliant, Mr. Dent, and it is absolutely realistic to implement. If I can help you in any way, I will be happy to offer you my humble services. For a reasonable fee, of course.” Two-Face smiled crookedly, the burned half of his face didn't react properly at that moment, as usual. The former attorney poured himself another whiskey into his glass and smelled the alcohol. He sipped the drink, then played with his silver coin in his hand. Harvey mumbled softly: “We'll find something you can help me out with, Jervis. And you don't have to worry about the right payment. One hand washes the other after all. I will keep my promise.” The next moment his face twisted into a horrible grimace. His second personality hissed angrily: “And for you, Nygma, we still have a cosy, warm place left in the crematorium. You slimy piece of gay shit!” “Well well!”, the clearly drunk harlequin suddenly rebuked her friend with an exaggerated smile,“we are a decent community here and we shouldn't mess with each other with dirty words. You two obviously disagree, and that's fine too. No reason to argue now. Besides, we don't discriminate against minorities, Harv." The Riddler crossed his arms in anger over his chest, chewing on his lower lip visibly ill-tuned. Contrary to his wish to finally make room for his anger, the tinkerer remained silent on the harsh insults. This was probably due to the simple fact that the former lawyer always appeared heavily armed to the meetings and could do without a bullet or two from the revolver in order to do his own kind of persuasion. Scarecrow sighed cautiously and spoke calmly: "I don't understand any more why we have to discuss Edward's sexual orientation almost every time we meet." The Riddler growled throatily and spat back to the former psychiatrist louder than planned: "Oh and right now we don't have to talk about yours or what? For your small information, John: we've been a goddamn couple for eight months! Besides, I can already guess what to expect in the bedroom tonight if you keep drinking like this. Fuck, you are really unbearable when you have reached a certain alcohol level. Irresponsible drunk bastard. "

Harvey suddenly smirked. Apparently this time both sides had decided unanimously that the nerd's exaggerated reaction contributed to the general amusement of society. Pamela rolled her eyes and replied dryly: "At least he doesn't start crying like you do with the second glass of whiskey, Eddy." The addressee opened his mouth to say something, but he seemed to have no words. It was all the more fitting that the frightened bartender put a new bottle of whiskey on the table. Harley was now lying with his head on her forearms, muttering unintelligible words. The alcohol had done its work for the lively woman. For a moment silence fell between the villains until the Mad Hatter asked softly: "We are still no closer to the initial question, ladies and gentlemen." The Master of Fear wrinkled his nose. Like every week, they puzzled over the true identity of the Dark Knight. The wildest ideas had already emerged, especially when enough hard liquor had flowed. Last month, Harley had actually tried to suspect Selina Kyle and was not dissuaded all evening before her suggestion. Pamela's justified objections were also successfully ignored by the young woman. Catwoman could simply hide her ample breasts under her armour and speak in a deeper voice. The fact that the two heroes were often seen together did not seem to have been a counter-argument for her stupid theory. Jonathan burped cautiously and stared tipsy at the coaster on the table. Tonight the usual suspects had all been discussed at length. As always, Bruce Wayne was a must. Nevertheless, another person seemed to want to push himself into the centre that night, who was always pushed aside so far. As if to confirm another ludicrous idea, the inventor grumbled sceptically: “That won't do anything in this group anyway, Jervis. Half of those present are no longer entirely in their consolation when we seriously talk about whether the ugly clown face could be the Bat. How the hell do you come up with such a mental shitstorm?" The former lawyer groaned loudly at this statement and replied in a scratchy voice: "Can you actually do anything other than just complain, Nygma? You're really getting on our nerves, smart ass." Edward breathed jerkily. He appeared to be about to explode.

To everyone surprise, Harley suddenly lifted her head and slurred confidently: “Puddin is definitely not Batsy. Never! In! The! Fucking! Life! I swear on everything I love and like!” That was probably all that the blonde-haired woman could contribute to the conversation. As confirmation, her head jerked back onto her forearms. Pamela put an arm gently around her drunken girlfriend and hesitantly added: “If anyone knows anything about the Clown, it must be this crazy woman here. I think we can remove Joker from the list of suspects with a clear conscience. For good this time.” The Mad Hatter straightened his top hat a little and took a sip of the bitter black tea. An unproductive silence fell between those present. As usual, this was broken by Edward again: “Well, we're back to the beginning, aren't we? We're going round and round successfully, gentlemen.” That night, too, they probably wouldn't get a step closer to the riddle called Batman. Some things probably never changed.

[arotechno]

The Heartless: Chapter 18

Read on Inkitt

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Chapter XVIII: in which some reunions are bittersweet

I could not remember blacking out, but when I opened my eyes next, I was on my back with bright, leafy green branches filling the sky high above my head. After a few moments, recognition set in; this was the oak tree, the same one I would perch in nearly every night and look out for trouble, trying to spot Petra on her way back from town.

If I had a heart, it would have clenched. Petra—I wondered with a heavy sense of grief whether she was even still alive.

“Welcome back,” a somber voice piped up beside me.

I leapt out of my skin, scrambling to balance myself upright. There was Petra, as if on cue, hair now chopped shoddily above her chin. Her eyes, in the months since I’d last seen her, had taken on a haunted look too mature for a fourteen-year-old child. She had a bow and arrow slung over her shoulder—mine, the old bow I had given her before I left.

“Petra!” I exclaimed. “What… What happened?”

“I found you passed out in the middle of the village and dragged you here.”

“No, no, that’s not— You know what I mean!”

Petra exhaled brusquely and averted her eyes to the treetops. “A while after you left, the royal guard came to the village. Burnt it to the ground. I saw them approaching while I was in town, and managed to warn most of the village to flee, with Marley’s help.” She paused, biting her lip. “Everyone who left has long since moved on by now, probably in hiding in other villages. There was no use coming home to a pile of rubble, only to see if they’d come back a second time. I know Marley took a lot of folks with her. Maybe they aren’t even in the kingdom anymore, I don’t really know.”

“And... Bertrand?”

“He refused to leave his study, no matter how much I begged.”

“Oh.”

“I couldn’t save everyone.”

“Petra, I’m—”

“I know it’s because of you, Ace. I’ve spent enough time out there to know that the king was assassinated by one of the Heartless, and something tells me you had something to do with that.”

Finally, she returned my eye contact once more. Her mouth was set in a permanent frown. It was then that I realized this was not exactly a welcome reunion.

“I… Yes,” I admitted. “I killed him. It was a lapse in judgement. I didn’t think they’d—they thought I was dead. Why would they come here?”

“Do you really think they needed a reason?” Petra snapped. “Ace, why would you do that? Why would you put us all in danger like that? Sure, we didn’t have much, but why would you throw every good thing we did have away just for your moment of glory?”

I pulled absentmindedly at the grass beneath me, twisting the blades around between my fingers. “The royal guard… killed my parents. I was going to confront him, and then… then he was dead. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t regret getting his blood on my hands like that. And, evidently… the entire village’s.”

Petra averted her gaze again.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she murmured, fist clenching in her lap until her knuckles went white. “But you know what, Ace? That’s not even the worst of it. It’s been months since then, and all this time I’ve been coming back here over and over waiting for you even though I’m so mad that you abandoned us and left me here. Where have you been?”

It was then that I remembered everything I had wanted to tell her before I found what was left of the village. I told her everything, from invading the royal palace with Knife Boy to being dumped in the woods to waking up in Frida’s house to reuniting with Basil and everything in between. When I told her the truth about the curse, she leapt to her feet and began screaming at me, letting loose the kind of pain and anguish that can only be felt by a child who has been lied to her whole life.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she yelled. “I’ve been here on my own for months because the royal guard finally decided to take us all out, and now you’re telling me we never deserved ANY of this? That all this time we were struggling in poverty and isolation is just because everyone hates us, not because there’s something wrong with us? How is that supposed to make this less terrible?” Petra started crying then, hot and angry tears rolling down her face.

“It isn’t,” I replied gently. “I just thought you deserved to know the truth.”

“I don’t care anymore! Whether we’re broken or not, we’re still not allowed to be happy! What’s the point?” Petra snatched the bow and arrow off her shoulder and flung it across the dirt, sending stiff feathers flying into the air. A deep, ragged breath escaped her lungs before she continued, quieter, “Just when you think things are working out, they find another way to ruin you. By taking out the king, Ace, you brought us one step forward but many, many steps back.”

“I know.”

Petra sighed and dropped back down into the grass, sitting cross-legged with her chin in her hands. She sniffled once or twice and wiped the lingering tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands. We sat there in silence for a few moments, as the reality of what our lives had swiftly turned into began to sink in.

“You’re going to leave me here again, aren’t you?” she whispered after a couple of minutes.

My stomach lurched, and I knew that after all that both of us had been through, I could not lie to her.

“You could come with me,” I suggested instead.

“What, and leave home?” Petra shook her head, smiling despite herself. “I couldn’t, not after everything.”

“There’s nothing left here, Petra. It’d just be you.”

Petra frowned at the dirt, yanking blades of grass and twirling them between her fingers.

“It’s different for you, Ace. Home for you was always something far-off, like some fantasy you got to live as a child where you had parents who loved you and tried to keep you safe. Me? This place, and the curse that I always thought came along with it, is all I’ve ever known.”

“I lost my home, so I made a new one, over and over again. You can do the same.”

She looked back up at me and furrowed her brow. “Easy for you to say. You knew life before this. For you, the Village of the Heartless gets to be an unfortunate dark patch in between two perfect realities where you get to be safe and live happily ever after. I don’t have that luxury. This village was your temporary hell, but it’s my hometown.”

It was a child’s oversimplification; when I thought of Swallow’s Point and its inhabitants, the ever-present fear of being discovered as Heartless, any image I could conjure up in my mind was far from idyllic. The Village of the Heartless had become home to me for many years, but I had also indirectly been the cause of its demise. I couldn’t deny that Petra’s words had some truth to them, however exaggerated.

I paused, considering my next words carefully. “Listen, Petra, like it or not, I can’t stay here. I’m a fugitive,” I pointed out. “The entire kingdom thinks I’m dead, and if I’m ever caught, I can assure you they will not hesitate to try to kill me again, and this time, they will make sure they succeed. You can go back and stay with Esther, tell her the truth if you want, or tell her I’m dead, I don’t care. But I can’t stay here, not now.”

Petra averted her eyes again, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“No, I’m coming with you,” she muttered.

I had been expecting more of a fight. “You are?”

“I don’t think I have a choice.” Petra at last raised her eyes to meet mine again, and I saw the glint of determination behind the last few tears she hadn’t been able to suppress. “I’m not going to let you get yourself killed just to make me happy by staying here. And I’m not going to let you leave me again, either.”

I watched in awe as she clambered to her feet and walked over behind the tree, retrieving the bow and arrow she had thrown in her anger.

“But if we’re heading out together again”—she held them out to me—“you’re going to be needing this.”

I took it and ran my thumb and forefinger along the thin maple of the bow, instantly being called back to the day I received it from Marley, and the first time I succeeded at hitting the targets I had set up behind Bertrand’s house out of old tin cans and spoiled gourds, and the nights I spent perched in that same oak tree looking for trouble after dark. This was not the bow with which I had condemned my village, but the one with which I had defended it; Petra now entrusted me with that duty again, although there was nothing left to defend.

The incongruity of this responsibility weighed heavily on me as we dusted the dirt from our pants and set off up the hill through what was once the Village of the Heartless, headed toward the back woods in the direction of the commune. I came to a halt at the top of the hill, frozen stiff before the remains of Bertrand’s house, the tiny run-down cottage I had called home for so many years. Like the rest of the village, it was only burnt rubble now, sprouting soft and verdant with the new growth of spring. I was struck with the realization that Bertrand had died still believing he was a failure for never breaking a curse that had never existed; I wondered briefly whether in his final moments he thought of me fondly or cursed himself for ever giving me shelter.

The weight of the suffering I had caused rose up from the blood-soaked soil and flooded the vacant spaces where my heart should be, and it settled there, heavy and still.

What a monstrous thing it was to be human.

[sharinluna]

MLQC Chapter 20 Translation

Chapter 19 translation

19 1/2 chapter translation

I skip parts and paraphrase a lot when I translate. So that I could let the players enjoy the complete original translated text by themselves when the chapters are released. This is just to give you a small taste of what is going to happen.

I’m using Yōurán as MC’s name since it was the unofficial default name by the writers.

Trigger Warning: This chapter includes actions that reminds of real-life relationship abuse, physical violence, and police brutality.

Once you make your choice, there is no turning back.....

The sound of the underground train entering the station woke me from dreaming.

“We’ll soon be arriving in ****** station. The exit is on the left…”

It suddenly occurred to me that I had to get off and I abruptly stood up and exited the train.

Yōurán: Something’s not right…

A strange sense loss was looming in my head. Like something went away from me with the train.

I tried to remember what my dream was about but everything was foggy. Only snippets of unrecognizable memories remained.

Yōurán: Did I wake from the dream and come back to reality?

I couldn’t know for sure. I followed the crowd out of the station.

Everyone was going their own way. Underneath the gray sky, the traffic jam was flooding the city like usual. It was a different sight from the deserted city during the influenza breakout. But that was a thing of the past now.

Yōurán: I did it!

I looked around the city that turned back to normal. I really did succeed!

I wanted to go back to my daily routine immediately. I wanted to know what the others were doing. I wanted to go to my office and work again.

Passer-by: Look, it’s snowing!

I looked up. Small snowflakes were coming down the sky. I froze. Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure if this was real or a dream.

The ringing of my cellphone in my coat pocket woke me from my reverie. I didn’t recognize the caller ID

Caller: Long time no see. I suppose you want to know who I am, right?

The young man’s bragging voice was somehow familiar.

Yōurán: Excuse me but… why did you call me?

Caller: Can’t I call you without a reason?

Yōurán: Well, since it seems you don’t, I’ll just-

Caller: Everyone forgot your existence.

Yōurán: What?

I must have heard him wrong. The young man on the phone laughed at the disbelief in my voice.

Caller: You are not supposed to exist in this universe.

Yōurán: What are you talking about? That doesn’t make any sense!

I denied what he said in panic.

Caller: You can find out for yourself, then…

There was a sound of opening a can on the other side.

Caller: …at the place where everything started, for once…

He hung up.

Yōurán: This must be just a prank call!

I kept telling myself that as I grabbed my phone tightly.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

I arrived at the front of my office building. I took a deep breath and went in calmly. I was about to say hello to the security guard but stopped when he was looking at me like a stranger.

When I arrived at the office I saw familiar faces.

Yōurán: Kiki!

I called Kiki whom I hadn’t seen for a long time. Any moment now, she would see me and yell “Boss!” and run to me, and tell me all the latest gossips.

But she just looked at me with polite strangeness.

Kiki: Hello, Miss. Are you scheduled to meet someone?

Yōurán: Kiki… don’t you remember me?

I blurted out in shock. Kiki hesitated, like trying to remember something.

Kiki: Uh… have we met before?

So what he said in the phone call was true.

Yōurán: You must have… forgotten it…

I clenched my fists so hard that fingernails were biting into the flesh, but I didn’t feel any pain.

Today was not April Fool’s Day, and Kiki didn’t seem like she was pranking me either. I forced out a weak smile.

Yōurán: Never mind, I’m here to meet Anna.

Kiki: Oh, so you’re Anna’s acquaintance! Then perhaps we have met before. You do look a bit familiar but I can’t quite put a finger on it yet. But Anna is very busy today… did you make an appointment?

I was about to answer when Anna came into the office followed by Willow.

Anna: Kiki, is someone asking for me?

Yōurán: Anna! Willow!

I called out their names in delight but they just looked at me confused.

Anna: Who is this…?

Yōurán: I’m Yōurán….

My heart sank at Anna’s reaction. I told her my name without hope. What he said on the phone was true. Every single person had forgotten me.

Yōurán: I’m here to see this company’s boss.

Anna: I’m currently working as the boss’s replacement for the time being. What business do you have with her?

Yōurán: For the time being? What do you exactly mean?

Anna: The current boss is the daughter of the former boss, but she’s unavailable right now so I’m filling in her place.

Yōurán: Then can I meet her?

I asked desperately. Anna furrowed her eyebrows deep in thought. She seemed to sense that something was not quite right.

Anna: Come to think of it, she hasn’t been in touch with us for a long time. I suppose she is busy with her studying…

Willow: Anna, we have to hurry if we don’t want to be late! We have to go to LFG right away.

Anna: Sorry. We are very busy… if you have urgent business, please visit us again tomorrow.

Anna smiled at me politely.

I perked up at her words. LFG…. I had to go there right away!

Yōurán: I’m sorry, I have to go! I’ll come back tomorrow!

I heard Kiki call out after me but there was only one word in dominating my mind. Victor, I had to go see him right away!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

With breakneck speed I arrived at the LFG building only to be stopped by the reception desk.

Clerk: Hello, did you make an appointment?

Yōurán: No, but I can wait.

I knew she wouldn’t let me in, so I had no choice but to wait in the lobby for Victor to show up.

I fiddled with my phone for a long time, wondering if I should do it. Then I made up my mind and called Victor’s number. I was met with “The person you have called is unavailable at the moment…”

My delight at having returned to reality had long since evaporated. I waited for a long time, but still couldn’t meet Victor. The clerk at the desk was eyeing me suspiciously. In the end I had no choice but to go for the exit with a heavy heart.

Yōurán: Let’s go…

I didn’t find out whether Victor forgot about me as well, but maybe this was for the best. I tried to tell myself that as I recalled the last moment of my life.

I began to cross the street when the light turned green. It was just then when my phone rang.

Yōurán: It’s from Victor!

With happiness bubbling inside I stopped at once to take the call. Which turned out to be a grave mistake as I heard the sound of car screeching.

I seemed to be in this kind of predicament quite a lot, and like always, I froze unable to move. I closed my eyes but the crash never came. Someone had grabbed my wrist and pulled me to the sidewalk.

My heart started thumping. I knew who he was before I saw him.

I looked up at the familiar face and tears welled up inside.

Yōurán: Victor…! I found you at last….!

I grabbed his arms at looked at him with pure joy.

But he let go of me and took a step back and looked at me oddly.

Victor: Who are you?

He asked coldly with eyes looking at me like a stranger.

Yōurán: I…

Joy died down quickly. I opened my mouth but no sounds came. My hands, my shoulder, no my entire body started to shake. Despair filled up in my brain and erupted into headaches.

I didn’t want to admit that this was real, but Victor was standing there with no signs of recognizing me.

Yōurán: Don’t… don’t you remember me?

Victor: No, I’ve never met you before.

His answer full of conviction shattered the last of my hopes.

He glanced at his watch before addressing me again.

Victor: Be careful. Someone can’t come to your rescue every time.

He said the same words he said to me when we first met. But this time, they were destroying my last bit of courage and strength.

Standing still defenseless against the cold wind, I could only watch as Victor walked away from me.

Yōurán: Victor!

Sorrow paralyzed my reason as I ran out and grabbed at his sleeves like a drowning man clutching desperately at straws.

Victor didn’t pull his hand away. But he continued to look at me indifferently.

Victor: Are you hurt? Then go to a hospital.

Yōurán: I’m not hurt.

I mumbled trying to come up with an excuse to not let him go so soon.

Yōurán: I… just wanted to thank you for saving me…

Victor: You’re welcome. It was nothing.

He met my thanks matter-of-factly then eyed at my hand still clutching his sleeve.

Yōurán: …Sorry.

I forced myself to let go of him slowly and took a few steps back from him.

As I watched him walk away, my memories from the past life surged up. Seeing Victor with tears in the last moment of my life pained me with no end.

If Victor didn’t remember me, he would also not remember that… Maybe it would be better for him to forget that pain? Without me, he will continue to reign as the triumphant monarch of the capitalist society. He won’t have to succumb to such hurt caused by me.

Yōurán: Victor…

I called out his name to myself again.

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My phone rang again. I looked at the screen hopefully but it was just a news alert. My address book was full of familiar names and numbers, but I couldn’t contact any of them. No one had called me or texted me since the last day of my life.

I didn’t know where I should go to find Gavin. Kiro had been missing for centuries and Lucien is…

I couldn’t continue with this line of thought.

Yōurán: Let’s just go home…

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I saw a giant advertisement featuring Kiro on B.S. Entertainment building. People were stopping by to take pictures.

My mind flashed back to Kiro lying down on the sofa after shooting that advertisement.

Kiro: Uggghhhh…. Miss Chips…. Save me….! They’re starving me without a bite to eat….!!!!

Yōurán: Seriously?!

Kiro: Seriously! Come and give Kiro a hug!

I couldn’t help but smile as I remembered Kiro’s exaggerated whines.

Where was Kiro now? Lots of time had passed since the TV tower, and he still hasn’t come back. I wondered whether he succeeded in being a superhero like he said. I wondered when he could come back and be my little sun again who’s such a foodie.

With nostalgia I walked into the convenience store next to the B.S. Entertainment.

I reached out for the last chip then stopped. The other hand grabbing the chips at the same time as me didn’t appear this time.

I looked out the window as I waited for the cashier. A gust of wind shook the tree outside and snow flurried down. Among the snowflakes I caught a glimpse of a young man wearing a hood.

Yōurán: Kiro?!

Ignoring the bag of chips that I just bought I rushed out the store but couldn’t find where he went. I looked around frantically. Then I finally spotted him crossing the street among the crowds.

Kiro, is that really you?

As soon as the light turned green I ran across the street, pushing past people trying to get to him. I kept knocking into elbows and had to struggle to not be swept among the crowd, which slowed my chase after him.

I bumped hard into someone.

Yōurán: Excuse me-

Even before I finished speaking everything turned blank.

There was a loud boom that was enough to shake my body. The very ground started to quake, fiery inferno covered the sky. People were running in the opposite direction of the flames. Among the chaos there were shouts and panicked blarings of car horns. I heard a laughter in cold mockery.

“Those EVILs will all die…”

I was back in the crowded crosswalk. What I just saw…. was that an explosion of some kind? I replayed the vision in my head. Explosion, cars crashing everywhere, chaos.

I looked around and there was no sign of the person I bumped into.

Yōurán: Oh, no!

I ran forward trying to locate him but I couldn’t even figure out what direction he went. I chastised myself.

Yōurán: How could I miss him?

??: Are you looking for me?

I heard an icy voice from behind. I looked around and saw a young man with silver hair. He had the hood down.

Yōurán: Helios?!

I called out his name in surprise. The person I saw outside the convenience store, the one I was originally chasing, was him. His eyes narrowed as soon as he heard me say his name. He walked toward me menacingly.

Helios: How do you know who I am?

He had no weapon in his hands, but I was paralyzed in fear. It seemed like the Reaper of Death was walking towards me.

Helios: I’m disappointed in them for sending someone so mediocre to spy on me.

He stopped right in front of me. His sneer pierced me like a sharp knife. I quenched down the uncontrollable fear threatening to take over me.

Yōurán: I, I wasn’t spying on you!

Helios: Even your acting skills are rubbish.

His eyelashes did little to cover the murderous intent in his eyes.

Yōurán: It’s true! I’m sorry for following you. I thought you were someone I know. It was a mistake!

Helios: Really? And what other excuse did you come up with?

Yōurán: We’ve met before. You probably don’t remember it but… if you did, you would know that I’m just a nobody.

He still looked at me with doubt. I exclaimed out of exasperation.

Yōurán: Can’t you see that I’m powerless and is of no threat to you?! I don’t know what “they” you are talking about, but would they send someone plain like me as a spy?

I waited for his convict but to my shock he laughed at me, ridiculing me. He looked at me like he was looking at a very interesting specimen.

Helios: Someone plain? I suppose you don’t know yet.

Before I knew it, he took out a silver knife and aimed it at my neck. The cold blade made me rooted to the spot.

Helios: Don’t move.

His eyes flashed gold for a second and as he ordered, I couldn’t move a muscle.

Yōurán: What… what are you doing?!

Helios: Take a guess.

It was too late to regret. I couldn’t move at all no matter how hard I tried.

Yōurán: We’re in broad daylight in the middle of the city! People will see!

Helios: Do you think I’m so careless to not have that covered? You should worry about yourself now.

The cold pressure of the blade against my neck was increasing. My eyes widened in despair.

Suddenly, it seemed like time had stopped and my line of sight was bombarded with blinding white light. My soul was inside a pure-white space. In front of my eyes numerous black lines appeared forming unfathomable patterns. I reached out for those black lines. From the depths within my soul came out waves that passed from my fingertips and converted into soft lights that divided the shadows.

Yōurán: Let go…

For a fleeting moment of 1/1000 second his powers restraining me vanished. I didn’t miss the chance and managed back off and escape from the blade at my throat.

I was shivering with sweat. It was an effort standing still. I kept my eyes at him, wary of what he would do next.

Helios: Your awakening speed is pretty fast.

He took away his knife.

Helios: Do you still think you are just someone plain?

Yōurán: What just happened?

I wasn’t sure but, it seemed like my consciousness had escaped the corporate reality for a short moment. I looked down at my hands but nothing happened. The strange feeling had also vanished completely.

Yōurán: What did you do to me? Did you make me do… whatever I did?

Helios yawned.

Helios: You’re joking if you think I’d do such a charitable act.

The corner of his mouth twitched with scorn.

Helios: If you hadn’t pulled your little stunt, I would have continued where I had left off.

Hearing him say that negated all doubts I had about him and had me back on alert.

Helios: I’ll give you a piece of advice. Never appear in front of any Evolver ever again.

Yōurán: …Why?

He was already walking away. He said his last words without looking back.

Helios: otherwise you’ll be killed.

With that he got into his car and slammed the door. I stood still as I watched his car drive away, leaning against a wall to support my trembling body.

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I walked back to where I had left off. Meeting Helios. Helios threatening me with his knife. Those bizarre black lines that appeared in a pure white space… I had no idea what happened just then.

Yōurán: Helios also doesn’t remember me at all, at least that’s for sure…

“Loveland University has announced to establish a new research institute. Renowned neuroscientist Professor Lucien has expressed his opinions about Darwinism and theories of evolution, causing the criticism of the public…”

I stopped and looked at the news screen to see a video of Lucien in a press conference.

Lucien: The advance of science is founded on continuous sacrifices. That includes the trial-and-error of injuries and deaths. All of which I think are necessary process. Survival of the fittest and the fallback of the rest is an eternal principle of life. It’s what keeps humanity going.

After all this time, he would still….

Seeing him say those words on the screen made my heart throb, reminding me of the principles I cannot forsake and the path that I should not deviate from.

Yōurán: Lucien… what are you trying to do?

Black Swan has been behind the flu epidemic from the beginning. Could Lucien also have had a hand in it?

I didn’t know what to think, but I had made my decision.

Yōurán: Whatever your role is in this scheme, Lucien, I will put a stop to it.

I changed direction and walked the familiar path to Loveland University.

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In front of Lucien’s laboratory were thousands of protesters holding pickets. Commanding that Lucien suspend his unethical research project immediately and condemning him for his justification of sacrificing the minority.

I quietly slipped in the back door that was unknown to the protesters.

I looked at the plate reading “Lucien’s Research Institute” on front of his door. Just like the first time we met, I was standing in front of this door again, but the situation was completely opposite now.

I took a deep breath and knocked. I waited but no one opened the door.

Yōurán: Is he not here?

I didn’t know whether I felt relieved or disappointed.

I turned back and there stood him on a corridor that was deserted just seconds ago.

Yōurán: Lucien…

I couldn’t help but call out his name affectionately. Lucien looked at me with puzzlement then his expression turned searching. His smile was polite but distant.

Lucien: May I help you?

That shattered my hope and reminded me of the cold, hard truth very nicely. I couldn’t help hoping against hope that he would remember the days we spent together. But it turned out to be vain. Why did I think that he would be an exception?

I took out my reporter license and introduced myself just like I had rehearsed earlier.

Yōurán: It’s a pleasure to meet you, Professor Lucien. I’m a reporter from YBC news. I wish to request an interview with you about the press conference you made prior.

Lucien: I’m sorry, but I don’t do interviews for the time being.

He refused right away. He glanced at my license but he seemed to have no intention of examining it closely.

Yōurán: Forgive my indulgence, but would it be so much trouble to just answer a few simple questions? What is your reason for starting this research?

I prodded on, unwilling to give up just yet.

Lucien: Do you have any more questions?

I inwardly sighed in relief that he wasn’t turning me down completely and rapid-fired the questions I wanted to ask him.

Yōurán: Professor, can you tell me when your research will reach the first stage of development? To my knowledge, you have done human experiment before that was acknowledged and legitimized. Do you plan to follow suit in this one as well?

I waited for his answer but all I heard was a quiet chuckle.

Lucien: Is that what you wanted to know by impersonating a reporter?

Yōurán: Sorry?

I was taken aback by his sudden interrogation. His poker-face unsettled me for a second, but I found my cool quickly. Right now, Lucien was just a professor and he couldn’t reveal his Black Swan persona in such a public place. And this time I was just a plain reporter with nothing special.

Yōurán: Professor, if you are doubting if I really am a reporter you can look my name up in the website.

Lucien: I’m not doubting that you’re a reporter.

He interrupted my words with a smile.

Lucien: It just so happens that I just refused YBC’s interview 15 minutes ago.

His eyes seemed to pierce through me and I couldn’t come up with an excuse to cover my act.

Lucien: It seems that I am right.

His expression turned unfeeling. The polite mask fell away to reveal his true demeanor, cold-blooded and calculating.

Lucien: Now, would Miss Yōurán kindly tell me what business she has with me…?

Hearing my name with his ice-like voice, I couldn’t hold back a shiver. It felt like he was freezing my blood with just his words. But I could not back off now.

Yōurán: Like I said before, I wanted to interview you-

Lucien: Repeating a thousand lies won’t make it true.

I instinctively stepped away from him and looked down, not saying a word.

Lucien: You won’t tell? Silence isn’t always the best answer.

My heart was pounding, but I gathered up the last of my courage and looked up at him.

Yōurán: Fine! I came here because I wanted to know why you would continue this research project! If I find any issues that compromise moral principles, I will report it to the media!

Lucien: I see. And?

Yōurán: And then… I will ensure that your project gets shut down and prove that your theory is fundamentally wrong!

Lucien: Is that it?

Lucien’s attitude was still pretty much composed. My words held no threat to him whatsoever.

Lucien: And here I am thinking that you came here because of Evol.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he came closer to me.

Yōurán: Evol?

Lucien: Didn’t somebody just warn you that you are in grave danger?

Helios’s parting advice came to my mind.

Lucien wasn’t hiding his malicious attitude at all. I understood the true meaning of fear as he threw away all pretense to reveal who he really was: a man who is ruthless, brutal and cruel beyond comparison.

Lucien: As you well know, evolution of life cannot be free from destruction and violence, and Evols are not exception to that rule. You are nothing but a “bait” now.

I didn’t understand the underlying meaning of his words, but I got the general idea. He was the hunter, I was his prey. He’d been targeting me from the very first moment.

All parts of my body were screaming “run!” I pushed him away and ran towards the stairs. But he didn’t let me escape. I felt a sharp pain on my wrist and next moment he was dragging me away with an iron grip.

Lucien: Don’t think that I would let you out of my grasp so easily.

I knew it now. He was Ares. He was not Lucien anymore. To be more precise, Lucien…. he doesn’t exist anymore. Despair and sorrow flooded my heart more than fear.

Yōurán: What are you going to do with me?

I waited for whatever he would do next. Whatever it was, I was ready to take it.

Lucien: You seem to misunderstand me. I don’t plan to do anything to you.

He suddenly let go of my wrist. His attitude was back into the typical Lucien-style warmth and gentleness. Like what I just saw was just a trick of the brain.

Lucien: A normal person would soon see that you are not a subject of protection.

With that he walked past me and opened his lab door. He looked back at me and said.

Lucien: I assume you don’t need me to see your way out.

The door closed shut in my face. As soon as it did I sagged down to the floor. It took me a long time until I could find my feet again.

As I exited the research building I did not know that a pair of eyes was looking at me hidden behind the curtains.

------------------------------------------------------------

I walked silently in the heavy snow.

I replayed the vision I saw in my head again. The person I bumped into was just a normal passerby, but his future I glimpsed into was anything but normal. Somehow, without reason, I felt that the explosion from my vision was related to me.

But there wasn’t anything I could do about it… I was forgotten by everyone, forsaken by the world, and I had no real power or strength….

Yōurán: Chin up!

I shouted to myself and slapped my face to break out of helplessness.

Yōurán: There are still things that I can do!

I whipped out my phone and called Gavin. He didn’t answer. With a little hesitation I called the Task Force but it said that the number didn’t exist. I didn’t anticipate immediate success, but I still felt a little downhearted.

Yōurán: It’s too early to give up now. Where was the exact place of the explosion…

-------------------------------------------------------------------

I arrived at the riverside square and looked around.

Yōurán: Is it here?

Nothing looked out of place and there was no sign of coming explosion. And my mind didn’t launch another vision.

Yōurán: Did I come to the right place…. or did I see it wrong?

Just then I saw a black figure hiding in the shadow of a tall building. Without thinking I stepped closer to him. Closer, and then closer. Finally I could see him clearly. Black uniform. Straight posture. Snow on his shoulder showing that he’d been standing there a long time.

I rubbed my eyes several times. I was afraid I was dreaming. But I wasn’t. He was right there. The person I have wanted to see for so long.

Yōurán: Gavin!

Unbridled joy took control of my body, but reason kept me from running into his arms. Suppressing my impulse, I hid between the crowds to move closer in his general direction.

Gavin looked thinner than before. What happened to him while I was gone? The possibility that he had forgotten me as well left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Gavin: ...All clear.

Gavin finished talking into his phone and moved out of my sight.

Wait! I yelled silently as I hurried after him. I managed to catch sight of him disappearing around a corner. It was only then that I realized that I was in a deserted alley with no one around. I placed each step carefully.

Yōurán: …Gavin?

The silence made my footsteps sound louder.

Yōurán: Gavin? Are you there?

I tentatively called out his name. Suddenly I felt a gust of wind behind.

Yōurán: Who are-

I tried to turn around but he was quicker than me. He grabbed my arm mercilessly and slammed me against the wall. I yelled out in pain. With a metal click a pair of handcuffs were slapped on my wrists.

Gavin: Freeze!

His voice was threatening and menacing. I looked directly into his fierce eyes. The familiar gentleness was gone.

It was confirmation in the cruelest possible way. Gavin had forgotten me too.

Gavin: Who are you? Why are you spying on me?! Tell me who you are!

His tone was intimidating, like he was addressing a criminal suspect. His strong grip was digging into my wrists to prevent me from escaping. It was so tight that my wrists were screaming out in pain.

Gavin: Answer me right now! Who sent you?!

He asked again when I stayed silent, his hands gripping me tighter. I actually couldn’t breathe because of the pain.

Yōurán: I’m on my own… and I wasn’t spying on you…

The physical pain alone was enough to make my eyes tear up. I couldn’t believe that Gavin of all people would subject me to such violence.

Gavin: Then why did you follow me here?

Yōurán: Why can’t you trust me…?!

Indescribable sorrow surged up and I blurted out the accusation while crying.

The raw pressure on my wrists lessened, but he didn’t let go of me. The level of suspicion in his eyes decreased just a little.

Gavin: How did you know my name?

Yōurán: I graduated Loveland high school just like you. You were my senior(先輩)…

Gavin: Loveland high school? You must have good memories then.

I didn’t know whether he believed me, but he let go of my wrists and released the handcuffs. His eyes were still cold.

Gavin: But that doesn’t explain why you were following me.

Yōurán: I’m… sorry. I didn’t mean any harm…

I looked at Gavin, unable to voice the real reason. Which made me sadder than I could handle.

Gavin: I won’t overlook this next time.

With that he made to leave.

Yōurán: Gavin!

I wasn’t ready to let him go yet, so my emotion got the better of me and I called out to him.

He looked at me with evident irritation in his eyes.

Gavin: You still have something to say?

Yōurán: Don’t you remember me at all?

Gavin: I have very few memories of my high school days. Don’t follow me again.

He walked away from me.

Yōurán: Gavin, wait…

I staggered after him but he was gone.

The winds whistling around me felt like a climax of a requiem.

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When I exited the alley into the open street everything was dark. The rumbling in my stomach reminded me that I hadn’t eaten anything for a whole day.

I entered into a restaurant closest to me. The snow outside reminded me of the snow-white dream I had. I forgot the contents of the dream, but I remembered it was quite beautiful.

I was staring into space when a voice whispered in my ear: Do you regret your choice? Everyone forgot you. No one remembers your sacrifice. Do you regret it?

I looked up into the gray sky. I didn’t know whether my answer was yes or no. I was too distraught to find out.

A tall man was looking down at me with a grin in his face. He waved his hand at me and walked towards me.

Yōurán: You are…?

He sat down next to me.

??: There you are.

He was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place where I’d met him before.

Yōurán: Uh…. who are you?

??: Don’t you remember me?

Yōurán: Have we met…?

I wracked my brains.

Yōurán: Oh! We met that day on the bus, right?

I finally remembered our short encounter on the bus. But then again…

Yōurán: How come you remember me then?

Right now, he was the only person who didn’t forget who I am! I didn’t really know who he was. I didn’t know whether he had any ulterior motive. But right now, he was my only hope.

The man didn’t answer right away and looked at me with a gleam in his eyes.

??: I’m the one who called you this morning.

I recognized his voice from the phone call.

Yōurán: That was you?!

??: Yes, it was me. The dream-world doesn’t affect me.

Yōurán: Then do you know what happened in the dream? And why everyone forgot me?

??: No, I don’t know what happened in your dream. I only know that the dream is caused by Evol and you’re not strong enough to block it.

He smiled in a mocking way. I found his conceited attitude very annoying but suppressed the feeling.

Yōurán: But can one person’s Evol affect everyone on this earth?

??: It’s not as simple as that. But if we get rid of that Evol then maybe people will start remembering you again.

I looked at him with suspicion. I couldn’t tell whether his words were all true, or if there were some falsehoods in there.

This man knew my number, knew where to find me, and this was the second time we met. All of this could not be coincidence.

Yōurán: Why are you telling me this?

He sensed my distrust but didn’t seem to care.

??: Just… for fun. You have no other choice but to believe me, you know.

I looked at him. It suddenly occurred to me that his careless, casual attitude was his strategy to let my guard down, hiding his true face.

??: What’s so great about this world?

With a smirk he looked out the window. I followed his gaze and looked out as well. Snow was falling and people were moving about busy with their lives. The sight of a peaceful and beautiful city.

I finally found the answer to the question that was asked of me.

Yōurán: I don’t know.

He raised his eyebrows at my honest answer.

Yōurán: I don’t know whether this world is good or not. But that’s not for me to decide alone. Even if I couldn’t find the answer, as long as there is still hope, this world is indeed beautiful and worth it.

So… No. I do not regret my choice. I answered the question that was in my head.

??: Dull.

He smiled mysteriously.

??: I hope you don’t change your thoughts. This world has already changed anyway.

He stood up and leaned towards me.

??: Remember, my name is Ling Xiao.

Ling Xiao: You can have my umbrella. No need to thank me.

He opened the door and disappeared into the snow.

Yōurán: What’s up with him….

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After I finished my meal I hesitated, but in the end took Ling Xiao’s umbrella as I went out into the snow.

This year’s winter was particularly cold. The umbrella became heavier with snow. As I was lost in my thoughts I bumped into someone. What was more embarrassing was… I lost my balance and was about to fall down.

??: Be careful.

With a slight chuckle the person I bumped into grabbed me and kept me from falling.

Yōurán: Ah, thank you.

My face turned red with embarrassment.

??: Are you okay?

A voice that was clear as a melody rang out. I looked up.

A man who was breathtakingly handsome appeared in front of my eyes. Somehow, I could imagine a field covered with ice and snow behind him.

Yōurán: I’m fine…

??: Be careful. The roads are slippery.

He let go of me with impeccable manners and took a step back to farther our distance that was too close. Then went down and picked up the umbrella that I had dropped. Every bit of his act was elegant like a gentleman. I took the umbrella, thanked him and walked away.

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I walked along the riverside. The setting sun was emitting out a mild light above the bridge, coloring the snowflakes with golden hues.

Yōurán: I didn’t know that snow falling on the river could be this beautiful.

I stopped and breathed in the cold air clearing my head. My mind was peaceful like the landscape before me.

I do not regret my choice. I repeated to myself again.

I do not regret dying to save this world.

I do not regret leaving the snowy-white dream and returning to reality.

Because this choice, this path I walk on will lead me to where I want to be.

Yōurán: Yes! It’s time for me to go home!

With light footsteps I finally headed towards home.

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Oh my god that was a long and hard work but it was worth every moment of it!

The first thing I thought when I read this chapter was: I got stabbed in the heart to save the world and this is the thanks I get?

Chapters 15-18 was a tearjerker and heartbreaking, but the shock factor was greater in chapter 19-21.

I already knew what was going to happen since Ling Xiao’s call but it still hurt so much to see the boys not remember Yōurán one by one and mistreat her. (Because let’s face it. Their actions taken out of context is similar to real life relationship abuse.) 

Except Victor, he is completely indifferent and has no concerns for her at all but he is still civil to her, which speak volumes of his maturity. With or without Yōurán, Victor’s character remains pretty much the same. In contrast, Yōurán was a crucial factor in forming the other three’s personality and... well, for the lack of a better word, not being jerks.

Without meeting Yōurán, Lucien would have become 100 % Ares.

Without meeting Yōurán, Kiro would have become 100 % Helios of Black Swan.

Without Yōurán, without the Campus Date, Gavin would have grown to become like this.

If you read again, how Yōurán reunites with each of the guys is a twisted parallel of how they first met in chapter 1. Victor saving her from a car, meeting Kiro in the convenience store, meeting Lucien in his research institute, Gavin finding her first in the city.

I said in this post that the story of MLQC follows a chess motive in Through the Looking Glass. To summarize the points:

The story of MLQC follows a game of chess with characters as chess pieces.

Yōurán is a pawn on her journey to become queen. The LIs are the pieces knight, rook, bishop and king.

I want to continue with this metaphor.

When a pawn reaches the end of the chessboard it becomes a queen. Also there are pieces of the opponent. Yōurán is white pawn and the guys are other white pieces. The white pawn(Yōurán) confronted black queen in chapter 18 and went Through the Looking Glass to the enemy side of the chessboard.

In this world in the mirror(chapter 19~), on the opposite side of the chessboard she meets dark, mirror versions of the LIs(or black pieces of the chess) If the pawn doesn’t give up and walk steadily one square at a time, when it reaches the end of the board she will arise as queen.

“I do not regret dying to save this world and I will continue to do whatever I can to protect the people on this earth.”

This is Yōurán’s words in chapter 19~21 combined into one sentence. I admired her character in this batch of chapters. Her strength, her purity and her philanthropic spirit were part of what made me love this story.

But what do you think about this? How did you find the LIs in this chapter? What do you think of the two new characters, Ling Xiao and the Piano Guy? Do you agree with MC’s choice in this story?

I’m sorry for saying this all the time but brace yourself, for the winter is coming.

[deathflares]

» ffxivwrite day #23 — shuffle

wolexarch, 2k words, T.

[ao3 mirror]

“Indulge me,” she insists, seemingly amused by his hesitation. “It’s just harmless fun, my lord—something I’m sure both you and I could use more of.”

He swallows. There’s a deep, if irrational fear within him that she’ll somehow be able to pull a card that reads “G’raha Tia” in big, bold letters.

This time he finds Shiori by one of the tables in the Catenaries, and it’s barely half a bell past five. She doesn’t seem to notice him approaching, occupied with a deck of cards she shuffles with slow but practiced deftness.

“Is this a late night or an early morning, my friend?”

She blinks and looks up at him, hands stopping their movement. Her lips press together in a closed-mouth smile.

“I believe I should be the one to ask that question, my lord,” she answers, bemused. “Lyna has mentioned to me in passing some concerns about your sleep schedule—or rather, your apparent lack of one.”

She gestures towards the chair across from hers, a silent invitation. “In my defense,” he says, sitting, “sleep hasn’t been a need of mine for a long time, now.”

“Not being necessary doesn’t mean it wouldn’t do you well,” she says. “But I’m certain you’ve heard enough nagging from the Captain as is. I doubt mine will convince you to get any more sleep.”

He shrugs, smiling wryly, then gestures to the deck in her hands. “And what might those be?”

He’s aware she’s proficient in Sharlayan astromancy, but whatever deck she’s holding doesn’t seem familiar to him—far too many cards, for instance.

“Tarot cards,” she answers. “My grandmother taught me to read them when I was a girl, and it’s been a pastime of mine ever since. Have you ever had your fortune read, Exarch?”

That’s a new one, he supposes. The sheer extent of her... abilities, be it in combat or otherwise, never ceases to amaze him. “I’m afraid not,” he answers.

Shiori hums. “Care to try, then? I for one am quite interested in learning what may lie in the future of a man such as yourself.”

Her tone is pleasant, but the glint in her eyes feels vulturous. He resists the urge to squirm under her gaze. “I’m not sure I should—”

“Indulge me,” she insists, seemingly amused by his hesitation. “It’s just harmless fun, my lord—something I’m sure both you and I could use more of.”

He swallows. There’s a deep, if irrational fear within him that she’ll somehow be able to pull a card that reads “G’raha Tia” in big, bold letters. Yet he can’t bring himself to refuse her. Harmless fun, she says—he certainly hopes it’ll hold true.

“... Very well,” he concedes.

Shiori beams. “Thank you,” she says, shuffling the cards one more time. She splits the deck in three parts, rearranges them back together, then spreads them out in front of him in a tidy arc. “Pick six. Try not to worry over it too much—just follow your intuition.”

G’raha proceeds to worry too much over it. Somehow this feels like a matter of life and death. Trying not to second-guess himself, he touches the back of six cards with a finger and slides them down away from the arc and towards the center of the table.

Shiori gathers the remaining cards in a single pile and slides them to the side, then flips each of the cards he’d chosen, placing them around the table in a circular formation. She hums again, resting her head on her hand and looking down at the cards with a smile, as if they’re telling her a particularly amusing story.

“These cards,” she says, gesturing to the three cards that have names written on them, “are the major arcana. They represent the most deeply rooted issues within our lives. And these cards,” she points towards the other three, which only have numbers on them, “are the minor arcana. They provide context to the major arcana, and relate to our everyday experiences.”

G’raha looks down to examine the cards. He has no idea what they mean, and he hasn’t even seen many tarot cards to be able to judge, but he’d be willing to bet that Shiori owns the most beautiful deck they offer. The artwork on the cards is stunning, enough that he wishes he could get them framed—each picture seemingly hand drawn in black and white, aside from a unique splash of color somewhere on the card.

“Each position in the spread has a specific meaning, which is why the order you pulled the cards is important,” Shiori explains. “This one,” she points at the card at the very top of the spread, “is your question. What you’re really concerned about, at the moment.”

The card in question is void of any color, depicting only seven circles with stars inside of them, sorted in a diagonal line. Nothing about it seems to give away its meaning.

“For you, it’s the seven of pentacles. It relates to contemplation and uncertainty, especially in regard to one’s work—such as wondering if you’re going to succeed. Perhaps you’re looking back at your hard work and wondering if your efforts might fail, or go unrewarded.” She taps her finger against the card, staring G’raha down with a smile that feels threateningly knowingly. “Sounds familiar to you?”

That does sound like my biggest concern, my friend, thank you. “Perhaps a bit,” he says, straining his lips in what he hopes comes across as a calm smile. If Shiori smells his fear, which he somehow wouldn’t put past her to be able to, she doesn’t mention it. Instead, she taps another card.

“Your second card is what you want most right now. For you, it’s the Lovers.”

The name is written on the card, below a pair of birds mid-flight. They’re surrounded by lines of color, as if rays of light are pouring down on them. G’raha suddenly feels very exposed.

“If you cards are insinuating I’m looking for a lover, my friend, I’m afraid they’ve erred this time,” he says mildly, praying Althyk won’t let her tell it’s a blatant lie.

Shiori laughs. “It doesn’t have to be a relationship, necessarily. The Lovers can also mean union and harmony, so perhaps you’re craving a sense of balance in your life, or merely... companionship.”

The accuracy of this is starting to make him feel more than a little uncomfortable. Shiori continues.

“Or, it can be exactly what you thought. The most obvious meaning behind the Lovers card is, indeed, love. Though it could also relate to, say, sexual desire,” she suggests, cocking her head innocently as if she has not just implied he’s overwhelmed with lust. G’raha’s breath catches in his throat, sending him into a quite graceless cough. Shiori chuckles again, but spares him further torment by moving on to the next card.

“Your third card represents your fears. For this one, you drew the Tower.”

Despite its name, the card she points to doesn’t depict an actual tower. Instead, there’s a tree being struck by lightning, shattering its trunk and setting its leaves on fire. Wonderful.

“The Tower relates to sudden change, chaos and, well,” she pauses, holding what would be eye contact were it not for his cowl. “Revelations. See the lightning? It cuts through the illusions and lies you have been telling yourself and others, making the truth come to light. As a result, all that you had built upon these lies crumbles down around you.”

You’re a liar, and your biggest fear is that your deception will be laid bare, she might as well have told him. G’raha instinctually averts her eyes, even though she couldn’t see his if she tried. “I see,” is all he says.

Shiori seems to take his lack of elaboration as a sign to continue. “Your fourth and fifth are, respectively, what you have working in your favor and against you. You drew the two of cups and the seven of swords.”

Shiori turns her attention towards the fourth card. It depicts, like its name, a pair of cups. Between them stands two roses, crossing each other in an X shape, with the red of their petals acting as the only colour in the card.

“This is another card that relates to love and connections,” she explains, seeming amused. “Based on its position, I’d say there’s an important relationship in your life, and the bond you share with this person will be key in facing the obstacles that may stand in your way.”

The way Shiori watches him feels different from mere moments ago, like there’s more she wants to say but is holding herself back from doing so. The weight of her gaze makes his pulse quicken.

“It could be just a friendship, though this card usually relates to romance. Your connection with this person is—or will be—very deep, and you’ll rely on each other a lot.”

She flashes him another smile, but something about it feels wistful. She seems—sad. Before he can question why, she continues.

“Your fifth—what’s working against you—is the seven of swords,” she says, turning her attention towards said card. Akin to its name, there are six swords displayed in a vertical row. Underneath them lies a curled-up fox, hiding the seventh sword beneath its tail.

“Somehow I feel I could guess the meaning of this one,” he says, wryly. Shiori snickers.

“It does feel a bit on the nose,” she concedes. “As you may have guessed, the seven of swords relates to deception and trickery. Whether you're the keeper of the secrets or the kept-from is for you to tell—but, either way, this deception is not working in your favor. It is likely interfering with your goals, or even the relationship that the two of cups represents.”

G’raha’s throat feels dry. He resigns himself to his suffering. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” he says flatly, Shiori’s eyes glued to him making it exceedingly difficult to piece his words together. She continues.

“The last card in the spread is the outcome of your current situation. And you actually drew the first card in the major arcana for it, which is interesting. It’s a bit of an odd card to have as a conclusion.”

He turns his attention towards the sixth card, at the lowest position in the spread. It depicts a bird perched on a branch. Though the animal is drawn in black and white, the background is made of horizontal lines in yellow and orange, reminding him of the sky at dawn. “The Fool”, reads the letters at the bottom of the card. Not satisfied with calling him a lecherous liar who desperately craves companionship, the cards have now resorted to calling him an imbecile. Wonderful.

“I feel like your cards have been making quite the concentrated effort to insult me, my friend.”

Shiori giggles. He’s thankful she finds his suffering amusing, at least. “That does seem so, Exarch,” she says, leaning her head against her hand, elbow perched on the table. “But I must remind you that they were pulled by your hand. By themselves, they’re quite harmless. In the order you placed them, however…”

The implication doesn’t amuse him. He clears his throat. “Will you tell me what the last one means?” he asks, eager to change the subject.

Shiori blinks, then turns her attention back to the cards. “Despite its name, the Fool doesn’t represent literal foolishness,” she explains, finger tracing the edges of the card absentmindedly. “It relates to new beginnings, new adventures and opportunities. Freedom, following one’s heart, the excitement of embracing the unknown—those are all things represented by the Fool. It’s the start of a new journey, which is why it’s the very first card in the major arcana.”

If the previous cards felt like insults in their accuracy, this one feels like mockery.

“I guess this means that in the end, you’ll find yourself able to begin anew, Exarch,” she says, offering him a small, tired smile. “A nice thought, I suppose. Is there aught you long to do, once your work is done?”

G’raha Tia would have enough answers to this question to entertain her through the whole day. The Exarch, however—

“Rest,” he answers. A half-truth, as he’s so used to delivering. “Some rest would be nice.”

Shiori hums in quiet agreement. The cards lay between them, an ocean of distance.

“That would be nice,” she says. “That would be nice indeed.”

[scoundrels-in-love]

Prompt for Braime (or someone else if the fancy strikes you): Baisemain - A kiss on the hand.

It only took approximately 2 months for me to fill this prompt, but here it finally is! My longest finished work as of yet. I hope you enjoy!

Big shoutout to @nire-the-mithridatist​ for making it a lot more presentable as well as whole bunch of people I don’t want to tag but named in my AO3 notes.

I

Jaime insists on accompanying her back to her light freighter that is docked in the bay of Lannister command ship. 

They do not speak as they walk side by side. Some of the crew throw them curious glances, but most are absorbed in their work. She grips the lion pommel, tries not to think of how she had tried to give him back the priceless relic. It's made of Valyrian steel no one could replicate even a thousand years later. It belongs by his side or in a museum, but now she can only think of the way his voice dipped when he said It’s yours. It will always be yours, the words reverberating in their footsteps and it’s all she can feel in the familiar smoothness of hilt, like a new gem encrusted in it and Brienne traces over it with tentative appreciation.  

They face each other for goodbyes, one final one they may have a chance to say to each other, and for a brief moment, she wishes she had an eye implant that’d burn his features into its memory card - the curl of his mouth around a comment layered with things she cannot quite decipher, a few graying hairs and the lines worn into his face by age and regret (and loneliness, she thinks). But at least this way, no one can ever take it away from her.

“Good luck, though I doubt the steadfast Maid of Tarth is in need of such trite things.”

“If the Blackfish is as you describe, I am sure it will be his niece’s letter, not favor of luck, that will win him over. But I do hope it will be my side nonetheless. I do not wish to face you on the battlefield, Ser Jaime, as honor would compel me, should my mission fail.” The lion head feels heated in her palm, as if the forge it was made in resents her for the thought of striking down the man who gave it to her. It wouldn’t be a choice, she tells herself. There is never a choice when it comes to Jaime Lannister.

“I am not much of an opponent anymore, as you very well know from our spars. You have little to worry about, my lady.” 

She doesn’t have the clever tongue to rebuke him without saying too much, without revealing the dread that pulsates in her heart at the thought of seeing him fall in a fight, whether by her own sword or anyone else’s weapon. But the way Jaime mocks himself, even though the fact of their parting itself is exact opposite of all he believes himself to be, is one battlefield she’ll meet him on readily. 

“You underestimate yourself in the most important matters again, Ser Jaime.” She thinks she succeeds in saying it lightly, reminding him that he is, indeed, too haughty in some ways, in attempt to get a rise out of him, but it lands flat, as all her attempts at banter do. 

“And you hold me in too high esteem.” The depreciation in his tone, laced with challenge and dusted with sadness makes Brienne wish she could… She doesn’t know what exactly, but there is a physical ache in her hands, almost as if to hold him. It must be from the way she’s gripping onto Oathkeeper.

“Despite everything, you always manage to exceed my expectations when it matters. I believe that will remain true in the future, too. Goodbye, Ser Jaime.” She must go now, before she finds words for that glowing ache now nestled in her chest as well (if she does, they will burst through her very skin, she fears), so she turns on her heel sharply.

"Brienne."

She stops, his hand so warm around her own, and unexpectedly gentle, but stronger than any tractor beam as Jaime softly tugs her to turn around and face him.

There's no time for this, she wants to say, even without knowing what this is, but even holding  to Oathkeeper's hilt doesn't help find her voice, likely lost in the endless forest of his eyes.

"For the next time." He brings her large, calloused hand to his lips and presses a kiss to her knuckles reverently, lingering there and then brushing downward and over her ring finger, as tenderness in his eyes shifts into something Brienne understands even less. The trail burns in her mind as if traced by molten gold. The meaning of it does, too, and she flushes, unsure how to accept or reject such an honor. She has half a mind to argue, but there is pride in her, too.

Before she can decide which way to leave the warm current drowning her, Jaime speaks up again: "We will meet again." It sounds like an oath. No one has sworn one to her. She doesn't know how to accept it, there is nothing in all of the volumes of Vows and Oaths through Millennia about anything like this, so she merely nods stiffly, hoping it will not become one of those conflicting oaths he spoke of when they first met. 

"Ser Brienne," Podrick calls for her and the way his voice breaks on her name alarms her. The young man's eyes are wider and rounder than she has ever seen, which is saying something, locked on their hands and she cannot blame him - it is not every day that the best swordsman in perhaps the whole galaxy admits to finding someone superior. She pulls away abruptly, dispelling the image of how easily her huge hands could cradle his face, but the realization of how ridiculous it would look doesn't vanish as easily. 

"Ser Jaime," her voice finally emerges, rough as if it had to fight its way back to her, “until our paths cross again.” Jaime smiles, then, and it is more blinding than sun rays falling right into her eyes back when she used to lay beneath trees back on Tarth on early, lazy afternoons. She must’ve said the right thing, then. 

She feels his gaze on her back, as keenly as she’d feel the laser crosshairs of a rifle, but Brienne trusts him not to press the trigger. More than she did when she stepped in this bay, or maybe not, because her belief in him is already a spire that has reached the dome of the sky. It makes sense in ways she cannot explain.

Jaime is still standing where she left him when she brushes past her flustered squire into the cockpit. As the engine roars to life, Jaime raises a hand in wave and though she knows he cannot see it through the quartz glass, she mirrors the gesture, but then drops her arm awkwardly and begins compiling everything she can find on Weirnet about the Blackfish, as the ship starts to approach the siege line. She will not waste this opportunity he has given her.

When the Tully fleet moves past. The Lannister blockade that night, she wonders if he’d smile at her and tell her once more that he’s proud, just as he had done back in King’s Landing when he had given her rank of Knight Commander. Brienne likes to imagine that he would.

And when a week later, Pod asks her if she’s going to accept, her confused scowl sends him backtracking out of the conversation and the room, and Brienne forgets it almost immediately, because they’re approaching Winterfell sector and there are bigger things to think about. 

II

Yellow alert lights wash everything in a sickly toned, dim mockery of sunlight and perhaps it is the last one they will ever have. If Winterfell falls, so does the sector, and then the galaxy will inevitably follow, dimming and fading under all consuming strength of the White Walkers.

The thought is grim and all too plausible, so Brienne focuses on the task at hand instead.

There is the sound of rushing beyond the doors, people moving to their positions as battle already rages above them in space. But there is silence in the room, except for the soft rustling of the padded undergarments, clinks of metal sliding against metal as they finish donning their armors.

She finishes first, turns to Jaime to help. His prosthetic hand is state-of-the-art, but sometimes it fumbles still and she wonders if it's because of nerve damage he sustained.

The last concealed straps and seams close under her fingers swiftly and then there is only silence. Brienne means to move back, she should, but he captures her hand, brings it up in the almost non-existent space between their bodies.

"For after," his voice is low and heavy. She swallows thickly as if his words got stuck in her throat somehow. And then his lips press to the back of her gloved hand, but the golden heat of him sinks through, drips into her veins. 

He lifts his head and as his right arm wraps around her waist, Brienne thinks that maybe his mouth will trace hers like his gaze does and —

The alarms turn red, the new tone of it shooting through her and she startles just so, flushing further because Jaime must have felt it in this proximity.

But he doesn't laugh at her, does nothing really, so she steps away first. "For after," she echoes his words. Brienne isn't sure what he meant, perhaps a good luck charm of sorts - that there will be an after. 

Or maybe it has become an oath now.

III

The Grand Hall of Winterfell is full with people, but she thinks it feels so much more packed and hollow all at once for the intangible presence of all the men and women who died so the suns would always rise across the galaxy.

She is lucky, she knows, for those most dear to her heart are all here, in her line of sight, raising their cups and laughing, even. But she lost many good people on the battlefield, people who looked up to her and whom she could rely on, to the moment they drew their last breath and then she had to cut them down again and that is the blood that had stained her hands and armor the most.

Most of the blood has been washed away, yet somehow taints the edges of her vision nonetheless, only gradually wiped away by the rise and fall of merriment around her - there is so much laughter from everyone, including Podrick just a little away and even Lady Sansa, by whose side she faithfully stands still.

Her gaze trips over Jaime’s, who is sitting opposite to Podrick, not for the first time tonight, and though there’s been no chains between them for a long time, Brienne feels linked to him all the same, drawn in with tugs far gentler than she used to give him. Yet she does not, will not, move.

“You are free to go to him, Ser Brienne. You know that.”

Lady Sansa’s voice carries a tone of resigned irritation and amusement all at once, as if she is trying to guide a child to some obvious answer, but the child keeps insisting on picking every other option. 

It takes her a moment, but when she looks at her Lady, Brienne realizes she’s the child and one that doesn’t even know what the question is. 

“Lady Sansa, I am where I am supposed to be.” 

“I am quite safe here, thank you, and I am sure you will be able to make your way back to me in no time, if need arose, Ser Brienne. Just go to your squire. And Lannister.”

That she only mentions one Lannister, when there are, in fact, two, sitting side by side, does not go by Brienne unnoticed, but she is unsure how to handle the implications, even in the privacy of her own mind. So, she hesitates.

Lady Sansa doesn’t. 

“I will trust the man more if I know you are the one responsible for what goes in his astromech port. Don’t lose that on my account.” 

Brienne bristles at that, more on Jaime’s behalf than the impossible suggestion that she has some importance in his life. (It just stings distantly, like a limb that has gone to sleep, a reminder of things that she’d like to hold, but cannot.) Though she, frankly, doesn’t appreciate the tone and odd wording it's said in, either. “I am not his keeper and Ser Jaime is capable of earning trust himself, should you give him chance.”

“I will be more inclined to give him that chance if I know his heart is content and here.”

She didn’t think it was possible to choke on an inhale, yet that’s what Brienne does. The breath just hitches, knocks against her windpipe wrong somehow, and she focuses on Oathkeeper's hilt in her palm as if its sturdiness could anchor the air and her feelings both.

“My Lady, I… I don’t know why you would think that- that Ser Jaime harbors any such feelings for me, but let me reassure you that we are not involved. He would never see me in such a light.” She feels like a child again, stumbling through her courtesies in front of her angry Septa. No, it reminds her more of when Cersei Lannister had smiled, words filed down into fine dagger points - But you love him. 

At least that had been true. And she hadn’t needed to explain with burning, bitter words how improbable it is for Jaime to think of her as anything but respected comrade, a friend if she is so lucky. Or unfortunate, as most would think, but Brienne knows there are few loyalties so bone-deep as his. Which makes the thought he’d pick her even more of a caricature. Cersei may be a White Dwarf, cold and unlikely to nurse a life in her orbit, but she is a star nonetheless, while Brienne is just…

“Brienne.” Sansa’s hand is warm as she rests it lightly over Brienne’s own and she coaxes it to relax, knowing her stance is being read like a plain and badly bound book.

“Tonight, we celebrate victory in war that could hardly be won. Perhaps it is time to think about what we can do with that hard-earned life. Who we wish to spend it with. And to re-evaluate what we thought to be impossible odds. I assure you, they are not so unlikely.”

It is almost gently said, but wields the same sort of steel that Lady Catelyn had always carried with her. And Brienne doesn’t have the kind of sword that could block its edge.

“Lady Sansa. Ser Brienne.”

Sansa removes her hand and smiles almost graciously at Jaime. There is sharpness to her eyes and Brienne knows him well enough to know this time it genuinely needles him, for some reason. Yet, he doesn’t ask for permission, looks only at her: “I need to speak with Ser Brienne. Privately.” 

With a widening smile, gilded with victorious gleam, Lady Sansa nods. “About time, Ser Jaime. Go on, Ser Brienne. Take all the time you need.”

Since she would rather face whatever Jaime has to say than continue previous conversation with her Lady, Brienne bows to her and then follows the other knight. They don’t go far - he rounds her into one of the quiet rooms, drowning in the light of both moons high in Winterfell sky.

She can still hear revelry from the huge hall and even where some of the crowd has spilled into the corridors, but otherwise silence has settled between them and it feels heavy in ways it hasn’t in years. There has been so much said tonight, she doesn’t entirely trust her own thoughts or tongue if she was to interrupt it. Besides, Jaime had said he wished to speak, yet all he does is pace in front of her with unfamiliar tenseness that sets her heart on edge.

“Will you stop that,” she snaps at him, because that she knows how to do. Jaime does and she immediately wishes she had remained silent, because now he’s looking directly at her and she has to face the tension in his eyes, his mouth. 

The silence stretches, vibrates in the tempo of her uneasy heartbeat. “You said you wished to talk.” 

“I thought you might have something to say to me, Brienne.” He looks as if he is planning to break a siege line alone, no matter what damage he might sustain.

It makes no sense. Nothing does. 

“I don’t.” (She does, but there are no words that would not turn to mud on her tongue and leave her drowning when he laughs her off.)

“Is that your answer?” Jaime sounds choked and the sound goes straight to her stomach, drags it downward as if someone had turned gravity setting up too far on a space station. 

She doesn’t know how to fix something she cannot even see or name, yet she feels it breaking with her whole being. 

“To what?”

There is a pause and then something in Jaime’s demeanour changes, eases up in a way that lets her stomach unclench a little. She will take the first hints of cocksure grin any day, though it has never meant anything safe. It makes her think of moonlight’s bridge across Tarth’s waters - gorgeous, alluring, but following it will do you no good. 

So Brienne almost steps back when he comes towards her, but decides to stand her ground. Takes a deep breath which he might feel more than she did, at this proximity. 

“Do you really not know? Or this is just an excuse to have me ask you a third time? I did not think you to be so coy, Brienne.” His hand seeks out hers, startling her, but Brienne can’t look away from his face just in case it finally reveals a clue to this entire bizarre conversation.

“Ask me what?” she tries to clarify, the stupidity of the question far greater than the volume of her voice. 

Jaime brings their joined hands up, presses warm lips to her knuckles, lingering there and then moving to her ring finger as he had back in Riverrun (she has memorized and traced these spots so often in the dark of her bunk she can tell he is centimeter off at the start), pressing another kiss there. She cannot see the green of his eyes, which she mourns, but at least he cannot discern the blush overtaking her face either. 

Still holding her hand, he leans closer to her and huffs faintest laugh. Part of her retreats in armor which is more familiar to her than the blue set Jaime had given her, preparing for a hailstorm of laughter and mockery. But it sounds so relieved somehow. “You truly don’t know,” Jaime says and more of his tension seems to turn to smoke before her eyes. 

“What do you think this means?” he asks, squeezing her hand before entwining their fingers. Brienne shivers, takes a moment to find her voice.

“That you respect me. It’s a sign of reverence, is it not?” It feels like she is so close to the exit from some wicked maze, but she still has no idea what she will find. Jaime drags her onward nonetheless.

“In a way, that is true. I do respect you, Brienne. More than anyone.” She smiles, before she can help it. It’s one thing to feel it pressed into her skin and another - to hear it. His grin widens in return, before faltering briefly and the hopeful, edged look in his eyes is that of a man who gives her axe to decapitate him with, yet trusts her not to.

“But I was asking you to marry me.”

This can’t be real is her first thought, and maybe it also floats out along with a soft, shocked gasp. Maybe he is drunk or maybe she’s been drugged and having an intense hallucination or the blow to Jaime’s head was more severe than she had thought. How can a hand kiss even mean that? Though it would explain Podrick’s reaction back at Riverrun siege.

“Brienne,” he brings her disorganized thoughts to halt with low murmur. Lets her hand go and she has only a split-second to miss it, because then he is cupping her jaw and kissing her. It’s a soft, tender press of his lips, but it steals her breath away nonetheless and she clutches a the lapels of his Lannister red jacket. (The gall of him to wear it, in the heart of Winterfell. The gall of him to kiss her so gently it actually makes her feel so frail she might shatter.)

At her touch, he surges upward and what has been soft becomes heated and desperate. His right arm wraps around her waist, pulling her closer and his left hand mimics the way hers has sunk into his hair. Her mouth gives his tongue entrance and in exchange, Brienne loses her sense of time, of anything that’s not Jaime. 

Finally they part and somehow, she is now pressed against the wall she refused back to at the start of their conversation. It’s a good thing, Brienne decides, because her knees feel a little wobbly. And despite all logic, she feels secure instead of trapped. But is it truly so illogical, when there is no one she trusts more than Jaime? Even now, when he is saying things she has a hard time believing, his sincerity undoes her doubts, takes old exchanges into gentle hands and shifts them into new focus that somehow makes sense. (She hasn’t known before, how it is to be looked at with love, but she knows him.)

“I would like to hear you say it,” he whispers against her mouth, the vulnerability he reveals in his tone almost like a kiss on its own. 

And for that alone she finds an answer easily, if otherwise she would hesitate, worry even when faced with his genuineness, overthink the mere probability and what it all means for their future. Now that she is given a choice in regards to him, any other option still blurs out and becomes inconsequential.

 “Yes. Yes, I will marry you, Jaime.” 

His smile makes twin moons’ light look washed out. “I love you,” Jaime tells her between kisses, peppered on her lips (that they’re so large almost doesn’t feel like a bad thing when he gently bites her bottom one), her cheeks, jawline, before coming back to her mouth. 

“This is rather backwards, don’t you think?” she muses, still reeling from his words and having given up on piecing together a map of the maze that led them here. Later, she will have questions to ask. Now she has Jaime to get lost in. (Openly - no more stolen dreams of brief touches. They - he - can be hers now.)

“You already said yes.” He pulls back just so, looking at her intently as if she could be having second thoughts. Brienne holds his face in her hands, realizes it might look as ridiculous as she had thought, but the way he leans into her touch renders it meaningless.

“I did. I do. I love you.” 

Then she is kissing him, thankful for the wall behind her and that they were told to take as much time they need, because she doesn’t think she can let him go any time soon.

IV

Brienne is sitting in the cockpit, watching the blur of Hyperspeed dissolve into familiar expanse of Stormlands sector before they make the jump to Tarth, when Jaime comes in. He stops next to the pilot’s chair and picks up her hand from where it is resting, presses kiss to it. Brushes his thumb over the golden band on her ring finger and his soft smile fills her chest with such warmth she realizes this is homecoming in its own right. 

“I already said yes in Sept, Jaime, in case you forgot,” she teases, as if her own heart is not still adjusting to the vastness it is now allowed to explore - loving and being with Jaime, the concept of having a family with him. There had been some long and serious conversations in the days after proposal and part of her still did not feel it was real, but in a bright warmth sort of way, instead of dreading when it all would fall apart. 

“As if I could. But I don’t intend on stopping kissing any part of you, just because you’re my wife. Besides, the meaning shifts once an engagement is established.” The way he says it makes her shiver a little, recall all the places he had kissed mere hours ago. It’s exactly what he intended, she knows. 

“That seems unnecessarily complicated.” If there will be a time when Brienne doesn’t make fun of the fact that a lot of fraught emotions could have been avoided if only Jaime had used his words, which he is usually in no shortage of, it is not going to be soon. “Much like the ruling house of Westerlands, I suppose.”

He sits down on the armrest, still holding her hand and grins down at her. “Bold words for someone married to a Lannister.” The way he manages to weave the fact they’re married in almost any sentence is obnoxious. Secretly, she basks in the fact wife must taste as honey-sweet and addicting on his tongue as husband does on hers.

“Who else will tell you like it is?” 

“Plenty of people, but there is no one else I would listen to.” Jaime’s voice is more soft than teasing, it almost overwhelms her again. His love is much like a tide she has watched slowly rising, not believing it even as it already washed around her ankles and kept rising higher. And when it finally swept over her completely, Brienne had discovered that instead of drowning, she could swim in it instead, like her lungs had been made for exploring these depths.

“As if you listen to me,” she tells him. It’s not an accusation, just a reminder that she wishes he would be more accepting of her kinder words, her faith in him. But they have years to gently wear down the self-denigration in each other’s eyes, lull it to sleep and hold the other through the hours and days it screams louder than any storm. 

“Yet Lady Sansa implied the same on the night of the feast,” Brienne muses, recalling how disbelieving she had been, more hurt than encouraged. 

“Did she, now? It was quite unnerving to watch the two of you talking. You hadn’t given an answer yet and I doubted she would say anything in my favor. Perhaps I was wrong.” The unspoken peace agreement between Jaime and Sansa is fragile and there seems to have been at least one conversation that Brienne hadn’t been part of, which is mildly worrying, but she will take it.

“She did tell me that my fears were unfounded and she would trust you more if I was responsible for your astromech port, which is an odd way to speak about my influence on your decision making.”

Jaime’s choked laugh surprises her: “The Stark queen isn’t so straight-laced after all, it seems.” She frowns up at him in confusion.

“Brienne,” he says slowly then, with a widening grin, “she wasn’t talking about decision making.” 

Jaime stands up, gently pulling her with him, eyes squinted just so and darkened to the shade of forest just before nightfall, which she’s slowly growing familiar with. It ignites a slow, but all consuming fire in her belly with a consistency she finds quite dangerous. (Or would, if she wasn’t so happy to burn to the ground and come alive again in his arms.)

“What do you mean?” Brienne asks, almost suspiciously. 

In response, he kisses her slowly, deeply and just before she submerges fully in the feeling, takes a step back. “Come and I will show you.” 

She follows him without another question. Perhaps she should be worried about Jaime’s unbridled, simmering delight with sinful edge, about her father who is expecting their arrival any minute now, but she cannot find it in her. It is their honeymoon, after all. 

Brienne is sure he will understand.

[witchingrey]

❛ In all your wanderings, have you seen others like me ? ❜ (from lelouch. It had been two days & I miss them already so much)

THE LAST UNICORN / A.

“…Are you this important? Why did she bring you?”

She ignores the question; her oddly sorrowful and dead voice responding as if in utmost weariness unto death…..as if each word were a tired final gasp heaved into syllables. A living moniker of suffering stood before him. The suffering of herself, the suffering of the world she had borne far, far too long…

The woman wreathed in black; as if death were a shroud. A prelude to the coming ‘end’ that awaited her in the ‘real world’. What was real? What was false? What was the defining ‘truth’ at the heart of one world and a ‘lie’ in another? Was the woman before him the Witch, or the Woman? Could it be they were of one body, one soul, merged so closely together, the burden of the world’s pain on her shoulders like a cross?

A pain no one could ever fathom to understand, which is why her ‘wish’ remained. She wearied of the sun turning to dull ocher in the light, even as her own eyes remained as brilliant as spun topaz. How the colors of the world had long dulled to grey. How her outfit seemed less transient than the white garb he was so familiar with; as if it was as see-through as the woman seemed more and more to be, as for some reason, she felt compelled to shield him within this realm.

Within the endless, vast, enormity of the World of C. Where her deaths and sufferings untold and unfathomable lay to rest and lay to scream, a long unheard wail. Until now. The exiled Prince, was entirely unfamiliar to her, and her sorrowful eyes marred with that inexplicable suffering seemed to spill as readily as blood or water. It was as if sorrow became one with the woman that was ‘C.C.’ and yet not ‘C.C.’…….it was as if the man instead had met ‘suffering’ in a living form.

“….Her connection is faint . “

She continues. “ I wonder if you are important….after all her strength is dwindling. “ She stares at the white walls; the long portraits that are endless and would send anyone into madness if stared into too long with the depth and breadth of the world they held. All her memories. All accumulations of experiences that did not lead to a life. All fruitless and fleeting, as surely as ‘hope’ was. 

“…Is it time then? It seems she once again, was unable to go through with allowing you to kill her. So she forced your hand in hopes of hatred filling your heart instead of whatever feelings you had for her.  If you hated her, you would never kill her, and she would free you of ever knowing her pain.

….You were important to her, weren’t you? She hates attachments. Maybe you were different. “ A long beat, piercing eyes affixed on his, piercing in their suffering, that if not for stronger souls may yet drive a man mad with how much lay inside those eyes . Softly, like a ghost she soon will become: 

“You say don’t know her, nor is she important, but you look disturbed. I wonder if she, too, picks up on your hidden emotions? In this world, where all is laid bare, where nothing was real nor kind nor good….perhaps she wanted you to understand her before the end. I can’t remember anything anymore. Feelings, taste, touch…all is empty to me. But you have color in this world. 

I, who am her heart, who cries out in eternal suffering…the real ‘her’ know her better, because after all, she has buried me, she cannot carry all of her pain… I cannot complain if we are to fade together finally fused, but she must have wanted in a short moment to keep you safe even if it kills her.

I don’t remember the feelings that should be ‘important’ but…you were ‘something’.” 

She doesn’t even smile at the realization that in the real world, the Witch he knows is dying. Facing an old ‘ally’ that she had dabbled in plans with; filled with an ominous golden glow that otherwise would have shrouded her in the warm, kind light she denied lingered in her body….the Thought Elevator churning and churning…

“….It seems time has gone on so long, and this journey too deeply that I feel no relief nor joy that it’s ending…only the emptiness we’ve always known. But with you there are flashes of purple and black. Bright colors. Before my time runs out, and I fuse with her and return you to a safer place…

…. do you know me? Was I… important to you? Or did I succeed in making you like so many others ‘hate me’ for the burden I bear so you wouldn’t? Here I am without lies, I speak truth without guarding myself even if perhaps you too, have caused me pain. “ Her sad eyes follow him so much that it seems he can’t bear to look at them for too long, the pain is too immense. 

“Even if it was a short time, and I cannot recall the feelings colors brought me…a strange sensation is in my chest at your face. I wonder if you were very important to me. So much that I would protect you here without understanding…”

“Yes, at last, my long journey is coming to an end…”

She cants her head almost lifelessly, as if one of the dead at the sound of her own voice echoing along with the unruly boy’s Father’s baritone. Not unlike his son’s. Yes, the Emperor will kill her, won’t he? Ah..very well. Even so, this boy will surely prevail somehow, won’t he? Her self believed in him…had grown to believe. She, the core self which could not ignore her true, shattered pieces of a heart….

“Yes, all those years of pain…..” A man’s voice.

“…It seems I’ve endured so long that even the relief of death feels strange. Your name is ….Lelouch? I don’t know you…but she does, and I am she. ”

 She ghosts past him; dull golden eyes flitting towards a portrait of a girl holding white lilies while a chain shackled to her ankle was coated in rust and dried blood; abrasions and wounds…A brief smile of respite on her face at holding such lovely things. Her fingers ghost the picture of beginnings.

“She will be dead soon. You should escape from your Father..was it? You were important to me, I know this much, this I understand. I don’t think I want you to die with me and so my decision — “

 The pictures around them begin to blur into a collective of colors; faded and washed out and tired …the emotionless and nigh lifeless Witch in black, no, the suffering woman in dark clothing uttering in a soft voice, as if recognizing herself for the first time…

The world vanishes in an instant, and with it, her eyes on his; oddly soft and fond as if realizing in the seconds that are left to her that yes, he was important, he was dear, and whether he hated or resented her, he remained so. Wearily her eyes close as if the sight of a being of colors and warmth is too much, too used to darkness, despair and life without end…

Her voice, the sound of a fond, listless goodbye:

“Goodbye, Lelouch. I sever you from me, and I from you…..farewell.”

So she banishes him from her long dead world, waiting to die.

[gujoonim]

The Boy Who Left | 01

“You never thought it takes you five years to find those pair of eyes that you were looking for at the aisle on your wedding day. ”

◇ genre : angst // ceo au ◇ summary :  As your eyes staring deeply into your possible client-to-be’s eyes, something crossed your mind, it was that pair of eyes that you were looking for when you being abandoned at the aisle on your wedding day.  ◇ pairing : jungkook x reader ◇ words : 4.3k

 next 》

“Next!” The loud voice calling for the next candidate from the room does show that you are quite nervous on that time by the way you head shot up straight upon hearing the voice, looking at the man, who probably be the one that called for the candidate as only his head appeared from the half-opened door, looking around for the next candidate.

A look of scared and nervous dart over your face as you let out a sigh, figured out that it is was not you that the man was calling for as your turns are quite far back from the current candidate. The continuous tapping of your shoes on the floor, producing a soft sound that somehow soothes your feelings right now and that action does help you to ease your stress muscles as well as fidgeting your fingers.

Yet, all you try to calm your feelings stopped in a halfway when you suddenly felt the warmth crept on your hands, grasping it firmly which makes you turn your head to meet with your colleague, Rose who is staring at you while placing a genuine smile as she looks so calm despite this kind of atmosphere that might brush off away all her calmness.

“Relax, we will make it. Trust me.” Her positive vibes radiated from her body towards you as you suddenly felt that the level of your anxiety slowly reducing upon hearing her simple encouraging words. She got you amused at her for remain despite this hectic times and being a newbie herself as she just graduated and got into your company last month yet she behaving maturely as someone who has been too long in this field.

You just nodded your head as a response to her, feeling too awkward to talk to her because you never had a chance to talk with her before this even you are working in the same place as you being so devoted to your work to even give a care to your surroundings. Supposedly, it was Jennie that will be the one who accompanied you here but she had some matters to be solved so you decided to take Rose with you.

Your eyes began to wander around the area, taking a closer look, trying to make you felt comfortable with it so you can stay calm while delivering your proposal towards the board of directors that might be your audience during the presentation time. You are hoping they will be interested with your proposal and you managed to get it for your company as it been a while since your company got this kind of chance to get a golden opportunity from the big company.

You will be the one that will determine whether your company succeed or not.

“Do you want some coffee? I want to grab one at the coffee machine?” You tilted your head, looking at Rose while waiting for her answer. She pressed her lips into a thin line, shook her head from side to side as a response to your question. You understand her body language so that you rise up from your seat, standing straight while adjusting your blouse before once again you turned to face her, asking for help to look after your stuff while you are gone.

It takes you more than fifteen minutes just to find the exact place of the coffee machine that you saw this morning as you entered the building and luckily you finally managed to find the machine which located few metres away from the main door of the building. You leaned your body again the machine as you inserted the coin and waiting for the coffee to be done. While your eyes wildly wandering around, enjoying the view of your surroundings, the beep sounds indicate that your coffee is done, snapping your mind back to your real intention there, to have a coffee.

You lowered your body to the level where you can take your coffee from the machine before going away from there to the waiting area but before you can even step away from there, the crack sounds coming from the lower part of your body managed to catch your attention as you felt something like a bump under your feet and it seems you have stepped on it and probably ruining the things.

You slowly crouched down to the floor, moving away your feet to see what you have stepped on and it is a toy, a car toy to be exact. While your other hand grasping the coffee firmly, your left hand slowly take the half-ruined car from the floor towards you so you can take a proper look at it, observing the current condition of the car. As you observe the car, your mind began to drift away, reminiscing the almost same incident that happened during your childhood. The moment where it started, the moment of you and him.

*

Your feet stumbled across something that almost makes you tripped and fell on the ground but luckily you managed to balance yourself before you could even fell. A loud snort came out from your mouth as well as your nose, frustrated over the non-living things which makes you to swiftly turn your body to look at the things, just to see that you have stepped over a toy car.

A glint of surprised can be seen on your face as you walked closer to the car that totally damaged. It makes your jaw to drop before your eyes flickering around to see if anyone saw your wrongdoings and as you finally confirmed that you are the only living person being there, you gathered a lot of energy especially at the part of your lower body, to kick away the car from other’s vision.

“That’s mine!” A loud voice shouting from your behind stopped your action which resulting to your leg stopped half-way before you can even kick the cars and you slowly turning your head to face a furious looking boy, who is clenching his finger into a fist witnessing you trying to hide your mistake.

The air around you growing tense and you don’t have any option other than running away from there to save your life, leaving the boy shouting loudly calling for you. At first, you thought the first encounter with your neighbour’s sons would be a golden chance for you to make new friend yet instead you are making your first enemy.

And if you could turn back to that time, you should not run away. You really should not do so.

*

As the door slowly opened revealing the interior designs of the house, you slowly hiding behind your father’s legs and only peeking from the behind as you are scared to face that furious looking yet cute boy again because you have already committed a big crime, destroying his toy without even apologized to him.

When both of your parents and his parents greeted each other, an older boy who looks almost the same as the furious boy just now came towards you and his sudden presence around you, making you scared since you thought he was the furious boy yet as he got closer to you, he looked slightly different. With a more mature look of him, you know he might be the boy’s brother.

“Hello! Nice to meet you, I’m Junghyun. What’s your name?” He stretched out his hand to shake and greet you. At first, you were hesitant to reply him but as soon you see his eagerness to be friend with you so you decided to come out from your comfort zone, finally breaking away your embrace around your father’s legs.

“I’m Y/n.” You replied to him shyly as finally, you managed to make new friends after your first try was a huge fail and resulting in you probably might have an enemy for now.

“You! You are the one who stepped on my car!” The same voice that managed to divert your attention away from Junghyun towards the same furious boy who is standing beside his mother as he pointing his index finger towards you, claiming your mistake towards him. His sudden burst makes you startled as you stepped back and began to hide behind your father's back. Meanwhile, the boy continuously cries to his mother saying that it was you who broke his toy car yet he only got scolded by her, asking him to behave well in front of your parents as well as you.

“Go and greet her!” His mother told him which sounds more like a command but he refused to do so, instead, he shot you a death glare giving you a sign that he might get a revenge on you before he runs away from there, climbing the stairs.

His mother keep apologized to your parent for her son’s rude behaviour even though she does not know that you were the reason why her son behaving like that. You deserved to be treated like that actually. A soft nudged on your arms diverting your attention back to Junghyun who is standing beside you after all this time.

A soft sigh came out from his lips, staring inside of his house, probably looking for his brother before he fixed his view on your face again.

“He is my brother. I’m sorry for his behaviour but these days he got so emotional because his favourite toy is broken so that’s why he is behaving like that.” He plastered a reassuring smile towards you before continues his words back.

“-and by the way, his name is Jungkook.”

* “Jungkook, come down and have some cookies!” His mother called him once again since he has not tasted the cookies yet. Jungkook turned his head hastily towards the door before shouting wait a minute to his mother before he continues to play his video games again. He can’t stop playing in the middle of the times where he can kill all of his opponents so he decided to stay for a while before coming down to eat his favourite cookies.

And after half an hour he finally wins the game, a loud scream of victory can be heard in the house as he managed to win all the level. He quickly turned off the power before striding away from his room, climbing down the stair while humming to himself yet all his happiness vanished as soon he saw the familiar figure sitting across the table while eating the last piece of the cookies that his mother saves for him.

“That’s my cookies!” His tone oozing with irritation, glaring at you who seems dumbfounded over his sudden exclamation.

“Who asked you to come down so late, little boy? It’s okay, Y/n. It wasn’t your fault at all.” His mother who just came out from the kitchen, defending you by assuring that you can continue to eat the last piece of the cookies.

“Mom…” He pleaded with her sympathize and hoping that she would get mad at you for eating his cookies yet she just ignored his pleas and continue to ruffle your hair, looking lovingly into your eyes.

As you felt reluctant to finish the last piece, you stood up from the seat walking towards him before handing him the last cookies. “You can have this.”

“Aww, that’s so nice of you, Y/n. I should bake some more for you.” His mother constant praises towards you does make him become annoyed and irritated by your constant presence there. He knew that his mother loves you so much since you stepped into their neighborhood and live across their home and since his mother only had two sons, your presence there was like a blessing for her who loves to have a daughter even you are just her best friend’s daughter and yet she treated you like a one and he really hated that.

As he gritted his teeth, staring at the cookie that you are holding and looking back at your not so innocent face, a rush feeling of hate flowed along his blood vessel making him tear your hand away in a result, the cookie slipped away from your grasp and fell on the floor.

“I hate you.” He exclaimed before went upstairs leaving you stunned by his sudden actions and only to get back to the reality when you heard his mother asking you for him.

“Where’s Jungkook?” She simply asked while holding a tray of new bake cookies and your response to her question by shrugging your shoulder while placing a sweet smile on your face before crouching down to take the cookies that slipped from your grasp just now.

You should be asked him to stay. And if you could be turned back to that time, you should be told him that you are eating the half-burnt cookies, something that he does not like.

* Both of you entered the same primary school since it was the closest to your home and also him and it is easier for both of you to look out for each other and that was what your parents thought of yet everything was going beyond your expectation as the days being in the school were the day that you hated the most.

It is not like you don’t have any friend there but the constant teasing from Jungkook and his friends makes your self-esteem declining as you even considered to change to a new school and whenever you told your mother the reason, she won’t believe it because it was Jeon Jungkook that you are talking about. The boy who knows how to please your mother more than you do and even your mother loves him the most since she doesn’t have a son and same goes to his situation where his mother loves you the most.

You don’t consider his teases as a bully because he often tells his friend about your secrets that your mother told to him and began to tease you with that and you just can’t stand of it as you don’t have anything to tease him about.

Till a memorable day where you finally won the game that he invented for a long time.

You came into your class, grasping the bag’s straps firmly as you walked towards your seat. Along the way to your seat, you heard some of the boys which probably Jungkook’s friends began to mock your crying and perhaps he already told them about you crying over a bird as you become so scared of it. And the mocking never stops as it continues after the class ended, during the recess which makes you shot a glare from your seat towards Jungkook, who seems so delighted of seeing your annoyed face.

Your mind suddenly clicked about something that his mother’s told you yesterday, a giant grin springs on your face as you suddenly stood up, turning your body to face him as you walked towards his place and stopped on the right place.

“I admit that I got scared of birds but at least I don’t pee on my bed.” You stuck out your tongue towards him, who seems surprised over your statement and the red colour of tomato began to creep on his face showing that he felt ashamed over what you have told to his friend.

The laugh laughter filled up the class as his friend and the entire classmates laughed upon hearing his big secret being revealed by you, his long-time enemy. As he clenched his jaw, staring intensely at you, you smiling sheepishly at him as a sign that your silence finally worth all of this times.

* As the time passes, you are now on your final year in high school. Going to the same school as Jungkook is like usual things for you. Both of you will be going to school and back home together but still never at once both of you don’t argue with each other. You know he still doesn’t like you even he never mentioned it since his last confession of him hating on you.

During your days in high school, you got into so many trouble and thanks to him. Your teachers always thought you are the bothersome one yet Jungkook is the mastermind, the real mischievous and wicked guy.

Jungkook is still the same furious boy that you know but the only things that change now are how mature he looks now, as he is catching up the same age as his brother, Junghyun.

How muscular and well-built his body is different from the one that he had during middle school. How his loud and high-pitch voice suddenly turned to a hoarse yet mellow filled with the honey type of voice, a voice that sounds really great whenever he sings and you always heard his singing whenever you came to his house. How he treats other people now are totally different from what he was back then, and how he treats other girls, kindly and romantically yet the ways he treats you still remained the same. All the things that changing to a good and well-mannered one yet still he can’t treat you as well he treats other people.

And by the time he got into a relationship, that’s the point where you finally realized, your heart hurts like a hell whenever you see him and his girlfriend. You felt confused over your feelings and keep questioning yourself why you feel like that and somehow your confusion being answered as you finally discover the truth of your feeling.

That you are in love with him.

* In order for you to brush away your feelings towards him, you got yourself a boyfriend. And at first, Jungkook constantly teases you that your relationship is not going to work and also telling your parents about that but as you seems so serious, he stopped. Never once in his life, he saw you so devoted and determined over something. He never saw that kind of looks that you keep plastered all over your face during the time you are having a relationship with your so-called first love.

Little things that he did not know is, he is your first love and not your current boyfriend.

For you, this relationship is not to be so serious as you wish it to be yet after being a while with your boyfriend, Jungsoo, you got used over his presence around you and it hurts you the most when the moment he broke off with you.

You clearly remembered that day, on that rainy day, he asked you to come out from your house after being a while lingering with silence among both of you, he decided to tell you that he no longer felt the loves towards you. He left you there, drenching in the rain while you crouching down to the ground, crying, whimpering at that broken state.

It is not like you loves him so much but you felt ashamed that he is the one that broke the relationship first instead of you and you felt really embarrassed about that. When you felt yourself staring, you slowly turned your head to the side, to see Jungkook who is standing in front of his gate, holding the umbrella firmly, staring blankly at you and that moment you felt more embarrassed as you finally figured out that he might be the witness of you being dumped.

Just for a while, he then walked away from there into his house, pretending that he never see you there and leave you drenched in the rain. He does not care about you at all and that’s what you thought before you continue to cry back before you heard your sister calling for you, engulf you in a hug, covering you with a raincoat so you won’t be soaked by the rain anymore.

And if you could turn back to that time, you want him being the one that covers you from the rain, soothing your pain away.

* You got so much hate from him when the time his mother asked him to choose the same university as you. He claimed that your presence around him totally annoyed and irritated him as all of his life must be related to you.

And now, you are receiving even more hatred feeling from him after both of your parents announced that they wanted to get both of you into an arranged marriage. Despite business matter, your mother and his mother really wish to unite you and him as a husband and wife but you know that he is totally against of all this stupid idea.

“Are you planning to ruin my life?!” He yelled right in front of your face as he slammed your body against the wall, trapping you to it. Your lips quivering as you do not have a gut to look into his eyes yet you just shook your head as a response to his question.

“I have a girlfriend and I want to marry her instead of you!” He trailed off as he stares into your eyes, intensely giving you an unusual vibe which makes you felt uncomfortable being around him for now.

“I don’t care, I want you to cancel all of this.” He ordered and you just nodded, assuring him that you will do what he just said.

And if you could turn back to that time, you should just propose his opinion to cancel the marriage instead of dreaming of having a blissful and happy life with him.

* Staring into the darkness, while waiting for the door to be opened and revealing the one that you need to see the most now. The scene that you witnesses just now disgusted you. The sight of Jungkook’s body glued to his long-time girlfriend, Mina does make you want to puke.

The sudden click of the door’s lock makes you head to shot straight towards the door, looking for the familiar figure you want to see. There’s Jungkook standing at the doorframe, with the exhausted looks dart on his face. He might continue his unfinished work at her house, you thought so as you let out a scoff before striding towards him.

Staring into his eyes, stopping him from going away even he asked you to go away, you suddenly fell on your knees, purposely while slowly engulfing your arms around his legs, began to beg and plead for him. He looked surprised over your action as Y/n that he knows never behave like this and it’s like you are someone else.

“Please stay even if it not for me, for our parents. I don’t have guts to crush their hope and dreams so please stay until our wedding day. Till then, you can have all of your time with Mina, with her. But for now, please stay, Jungkook.”

And if you could turn back to that time, you should not beg him to stay.

* Waiting in the bride waiting room, your worries began to grow when you tried to call for Jungkook yet he doesn’t pick up. The worries that you keep hiding it with a genuine smile whenever there’s a guest came to pay a visit, to congratulate you yet it still can’t lie to yourself of the things that you afraid it might happen.

Your wedding ceremony is going to be started in a few minutes, yet it seems like your bridesmaids are having another matter that might be more important than you. You grasped your phone tightly, staring at the familiar number as you tried to call him once again. Leaning the phone against your ears and only to greet with mailbox sound does frustrate you up until your sister came up, with a startled look on her face yet she tries to hide it from you but you still can see it.

She took a depth breath, gasping for a fresh air that might help her to deliver the information to you successfully as she takes a seat by your side, entwining her finger to yours with a spark of guilt and sympathize in her eyes.

“Jungkook oppa, we can’t reach him. No one knows where he is.”

All of your fear that you have been imagined for these weeks came true as she told you that. You shook your head vigorously, stating your opinion. “No. no! He’s here. He should be here. He promised to me. He promised to stay.” Your voice cracked as you bit your lower lips, preventing yourself from crying. In a blink of eyes, you stood up from your seat, holding a fist full of your dress using both of your hands so it would be easier for you to run to the aisle. The place where he should be for now.

And it took you just a minute to arrive in front of the main door of your wedding hall, as you hand slowly grabbed the door handle, pushing it so it would reveal to you the inside view of the hall and as you trying your hard by not shedding any tears so the guest won’t see you crying.

You ignore all the sad and sympathize stares from the guest and also the hushed whispers stating about the sudden disappearance of the groom. Your heart thudding as your head suddenly throbbing in pain as your eyes seem like as glass as it full of tears that only wait for the right moment to burst out. As your eyes wandering around the hall looking for those pair of eyes that you are looking for, the tears that you shed from the moment you know about the news finally fall, and those pair of eyes that you are looking for in the wedding hall is nowhere to be seen.

* Surprisingly you finally found it here, in the interview’s room as you stare into the pair of eyes that might be your possible client-to-be. That was the same pair of eyes that you were looking for since five years ago in the wedding hall..

◇ author’s note :  thanks for reading! im doing a new short series, i really hope so because i’m going to finish my 30-Day Challenge series that probably be up by two weeks from now. I hope so. anyways thanks for reading again, love xoxo

[pikapegasus]

be my fire in the cold

combined days 2 and 3 bc this has to do with both and it turned out kinda long just to be one day so yayyyyyy !!!!! snow

12 Days of Starmora, Days 2 & 3: Gifts

(read the rest of my 12 days of starmora fics)

(also read on ao3)

“Hey, Nebula?”

Peter tries (and partially succeeds) to take a deep, calming breath as Nebula looks up from where she’s seated at the dining table, alone, to face him. Her face is as stony as always, eyes unreadable and mouth caught in what he’s come to believe to be a permanent scowl.

“What?” she asks, a touch of impatience in her voice.

He resists the urge to turn and run the hell away then and there, not just because of the generally scary atmosphere that surrounds Nebula always, but because of why, exactly, he’s approaching her alone like this. He swallows in an attempt to placate his nerves, taking a few cautious steps into the kitchen.

“I want to—I have—I need—“ Three different statements try to escape his lips at once, prompting him to close his mouth with a muffled groan.

“Have you forgotten how to speak, Quill?” Nebula asks, her scowl even scarier, the impatience much more obvious in her voice. She watches him carefully, calculating, and he forces himself to get closer.

He stops before her, setting a hand on the empty chair beside her for balance. He takes another deep breath.

“I’m here to—uh, tell you—“

“Tell me what?”

“I want—“

“Yes?”

“I just—“

“Spit it out, Quill.”

“I want to ask Gamora to marry me!”

He finally blurts it out, immediately bracing for impact and screwing his eyes shut. He waits for some sort of outburst or snide comment from Nebula, but instead, all he receives is silence.

Curious, he opens his eyes, only to see her still staring blankly at him.

“So?” she asks, like hearing that someone wants to marry your sister isn’t the biggest deal ever in the world, especially when that someone is Gamora, who’s an even bigger deal in the world, but Nebula’s just sitting there as if he hadn’t even told her anything.

“So?!” he echoes, voice not unlike a squeak at this point. “So, I want to marry your sister! That’s huge!”

“Why are you talking to me about it?”

He groans. “You’re her frickin’ sister! Of course I’d talk to you about it!”

Nebula shrugs, turning back to the table. “I don’t care.”

“Nebula,” he says, exasperated, because he really doesn’t understand how someone could be so…passive about their closest-thing-to-family’s significant other asking to propose.

“I’m only Gamora’s adoptive sister,” Nebula reminds. “Because of Thanos. I have no place in influencing these parts of her life.”

She pushes her chair out from the table, standing up abruptly.

“Nebula, you know she considers you a really big part of her life, just as much as she does her biological family—“

“She considers all of you just as important, perhaps,” Nebula says, walking away. “I can’t make decisions like this for her.”

“I’m not—I’m not asking you to decide—“

He reaches out and grabs her by the wrist, but finds himself flat on his back against the floor just two, maybe three seconds later, tops. Nebula stands over him with a great frown, eyes somehow colder than before.

“Don’t talk to me about this again,” she warns before stalking off.

Once she’s out of the room, Peter groans, sitting up slowly. He rubs his head with a sigh.

Gamora enters the kitchen, of course, because timing and fate and all those annoying things that test Peter daily, especially when he wants to surprise Gamora. She’s holding an empty cup, probably to get more water, but then stops at the sight of him on the ground.

“Peter? What are you doing?”

“Oh, just…hanging out down here, y’know,” he says, turning to her. “Just the ‘uge.”

“This is not usual,” she says, walking around him to get to the sink. She sets her cup down on the counter.

He sighs, thinking back to what Nebula said. He isn’t really sure what to make of her words; he wasn’t trying to ask her for permission, he just wants her support and approval, especially as Gamora’s sister, even if not by blood. Nebula’s the only person who really knows and understands what Gamora went through under Thanos because she’d been stuck there with her. It’s only fitting that Nebula should get to know Peter’s plans ahead of time.

“Are you okay?” Gamora asks. She’s filled her cup with water and is coming back, sitting down on the floor with him. She frowns as she brushes a few crumbs away, crossing her legs. Their knees touch and she offers him her cup of water.

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah,” he says, waving his hand. She takes a sip of the water.

“You only say ‘Yeah,’ three times like that when you’re not okay,” she says, looking at the remaining water.

“Wha—? You totally just made that up,” he says.

“I’m observant.”

He accepts the water then, finishing off the cup. “I was talking to Nebula.”

“Oh?” He’s not sure what explanation she’d expected, but apparently she hadn’t expected that.

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging and putting the cup down on the floor beside them. “It wasn’t really anything major. I just want to get to know her better.”

“She’s…tough to talk to,” Gamora says, pandering, but Peter shakes his head.

“It’s okay. She just doesn’t really know me—or the others—that well yet. If I were her, I probably wouldn’t trust me, either,” he says, honestly, because even if talking to Nebula is almost as challenging as their fight against frickin’ Ronan, Peter really can’t blame her. She doesn’t have much reason to trust him, aside from what she knows of him through Gamora and what she’s actually witnessed with her own eyes.

“She likes you,” Gamora says, laying a hand on Peter’s knee. “Really, she does. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t.”

“Yeah? Well, I think she’s pretty cool, too,” he says. “I just want to get to know her better.”

“Give it time,” she says. “I know it’s asking a lot, since Nebula can be…frustrating, but—“

“Hey, she’s an asshole like the rest of us,” he says with a small grin. “We’ll get there. After all, you and I are pretty comfortable with each other, I’d argue.”

That pulls a smile out of Gamora, finally. She sighs. “Thank you, Peter. For trying. And for being patient with her.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, taking her hand in his and squeezing it. Nebula’s approval or not, he’s looking forward to holding Gamora’s hand forever.

Nebula isn’t sure what the hell Quill was trying to accomplish when he approached her the other day, but what she does know is that her sister’s beloved “team” is pretty bad at their so-called “gardening of the galaxy,” because somehow a heist led to a shootout with an entire army of Kree purists and Gamora, idiotic as ever (trust Nebula, she knows), wrestled with one and rolled into a frozen lake. While Quill and the others panicked, Nebula knew that Gamora would be fine, because she’s Gamora.

Gamora does not break; this is virtually impossible. The last time Nebula had seen Gamora be anything close to broken was years and years ago, when they were still children with bright eyes and dreams of escaping Thanos together, living out the rest of their days on a beachy planet as sisters.

(Young Gamora had suggested the beach part, saying it would make every day feel like a vacation. Young Nebula had wholeheartedly agreed.)

Things have changed since then, obviously, because Nebula can’t see herself settling down on just one planet ever, let alone with Gamora, who now has a whole group of idiots in tow. So, a little water isn’t that big of a deal, even if it’s more on the frigid side.

But when the Kree purist in question surfaced on the water with no sign of Gamora, Nebula caught a flicker of movement in her peripheral—a movement that turned out to be the just as idiotic (if not more, Nebula will give her sister that), Quill diving in after Gamora, as if the low temperature of the water wouldn’t affect him more.

(Which it would and does, because he’s just a Terran, while Gamora has been cybernetically enhanced to withstand low temperatures.)

Everyone erupted into yelling then, Nebula herself ready with a scalding comment, but there was no time, because her legs apparently moved faster than her tongue and she found herself diving in after both her stupid sister and her stupid sister’s stupid boyfriend.

And now they’re here, hours later, back safely on the Quadrant. The last Nebula heard, Quill and Gamora were trying to warm up in the captain’s quarters through…whatever means they deemed necessary (disgusting).

So, Nebula’s back in her usual spot, alone at the dining table, trying to piece everything together. She still doesn’t understand how Gamora could end up with someone so…so much like Quill. He’s hardly ever serious and has cried at least once every time Nebula has ever been in his presence, but somehow, the two of them make it work.

Quill jumping into the water after Gamora happened so slowly, yet so quickly, before Nebula’s eyes. When she replays the moment in her mind, she can practically see Quill’s thought process, from the moment he watched Gamora fall into the lake, called out her name, waited for her to surface, realized she wasn’t surfacing, disregarded any and all rationality and logic (like, the fact that Nebula is obviously the superior option between him and her for who should jump into a frozen lake to save someone), and just.

Just jumped in, like it was nothing, even though she, begrudgingly, realizes he must know some things, such as his limits as a Terran, but took no time in prioritizing Gamora over them—a clear violation of one of the first lessons Nebula had learned from Thanos, to only ever watch her own back and never trust anyone else to do it for her.

What Quill did was stupid. It was irrational. It was suicidal.

(…But was it really a sign of weakness?)

(What scares Nebula most is the realization that, had Quill and Gamora’s roles been reversed, whether it be a frozen lake or some other lethal threat, Gamora would probably act just as idiotically if it meant saving Quill.)

She drums her fingers against the table, calculating, but the numbers just aren’t adding up.

Peter’s pulled out of sleep by the sound of knocking on his door. He sits up slightly, blinking away drowsiness, as the knocker reveals herself to be Nebula.

“If you don’t answer in five seconds, I will assume you’re dead and kick down your door,” she announces.

“Or you can just open it like a normal person,” he calls back. “It’s unlocked.”

Nebula wastes no time there, sliding it open before he’s barely finished speaking. It’s then that Peter registers Gamora curled into him under the covers, as she pushes her face more closely into his side at the sudden noise. He rubs her arm, only to find her still shivering ever so slightly.

“How is she?” Nebula demands, apparently unconcerned for him (which, okay, same, Peter’s not at all concerned for himself, either, when Gamora’s as big of a part of the equation as she is currently), stalking up to their bed. She comes to a stop on Gamora’s side, standing over her. Her characteristically steely, dark eyes are fixated solely on the mess of hair and blankets that is Gamora.

He pulls her a little more closely to him. “She’s still cold,” he murmurs, rubbing her arm again. “Can you—?”

By the time he looks up to ask, Nebula’s already on her way back to the bed (when did she step away…?) with another blanket from who knows where, still wearing her patented scowl. She unfolds it halfway, laying it solely over Gamora.

“Thanks,” he says, amused. “And thanks for, uh, earlier.”

“Idiot,” is her way of saying, “You’re welcome,” apparently. She crosses her arms. “What were you thinking? The only one in danger of freezing to death at that point was you with your weak Terran biology.”

“I think you’re overstating things just a tiny bit,” Peter suggests.

“Oh, please,” she says, rolling her eyes. (This is the most he’s seen her emote in the three days she’s been onboard with them…) “Gamora would’ve been fine. She’s built to withstand extreme temperatures.”

He presses his lips together, searching Nebula’s eyes for a moment. “Not always.”

She huffs, sitting on the foot of the bed. “I didn’t realize you were an expert in Zen-Whoberi biology.”

“I know things,” he says.

“Really? This is the first I’ve heard of this,” she says dryly.

“Oh, my God,” Peter mutters, rolling his eyes to look up at the ceiling, because blood relation or not, Gamora and Nebula are a little too similar for him to handle sometimes, and he thought he’d been Gamora’s best teacher in the fine arts of sacarsm, but.

“So you know that Zen-Whoberis aren’t built to handle the cold, congratulations. But you’re a little late on that by an entire childhood,” Nebula continues.

“I know you guys have been modified,” Peter insists. “I just…can’t help but worry sometimes, okay? And I know Gamora’s read up a lot on Terran biology—“

“Disgusting.”

“—so I wanted to return the favor,” he finishes, as if she’d never interrupted. “Her biology could be completely different now; I don’t care. I wanted to learn more about her.”

Now it’s Nebula’s turn to press her lips together. “She was a sickly child when I first met her. It took her a while to acclimate to…everything. Even with body mods.”

Nebula ends the sentence on an open note, sounding as if she had more to say on the subject, but she doesn’t continue. Peter nods in understanding.

“She runs a little more on the cold side,” he says. “Body mods or not.”

And Nebula confirms this with the slightest nod. She looks down at Gamora’s head just barely poking out from the mess of blankets covering her.

“She loves you,” Nebula says. “She doesn’t love often.”

“I love her, too,” Peter says.

Silence falls between them, both turning their attention to Gamora’s slow breathing. Her shivering has subsided finally, allowing Peter to sigh in relief. He carefully maneuvers his hand to her face, brushing away some of the stray strands of hair falling this way and that. With her face cleared, he watches her for a moment, eyes tracing the silver scars lining her features. He can’t help but glance at Nebula, to compare, and he quickly finds himself drowning in the depth of Gamora and Nebula’s tumultuous relationship as sisters through a shared, abusive father.

“Nebula?” Peter says, voice nearly a whisper. “You know she loves you a lot, too, right?”

Nebula doesn’t really convey any visible emotion outside of a blink. He decides to take it as affirmation.

“I’m sorry I caught you off guard the other day,” he continues, voice growing quieter, smaller. “I wasn’t trying to…ask permission. I—I want this, and I know she wants this, too. We’re going to do it no matter what.”

“It’s her choice,” is all Nebula says, moving to stand up.

“I just wanted you to know beforehand,” he says quickly, before she can walk out on this conversation again. “You deserve to know…and you’re probably the only person I can tell who’ll actually keep this a secret.”

She almost smiles, almost. Peter catches her lips twitching ever so slightly, but he decides to take it as a victory, anyway. “Get some rest, Quill. Make sure my sister doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“I’ll try my best,” he says, relaxing back against the bed. She stands and turns to leave.

“And if you ever do anything like that again,” she says, walking away, “I will kill you before my sister can.”

He wishes he possessed the ability to match Nebula’s level of sassery, but all that comes out of him is a nervous laugh. She doesn’t stop until she’s out the door, closing it behind her.

And, beside him, Gamora stirs, her hand running up his bicep. She turns her face to meet his eyes sleepily, something that Peter would probably call a dumb smile (but won’t because Gamora, like, never looks dumb, it’s actually impossible) forming on her face.

He sighs. “You heard everything just now, didn’t you?”

She just continues smiling, resuming her previous position and closing her eyes with a yawn. Her arms wrap around his midsection tightly.

“Love you,” she mumbles into his skin.

“Love you, too, babe.”

“I have a gift for you, Quill.”

It’s been about a week since the frozen lake incident, meaning it’s time for Nebula to go back to doing…Nebula…things…whatever the hell kind of things those would be. They’re docked on a planet not unlike Knowhere, with a plethora of ships and shops, so it won’t be too hard for Nebula to get around.

Gamora’s already exchanged her goodbyes with her sister, only to have to run off to deal with Groot getting into some sort of mischief with Rocket on the other side of the Quadrant, so Peter’s the one to walk Nebula off the ship. They haven’t had a super serious conversation like the post-hypothermia-near-death-experience one they’d had before since the botched heist, but Peter will go so far as to say he feels something’s shifted between himself and Nebula, hopefully for the better.

And now Nebula’s stopping in her tracks, just before she can exit the ship completely, turning back to face him properly. He blinks once, twice, waiting for her to say more, but she apparently needs more of a reaction to continue.

So, he nods slowly. “Yes…?”

“Gamora always gives me supplies when I leave your ship,” Nebula explains with a troubled frown. Peter tries not to laugh (siblings, he thinks, always torn between fighting and helping each other). “I thought I should give her something in return.”

“Wait, wait,” he says, shaking his head, “is this for me or for her?”

“You have my blessing,” Nebula says instead, as simply as she says pretty much anything.

By the time Peter registers what she’s said, she’s already turned and walking from the ramp of the Quadrant onto the actual ground. He rushes after her, setting a hand on her arm, and this time—

This time, there is no flipping or slamming, but simply a flinch, involuntary, before Nebula turns back to face him, expression still blank, but with a flicker of…something there. He can’t identify it right then and there, but.

“Nebula?” he says, unsure of how else to say anything that isn’t her name, because did that just happen?

“I’ll be back,” she says. “Don’t die before then.”

“That’s the, goal, uh...” He lets go of Nebula, watching her watch him, then can’t help but jump maybe once, twice, three times up and down, because, holy shit, Nebula actually thinks he’s good for Gamora. “Thank you so much, Nebula, really, you don’t understand—“

“I don’t understand why she chose you,” she admits, cutting in, tilting her head. “I do understand that you are…not the worst choice. She could’ve had worse.”

Peter blinks. “That’s…literally the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Goodbye, Quill,” she says, turning to leave again.

“Wait! Can I hug you?”

“No.”

“Okay, okay,” he relents under his breath, holding himself back as she walks away. “Next time, Star-Lord. You’ll get her next time.”

Nebula continues without turning back, headed toward the clusters of people flocking throughout the marketplace. Peter watches her until she disappears into the crowd, the feeling of…something swelling up in him. He’s not sure what exactly it is, but it’s not unlike the feelings he’s come to experience since Mantis joined them, his younger sister of sorts.

He returns to the ship, smiling to himself and pushing his hands into his pocket, his fingers brushing against a small, circular, silver object he’s been hiding for a while now.

[sapphicalexaandra]

jalec as ten and rose = journey's end

(confirmed that you meant doomsday) 

Happy birthday, dear! I still don’t know whether to hate you or love you for this prompt, because tenrose and jalec??? my otps, a perfect match! 

But the feels, man…

Basically, you know who to blame for this angst fest ;) (and i might’ve expanded it a bit, i hope you don’t mind!) 

This Is The Story of How I Died

The breach wasfinally open, and Dalek after Cyberman after Dalek were being sucked right intoit.

Alec, foras long as he had been the Doctor, had known that celebrating victory before duetime could only end up in crushing disappointment…and yet, this time he trulyfelt that they had done it.

As him andJace held on for dear life onto their magnetic clamps, everything was about tobe over so very soon. And they couldgo back to their adventures in all of space and time.

The Doctorand Jace Herondale, together, in the Tardis. As it should be.

…Of course,of course, fate had other plans forthem.

One of thelevers that kept the breach open had shifted from its place; the portal wouldclose before they had gotten rid of all their enemies!

Jace, ohJace, brave, brilliant Jace, he leapt from the safety of his hold, managing tograb the lever and struggling to put it back in place at the same time that theforce of the pull from the breach was so strong.Alec could only watch him with widened eyes, his two hearts pumping with astaccato beat that had nothing graceful about it, as he hoped, prayed to ahigher being that he knew didn’t exist, for his companion to succeed. For thingsto work in his favor, for once!

Jace did it, the lever was back in its place,the breach would remain until it had enclosed every last…

Alec’s armstwitched around his hold, as his eyes almost popped out of his head, becauseJace’s fingers were slipping.

“JACE! HOLDON!!” he shouted, desperately, over the noise of the magnetic force.

Had he everbeen more desperate in his life? He must’ve been, right, but…

Sounds of strainand fatigue were coming out of Jace as he fought against the pull drawing himtowards certain death.

“HOLD ON!”Alec could only repeat.

His andJace’s eyes met amidst the madness, and time seemed to slow down. Jace – thefirst face this face saw, his companion, his lover, his everything…

A shout hadbuilt deep in him even before Alec saw Jace lose his hold, but when it came out, it was like never before, histhroat burning around it, as Jace’s own scream mirrored his own…

“NOOOOO!”

It wasover, he had killed another one, Jace was going to be stuck in the Void forever,and Alec was never going to see him again!

A darkfigure appeared. Stephen Herondale, as alive as he was in the parallel universethey had visited, was right in front of the breach, and he grabbed Jace a splitsecond before he teleported them both away. As soon as they had vanished, Alec’sscream finished its course just as the last Dalek was pulled in, and the breachclosed after it. Forever.

Jace wasalive. He’d live a full life, with a bit of luck.

Alec shouldfeel at least partially happy, as heslumped down on the ground, completely spent. But he felt only…empty.

Entirely,utterly void.

Alec gotup, his movements slow, as if he had no energy to do more, and he approachedthe white wall. It was just a simplewhite wall…but it hid behind it everything that he had lost. Alec pressed ahand, then his face against it, listening in to nothing that he could everhear.

The Doctorand Jace Herondale, together, in the Tardis, was no more.

“TAKE MEBACK! TAKE ME BACK! TAKE ME BACK!”

Jace wasreduced to those three words, as he pounded against a plain white wall and screamedhis lungs out. Tears were running down his face, but he was past the point ofcaring…about anything.

“It’sstopped working. He did it. He closed the breach,” Jace heard his father saybehind him, and that only twisted the knife in his gut.

“No!” hesobbed, leaning his forehead against the wall, as his entire body shook andcrumbled in of itself.

The lastyear had been the best of his life. He had seen wanders, he had done wanders, he had met the most wonderfullycrazy man in the whole universe, who had opened Jace’s eyes to a whole newworld of possibilities!

It couldnot be over…it could not…

Jace couldn’tbreathe, as he pressed his hands against the wall, and then his head. Listeningintently, as if he could actually hearthe other world that was behind it.

But therewas nothing. Nothing at all.

It wasn’tover, though…not yet.

Jace.

He dreamed of a voice, night after night, callinghis name. His father, mother, and Clary couldn’t help but listen to him, becausethey had met the Doctor. They all knew it meantsomething, so they listened to the dream, and followed the voice.

They droveand drove, until they crossed water, then they kept driving, hundreds andhundreds of miles.

Because he was calling.

Here I am, at last, Jace thought.

And therehe was. Alec. His Doctor. Standing in the middle of a beach in Norway.

“Where areyou?” Jace asked him, the sound of his own voice surprising him.

“Inside theTardis.” But it was nothing like hisvoice, as Jace finally heard it again. Because it reached not Jace’s ears, butsomething far deeper than that. “There’s one tiny little gap in the universeleft, just about to close. And it takes a lot of power to send this projection- I’m in orbit around a supernova. I’m burning up a sun, just to say goodbye.” Therewas an unmistakable catch behind Alec’s attempt at levity.

And thatwas, strangely, the most romantic thing Jace had ever heard, or seen done for him. Still, he couldn’thelp his own neediness. “You look like a ghost.”

He couldn’t look one last time at him like that.

“Hold on.”

Alecpointed his sonic screwdriver forward, at the Tardis’s console for sure, andsuddenly he looked solid.

Jacestretched a hand forward before he could stop himself, his fingers twitching painfully.“Can I…t-”

“I’m stilljust an image. No touch,” Alec said back, as reluctant to spell it out as Jacewas to hear it.

At least,Alec was staring at him fixedly, with his big, deep, sad eyes drinking him in,just as Jace was doing to him.

“Can’t youcome through properly?” Jace begged.

“The wholething would fracture. Two universes would collapse.”

“So?” Jace brokeout into a laugh between the tears that, cursedly, were already pooling in hiseyes, and Alec did that, too.

But Jaceknew that they were both serious. What were two universes collapsing…to this? To them?

Alecshrugged himself off; Jace knew that he was forcing himself to act casual, tochange the subject. They, after all, had never done this. They had never laid out in the open what they were to each other, and what each of them thought theother to be, or felt for him.  

“Where arewe? Where did the gap come out?” Alec asked.

“We’re inNorway,” Jace responded, almost toneless.  

“Norway!Right.” Alec’s chirpiness was almost successful. Almost.

“About 50miles out of Bergen,” Jace went on, never taking his eyes off Alec. “It’scalled Darlig Ulv Stranden.”

“Dalek?”Alec shot back, confused.

“Darlig,”Jace clarified. “It’s Norwegian for bad.” A new shaken kind of laugh came outof Jace. “This translates as Bad Wolf Bay.”

Alec’s eyeswidened, before his surprise turned into another laugh, too. And Jace knew thatthe true irony wasn’t lost on eitherof them; this had always been their destiny. Everything had led them to end up on two different sides of theuniverse.

Jace feltthe first tears slide down his cheeks. “How long have we got?” he croaked out.

Alec’s neckbobbed up and down as he swallowed. “About two minutes.”

They keptstaring, just staring, as the clock ticked, and their time together slippedfrom their fingers. Jace brought a hand to rub at his eyes.

“I can’tthink of…what to say,” Jace admitted brokenly.

Alec smiledhis kind smile, and Jace could swear his lower lip was wobbling. He averted hiseyes, though, and looked behind Jace, at the people waiting for him there. “You’vestill got Miss Clary, then.”

Jace noddedlightly. “There’s five of us now - Mum, Dad, Clary…and the baby.”

Jace knewthat that was petty of him, but he still couldn’t help but want to see what Alec’s reaction would be.

It didn’tdisappoint. Alec paused for a long moment, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline,clearly taken aback. “Is Clary…?”

Jacesnorted, satisfied by the clear jealousy he could hear in Alec’s tone. He justwanted…to be remembered, to be held dear for a while longer after everythingwas said and done, was that too much to ask? “No. It’s Mum. She’s three months gone. More Herondales on the way.”

Alec’s shouldersvisibly sagged in relief, and Jace’s heart rose even more.

“And whatabout you, what are you…?” Alec was still deflecting, and Jace chose to indulgehim a little more.

“Yeah, I’mback working in the shop.”

“Oh, goodfor you,” Alec said.

Jace rolledhis eyes. “Shut up! Nah, I’m not. The Torchwood on this planet’s still open forbusiness. I think I know a thing or two about aliens.”

He smirked,and was pleased to see the same expression mirrored on Alec’s face.

“JaceHerondale. Defender of the Earth,” Alec stated, the pride he could hear in hisvoice warming something inside of Jace…only for one moment, until the nextwords, “You’re dead, officially, back home. So many people died that day, andyou’ve gone missing. You’re on a list of the dead.”

Jacenodded, lowering his eyes to the ground.

“Yet hereyou are.” Jace’s bleary eyes shot back up, and Alec’s face was nothing short ofa shiny vision. How could…how wouldhe let go? “Living a life, day after day. The one adventure I can never have.”

“Am I evergoing to see you again?” Jace finally blurted out, giving up on any pretense ashis chest was now fully shaken with sobs that he couldn’t keep in.

Alec’ssmile was fond, but so deeply sad. “You can’t.”

“What areyou going to do?”

“I’ve gotthe Tardis. Same old life. Last of the Time Lords.”

Thatthought alone was enough to dig a giant whole in Jace’s chest. He thought hecould see the same happening in Alec. “On your own?”

Alec noddedmutely.

That wasit. Their last moments. Fading away one after the other. It was now, or never.

“I-” Jace’svoice didn’t know how to come out of him anymore, and he had to force it. Notbecause he didn’t want to say it…but because he doubted any other words hadever been more important. “I love you.”

And therethey were. Out in the open. Jace kept trying to swallow down his tears, aseverything crumbled down all around him. Alec was the only real thing he would ever feel, and Jace loved him. There wasno other truth.

Jacethought he could almost see tears in Alec’s eyes, too, as his mouth opened upin one last smile.

“Quiteright, too,” Alec said, his voice low and hoarse.

Jace’sheart was thumping wildly in his chest.

“And Isuppose…” Alec continued.

Jace didn’tthink he was breathing.

“If it’s my last chance to say it…”

Jace knew italready, yes, but he didn’t think that he could ever live another day havingnever heard those words coming from that mouth, in that voice that had become as familiar as his own, and directed at him and only him. He needed that confirmation of everythingthat he – they – had been feeling forso long.

“JaceHerondale, -”

Alecvanished.

One blinkof an eye, and he wasn’t there anymore.

Jace staredat empty space.

send me prompts

[winsister91]

The Angel and The Prophet

Summary: Reader is a prophet and has eyes for her trench coat wearing guardian angel

Characters: Castiel x Reader, Dean

Word Count: 2803

Warning: Language, Fluff, SMUT, bondage I guess, NSFW

A/N: @arcturuz requested Cas smut and here it is! Special thanks to @sofreddie for talking through the idea with me :) Quite nervous about this one, never written for Cas, so I hope I just do the angelic stud justice! Fingers crossed! Also! Absolutely mind blown by the reception on This Means War, thankyou so much for the love, it’s honestly made my weekend.

My Masterlist!

~ Cas and forever tags are open! ~

Castiel taglist from @spnfanficpond . Let me know if you want to be added/removed from future fics!

Dear Diary...or whatever

You're new so...Hi! Never written a diary before, but there are things going down in my life that has just GOT to be recorded.

Where do I start? This has been the craziest couple of months I'm not sure if I'm dreaming in all honesty. We'll go from the top I guess. I'm walking home from work one night, cutting through the park. This crazy storm just seems to start and it's like it's following me. I'm jogging along, very wary that I'm in a wide open space but I can see my apartment block so I just decide to make a break for it. Then I hear this loud crash and I black out. Somewhere in this black out I had a dream. Two guys, proper lumberjack lookalikes with all the plaid, driving along in this sweet ass car, talking some crazy shit. Demons and monsters and something about vessels for Michael and Lucifer? Stopping the apocalypse? Real bat shit stuff.

Fuck knows how much time had passed while I dreamt this, but next thing I know I'm in my bedroom at home, and there's this smoking hot guy in a trench coat just looking at me at the end of my bed! Naturally, I freaked out a little bit, for all I knew he could have been a crazed serial killer or something. Mid freak out he puts two fingers on my forehead and suddenly I'm as cool as cucumber. Not for long, however. He tells me his name is Castiel, and he's an “angel of the Lord, come to protect the new prophet”. I remember laughing, asking if he'd been on the old Mary J. God, angels and prophets? Me, a fucking prophet? I just work in a boring ass office then come home to my cats and play video games. Why on earth would I of all people be a prophet? Then he was able to tell me what I saw in my dream. That the two guys in it were called Sam and Dean Winchester, and they really were going to stop the apocalypse. I guess I must've looked pretty dumb founded because Cas then said something about me needing time to process and then VANISHED IN FRONT OF MY EYES. Dude. I started to wonder if I'd magically somehow ended up high on Mary J.

About a week or so passed, and I just assumed I must have had some...psychedelic episode or something. And we all know it's healthy to ignore stuff like that right? I'm playing on my PlayStation and this blistering headache attacks me. Vision goes all fuzzy and what do you know, I'm seeing Sam and Dean again. They've got this guy tied up to a chair and some real occult looking graffiti scrawled on the floor. They're asking him about a seal? But he's just laughing. Well, until they throw some water at him and his skin starts fizzing and burning. He struggles and screams and his eyes turn jet black. There's more talk and shouting and swearing but then the tall Winchester starts chanting some weird lingo. Black smoke starts pouring out of the tied up guys mouth and then he just slumps, completely lifeless.

A loud banging on my door snaps me back to reality. I'm shaking like crazy because I have no idea what the hell I just saw, but it starts to dawn on me that this shit might be legit.

I stupidly opened the door without looking through the peep hole first, and I'm thrown across my own living room. A woman stands in my doorway with the same jet black eyes. I'm hysterical, screaming and crying, but then Castiel appears in front of me. He's got this long silver looking blade in his hands and they start fighting. I scramble, grabbing my two cats and shut them in the bedroom, because they're my top priority of course. Somehow this demon gets hold of the dagger thing Cas is holding and it about to shove it straight into his beautiful face. I improvise and think of the Winchesters.

Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, the words just kind of came to me.

The scary lady turns and hisses at me, lunging for my throat and I squeal quite pathetically. Cas thankfully stepped in, placing his hand on her forehead and she screams while her entire face illuminates, then she slumps like the guy in the chair did.

So turns out that was a demon. I sat with Cas and had a long conversation this time. He told me that these dreams or visions I'm having are flickers of the future revealing themselves and I need to keep record of them for him, as they will prove useful for him and the Winchesters to succeed in stopping it. Again I'm flabbergasted, I'm playing a vital role in saving the world? That's pretty bad ass.

To trim the fat, Cas has been to see me a few times now over the last couple of months. He's really sweet once you get past the uh...lack of social skills? Once, he actually flew off to fetch me chocolate and ice cream when I was on my time of the month for crying out loud, how can you not love that? 

Sometimes when he shows up he's so bloodied and battered, tells me he's too weak to heal himself (because angels can freaking do that too it seems). So I just let him crash on the couch and attempt to patch him up. I'm no nurse, but I'm a master with band aids. He makes me laugh too, one time he showed up whilst I was playing Resident Evil and he asked where the zombies were because he had to get there immediately and “stop the Croatoan virus from spreading”.

The guy just does things to me though, I could quite happily get lost in those ocean blue eyes of his for days. The way he tilts his head slightly in curiosity when I say something too human for him. And boy I can only dream of what body hides under that trench coat, I've seen glimpses when patching him up, but I yearn for that full picture.

Okay I'm fully rambling now. I'm crushing on an angel. Wonderful. Coming to cinemas soon The Angel and The Prophet. I'm such an idiot.

Peace out.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

You sigh, getting up and stretching your arms as the diary lays open on the table in your front room. A draft blows through your hair and you hear that familiar flutter of wings.

“Cas!” you beam, as he appears at the door, “I knew you were coming tonight! Wait there!”

You run to the kitchen, grabbing a White Castle bag out of the fridge and warming up the burger inside in the microwave.

“So how are you doing?” You call back to him, getting no response. As soon as the microwave pings, you tentatively drop the burger on a plate and take it through to him.

“Cas,” you giggle seeing him still stood in the doorway, “You can sit down you know?”

“You said to wait here?” he questions with that trademark head tilt.

“Just sit,” you chuckle, “Got you your favourite! Had to warm it back up because I was little preemptive in buying it. Should still be good though?”

Cas takes the plate without a word and sinks his teeth into the piping hot burger. A smile spreads across his face.

“These make me very happy,” he states, turning to you with another smile in thanks.

“I know honey, enjoy,” you tap his knee playfully, “I'm afraid to say apart from seeing you were paying a visit tonight, I haven't had any further visions this time.”

Cas annihilates the burger in about three bites, he looks at you after a deep sigh of content and says, “That's unfortunate.”

“Sorry,” you shrug, “Gimme that plate.”

You drop the plate in the sink, you'll sort it later. It's quality Cas time right now. As you re-enter the room you see the angel's eyes glaring right at your open diary.

“CAS!?” you squeal, and you feel your cheeks turn rosy.

“Why do you say I am smoking hot?” he questions, his eyes not moving from the page, “I don't see any smoke? I actually find it a little cold down here on earth.”

“Cas just pass me the diary,” you avoid answering questions.

“Crushing on an angel?” he continues, “How can you be crushing me when you're not even touching me? Plus looking at your small frame, if you were to sit on top of me I don't think I would be crushed.”

“Don't talk about sitting on you,” you groan, pulling the diary away.

“Y/N,” he narrows his eyes puzzled, “Do you want me to take a photograph of what's under my coat? I can just take it off and show you instead if you like?”

“Cas you're fucking killing me,” you lean on the door frame for balance while your mind races. Castiel gets to his feet and walks over to you.

“Are you okay?” he asks looking into your eyes, “Your face has turned pink.”

“No I'm not okay,” you whine, taking deep breaths to slow your heart rate, you decide to spit it out, “I like you Cas.”

“I find you pleasant company also,” he nods in response.

“N-no Cas,” you stutter, “I like you.”

His face remains blank and you feel a twang of irritation in your guts because he's not understanding you. Fuck it, you think, understand this. You throw your arms around his neck and pull his lips to yours. You feel the hairs on your neck and arms stand on end. He's kissing you back, and your heart feels like thumping bass pedal. You give a playful nip to his bottom lip and let him go, you lock eyes, lost in the moment. Then he vanishes.

“Oh god dammit!!” you cry out.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

Dean is sprawled out on a motel bed, flicking through the free channels, bored at the lack of entertainment. He takes a sip of his beer and sighs, contemplating whether to just buy a sneaky porn channel on one of Sam's cards.

“Dean,” Cas appears.

“For crying out loud Cas!” he yells, near on jumping out of his skin, “...Is that lipstick on you?”

Cas wipes his face, a look of panic in his eyes, “I just went to see Y/N.”

“Oooooh,” Dean grins, “You been getting some human booty?” “S-she kissed me,” the angel stutters.

“And then?” Dean asks eagerly.

“I left,” Cas answers wide eyed.

“You left!? C'mon man!” Dean cries, “You don't just leave when a girl kisses you!”

“I panicked.”

“Cas, do you like her?”

“She is very beautiful, but...”

“You listen to me now,” Dean reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small square foil packet, “You're gonna take this, and get your feathery ass back there.”

“Dean I-”

“I get it, you're not savvy on what you need to do. I'll tell you exactly what to do, let's get creative with that grace of yours.”

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

You're pacing. You feel like an idiot. You just scared off your horrendously hot guardian angel. Perfect! You decide to just call it a night and try to forget this ever happened. You reach your bedroom and throw your shirt down onto your floordrobe. There's a flutter of wings.

“Y/N,” you hear that familiar deep voice.

You squeal, covering your naked breasts instinctively. You note a difference in his behavior however, eyes narrowed and full of hunger. It makes something deep down tremble in want. He strides over, taking you and lifting you up onto his hips.

“Hello,” he says, before resuming your previous kiss. His hands grip your ass tightly and he pushes you up against the wall. You can't help but gasp into his mouth in surprise.

“C-Cas,” you moan between kisses. He's being rough and passionate, holding on to a clump of your hair while he nips and bites down your neck. He turns around, now laying you onto the bed, placing your hands above your head before standing to remove his shirt. You motion to sit up to get a good view but you can't. Like an invisible force is holding your hands there, you struggle for a moment in confusion.

“Um...Cas?” you state to the ceiling. He comes into view, leaning over you. You see that torso of his and, like you suspected it was firm and nicely toned, you want to touch it but are still unable to move your hands. He leans down for another brief bite on your neck and you see a free hand of his do a quick swish in the air. Down go your pants. You jump in further surprise. The same hand hovers now just above the skin on your chest and he moves it slowly down your body, not touching your naked skin at all. As he moves you feel a surge of sensitivity shoot through you, causing you to arch your back and moan loudly in pleasure and shock. The hand moves back up you along with this pulse of energy and you gasp uncontrollably as your body gets hotter and wilder.

Is he....using his grace for foreplay? You think to yourself. His hand moves back down now, stopping to hover over your intimate zone, you fully cry out as the sensation their builds.

At last you feel physical contact as two of his finger slide into you. Scissoring and brushing at your sweet spot. Your body writhes and your hips buck completely out of your control. Every touch and movement is so intense it's like it has all been planned out in fine detail. His lips are on your neck once more, and his other hand has found your breast, gently teasing your nipples with small circles.

“F-fuck...” you moan, these actions sending tingles over you in all directions. Your eyes drift down. At some point, Cas has removed his pants. You're slightly disappointed you missed the strip show but you were otherwise occupied. You see his erect cock, condom in place and you swear your pussy tightens at the sight. Like he can read your mind, which he probably can, Cas hoists himself and lines up. Your hands are freed suddenly and you spring them into action, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him down to kiss you, right in sync with his entry into you. He fills you right up and you find yourself gasping into his mouth once more. He seizes the opportunity to allow your tongues to meet.

You hear his breathing get deeper as he slowly pulls out and back in again, gentle but effective. You grind your hips in rhythm with him to heighten the sensation. He grunts and the sound takes you to another level. He picks up the pace, sensing your elevation in sensitivity. One of your hands is clutched tightly onto his shoulder and the other pulling at the sheets. You feel your legs begin to tremble and you bite your lip as you feel your core tightening. You hold your breath, determined not to give in so soon, you want this to last as long as possible. His pace picks up again and you clench your eyes shut, causing every touch to intensify once again. His hand leaves your breast and you take the moment to try and catch your breath, but it is short lived. A finger finds your clit, circling, stroking, pressing. Your back arches so harshly you almost sit up. You hold on, refusing to let go just yet, and you get tighter and tighter. Building higher and higher you start to feel light headed.

Cas moans and thrusts in hard and deep, and you feel his cock twitch as he cums. You can't help but release, unable to edge any longer. The orgasm ravages through you and you have zero control over the primal cries of pleasure escaping your mouth.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

You feel dazed, unsure if this is really your life anymore. Prophets, demons, the apocalypse...and you just fucked an angel. Cas holds you close to him while you snuggle into his shoulder. Ultimate contentment.

“I need to go,” Cas whispers softly as you start to drift off.

“Must you?” you whimper, trying to give him your best puppy eyes.

“Just briefly,” Cas smiles, brushing hair out of your eyes, “I need to thank Dean for his advice.”

“Okay....wait, WHAT!?”

Tags! @manawhaat @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @notnaturalanahi @bkwrm523 @whisperandwhiskerburn @roxy-davenport @impala-dreamer @deathtonormalcy56 @samsgoddess @for-the-love-of-dean @jelly-beans-and-gstrings @fiveleaf @deansleather @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname @mrswhozeewhatsis @idreamofhazel @ilovedean-spn2 @babypieandwhiskey @wi-deangirl177 @deantbh @sinceriousleyamellpadalecki @deanwinchesterforpromqueen @chaos-and-the-calm67 @memariana91 @teamfreewill-imagine @chelsea-winchester @fandommaniacx @writingbeautifulmen @revwinchester @oldfashioncdvillain @your-average-distracted-waffle @drarinal1737 @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell @castieltrash1 @supernaturallyobsessed @mysaintsinner @ohwritever @ruined-by-destiel @winchester-writes @deals-with-demons @maraisabellegrey @faith-in-dean @winchestersmolder @clueless-gold @melbelle45 @4401Inc @sis-tafics

[shanastoryteller]

your gods & monsters fics are so beautiful!! I know you had Prometheus in the one with Pandora, but do you think you could do one with him when he was stealing the fire?

By her very nature Hestia is not supposed to have favorites,but Hades has always been hers.

She is the eldest sister, and he the eldest brother. Shewonders if that is perhaps why they somehow end up being the responsible ones.

“I like it down here,” she says, curled up in his throne.“It’s quiet.”

He snorts, head bent over the reams of paper, endless listsof the dead. Somehow, she never sees Zeus with paperwork. “It’s dark, andcold.” She glances around. The only light comes from the softly glowingmoonstones, from the bioluminescent designs etched into the walls.

She extends a hand, “I can–”

A cheerful fire crackles to life in the center of the room,warm and sweet and smelling of cedar even though there’s no smoke. “Sister!” hesnaps, “Return that to Olympus immediately!”

She pouts, holding the fire steady, “Why? It’s my fire, I amits keeper, am I not? I can give it to whoever I choose.”

“Zeus has decreed it is a privilege of those that reside inthe heavens,” he glares, “I will not see his wrath turn upon you. Put it back.”

Hestia closes her palm, and the fire snuffs out, returningto its home on Mount Olympus. “Little brother Zeus would do well to rememberhis place.”

“I’m sure he would say the same of us,” Hades says wryly,eyes dropping back down to his desk.

She is the keeper of the hearth, the bringer of fire, theguardian of the home. The spirit of Mother Gaia pulses in her more clearly thanthe others, no matter the claims Hera likes to make

Zeus is a little boy. A powerful little boy for sure, but achild none the less. She and Hades grew in their father’s stomach together, hiswas the hand she grasped through the years in their horrid prison.

She dislikes little boys telling her how to govern her realmof hearth and home.

~

Prometheus was not a smart man, but he was a brave man, anambitious man.

So when a goddess appears in front of him, offering him anopportunity for glory, he does not refuse. He grins with eyes too bright andsays, “Fire? The tool of gods back in mortal hands? We could do much withthat.”

“Yes,” the goddess agrees, “but it will not come free. Ifyou succeed you will be sent to Hades’s realm, of this I am certain, and whenyou are – you must bring fire to him as well. That is the price of ourbargain.”

“Agreed,” he says instantly, and does not question why a godneeds a human to get him fire. His is not the place to question gods.

Myths will say that he was a Titan, a god among gods, butthat is not true.

He was a lone, ambitious man. The act of a single person canoften be mistaken for the work of a god.

~

Hestia’s throne sits unused on Olympus, more concerned withtending her hearth fire than sitting high above mortals.

Any being which must assert their authority through statussymbols likely has very little authority to begin with. “You’re planningtrouble,” Hera accuses one day, her clothing purposefully plain next to herhusband’s and her hair piled atop her head in an exhaustingly elaboratefashion.

Hera did not become wife of Zeus, Queen of the Gods, bybeing stupid. She can be accused of many things, but stupidity is not amongthem.

“Whatever do you mean, little sister?” Hestia asks, reachinga hand into the fire and watching the flames dance harmlessly over her skin.None of her other siblings would be so fortunate, should they try to touch herfire.

Hera cross her arms, lower lip jutting out, and Hestia’smouth twitches. They are all so painfully young still, now. Hera is little morethan a girl, and Hestia thinks she would be fond of her if she were not soclearly hiding fangs behind her pretty lips.

Loving your family never meant having to like them.

“You won’t get away with it, whatever it is,” Hera declaresbefore turning on her heel and striding off.

Hestia cups a ball of flame in her hand, the warmth of itseeping down to her bones. “Whatever you say, little sister.”

~

The climb up Mount Olympus takes him weeks. He’s exhaustedand hungry by the time he reaches the top, having run out of food some daysago. But he makes it – something that no other human can claim.

He follows the goddess’s instructions to the letter, waitsuntil the moon is high in the sky before creeping into the palace. He doesn’ttouch any of the statues, the tapestries, the golden goblets or silver plates.He doesn’t even let his gaze linger on them, for he is after a prize far morevaluable than wealth.

Fame. Notoriety. His name written in the heavens, never tobe forgotten.

The hearth is in the center of the throne room, larger thantwice his size and more golden than red. He takes a trembling step forward,eager and terrified all in one.

The goddess appears in front of him, more silhouette thananything else. “This fire will burn you,” she warns, eyes fever bright andsparking just like the inferno behind her, “It will kill you. It is only amatter of when – not if.”

“I understand,” he says, because it doesn’t matter, deathdoes not matter. Death comes for all men. If he succeeds in returning fire tohumankind, he will be more than a man – he will be a legend.

“Very well.” She spicks up a globe of fire in her hand.Prometheus reaches for it, but she does not hand it to him. Instead she opensher mouth impossibly wide and places it on her tongue, lips closing around itand her whole face turning red from the heat.

She grabs him by the front of his shirt and jerks himforward, placing her mouth to his mouth and pushing the ball of celestial fireonto his tongue.

“There,” she says, leaning back. “That will dampen it enoughfor you to make it back to the land of mortal men, but you must not open yourmouth until you are ready – as soon as it’s exposed to the air it will consumeyou. If you are not back in the mortal realm at that point, your death will befor nothing.”

It burns, it’s complete agony. He can already feel the fireeating its way through the soft, wet muscles of his cheeks. But he gives thegoddess one sharp nod and then he’s sprinting his way out of Olympus.

He doesn’t have much time.

~

Prometheus is long gone by the time Hera drags herself tothe throne room, sleeping robe askew and Zeus’s teeth marks on her collarbone.She’s older than her husband but still so terribly young, and for a momentHestia pities her.

“What did you do?” Hera demands, voice coming out rough.Hestia can’t see any bruising on her throat but that doesn’t mean there isn’tany. “I know you did something!”

She knows the woman Hera will grow into, has seen many girlsbecome that same woman, and as the wife of Zeus it’s nearly inevitable. Butshe’s not a woman yet, just a girl who’s gambled everything for a play at powerand hasn’t yet figured out if she’s won or lost.

“It’s cold in Zeus’s chambers,” Hestia pats the empty spacebeside her, “Won’t you sit with me, little sister?”

Hera stares at her, mistrust heavy in the air and plain onher face. She will learn to hide her thoughts better one day. “It’s not cold inthere.”

“Isn’t it?” she asks simply, and for a split second Hera’sface crumples. “Come, little sister.”

Hera takes one hesitant step closer, then another,eventually stumbling to her knees beside her and staring into the fire, Hestiais sure, so she has an excuse for her eyes to water.

“None of that now,” she adjusts Hera’s robe and pulls herhair from her face, the normally immaculate locks frizzy and tangled. Shesummons a brush and runs it through her sister’s hair, careful and steady.

The tension leaves Hera’s body by degrees until she chokesout, “It’s warm here.”

“As it always will be, when you are beside me,” she says,because she can promise that at least. Whether Hera will choose to sit at herside in the future is another matter entirely.

~

Burns have surfaced all across his body, blistering legionsturning into bloody caverns of ash where he once had flesh.

Most of his lower face is gone, his jaw open and gaping andonly bone. The ball of celestial fire is nestled at the bottom of his throat;it’s burned through until only a thin layer of skin separating it from the openair. He has to hurry. Every step is agony, he hasn’t been able to take a breathfor several minutes, and at this point death can only be a relief.

He will not die in vain.

Prometheus finally, finally steps upon mortal soil, but hedoes not stop there. He runs home, to his city, to the center of the square.People recognize him, even with half his face burned away, and there arescreams.

He collapses in the city square and reaches what’s left ofhis hand into his throat. He pulls all but a spark of the celestial fire free,and opens his hand.

He’s consumed in an instant, and his last sight is of fireflying – into stoves, lighting hearths, candles twinkling to life.

They will carve his name into the skies for this. He diessatisfied.

~

“How could this have happened?” Zeus rages, “How dare hesteal from the gods! I will have Hades destroy him in every possible manner!”

“Yes, my king,” Hestia murmurs. She doubts he’ll ever makenote of the contempt in her voice at his title.

King of the Gods. As if gods have ever cared for kings.

Hera remains remarkably, carefully silent at her husband’sside, hair neatly coiled the exact circumference of Hestia’s fingers.

It wasn’t something Hestia asked of her, nor what she wasexpecting. It is, however, a very pleasant surprise.

Maybe there’s hope for her yet.

~

Prometheus opens his eyes, which he wasn’t expecting.Everything still feels like it’s burning, but his body is back in more or lessone piece.

He’s in a place both dark and cold, and when his sightadjusts he realizes Hades, god of the dead, is standing before him.

“You’ve angered my brother greatly,” the god says, but hedoesn’t sound all that upset. “I’m to give you the worst punishment imaginablefor your transgressions.”

Prometheus opens his mouth, and out drops the smallestflicker of a flame. “From the goddess,” he says, and the spark goes twirling,dancing across torches and leaving them lit, passing by a hearth so it roars tolife.

Hades eyes widen as he watches the sparks progress, until itdisappears down the hallway to light the rest of his realm. “Foolish oldersister,” he says, softer and kinder than Prometheus thinks the god of theunderworld is supposed to look.

The whole place looks brighter with the fire, it goes fromominous to nearly – homey, a place not only to arrive at but one to return to.

Hades slides his gaze back to him, “Those burns are fromcelestial fire. I cannot heal them – you must live with them.”

“I understand,” Prometheus says, even though he doesn’t. Ifhe’s to be subjected to the worst punishment imaginable, what does it matter ifhe’s burned or not?

The god smiles, as if he’s reading his thoughts, and says“Very good.”

The next thing Prometheus knows, he’s back in the lands ofmortal men. Different, perhaps – but alive.

~

Fires are lit in her name, each home’s hearth dedicated toher, and Hestia smiles.

Hers is not a domain so easily extinguished.

gods and monsters series, part vi

[glopratchet]

OH BOY

Oh boy. "Hey, I know you! You're that guy who was in the bar last night. We used to go there a lot when we were still together. The bartender said he knew you too and offered to give us some free drinks if we gave him your name so he could introduce us later. He said it would be fun for everyone and wouldn't cost anything either since they just took our names down at the register." You need to pee. You need to poo. You are scared. You need to sell some insurance. Well, time to put on a brave face and wing it. Like going Number Two, you can do this spontaneously. Unlike going Number Two, this comes naturally. So you should be totally comfortable. Probably. Better start winging it. "Hellloooooo" you sing as you push her front door open. "pretty lady." Your rotten crooner is worse than your pitch. You need to see the dawn, and it isn't because you stayed up all night. Before you get to her living room, a coughing granny(late?) gets your attention. She is sitting at a table unlike anything you have ever seen. it is…grey? There are many…vessels…of various sizes on it, but otherwise all grey. Even the table, made of a metal that you can't identify, is a dull grey. "Staying…tones." she hacks out. Bombs bursting in the light(Hey, you finally hit the right note. ) of dawn? As your high school English teacher would have said: What a wonderful way to describe … whatever that is. You walk past her to the living room where you find your friends off in a corner talking to pretty ladies that look like models…or maybe those super-hot actressies on TV…you can never tell since you don't watch it. Before the time of the alligators, there were tons of channels, but now with cable non-existent, there is only one state owned channel, and it keeps going on about victory this and victory that so most people just use it to go to sleep. The hostess seems really cheery for…well you aren't sure what the color of her hair is—Is the difference between platinum and silver really that profound? are those tiny lines on her face, or from some crazy carving tool. When the stains of night arose to take over the darkness, only then could the strokes of my madness be seen… "Are you alright?" your ex demands to know. The singing granny from before abandoned her post and came over here, too. Guess she heard the racket. "What kind of service did you provide? What happened to those slobs?" Your head hurts. I love you so! Let's get married! You try to dodge the question. "We went to the park and then stopped by an ice cream bar." You correct yourself. "I mean store. Then we walked here." "You went to that new Kenyan place didn't you?" The granny asks accusingly, somehow having already known the answer without your response. Her expression suggests leniency in her judgment yet holds a gaze hell-bent on crime colonization. Please be well aware that your arm is in no condition to produce anything meaningful, let alone stand there in such a state. "Why don't we sit back down?" Your plea silly since you are the only one standing. Their glares ripping into your very core. "You went to the Kenyan place." It's a statement this time, not really asking although it would be unreasonable to expect an answer. Now for a story about alligators fire and fight or whatever that you've lost your nerve. You see that pity in her eyes that you saw the first night and this pity you can't handle. You need to run. But instead of tears, rubber legs carry you towards the door. You were so close. Now they all seem so far. I won't be the last star holding the note. Just as you're about to leave, she steps in front of the door. Fire and fight, glorious and bright. Could either run past her or duke it out, both have pros and cons in your mind. She's a big girl, no doubt about that, but you're still larger than the average...you look at her again directly in her face...all 300 pounds of you. Ironic. You dwarf girls smaller than you, but seem larger than life. ...Nah, just push her out the way. "I'm sorry," you say and then start pushing her aside. She pushes back harder so your "out-of-shape-ness" becomes more obvious as you almost falls onto another table. Pain is dwelling in her eyes--that queen of mercenaries who stormed your heart has arisen, refusing to let pity overtake her conquests, not until the grudge is paid in full. Let there be some light to this everlasting night. "You're fighting back," you say holding up your hands. Her height allows her to tower--storm window style--over your frame. What else can I try? …That's it! You wrap your arms around her making it utterly impossible for her to get away. Maybe she thinks you'll give up and let her go but you're anything but weak. A few seconds pass and a gentle sigh escapes those beautiful lips she bit in anger. Eventually, you succeed in holding her around the middle. "Stop squirming or we'll both fall!" Despite the seriousness of the situation you've been in worse you find that you genuinely believe that. "Let me go!" she persists and struggle she does. Her legs continue to pedal madly in the air but it does nothing as the current has swept you up past the point of return. Her hand reaches back looking for something grab onto--anything at all. Her finger wraps around one of your dreads and she yanks. So this is how... "Percy stop pulling at my hair!" you yell. You literally saved a girl from a burning building...just to become laughed at in the end by a girl...with dreadlocks. "Maybe I match your carpet better now, but that's the only good that came out of all this." Since she apparently just bit her own tongue, now is not the time to be sarcastic. "Let go of me or we're both going to fall and break our necks," she screams while still tugging. Edwards reappears, "Hey, both of you get a fricking room." He morphs into his demonic form hovering near the push with one foot forward and one elevated back leg prepared to pounce. The strange thing is his voice is more gentle and accommodating, "Let her go." You look at the monster-man before you. His taunts seem to have a purpose other than dodging work. Since it seems unlikely that cutting his head off would kill him, you'll have to come up with another approach. "Maybe, we should listen to--aghk!—What are you doing?" Frawmbl Mixcmfnxwk struggles with surprising strength for a girl her size. "Getting leverage." The impish demon extends his sword, running it along the floor as you both lean back preparing to topple over. If you fall, her hair may well be pulled out by the roots (no pun intended) but you'll survive it. Meanwhile this devil has a real sword that could lop your head off before your carcasses even hit the floor. Now if you were in Nelly's body, you would easily kick the demon in the face pushing him back and yourself forward to everyone's satisfaction. Sadly all your graceful movements seem to have disappeared without a mere blonde HAXXOR fighter to occupy your mind...AGAIN. That's twice its failed you now. Subconsciously you have begun fingering the cross around your neck. Maybe this is why God created men. At least you made the right choice there. Granted the same man created angels, but you can only work with what you've been given. Not allowing yourself to think anymore, you do it anyway. "What about him?" You give an angry nod in the direction of the demon indicating that you are capable of finishing the job yourself. Of course whether or not she'd believe you is another matter--since she already seems to be on alert. However if she believes...even partially, you just might get lucky. "I'll hold him off." You assure, "You just go in and grab your man." Frawmbl has stopped struggling becoming every still. Did she buy it? The demon holds one hand up--as if pushing a giant boulder out of his way--and it continues floating down until he nearly passes you by before turning around. Now he faces you with one curved sword against your one small cross. Due to the differences in size, this is probably the first time in your existence that you haven't immediately felt powerless. Whether this impresses Frawmbl or not is uncertain, but she stops struggling and readies herself to leap towards Tych. "Go for it." You reassure trying to sound braver than you actually feel at the moment. This deception doesn't actually make you feel powerful--rather, like you have a giant target on your chest. However, as long as he stays on this side of the passage, you are confident you can completely ignore him and save yourself for last...at least you hope so. In the meantime you focus all your attention solely on Frawmbl. "If your father were alive, I'm sure he would have something to say on this cheating tactic." Frawmbl states unexpectedly. Confused, "I don't even know what you're talking about." Did she detect your lie? "Why you're completely safe as long as I remain on this side--or am I?" "Yes, of course, what was I thinking? Such reckless bravado, I may never recover." You run your words together in that typical self-depreciating way while trembling on the inside. "For life or death, you are counting the chickens a bit early aren't you?"

[drsilverwoman]

Femme Friendship

Published in The Journal of Lesbian Studies

Abstract

This autoethnographic study of femme friendship explores the connection and relationship between two femme lesbians – my femme friend Amber and myself. The shared experience of invisibility and the related perils and privileges that come with passing as straight enact a bond unlike either of us have previously experienced. Meeting within the context of a polyamorous relationship adds a layer of complexity to our friendship that deepens the relationship. The story of our friendship showcases a specific sort of friendship, one grounded in theories of gender performance, sexuality, invisibility, and language.

Keywords:     Femme, Fem(me)ininity, Lesbian, Invisibility, Friendship,

Autoethnography, Polyamory

Amber and I have been friends for less than a year, but for all of the experiences we share in common as femme lesbians, time is irrelevant. We know what it’s like to cut our hair short and wear baggy clothes in hopes of being recognized, only to realize that we are uncomfortable and unhappy without makeup and without curves. We know what it’s like to be told we’re too pretty to be gay. We know what it is like to be the prettiest girl in the room and then feel immense insecurity and jealousy when suddenly we are not. We know what it’s like to try and catch the eye of a woman we find attractive, only to have her think we are staring at her and disapproving of her masculinity. We know what it’s like to have our sexuality questioned because we love masculinity. We know what it’s like to admire the pretty painted finger nails on the hands we use for fucking, and we also know what it’s like to feel a stone butch melt from our touch. We know what it’s like to strap on and feel powerful, and we also know what it’s like to have our identities dismissed as easy, as privileged, and as not really gay. We know what it is like to exist in a world where normative presentations of femininity are rewarded and also degraded and belittled. We know what it’s like to have a plumber, or roofer, or an electrician come to the house and speak only to our wives or ask where our husbands are. We know what it’s like to be unwillingly touched and harassed because we are women. And we know what it’s like to want to be seen and to be recognized for who we are when we continue to remain simply invisible.

Many of our experiences are experiences most, if not all, women share. Unwanted looks, unconsenting touches, competition, and beauty standards are not specific to lesbians. They are specific to misogyny and they are byproducts of living in a patriarchal culture. What doesmake our experiences exceptional is the consciousness that arises from living within multiple cultures, what Phalen (1993) names the perils and privileges of “passing.” Amber and I are femmes. To be clear, by femme[1]I specifically mean lesbians who perform and succeed at normative standards of feminine beauty and also date butch women. I am not referring to lipstick lesbian couples – two feminine women who date each other – nor am I discussing androgyny of any sort or feminine lesbians who date women whose gender performances cross the spectrum. I speak only of women who “pass” as straight and who partner with women masculine of center.

Femme invisibility has been discussed in academia for well over 60 years, yet there has been nothing in those discussions that can teach me how to be seen and recognized as queer in my daily, lived experience. Suggestions to “rhetorically reconstruct” (Galewski, 2005) myself are fine in theory but not in practice. That I may be a queer body in a subversive form of fem(me)inine drag (Maltry & Tucker, 2008) or that I am in fact fem(me)inine (not feminine), both of which are inherently queer performances of identity (Douglas, 2004; Duggen & McHugh, 1996), are fascinating concepts, ones I like very much, yet not helpful strategies for recognition. The knowledge that my identity, like a heterosexual woman’s identity, is constructed in relation to my masculine counterpart and works to limit alternative performances of gender by reiterating binary scripts (Halberstam, 1998; Kennedy, 1997; Gibson & Meem, 2002; Rubin, 2011) does not help me to be seen for who I am or by the women I want to attract. None of this helps me to understand how I can be recognized as a lesbian. And neither does the claim that I should believe I look queer simply because I am queer (Lizz, 2011).

Whatever the answer may be to femme invisibility, I do not have it. But, like many others, I know that by claiming it only as a privilege and not recognizing how it is also a peril, a space of invisibility, we negate ourselves a chance for productive dialogue and as such, we advocate conformity as a means to acceptance. So I create scholarship on the popular practices of femme identity as a means of dismantling the patriarchal, heteronormative binary within which I am invisible. My contribution is the femme friendship. The femme friendship is a friendship between two femme lesbians – two women who as individuals have experienced all that it is to be femme and whose friendship helps them better negotiate and understand their identity as femme.

Like all femme women, Amber and I know what it’s like to come out and identify ourselves as gay on a regular basis. We know that the dismissal of our identity unwillingly shoves us back into the closet over and over again and that queer visibility is a double edged sword, that sometimes the enemy you know is better than the enemy you don’t know, and that coming out is scary because we are forced to wonder whether the person treating us with courtesy would treat us with contempt if he or she knew we were married to a woman. We also know that by being femme, we are safer than our butch counterparts. We do not fear public bathrooms nor do we get mistaken for the wrong gender. We do not get stared at by people who cannot easily read our gender. We are not socially punished in any way for our gender performance; in fact, just the opposite. Everyday that we perform our gender correctly, we are rewarded (Butler, 1990) by our larger society and, at the same time, we become invisible within our queer community.

I experience this invisibility in the world. I share this experience of invisibility with Amber. And through my friendship with Amber, I’ve learned how empowering this shared experience can be. Amber and I speak the same language of invisibility and of identity, and having shared language with which to speak, one I have never been able to speak before, legitimates my experience. The rich feeling of legitimacy, provided by finding a person with whom I share a similar voice, is the impetus for this work. This essay tells the story of my friendship with Amber. Having my first femme friend at thirty-eight years old has been a life changing experience.  Our year of friendship has taught me more about who I am than years of friendships with straight women ever has. Amber helps me to understand who I am and who I have been. She helps me understand my coming out process, my dating experiences, and my current relationship. She helps me understand how and where I do and can fit amongst other lesbians, and how and where I do and can fit within the larger world. She does this for me as much as I do this for her. Being invisible together is quite different than being invisible alone. Together, we begin to name that invisibility. Together we speak a common language of invisibility. Together we create a meaningful bond of friendship.

***

I’d met Amber a few times over the years at events and parties, yet we only grew to become friends when my wife – Abby – began dating Amber’s friend Joan. Joan was Abby’s first girlfriend after we opened our marriage. It was towards the end of Abby and Joan’s relationship that Amber became my confidant. When the relationship between Abby and Joan dissolved, Abby and I began dating Amber and her wife Helen. My relationship with Helen lasted only half the time of Abby and Amber’s relationship. During that additional time, Abby and Amber grew to love with each other. Also during that time I grew to love Amber and she me. Our friendship and the relationship of sharing a partner became a deep and powerful form of connection.

Metamour is the term used within the poly community to describe the person with whom your primary partner is having a relationship. Poly books, websites, and blogs all insist that metamours do not need to be friends; Abby and Helen never created a friendship nor did Joan and I – although we all tried. Metamour comes from the blending of Greek and Latin: meta meaning “with” and amor meaning love. Oddly though, the idea of meta being a term regarding that which is self-referential is not part of the poly lexicon, when perhaps it should be. If Amber and I are connected through Abby, then in some ways do we not both reference her through ourselves? And are Amber and I not connected to each other through our references to Abby? When Abby and Amber’s relationship grows and changes, does it not impact my relationship with Abby? And when my relationship with Amber deepens, doesn’t that effect the relationship between Abby and Amber?

Before Amber was in my life, when Abby was dating Joan, I incessantly compared myself to Joan. Years of social conditioning made me see Joan as the enemy, as my competition. Yet I was also pulled towards Joan. I wanted to be friends with my metamour. I wanted to be better than jealousy. I wanted to work through the jealousy and be her friend. I had never had a femme friend and I longed for one. I was also new to poly and part of poly is working through jealousy.  

For a brief time, Joan and I bonded over our experiences of being femme. We went shopping together and got our nails done together, and we laughed with each other when the women doing our nails insisted keeping them short was ugly and we should let them grow longer. We shared clothes and got ready together for parties we were attending. Our friendship reminded me of when I first came out and started dating women; these were dates that led into nights, nights that turned into weekends, and then days would go by without being apart. I fell hard and fast in those early relationships and the stereotypical (and somewhat embarrassing) “U-Haul” scenario emerged. Those first few weeks with Joan were like sleepovers with friends as a child – the feeling of never wanting it to end because we were having too much fun. And now, as an adult, it didn’t have to end. When Joan started spending time at our house, we were having all the fun; we were going out, kissing each other, kissing Abby, and exploring our new relationship.

Whatever the reason, as much as Joan and I tried, we never truly connected as friends. When I insisted Abby end the relationship due to problems occurring in our marriage, Joan blamed me. Maybe I was simply jealous of Joan for catching the eye of my wife, an eye that had only seen me for years. Maybe because we acted on our mutual crush and had sex with each other and Abby, the lines of friendship were crossed in a way that we couldn’t move back from. Maybe the jealousy of sharing the same woman was too much for us. Or maybe we are simply incompatible as friends. But there’s something about the meta in metamour that leaves me doubting a simple incompatibility.

In the weeks leading up to the end of Abby and Joan’s relationship, I reignited my friendship with Amber. She became my go-to person for all things Abby and Joan – my jealousy, my insecurity, my doubts, my fears, and my growing lack of trust. She assured me that I was not acting irrational and even provided information about Joan’s behavior that confirmed deceptions I thought to be true. When Amber fell ill, I spent hours in the hospital with her and she consoled me over the mounting distrust I had for Abby and Joan’s relationship. She gave me the support and reassurance I needed to ask Abby to end her relationship with Joan and I brought her cool towels for her head. She gave me the strength I needed to stand up for what was right and I brought her flowers and magazines. When I insisted Abby end her relationship with Joan, Joan lashed out at me and Abby fluctuated between understanding and anger; Amber offered me support.

A few months after Abby and Joan’s relationship ended, Abby and I began dating Amber and Helen. Similar to Joan, Amber and I bonded over being femmes and our friendship was hard and fast. We texted each other daily and unabashedly told each other the stories of our lives. We talked about dating each other’s wives and in doing so we both saw parts of our wives we hadn’t seen in a while. Seeing my wife through a new woman’s eyes is powerful and being able to share that experience with a woman I trust is exceptional. The four of us experienced our own U-Haul-like period of time; Abby and I were at their house or Helen and Amber were at our house constantly. It was fun and easy, until it wasn’t. Like most relationships, once the novelty wears off something deeper must emerge. Helen and I lacked that deep connection and by the time we all went on vacation together, my relationship with Helen was basically over.

Without the ease of a foursome, familiar feelings of jealously returned. But this time it was different. Amber and I had built a friendship and through our friendship we were able to negotiate the envious feelings we had towards each other. For the most part, jealousy emerged with regard to sex, attraction, and emotions. Does Abby like sex better with Amber than with me? Is Amber prettier/skinnier/sexier than I am? Is Amber more fun than I am?

Whereas the same sorts of questions emerged with Joan, unlike Joan, Amber and I could discuss how these questions made us both feel, because she too wondered these questions about me. We had long, deep, brutally honest conversations, conversations in which we discussed us both dating and having sex with the same women. Initially, those conversations were silly and lighthearted. We tiptoed around what was okay to say and what wasn’t about us each having sex with each other’s wives. We moved from peripheral topics like what types of men’s or women’s clothes Abby and Helen would or wouldn’t wear, to challenging conversations about whether or not Helen and Amber should talk to Helen’s thirteen year old daughter about the relationship among the four of us – a decision they decided against. As the conversations deepened, Amber and I grew closer.

There is no doubt the initial equality of a foursome rather than a triad helped our situation, but I know it was more than equality, it was equity that made our relationship work. Heather and I gave each other what we needed to feel safe.  For example, I needed to come home to a clean house after Amber had spent the night and so Amber ensured Abby did the dishes. When my relationship with Helen ended – in part because I lost interest and in part because I saw the way she was hurting Amber through her lack of attentiveness – Abby and Amber’s relationship did not.  In fact it continued to grow stronger. Amber and I were able to learn to talk to each other about a woman I love deeply and have committed my life to and a woman Amber was falling in love with. This type of conversation does not come easily. There are no scripts to follow, no models or guides to learn from; we did this on our own, we created our own language. We crossed every line about what may or may not be okay to discuss, and then we came back and crossed them again. And when language failed us, we often found we didn’t need to speak – that our shared experiences and understandings spoke for themselves.

We reached out to the other, to spend time together, and stayedfriends when it felt easier to walk away. When I was jealous, and as a result angry or fearful, it felt normal to direct those feelings at Amber and to hate her. Instead, I texted her and I emailed her and I told her how I was feeling. And like a good Director of Human Resources, she responded to each of my concerns line by line. An excerptfrom one of our emails:

Me: Right now I am very upset - with Abby primarily but also as a result of, and individually with, you. It's hard for me to determine where my anger is coming from and how much of it is shit about Abby that I want to blame on you. I don't want to blame it on you, I don't want to be mad at you, but I am and so I am hoping maybe an email communicating some issues will help me express my feelings, hear what you have to say in response and then we can move forward.

Amber: First, I am sorry you are so upset. It kills me to hear you are upset with me, but I am so glad you told me so we can talk about it.  I don't want you to be mad at me either, but if you are, we are going to face it head on and work it out.  The fact that you care enough to tell me how you are honestly feeling shows me that you value our friendship, and that means everything to me.

This was not our most eloquent writing but it represents our honest communications that allowed us to move forward. Being friends with Amber forced me to be honest with myself in ways I never have been before. She forced me to answer the questions that had long been brewing in my mind.

The jealousy of sex? Did I notice Amber’s beautifully large hands and her love of fucking women? Yes I did. I also noticed when Abby accidentally used our joint Amazon Prime account to buy a harness and a dildo. But more than anything, I understand that both Amber and Abby have histories of violent sexual abuse and their sex offered them a space to heal, a space I cannot provide because I don’t share that experience. It was in that difficult understanding, that Amber offered Abby something I never could, that I moved from accepting Amber as my wife’s girlfriend to appreciating her as my wife’s girlfriend. Abby and Amber’s relationship healed my wife in places and in ways she had long since forgotten needed to be healed. I watched Abby grow stronger in who she is by revisiting parts of her abuse. Our marriage grew stronger and my understanding of who Abby is deepened further. This shift in my marriage is because of Amber, and my friendship with Amber only deepened as a result.

The jealousy that emerged from looks? The competition of being the prettiest girl in the room? Well not only is that competition, in Andre Shakti’s words, “a victory lap for patriarchy” (2016) but more so, I’ll take second place in that beauty pageant any day if a gorgeous woman and I can sit down together and share our experiences of femme identity. I love spending time with beautiful women, and our chances of finding cute butch girls to buy us drinks and flirt with us only get better when there are two of us. Abby couldn’t even imagine saying no to us when we worked together to get what we wanted.

And the jealousy of emotions? In some ways, that jealousy felt familiar. I don’t know a single lesbian who hasn’t stayed friends with an ex, dated a friend’s ex, or learned to accept a partner’s ex in her life. In fact, most lesbian friendship groups emerge as people sleep their way into the community. Amber and I know this, we’ve been through this, and jealousy is not worth losing people over. Instead, we worked hard to get over our jealousy. And in this experience, jealousy strengthened our friendship.

***

When Abby and Amber ended their relationship, it was because of me. However, it was not because of any jealousy I had towards Amber but a realization about myself. At this point in my life, poly is not for me. I do not want my wife to love another woman. For many of the reasons that Abby loved Amber, I love her too. I value what she brought to Abby’s life and, as a result, to mine. Our relationship was truly one of metamour. Because of us both being with and loving Abby, we learned to love each other. But more importantly, on our own, we developed a strong friendship. We created a friendship built on admiration and respect for each other’s strengths and differences and for all the experiences we have in common. It hasn’t been easy and, like any relationship, it takes work. The work has been extremely rewarding.

When Abby and Amber ended their relationship, they did it because they love me. Amber and I talked through the pain and hurt of their breakup and the pain their relationship caused me. Amber offered me new perspective on Abby’s behavior and my responses to it, she validated some of the feelings Abby disagreed with, and she assured me that throughout their relationship, I had always been number one. I offered her assurance that Abby did love her and was deeply saddened.

***

A recent New York Timesopinion piece by lesbian blogger Krista Burton (2016) claims any attempt at differentiating between today’s trends and queer lady culture is impossible because “Lesbians invented hipsters” (para 8). Burton lists organic communal farming, undercuts, messenger bags and androgynous clothing to highlight a few markers of hipster identity that have historically been iconic of lesbian culture. In her piece, Burton laments over the increased difficulty of recognizing lesbians as a result of popular fashion styles, while at the same time also being proud of living in a word with less “ballerina flats and Michael Kors handbags” (para 24). But what about the lesbians who like ballerina flats and Michael Kors handbags? Or, let me say knee-high boots and Marc Jacobs cross-bodies? Because I, like Burton, would happily see the aforementioned accessories disappear. But you get the point. Her happiness about the loss of feminine symbols coupled with her resentment over the loss of lesbian signifiers reiterates the fact that the two are not the same. Underlying her question about this brave new world that welcomes androgyny and her assumptions about queer identity is the belief all lesbians look the same and were once recognizable.

As I’ve mentioned, I have never been recognizable as a lesbian. And while I may agree that bikes as transportation and people getting angry over pesticides (and less ballerina flats) will do the world good, I resent her assumptions and her reiteration of what it means to look like a lesbian.

Burton concludes by stating, “I’m sorry. But mostly for myself. Because it’s harder to tell who’s queer now” (para 23). As someone who has a hard time being seen as queer, I am not sorry. Instead, I am thankful for my femme friend.

My femme friend Amber empowers me as a femme and as a lesbian. As fem(me)inine women we occupy similar spaces in the world and as friends we reflect our experiences to each other. Without popular culture representations, or any other representations that mirror who we are back to ourselves, we do that for each other. Amber and I understand each other as femme lesbians; we exist in a space of femininity as well as femme identity. We speak the same language of identity and share experiences that legitimate who we are as people. We nod to each other with common understandings and shared experiences. We are burdened by all that it means to be a feminine woman in the larger world and a femme woman in the gay world. We are the other within an already othered group. And like everyone else who has ever been an other of an other, we have found strength in the margins and in creating community – even if for now, for us, it’s a community of just two.

References

Burton, K. (2016). Hipsters Broke my Gaydar. The New York Times. December 31

Butler, J. (1990). Gender trouble: Feminism and the subversion of identity. New York: Routledge.

Douglas, E. (2004). Femme Fem(me)ininities: A Performative Queering. Thesis. Miami University

Duggan, L. & McHugh, K. (1996). A fe(me)inist Menifesto. Women & Performance, 8(2). 153-169

Galewski, E. (2005). Figuring the Feminist Femme. Women’s Studies in Communication. 28(2). 183-206

Gibson, M. & Meem, D. (2002). Femme/Butch: New Considerations of the Way We Want to Go. (Eds.). New York: Routledge

Halberstam J. (1998). Female Masculinity. Durham: Duke UP

Kennedy, E. L. (1997) The Hidden Voice: Fems in the 1940s and 1950s. in Femme: Feminists, Lesbians, and Bad Girls. Edited by L. Harris and E. Crocker. New York: Routledge

Lizz (2011). You Need Help: Being the Visible Femme. Autostraddle. November 4. https://www.autostraddle.com/you-need-help-so-youre-femme-and-no-one-knows-youre-gay-120512/

Maltry, M. & Tucker, K. (2008) Female fem(me)ininities. Journal of Lesbian Studies. 6(2). 89-102

Phalen, P. (1993). Unmarked: the politics of performance. Routledge

Rubin, G. (2011). Deviations: A Gayle Rubin Reader. Durham: Duke UP

Shakti, A. (2016). How to Confront Femme Competition Within Polyamorous Relationships. Harlot Media. March 29. http://harlot.media/articles/664/how-to-confront-femme-competition-within-polyamorous-relationships

[1]I recognize that many LGBTQ people’s identities go unseen and that invisibility is not specific to femme identity. Many LGBTQ people perform gender in ways that do not call attention to their sexuality or gender performance; many LGBTQ do this, on purpose, for a variety of reasons (safety, family, profession) and some do it simply because it is who they are. Gender performances are as diverse as the reasons why they are performed; this paper focuses only on femme identity and femme invisibility.

[hotspreadpage]

Interview: Why marketers shouldn’t waste their time with Google Posts

The search engine results page recently saw the return of Google Posts, the part-social, part-publishing feature that was launched by Google a little over a year ago during the US Presidential Election.

Billed as “an experimental new podium on Google”, Google Posts has attracted a lot of attention from marketers, search specialists and Google enthusiasts thanks to its prominent place on the SERP – appearing in the form of an eye-catching carousel of cards – and its mysterious deployment.

Over the year since it was first released, it has appeared in and disappeared from search results a number of times with no apparent pattern or explanation. Brands who wanted a shot at being part of Google’s new podium were forced to “Join the waitlist” and cross their fingers.

But last month Google suddenly announced that it would be opening up Posts to “museums, sports teams, sports leagues, and movies” in the United States, and all of the above groups along with musicians in Brazil – prompting a renewed flurry of interest from marketers. At the same time, the relaunched Posts became more visually eye-catching with the addition of embedded GIFs and videos.

  One person, however, doesn’t believe that Google Posts is worth the hype. Michael Bertini, Online Marketing Consultant and Search Strategist at iQuanti, told Search Engine Watch why he thinks that Google has gone off half-cocked with Posts, and why marketers would be better off expending their energies elsewhere.

Google Posts: where is the value?

“I don’t think Google will admit that they made a mistake with this whole Posts thing,” says Bertini.

“Google already has a lot of great products and search results features on the page; to add Google Posts to that clutters up the results page unnecessarily. And I don’t think it offers much value to the end user.”

It’s true that while there has been a lot of excitement from brands and marketers around the prospect of publishing directly to the SERP, few of us have considered its usefulness to users. Google is still first and foremost a search engine; when users enter a search query, they are presumably looking for information.

While people Googling candidates in the run-up to the US Presidential Election would undoubtedly have been interested in what those candidates had to say about certain issues, subsequent versions of Google Posts have moved further and further away from a feature that is useful to the end user.

Few people searching for “Boston Red Sox” are looking for pseudo-social updates from their favorite sports team; they’re more likely to be looking for match scores, game tickets, or perhaps a link to the team’s website.

A lot of the interest around Google Posts thus far has been driven by sheer novelty, with people Googling ‘Andrews Jewelers’ or ‘Escape Pod Comics’ simply to see how the businesses had been using Posts – rather than because they featured useful information. In and of itself, how much value does Posts provide to the searcher?

“I don’t think anybody should put a strict focus on getting into Posts – or any one Google feature,” says Bertini. “What I’ve noticed throughout my career is that people who make it a specific focus to get into an area of Google – let’s use Google’s Answer Box as an example – ultimately, they’re left with content that doesn’t fit the end user’s needs. And then it dies.”

“If someone did want to get involved with Google Posts, they should write content that really answers the search query, and then of course request access on posts.withgoogle.com. But that’s all.”

Everything is a test

Based on the fact that Posts has already come and gone from the SERP several times before this most recent, wider launch, does Bertini think that Posts is finally here to stay?

“Everything Google is about testing,” Bertini replies. “Even after they launch it to market, what they would consider ‘permanent’ is not really what we would consider permanent. Personally, I think it’ll last up until the third quarter of 2017, and then they’ll mix it up with something else.

“If Posts get a really high CTR, then Google might invest more in it and add more features. But at the moment, it’s still very much in testing. It still lacks features – there’s no real social interaction, for example.”

Google Posts currently allows for limited social sharing, but doesn’t provide a way for users to truly interact with or respond to Posts.

If Posts, ultimately, is still in testing, it explains why it has disappeared and reappeared with so little fanfare – Google doesn’t want to attract a lot of attention to a feature that may not even be launched on a wider scale.

Bertini agrees that the lack of promotion speaks volumes about Google’s intentions – or lack thereof – for the feature. “If Google had complete confidence in this feature, they would be promoting it more.”

He goes on: “If I ran my own business, and I wanted to get more searchers to my site, there are better ways to do that than to focus on GIFs and videos to get into Google Posts.

“For example, if I were making videos already, I would create pages for my videos, transcribe that content, and optimize it for search – that would be a better use of resources than focusing on getting into Posts.

“Ultimately, people are going to invest time and effort into Posts, when Google itself has not yet perfected this feature.”

Google Plus revisited?

Given the pseudo-social nature of Google Posts, a lot of comparisons have understandably been drawn between Google Posts and Google Plus, Google’s last ill-fated venture into social networking. And it could be that Google Plus provides a blueprint for what to expect from the future of Google Posts.

“If we look back at Google Plus – when it first launched, Google’s idea of what Plus would be is not what it is today. And like everything Google, Google will never admit that they made a mistake, or that the product didn’t turn out the way they wanted it to be.

“But I think the search marketers who used Google Plus as a social platform are very disappointed today – if they invested a lot of time and money into building up their profiles and optimizing their Google Plus. It’s not used the way it used to be used, any more. I think it’s going to be the same with Google Posts.”

Remember when Google Plus was a big deal?

Bertini believes the aim of introducing Google Posts to the SERP is to encourage more user interaction with the search engine results page. This would tie in with the recent addition of rich results for podcasts to the SERP, allowing searchers on smartphones and Google Home to play podcasts directly from the search page.

“Google is trying to make a different version of social [with Posts], which is social interaction with the search engine results page, where a user can interact with the search page itself. It’s just very early on at the moment.”

If Google can succeed in expanding the function of the search results page in this way, it would definitely be a means of keeping users inside its own walled garden for longer.

But without value to the end user, Google Posts could be a Plus-style flop, and Bertini thinks that Google would be better off focusing its attention on perfecting existing features of the SERP that have more value to searchers.

“Google is constantly trying to mix things up, when – once again, personal belief – I think that they should focus on good products that they’ve launched like Answer Box, which is already effective. Or ‘People Also Ask’ – they launched this section, and it’s still not perfect, but it’s good.

“I think this is what Google should devote its energy to, rather than – I don’t want to say get rid of Facebook or Twitter, because I don’t think that will happen – but rather than trying to make the search results page a social platform.”

The future of Google Posts

Google Posts, as it stands, still lacks a lot of functionality. So an ideal world, what would a fully-featured Google Posts look like?

“One, people search for something; two, a Post feature comes up; three, there would be a rating system for whether or not the Post matches the search query.

“Then there would be a sharing function where the user can share the Post via social media. You could also have a Hangouts-style feature integrating chat into Posts, allowing people to chat about what they’ve just read.”

It remains to be seen whether Google will try to keep integrating more functionality into Posts or whether it will once again disappear quietly from the SERP.

But one way or the other, marketers should keep sight of the importance of catering to the end user – not just to the newest Google feature.

Interview: Why marketers shouldn’t waste their time with Google Posts syndicated from http://ift.tt/2maPRjm