#the detail of them not being inclined to fool around has implications about what down during the capture(s) involving sg op

[transingthoseformers]

In the shattered glass au. What if SG Soundwave and Starscream get the idea to send Rodimus and Soundwave somewhere on a date. That way they can relax after everything that's happened. They can also get away for a while and Baseline Optimus can hang out with baseline Megatron while they are gone. Drift of course gives them the talk not that Rodimus is interested in anything because of *TRAUMA*

Awww that's adorable, especially on how they're both encouraging soundrod and megop

[preemshots]

johnny + the nomads lore

alright, i know this is a screenshots blog but i'm going to go ahead and start dropping some juicy lore tidbits as i dig them up. part of what i'm doing outside of just photo diarying is shard hunting, and BOY is there a lot the game likes to hide in those little shards for idiots like me who like to read so we can write unnecessarily accurate fanfiction! 

full disclosure, i know jack shit about the TTRPG/cyberpunk 2020 rulebook except what i read in the wikis. 

so here’s my lore roundup so far of everything i know about johnny joining the nomads

we know johnny likes to narrate v’s quest objectives. here’s the first mention where he says it himself: 

during the voodoo boys quest "transmission" there's a shard in the maglev tunnels beside the ice bath, presumably from brigitte's research into johnny in the first place:

okay, so the timeline is this: johnny joins the nomads after trying and failing to rescue alt. johnny hides out in the badlands for some years. then he and rogue come back to night city and nuke arasaka tower help alt escape the arasaka subnet by uploading liberator to their network once and for all.

this ultimately makes sense. in alt’s flashback, we meet santiago, who is a nomad/connected to nomads, joins rogue and johnny when they're trying to get alt back, and eventually becomes the leader of the aldecaldos. 

part of santiago’s TTRPG lore is that he, johnny, and rogue have to lay low in the badlands with nomads after they storm arasaka headquarters (i am aware the game takes many liberties with the original lore so who knows the full accuracy of anything from the original rulebooks)

ENDING spoilers: in the rogue+johnny storming AHQ ending, it's revealed that rogue has a son while they're prepping for the job. if you eavesdrop on her calling him while you're at the afterlife, you hear her tell her son to (paraphrasing here) "pull over and look at the stars", which immediately made my brain go to: nomad, badlands, santiago = dad? maybe. (santiago also canonically has a son according to the TTRPG lore)

this immediately reminded me of another interesting shard that i believe you can find in multiple locations around night city: “"what REALLY happened in arasaka tower?“

i love this dang shard. at first i thought it was just a cute conspiracy with some juicy gossip (and i love how 99% of the shards that mention johnny in this game are reminding us that he's not a real rebel, he's a poser) but it brings some interesting shit together

one: it tells us where johnny got his hands on the nukes! he and the nomads jumped a militech convoy and jacked some bombs! 

which is never directly explained, even as saburo arasaka is interrogating him shortly before using soulkiller. very nice of johnny to protect his homies like that. 

...or maybe he didn’t. saburo emphasizes that the dead don’t lie like the living do, and we don’t know what exactly arasaka did to johnny’s construct in mikoshi. 

it also explains why the obvious media narrative is that militech nuked arasaka, a nice neat political bow to the end of the fourth corpo wars, which is an entire section of the TTRPG lore that makes my eyes cross when i read it. 

it also makes the star/nomads ending extremely interesting, because i originally believed it was the ending where V’s journey deviates the most from rewalking johnny’s path... which also has weird implications if the johnny’s nomad era is being kept from v. 

(this also leads into my belief that the star ending/the devil ending are narratively two sides of the same coin, but that’s a WHOLE ANOTHER POST for another day.)

TWO, just straight up the fact that they turned the raid where they actually obtained the nukes into an action flick BD that pretty much ANYONE could watch. who the hell was doing that?? 

well, who else other than the guy who johnny (optionally) punched the shit out of for filming alt's death: thompson, media guy, and according to rogue, “bad luck”. because you know, recording your crimes is straight up evidence that can be used against you.

during the alt flashback we meet thompson, and just after that in cyberspace before meeting alt, johnny tells v that he has no idea what happened to him and that they never worked together again. 

oh, johnny, you lying bastard man

this is blatantly untrue, and if V even had two braincells and better memory than a goldfish they'd know this--in the first flashback sequence where johnny and rogue nuke arasaka tower, thompson is on the comms as they ride the AV towards AHQ, questioning their plans and use of violence. 

which leaves me with some questions, like where the fuck is thompson, why does johnny keep lying about this, why doesn't johnny say almost anything about how you interact with the aldecaldo clan nonstop throughout the game when he himself may have been a member of the family for some time?? is he continuing to protect the nomad clan that saved his ass? we know that a lot of his flashbacks are unreliable at best, that johnny changes shit up as desired when presenting V with his memories.

in 2077, you can also find that there’s a remake of “badlands raid” in the shard “new release braindances” that is pretty much everywhere. that shard doesn’t add much, but does mention something along the lines of “many people don’t know the ending of the original” which probably means johnny punched thompson out for filming again, or something. 

my running theories: rogue ditched santiago and the aldecaldos with johnny and thompson to nuke arasaka tower, and when johnny died she was stuck looking for (heavily implied by johnny here:) corpo sellout ways to survive.

adam smasher obviously has something to do with this since johnny/rogue's vendetta against the guy isn't entirely clear beyond the smokescreen of "he killed johnny and he sucks". i have done 0 research into this though i'm tired of typing okay

i obviously cannot be certain i have found everything related to this in the game as i’m not even done with this playthrough where i’m trying to pay attention, but i hope this is fun for someone else to dig into. 

enjoy, fellow silverhand freaks

EDIT: additional findings

ALRIGHT I HAVE DONE MORE DIGGING AND I AM BACK WITH MORE NOMAD/JOHNNY FINDINGS. these ones are kind of a bummer but VERY interesting.

there’s a shard called “excerpts from a history of the nomads by bb pires” that goes into detail about how nomads came to be

there’s an interesting quote in it: It's hard to imagine a group less inclined to wandering than farmers, but in fact they were the ones who sparked the age of nomads. Natural catastrophes, crops ravaged by bioplagues, armed conflicts and martial law allowing corporations to speculate and privatize land - all this forced them into a life on the road.

when you ask johnny why he wants to take down arasaka, he begins by referencing this himself!!

it’s a little awkward to imagine a nomad V doesn’t also know what he’s referencing, but hey, V is the fool because we are as players and that’s only one life path... so sure.

johnny also has unique dialogue during this scene about a nomad origin V, telling them that he’s been trying to understand how V thinks, and came to the conclusion that “their family was a crutch” and essentially made them stupid because they always had a safety net (lmao johnny calling v privileged basically)

BUT this also may reference why johnny would find it confusing as hell that V doesn’t immediately share the views he does when nomads, in terms of values, seem to be more aligned with johnny than V is. but once again V is the fool for a reason and this is all my own speculation so YOU KNOW.

MORE IMPORTANTLY, at the end of chippin’ in, when you ask johnny what he meant by letting down his friends... santiago is named directly

i thought this was interesting since the only glimpse of their relationship that we get is seeing johnny meeting santiago via the alt flashback for the first time.

so now it’s obvious that while johnny and rogue were with the nomads their friendship developed, and johnny went on to disappoint santiago in some way by being his normal dickhead self

but HOW? how did he disappoint santiago? is santiago even still alive?? did smasher kill santiago and is this why rogue mentions during chippin’ in that she wants smasher to “settle a score” moreso than avenge johnny??

the only additional hints i have are from this shard, which you can find at the aldecaldos camp: “nomads at ground zero”

i’m just gonna transcribe here and bold for emphasis:

It was no secret that Night Corp offered generous pay and, in some cases, free cyberware and biomonitor upgrades to anyone willing to help clean up the crater of radioactive rubble at AHQ ground zero. Some firsthand accounts recall the incessant ticking of Geiger counters, like the loud buzz of cicadas in summer. In retrospect, we can only guess how many "crater cleaners" lost their lives to radiation sickness shortly thereafter. Both the city government and Night Corp have claimed casualties were kept to a minimum, while providing no official statistics to substantiate the claim. That being said, they have never been under pressure to release such figures. After all, most rescue, engineering, and rubble cleanup teams were not local Night Citizens, but nomads. Surprised you didn't know? Don't be. It is a fact many history courses tend to overlook. The city employed hundreds of nomad mercenaries, primarily from clans in Aldecaldo nation. These nomads were hungry for gainful work and the city needed experts who were not only experienced but brave enough to knowingly put their lives on the line - all so Arasaka could one day erect another tower in its place. But history is not without its sense of irony. These nomads, who so deliberately live outside our so-called "system," came to its very rescue. Not for the first time. And not for the last.

a main theme we find in this game is the idea that the system of corps and exploitation cannot be stopped by grandiose rebellious gestures--no amount of samurai songs, assassinating mayors, or even planting nukes in towers will change things. yet johnny, his friends and mercs at atlantis in the 2020s, including rogue, chose to rebel any way they could, thinking it better than not. johnny criticizes her lack of rebellious spirit CONSTANTLY in 2077.

but ultimately, johnny, trapped in mikoshi, didn’t get to see the outcome of what detonating the AHQ nukes did to night city’s fragile ecosystem. rogue, however, did--and likely watched their former allies, the aldecaldos, be forced to take dangerous work at AHQ’s ground zero (from lack of other opportunities as detailed in this shard), then die from radiation sickness throughout the following decades, all as a result of what she and johnny did to try and fight the system. and she also watched all the former mercenaries of atlantis be hunted down by arasaka.

so rogue sees firsthand what the cost of rebellion is and johnny doesn’t. and nomads, considered the most free of any of the factions we encounter in the game, are the cost.

[hearteyesdameron]

Follow - General Hux x OFC Reader

Words: 5.6k Ao3

Commission for the lovely @mrs-ghuleh​! Hope you like it!

Female OFC/reader. Working on the starship Finalizer, Ensign Eliora Nott finds herself the object of Hux’s affection. Soon, his cat and mouse game threatens to expose their affections, and steps are taken to diffuse the tension. 

NSFW Below Cut. Dom Hux, Sub reader. 

The galaxy of stars before you is breathtaking. Those around you had spent their entire lives, some life spans tripling your own, staring out at them under the rule of the Order, and the spell of the endless blackness before them had worn off; dulled even. You’re still optimistic. Enchanted by them and all they have to offer, as well as enthusiastic about your position within the Order. You have your whole life to raise through the ranks, and this isn’t a bad place to do it. Your entire family before you had served in the Galactic Empire back before the days of the Skywalkers, and you would follow in their footsteps as everyone with your name had.

The relaxing sound of patrol fighters just outside and mouse droids transporting data to storage have become your daily ambience, if Kylo Ren isn’t present to add haphazard lightsaber strikes to it. Thoughtfully, you turn back to your post at the comms on the bridge.

“Was it like this back on Devaron?”

The horned, red-skinned co-worker sitting to your right turns away from the control panel to look at you. “What? The people, or the workplace politics?”

“Both,” you smile. The Devaronian takes a glance around behind him, before turning back to his position of duty.

“The officers here are nothing like my people. The environment here on the Finalizer is particularly dramatic, compared to the starships I skipped from prior to joining the First Order.”

“Ren?”

“Ren.” You continue to smirk as the horned officer goes on. “I’ve been told that just the other day, he was dissatisfied to say the least with the performance of the head cook on this ship. Half of the kitchen was destroyed, and I imagine that was catching him on a good day. Palp wafers for breakfast lunch and dinner it is, I guess.”

“That’s nothing compared to what I heard,” you whisper back. “Just the other day, Ren called the General to tell him just what he thought about how he runs things. Do you know what he said?” Your colleague’s eyes widen as he senses something, and turns back to his work as your own eyes slide shut.

“What he said is none of your business,” a sharp voice snaps. “Rather disappointing that you would while away your time on this bridge discussing matters not privy to you—ensign.”

“The comms were quiet, General,” you attempt to explain, gaze downcast. Hux’s resulting sneer is nothing short of terrifying.

“Is that so?” he spits. “Then why is it Lieutenant Mitaka has reported an incoming transmission from our liaison on Dromund Kaas about an escaped rebel prisoner within their camp?”

You glance over to Mitaka. He’s always been up Hux’s ass, desperate to snitch on anyone for the approval of the higher ups. You sigh. You can’t really blame him, with the kind of punishments they dole out around here. “It appears I missed that. I’m sor—”

“Would you fail to send out a distress signal were it necessary in favour of discussing the state of my uniform with your fellow officer, perhaps? Neglect your duties to gossip about the way I give orders, or perhaps the way I speak?”

“Certainly not,” you reply quietly. He scoffs.

“You’re lucky my forgiveness isn’t lacking when it comes to you.” You exhale in relief, but feel yourself tense again when the redheaded General beckons. “To my office.”

Your heartbeat picks up as you squirm in your seat. “Why?”

He glares down at you. “More backtalk?” By now, the entire bridge has gone silent, trying and failing to pretend not to listen to the standoff. Your cheeks burn under the scrutiny, especially under the intensity of Hux’s gaze.

“No, General.”

“Good. Follow, before I have the stormtroopers escort you.” You follow Hux with your head bowed, down the hallways. He walks with the purpose of a spiteful leader, his boots clapping loudly against the pristine floor, and the only sound he makes is a hiss when he kicks a small black droid out of his path. He’s intimidating, always has been, but it doesn’t stop that small twinge inside of you.

By the time you sit down at his desk opposite him, the flush in your cheeks is not from your public embarrassment on the job anymore... instead, it’s from being in Hux’s quarters alone with him.

“Ensign Nott.” Hux takes his time sliding his gloves off, lifting his chin and staring down his nose at you. Unfortunately you’re unable to make the appropriate eye contact when listening to your superior—you’re preoccupied by the exposed skin of his hands, distracted wondering why he removed the gloves in the first place. “Eliora.” You startle, looking up at him finally. He narrows those icy blue eyes. “When one is dismissed from the First Order, they are not given the luxury of a formal chat such as this one.”

“Please, General—”

“—They either find themselves simply and suddenly out of work, on a pod to the nearest sith-controlled planet, or dead.”

You shift nervously. “Are you letting me go?”

“Are you unhappy with your work?”

“No. No, of course not.”

“Good. Because the First Order is not in the business of caring.” He sits back in his chair, his face softening only by a fraction. “If I am not mistaken, you graduated top of your class in the academy.”

“Yes, sir.”

His eyes narrow even further at the title, and he goes on. “Despite this, there are many behind you fresh out of the academy who would readily snatch up your position given the chance. Is this what you want?”

“No.” You shake your head. “I’ve made it clear how devoted I am to our cause.” Hux nods, settling forward once more in his seat.

“Very good. I am inclined to give you another chance.” He watches you sit before him, nervous and squirming. A small, mean smile begins to grow on his lips. He’s instilled the fear of the maker into you, and he appears to get off on it. “If you continue to shirk your duties and speak so rudely of me, the Supreme Leader will mistake me for a fool if I don’t terminate you. To ensure this doesn’t happen, you will shadow me tomorrow.” He flicks his wrist. “I will teach you what it means to be an Imperial officer, and how important duty is.” He sneers. “We’ll just pretend, you and I, that I have the time to do such a thing.”

You swallow, your throat dry. “I’ll be following you around tomorrow?”

“Is there a problem, Miss Nott?” He sees the way your cheeks flush pink, his smirk growing even wider. “Did you have some other form of redemption in mind?”

“That’ll be fine,” you nod. “Just fine.”

“Good. The start of tomorrow begins in this office. If you are late, you will be on the next pod to Coruscant. I understand they are in perpetual need of cantina workers there.” A flash of anger shoots through you at the implication.

“I’m not getting on any pod, or working for any rebel scum in a bar. I’ll see you tomorrow, General.” Hux flicks his wrist once more.

“Dismissed, then.” He watches you go, taking off his hat and pattering his fingers against it. Toying with you has been fruitful since he began, but you’re starting to strike back. Is it worth pursuing? He removes your file chip from beneath his desk, inserting it into the small black droid in his office and watching your details project.

Yes, he decides, Eliora is worth the pursuit.

--

When you get to Hux’s office early the next morning, he’s already inside, dressed and ready for duty.

“When you are on time, you’re late. When you’re early, you’re on time. Thankfully, all our pods are under maintenance today. Follow.” You walk quickly after him as he leads you down the hall. “We begin with patrol. Ensure that everyone is performing their best even at the start of their day, before handing that task off to those who have been hired to make my life easier.” He sniffs. “Not that they do.” He sharply directs his gaze to his left. “Lieutenant Kuna!”

“Yes, General?” The woman turns immediately from her station. Although she is much taller than Hux, you notice that he still manages to talk down to her.

“You are needed in the hangar.”

“Yes, General.” She keeps her voice monotone and her eyes straight forward as she abandons her post immediately and walks the other way.

“Notice her?” He clucks his tongue. “She doesn’t ask questions.” His eyes spend too long lingering on you. Are you mistaking his usual intensity for a different sort of interest? You can’t stop the words as they come out, taking the chance to find out.

“Was my questioning so offensive yesterday when I asked why you were interrogating me?”

“Silly girl. If you want diplomacy, join the rebellion.” He takes a step closer. “Here, we put an end to those who threaten disorder.”

“With all due respect, I know what we do.”

“Then why do you stick out like a sore thumb under my command?” For the first time today, Hux looks genuinely frustrated.

“Maybe it’s because you notice me more than you do others.”

His jaw clenches, and you know you’ve hit a sore spot. He simply leans in until you can feel his breath on your face. It’s strangely cool. “Be that as it may... you are an ensign. Here, you obey.” You fully intend to respond with another standard yes sir, but you’re distracted by the General’s proximity. You’ve never been this close to him before, outside of your fantasies.

“All I ever want to do is obey you, sir.” Hux can tell your tone is pointed, and he’s surprised—not unpleasantly.

“You can start today,” he murmurs, “Right here.”

“Here?” You tease him slightly. “Right here, on this floor?”

This time, it’s Hux’s turn to be rendered speechless. He only drops his gaze down to your lips, and your chin inclines ever so slightly in preparation.

“Have you found the droid?”

Kylo Ren’s unmistakably warped voice comes through his helmet, and draws Hux back to the present. He quickly stands up straight to face the grandson of Darth Vader. “I give you the news when I receive it myself, Ren.”

“You give me the news when I ask for it,” Ren replies, his voice sharp as he approaches Hux. You can’t tell if he’s looked your way or even noticed you from beneath that brooding black mask, but you can see Hux’s expression of utter hatred and distaste. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”

“How could one, when you have such a distinctly foul presence?” Hux shoots back. You get the impression he’s toeing the line to bolster himself in front of you, and you’re right. Ren does as you’d feared he would—he brings three fingers up in a force chokehold, and Hux’s arms immediately fly up to his neck, fingers clutching at an invisible tether.

“Don’t test me.” He chokes Hux harder, and leans in. “Double the efforts on the droid. If lives are lost, replace them. I want it found.”

“Done,” Hux wheezes out, and Ren drops him, breezing past without a single glance to you. Hux catches his breath, climbing up from his knees and righting himself.

“Interesting,” you dare to break the tense silence. “I forgot you had a boss too, General.”

“Don’t you dare insult me,” he snarls. “My boss is the Supreme Leader.” He pulls down his uniform, brushing it off. “Not that overgrown, force-sensitive brat.”

“It doesn’t look like it.” Before you can gasp, you feel yourself slammed back against the wall of the hallway. It’s deserted—no one to witness but the two of you, and obviously, Hux enjoys it that way.

“Don’t forget your place,” he growls. His hands crawl up from where they’re bracing him around you on the wall, to grip your shoulders and hold you firm. “What you have just witnessed may have been demeaning, but I will not accept your insolence or disrespect. I am the cat. You are the mouse. Am I understood?” You exhale.

“Yes, sir.” He lets you go, straightens his hat out, and sticks his chin up.

“Very well. Follow.”

You catch a smirk growing on his face as he turns to walk ahead of you, and your brain begins firing off presumptions a mile a minute. He likes to exercise his power, that much is certain and understandable. But with you, it’s as if he sees it as a game.

A game of cat and mouse.

You almost laugh at the hilarity of it, then remember that you’d gone and caught feelings for your boss and he’s toying with you over it. Now, you could groan from what seems like the worst punishment in the galaxy. When General Hux dismisses you from shadowing him today, you know he won’t be finished with you.

--

The next few days, things had warmed up between the two of you. Threatening eyes had softened, and harsh tones had become as playful as they could in a professional setting. However it had happened, the ice encasing Hux’s heart had begun to melt, but that didn’t mean he had gone soft. Far from it.

Back at your post the next week assigned to work on the case of the missing BB unit, you mistake approaching footsteps for a patrolling bridge officer, failing to turn around and acknowledge whoever they are.

“Eliora.”

You look up to see Hux standing above you, lips downturned in his perpetual scowl. Secretly, you hope you haven’t offended him in some way, but that’s ridiculous. You hadn’t even seen, let alone spoken to the man standing before you.

“General Hux.” You raise an eyebrow, and Hux blinks down at you. He studies your face for a moment, pleased by the submission in your eyes and the growing flush in your cheeks from his presence. He folds a cocky arm behind his back, chest broadening.

“Anything to report on the droid?”

“Transmissions from Jakku have been sparse and very limited when they do come through, but there have been sightings of one that matches the description.” Hux’s eyebrows raise.

“Excellent. Good work.” Your coworker glances over, and Hux notices the attention on the both of you. He scowls again, and takes a step between you. “What of his location?”

“He’s been spotted in the Eastern dessert. With a girl.”

“A girl?” Hux mutters. “Hm. I’ll get Mitaka on it. He can pinpoint where this wretched outcast is, and where she’s harbouring the last piece of the map.” He nods. “Ren will be pleased.”

“Are you pleased?”

A hand rubs down your back. “Very much so.” Warmth flowers throughout your body, and the hand begins to travel down and rub circles. He goes on, tone morphing not back to his usual strictness as you’d imagine, but into amusement. “Did I tell you could refer to me by my name?”

“I put General before it,” you retort. He sniffs, nods.

He seems reluctant to let you go and resume his duties as General on the Finalizer, but when officers begin to take notice of his lingering presence, he does so, leaving you with a sensual trail of his fingertip up your spine to the back of your neck. Maybe the cat has become the mouse, you think, chewing on your bottom lip as the bundle of nerves in your stomach begins to spark flame elsewhere.

--

It had been a long day of enduring abuse from Ren, summoning you and your coworkers in to have a fit about the droid not being found yet. It had only been a few days since the assignment had been given, and Mitaka had already been forced choked over it after one minor loss. You don't particularly like Mitaka, but his life must have flashed before his eyes during that encounter with that moody sociopath. You wonder in abject terror if the Sith had come up with mind-reading devices yet. Certainly those force-sensitives could do it whenever they liked...

Hush, back on track. Nobody wants to read your mind.

The knight wanted the crew of the Finalizer to do the impossible. You suppose the Order is in the business of getting the impossible done, but it still takes hard work and at least a little time.

Hands behind your back and posture impeccable, you walk down the sleek black passage toward the bridge. As you're heading back to your station, you notice none other than General Hux walking by you.

"General," you say, and he turns swiftly.

"Eliora. I heard what Ren did." He shifts uncomfortably for a moment. "He... shouldn't have done that."

"That's the kindest thing you've said to me in a while," you smile.

"Mm. I won’t hesitate to speak to him if he goes too far," Hux reminds you. “I have the authority, no matter how he loves to choke me for it.”

"I appreciate it."

"What he did in there was the equivalent of a child taking a tantrum. Not that it's any different than dealing with him in any other capacity." The two of you start to walk together.

"I'm used to getting yelled at," you shrug. "I'm still fresh out of the Academy."

"Ah, yes. The Academy," Hux nods. The barest glimpse of a smile crosses his lips. "It was long ago for me, but I remember the torture."

"Is that what whipped you into shape so strictly?" you asked.

"No. That was of my own doing." You both come to a stop in front of Hux's office. Tentatively, you reach forward to put a hand on the General's hip. Reflexively, he jerks at the touch, glancing everywhere and ready to reprimand you.

"What are you doing?"

"Just a little something to keep us through the day." He's still tense, as you're still his subordinate. You back away in defeat and embarrassment, but he inhales sharply at the loss of your touch. “I’m—” Giving in when he sees there's no one around, Hux takes you by the arm and holds you against his door.

"You think you can tease your superior like this?" he whispers in your ear, fingers coming up to stroke a strand of your hair that had come loose from your standard uniform bun away from your neck. He tsks. "Eliora. You know how I value respect above all things."

"Then I respectfully offer myself to you," you whisper, almost begging, and he can't resist any longer. He closes his hands over your breasts and seals your lips in a kiss. You reach your hand forward to cup Hux between his legs, and he draws in a sharp breath as he humps forward at the touch. He begins to kiss you like a starving man, as if it had been all he could do to stop himself from touching you earlier. You're just as lost in the sensations, forgetting where you are and why you can't tease him into fucking you right there in the hall against his door.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, the two of you break away from each other, and you wipe your lips as patrollers come around the corner. A small droid toots around behind them, and it backs up for a moment. Hux sneers down at it, and it beelines past the two of you. He’s only taking his anger out on it; the two of you always seem to get interrupted before anything can be done about this infernal tension.

You nod to Hux with a shrug, and he watches you go as he lets himself into his office. The sheer power he has over you is intoxicating, but for the first time, he doesn't feel the inkling to abuse it. He touches his lips as he sits down, sliding his tongue to taste you again. You do the same as you take your seat at comms and stare off through the front of the star destroyer into space. 

--

You’re awakened by a loud banging on your door. Groggily, you open one eye to take a look at the blinking time on your watch by the bed. It’s nearly midnight.

The bang sounds again. It’s systemic, as if a droid is doing it. You know it’s not droid, however. Rising from bed, you open the door to find what you had expected—two Stormtroopers.

“Ensign Nott. General Hux requests your presence.” You rub your head.

“He has duties for me at midnight? There are alternate comms workers for that, when I’m off.”

“Come with us.”

“I have to get my uniform on—”

“He said it was urgent. No need to change.” Your eyebrows raise. Sighing to yourself and tugging on a shawl, you follow them until you reach Hux’s office. They leave you at the door, and it slides open by Hux’s control from inside.

“Enter.”

You expect him to be pacing—facing the window with his hands clasped behind his back. You expect him, despite the late hour, to be impeccably dressed as usual and at his sharpest, determined never to be seen in any state of vulnerability. Instead, you find him behind his desk, one hand braced. His ginger hair is hanging in his face as if he’s attempted to sweep it back to no avail. His lips are parted and his pale skin is slightly flushed just beneath his eyes.

“Sir, are you alright?” you ask, stepping forward. He looks up at the stormtroopers patrolling the door.

“Leave us.”

They do as he says, and you turn back to him, confusion and concern evident in your expression. The first thoughts that flood your mind are thoughts of an attack, some kind of issue or sickness even he might have come down with. Then you start to wonder why he would call you to discuss any of that. No, he isn’t sick. He looks particularly affected. Physically compromised, even, as if he had been caught in a compromising position. Standing up straighter, you present yourself properly in front of his desk.

“Thinking of me?”

“Watch yourself,” Hux snaps, panting as he sits himself up higher to appear presentable. “You know better than anyone who you’re speaking to.”

“That’s how I know what you were doing. General.”

He narrows his eyes at you, standing from the desk. He’s in a black bathrobe, one he was obviously sleeping in or got into to relax before calling you here. “And what if I told you what I was doing? How urgently I touched my cock with your name on my lips?” He turns away from you with a harsh sigh. “Our little game is becoming too heated, Eliora. Something must be done about that.” Your stomach drops. Of course you should have expected this little tryst to come to an end sometime; it’s inappropriate and dangerous anyway, and you suppose it’s for the best that it end.

“I understand.”

“Mm. Good.” He walks circles around you, but when you try to turn to face him behind you, you feel his grip on the back of your neck. You don’t feel the usual icy fingers—instead, his hand is hot tonight, clammy. “Then bend over the desk.”

“What?”

“Need I remind you again that I won’t tolerate the questioning of my authority?” he asks slowly, annunciating his command. “Over the desk.”

You obey him, bending over. The shiver that runs through you is prolonged by his hand cupping your ass through your nightie. You’re suddenly hyperaware of your state of dress, or undress as it may seem. You’re only in your small night gown and panties. “I apologize. I didn’t have time to get into my uniform when you called for me, General.”

“On this occasion, Miss Nott,” Hux smirks, smoothing your nightie up your back to expose your underwear, “You are forgiven.” His breathing becomes ragged as his other hand comes up, rolling the meat of your ass around and squeezing. “Do you know how it tortures me so to see you every day, and restrain myself?”

“I know,” you breathe, arching your back and pressing your breasts further into his desk. “I can tell by your touches.”

“Curious that an ensign could steal my affections so quickly,” he mutters, giving your ass a sharp slap. “Like a spell. I, normally, am unbreakable.”

“Except when it comes to Kylo Ren.”

“What?” he snaps. He smoothes his hand up your back again and you moan, until he grips the back of your neck once more and pulls you up to snarl in your ear: “You do not mention him here. Him, or Snoke. Here, I am your Supreme Leader.”

You nod, grinding back against him. “You seem tense. Take it out on me?”  

“An inspired idea,” he nods, “But you don’t deserve it just yet.” He helps her stand up, and directs her into the other room, onto his black satin sheets. He stands over you. “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble. I can’t get you out of my mind, and my performance has suffered for it.”

“Your performance on the job, or in bed?” Hux scowls.

“You know as well as I, I haven’t fucked anyone. How can I when you haunt my mind?”

“I only thought you wanted to play.”

“We’ve played.”

“You won.”

“Not yet.”

“And your work has suffered.” You pout. “How can I make it up to you?” you coo. His lips curl up again.

“On your knees.” You stalk forward on your hands and knees and meet him at the end of the bed, where he stands. You get to work untying his black robe, but do it slowly to entice him. Hux looks down at you, lips parting slightly and tongue darting out at the prospect of what you’re about to do. Flippantly, he huffs. “Take care of it.” You hum.

“Yes sir.” First, you give a small lick up his stomach, where his ginger happy trail leads up to his belly button. You keep moving up, kissing and sucking gently, sensually around his chest, until you reach his stark pink nipple and graze your teeth along it. Hux’s cock twitches into visibility through the part in the robe, and as your mouth waters, you decide to finally do as you’re told.

When you first take him into your mouth, his hand can’t help but bury into your hair. It’s not tucked into a bun like it usually is beneath your uniform cap, and he appreciates how he can finally run his fingers through it as he’d dreamed of doing each night. Every small tug of passion he gives only makes you take him deeper.

“Tell me how much you like it,” he sighs, watching your every move. You pop off with a moan, eyebrows knit. “Tell me how you’ve had no other like me.”

“It’s so good. You taste so good, General. I’ve never tasted a cock so nice... so big.” Hux’s breath hitches, and he watches you on your knees for him as he sucks in his cheekbones.

“I never imagined what talents you possessed in the bedroom,” he notes. “Especially with that silver tongue. I’ve learned however, you have a talent for obedience. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then tell me. Hold nothing back. I want to hear of your fantasies of me. What did you think of when you would watch me, your superior, walk by your station? When I would reprimand you?” For the first time in several minutes, the blush returns to your cheeks. Realizing he expects an answer, you search for words. “I expect you to speak when you are spoken to,” he growls, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. The fear in your eyes makes him smirk, chin jutting out in that smug manner he always seems to possess.  

“What if my mouth’s full?” you grin, kitten licking his head. Something flashes through his eyes, but you start to jerk him off before he has a chance to reprimand you again. With his head rolling back, you go on. “I thought of deliberately mixing the signals just so you would come over and take me to your office to spank me.”

“You would jeopardize the First Order’s mission just to ride my cock like a little slut, wouldn’t you?” he mutters. You look up at him, tongue out as you nod. The General buries his fingers once more into the back of your hair, guiding you back onto his cock. “Then let us correct this insatiable desire, before you get into any more trouble.” He guides you on and off a few times, and when he groans, he pulls you off and lays you down. Flipping you over onto your stomach, he humps against your ass a few times. You bite into the sheets as you feel his prominent erection prod against you, and wiggle back. “How badly do you want me?”

“I would have fucked you that day you kissed me against the wall,” you murmur into the sheets, “I would’ve let you take me right there, I wanted you so bad. I’ve held off on touching myself while thinking of you, because I wanted the real thing. I can’t wait any longer.” Hux hisses as he takes himself out of his pants, and tugs your panties down with his free hand. He slaps the head of his cock against you, getting himself slick, before he finally breaches you, bracing himself on his forearms around you and burying himself inside. You gasp, arching back, and he takes one of your hands, slamming it down in his fist and pinning it to the mattress as his other one slides between the bed and your stomach, reaching down to rub at your clit. The first stroke of his fingers makes you jolt, gasping even louder, and he nips at your ear.

“Get nice and loud. I want to know just what I’m doing to you. I want all of them to know who you belong to. The General’s little whore.” Your cries grow, the rhythm of Hux’s thrusting with each circle of his finger around you drawing out pleasure from the pit of your stomach.

“Please,” you whimper, “Sir, harder!”

“You want me to pound you until you scream, do you?” he growls. “I’ll give you exactly what you need. Move yourself back on me.” With fervour, you grind back with every pound of his cock, and he starts to grunt. His teeth sink into the back of your neck, and he presses soft kisses to the top of your back as he slows his movements inside of you to deep, gentle pumps, keeping himself at bay. Each throb you feel inside of you makes your pussy clench, and you grind back again. Hux turns you over and makes eye contact with you, lifting one of your leg up to wrap around his back. This leads to you sitting up and in his lap as the two of you push and pull and kiss hard toward your orgasm. Your lips meet his first, and he bites your bottom lip as your teeth clash and lips overlap one another’s.

“Hux,” you sigh into his mouth. He swallows your gasp, holding you up by your back. He buries his face in the nape of your neck, and your moans grow in pitch until they reach a crescendo. “Fuck—I’m coming!”

“Eli—” He shudders, sinking his face down your chest into your breasts. You feel him finish inside of you as he pounds twice, growling out his release. When you fall backward away from him, his lips are parted, forehead damp. His pale chest is heaving, covered in dark love marks you don’t remember leaving there.

The large floor to ceiling window opposite the bed gives the two of you an unobstructed view into the vast corners of space.

"I used to feel insignificant within all that before I joined the Order."

Hux hums. "I did as well. Very much so." He takes a pause to think. "At first, it was freeing to join. I had found my place in the universe-- I had found my calling. What is life without order? Then, as I raised in the ranks and took on more responsibility, I began to feel as though I was only a mouthpiece. I still feel that way, subordinate to Ren when I truly only take orders from Supreme Leader Snoke."

"I think you're a competent leader. A great one at that. You get things done like no other, and you're feared."

"Yes. I find though, I've lost some of me in who I’ve become." He runs a hand through his hair, and shakes his head. "But I have found my purpose here. At first with you, I was afraid of the disorder I would experience when another's feelings were involved. I enjoyed toying with you, of course, but then I began to worry I was getting too attached."

"What changed your mind?"

"I haven't an idea. I just made a decision. Perhaps with you in my life, I can find balance."

"The balance that we're working to restore to the universe."

"The balance of a just galaxy," he nods. "And order." Hugging you closer to him on the bed, he buries his lips into your hair.

"What's your name?" He pauses.

"What?"

You stop your hand where it's running up and down his chest. "What's your first name?" He exhales.

"Armitage."

"Armitage Hux." He smiles down at you.

"That's General to you."

"Is it?" you challenge. He sniffs.

"Perhaps not in here."

"I'd say especially in here," you whisper back, and he places a kiss to your forehead.

"Perhaps you call me by my first name, as I do you Eliora. My life, I think, could use a little disorder." 

[honeytea8]

Virtue & Vice • Dio Brando/Reader

A/N: Discord prompt for the week was Masquerade AU, so I decided to write for Dio Brando, using @sammystep’s beautiful bedroom and mask renders as inspiration 😏 (seriously, they are amazing, so check them out at the end of the fic!!); Also written to be gender neutral, so please let me know if I messed up anywhere!

Word Count: 2.9K

Summary: With your estranged cousin in a town full of rumors and ghost stories, it’s rather obvious you’re in for an interesting weekend. Somehow, you catch the eye of an insatiable beast, and whether you manage to survive him is left completely up to you.

Warnings/Disclaimers: Subtle references to Stone Ocean, heavily implied sexual content, Dio monologuing lol

In every city you’ve visited, there was always talk, and by talk, you meant gossip. Grapevines grew from thin air, spreading until the town was entangled in a sickness you liked to call Hearsay. You had witnessed this far too many times in the past, the novelty having worn off a long time ago. But on occasion, you liked to lend an ear to the particularly interesting ones—stories that left you searching for that innocuous sliver of truth amidst fairy tale.

Most times, however, it was merely a drunk spewing his usual nonsense to any person willing to listen. You were rarely ever an audience to such. Still, nothing quite chilled your bones like the tale recounted by one of the strangest men you’ve ever met.

It had been late in the evening, but not too late that the barmaid was not still serving homemade pies and cold drinks to her patrons.

A man only a few years older than yourself was perched on a rickety wooden chair nearby; it gave a high-pitched squeak every time he shifted. He had been there upon your arrival and would likely be there after you were gone. His clothes were drenched in sweat, boots caked in mud. You noticed him observing you from under the brim of his ten-gallon hat, though the rest of his face remained hidden. The nearest available seat just so happened to be right by his own, you hesitated, but ultimately took it.

Your fingers were frozen like cubes of ice and you breathed on them in a fruitless attempt to help them thaw. The barmaid made her rounds and eventually came to you. Only then were you able to order something to warm you up, a simple cup of coffee would suffice. You sat silent and unassuming, content with minding your own business until a gruff voice reached out to you, almost as if his words grew an arm and gripped your shoulder.

“Yer face,” he muttered in your direction. “S’like someone I can trust.”

You blinked at him. The implications behind his words were not lost on you. In fact, it was something you heard quite often. For your own mother had delivered you into a cruel world, and was quick to brand you with a trademark that has followed you for as long as you could recall: an angel.

In return, people seemed to gravitate towards you—were always intrigued by you, listening and speaking to you, soothed by your very nature and presence. It was a gift, you supposed. And like any gift, you preferred to use it for good. Whether it be to share in another’s burdens, or to relieve them of it entirely.

“Is there something you would like to share?” you replied back.

He hummed, then took a long swig of his whiskey in preparation. “Yeah, somethin's kept me up fer days actually.”

“What has?”

“I used ‘ta butle for a lord here in this town—hmm, well ta be frank it was only for a lil’ while... was dismissed soon after.”

The man continued without giving any clear answer to your question, but you assumed a bit of patience would grant you the full story.

“I'm sorry about your job.” you said out of courtesy, but he waved you off.

“Don’t be. S’better this way.” he took another sip, draining the glass in one go and waved for another round. “You believe in heaven?”

“Heaven? Like… the place where good people go when they pass on...? I—I’m not too sure.”

“S’alright.” he smiled for the first time, wide lips stretching across his face handsomely. He looked rather boyish with his half dimple and cleft chin. His expression was almost endearing. You figured he might’ve been quite the charmer when sober. “Name’s Hol Horse, by the way.”

“Hol Horse, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

You introduced yourself as well, to which he tipped his hat in greeting. The whole exchange was rather odd, but you went along with it for the sake of your own budding curiosity.

Hol Horse cast a wary glance around the room. You too chanced a brief look, but not as thoroughly as your companion. Obviously, no one was listening. You smiled and silently encouraged him to surrender the burden laying heavy on his conscience.

Hol Horse gave you his story. Some parts he gave in detail—others he offered in threadbare comments, giving only the minimum for you to catch the gist. From what you could piece together, he had worked as a servant under a young lord in the countryside. It was a large estate left behind by a ‘Sir Joestar’ who had passed away many years ago due to illness. His only adopted son was left to inherit the fortune, along with several of the businesses in town. That was as far as Hol Horse knew, more surprisingly, he had never even laid eyes on his employer during his tenure. Any and every form of correspondence was made through the lord's right hand.

At one point, you were beginning to wonder what picture Hol Horse was trying to paint here. Why did any of this matter? Regardless, it was the earnest pull of his voice that kept you rooted to your seat. That, and the fact that he had seemed to grow even more...disturbed the longer he spoke. His brows were pinched while he thought, showing his great displeasure. You truly hoped, for his sake, that confessing whatever was killing him inside would finally put his heart at ease.

In a lowered tone, he revealed the true cause of his troubles. He had spotted a number of bloodied sheets being carted away from his lord’s sleeping quarters, men and women’s clothing torn to shreds and disposed of in an incinerator. Certain staff members with superhuman strengths and abilities. Phantoms, ghosts, demonic spirits. All culminated by the devastating amount of missing persons. These were some serious, and if you were honest, strange allegations.

“My apologies,” you interrupted, “but I’m not sure I follow.”

“I’m sayin’ that some crazy shit’s goin’ on in this town, and I wouldn’t feel too inclined ta stay if I were you.”

You pursed your lips, far too stunned for words.

“Heaven.” he uttered like a curse. There was a sudden quiver in his lips, that sent a chill racing down your spine. It wasn’t just about ‘heaven’. More specifically, Hol Horse was convinced there existed a way to call it forth.

The sheer ridiculousness of this statement seized your attention. The man was so obviously intoxicated, but spoke like these were irrefutable facts that he too struggled to come to terms with.

A heaven within the reach of mere mortals? Powers no man had any business wielding? It was absolutely ludicrous! But your gut, which had saved you countless times in the past, urged you to not cast this tale aside.

You wondered if this made you a fool.

.

.

.

You had only come to this town per invitation from a distant, older cousin. And while distant by blood, she was also distant to you in nearly every other aspect as well. You and your cousin, Gwess, scarcely saw one another due to a series of familial barriers. By all accounts, you should be wary of her, but she was also newly married now, and you supposed her only desire was to rekindle your long-neglected relationship.

Marriage, children, a home—it had a way of changing people. You were unsure if you could genuinely relate to her feelings, but you would not stop her from trying to rebuild something, even if that something had never truly existed in the first place.

For whatever reasons, your cousin had you set up in a hotel instead of her guest house. You didn’t take it personally, after all, it was her home to do with as she pleased. The hotel suite was lavish; far be it from you to complain.

Clean, white walls, with an intricate gold motif wallpaper, Persian carpeting, high thread-count sheets made from the whitest Egyptian cotton. At your bedside were red roses that added a bit of color and warmth to the room, and near the window was a mini-bar stocked with various alcoholic beverages should you choose to indulge.

Courtesy of Gwess, your outfit for the night’s festivities hung on the bathroom door, zipped up in a garment bag to keep it from either soiling or wrinkling. She had gifted it to you along with a mask for the masquerade ball, though, you felt a sudden trepidation bubbling in your stomach at what awaited you; like a premonition of something to come, it weighed on your chest, and you tried desperately to swallow it down.

Hol Horse’s words from the previous night continued to haunt you in broken fragments. He had warned you not to stick around but it wasn’t like you were staying much longer. Just one more night.

Still, you worried. With the sound of your heart thumping in your ears, you drew out the lace and chiffon clothing from the bag that had kept it hidden from you until now.

A feeling you could not explain washed over you at the sight of what Gwess brought for you to wear. It was white with wing-like patterns sewn down into the material just below the blades of your shoulders. You considered the meaning of this as you donned the outfit and fixed the mask over your face. Mockery perhaps? Who could say?

Gwess greeted you in the hotel lobby with open arms and a warm smile.

“Cousin!”

“Gwess.” You murmured with a nod and a small tilt of your lips. “You look well.”

She grinned, eyes crinkling, “Don’t I?” Gwess gave a twirl, showing off one of her newest purchases. A thinly strapped designer gown with silver embroideries and little birds stitched at the hem and sleeve. In her hands was an extravagant mask covered in jewels and... real life bird feathers. You assumed so, given the traces of blood still on them. Ever the beauty, your cousin was. Her husband, being a lawyer working under a prominent firm in town, made sure that his dearest Gwess wanted for nothing; inherently enabling her rather eccentric hobbies, like mutilating tiny animals and using their remains as accessories.

.

.

.

The venue was a large ballroom not too far from the hotel. It was beautifully decorated with crimson and gold ornaments and glittering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The festivities were already in full swing. Peals of laughters, thundering music, flashing lights. It was increasingly overwhelming. The event was more of a bacchanal for the rich and wealthy, a hedonistic gathering for the town’s upper echelon. It was almost ceremonial.

To make matters worse, you lost sight of Gwess, or rather, she had ditched you for a group of familiar faces. So, you wandered about on your own. There were a startling amount of guests, it felt almost like eyes were on you at every moment. Bodies pushed on all sides of you as you struggled to make your way through to a less crowded area. The sick feeling in the pit of your stomach bred more fear and anxiety, until you felt the urge to vomit right then and there.

Escaping into the open balcony was your only form of solace, and perhaps you’d remain there for the rest of the evening. Though, how could you have known that in doing so, you would inevitably find yourself within the crosshairs of an apex predator.

By his third victim, Dio was beginning to think that none of his ‘esteemed’ guests had brought a worthy sacrifice. A sneer curled at his lips as he watched them from his seat above. They were like monkeys, dancing for his entertainment, but unfortunately, he was far from entertained. He lounged back in his seat with a deep sigh.

Dio Brando did not believe in chance or coincidence. He did not believe in a being beyond the proverbial curtain, pulling on strings and orchestrating the whims of humanity. But lately, he’d been feeling a bit of a premonition. Nothing alarming, just an inkling of something he couldn’t quite place. And even after speaking to Enrico at length—

Dio paused in his musing, having caught sight of something in his peripheral.

With purposed steps, he followed the instincts deep within him, a visceral tugging in his gut, until he was greeted with the sight of your back. Poised like a sharpened blade, clothed in white; you stood underneath the lantern’s glow, like an angel hand-delivered to his doorstep. Utterly enticing.

You turned, gazing over at him with a peculiar look in your eyes, like that of a cautious doe in the presence of a hunter. The mask you wore shielded the majority of your face, but you were not someone he recognized. The clothing you were wearing made him all the more interested in finding what lay beneath.

Even from this distance, he could see the light sheen of sweat on the back on your neck. The subtle quake in your shoulders was not hidden from him either, even the bob of your throat as you swallowed.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he finally asked.

You were not expecting the man to speak since he looked so dead set on staring at you. “I don’t mind at all.”

You shifted over a little, an unnecessary action, seeing as there was plenty of room for the both of you. The fresh air did well in calming you down. But the sudden appearance of this man and his wolfish gaze was putting you back on edge. In any other instance, his very aura would have sent you running for the hills, but for some reason, you couldn't even bring yourself to move.

“You aren't enjoying yourself,” he noted with a teasing smile. “Does that make me a terrible host?”

You fumbled for a minute, stuttering over your words while trying to find an appropriate answer that wouldn’t offend him too much.

“C-Certainly not. It’s, um, no fault of your own. These kinds of things never interested me in the first place.”

You tried to avoid looking him in the eye when you responded but that proved to be impossible. His eyes were such a beautiful shade of scarlet. You half-wondered if they even came in that color naturally. He licked his lips, and for a second you caught sight of a sharpened canine.

“One could say that I am looking for something. Why else would I throw such an affair?”

Curious, you angled yourself a bit closer to him.

“Do you believe in gravity, dear?” he brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “That might be the reason why I’ve found you. You feel it too, that innate pull that can’t be explained.” he drew you closer until you were chest to chest. “It’s why you can’t walk away even though you’re frightened. I think we were fated to meet each other here.”

A wind blew as he said those words, tussling his gold spun hair, as if nature itself were confirming his words.

“Don’t you believe in destiny? That our lives are fate’s ultimate composition; a song that plays from the moment we take our first breath until we breathe our last.”

He was standing so close, close enough that you could smell the hint of cinnamon in his cologne and... blood...on his breath. It was making you dizzy, but you were also surprised to find that you wanted him to kiss you. And once that thought was acknowledged, it blossomed into a heady desire that was slowly taking over your entire body. You wanted him, the monster behind the mask.

“What say you, dear? Are you still frightened by me?” he laughed. “Don’t be. You and I are the same.”

“I’m...not afraid.” you said and placed a hand on his chest. It pleased him to hear you say it, even if your body betrayed your words. He leaned forward with one arm wrapped around your waist and gave a long, languid lick to a stripe of your skin, your perspiration was no deterrent at all, in fact he rather enjoyed it. Being this close to you gave him a vision of depthless oceans behind his eyelids with the taste of saltwater on his tongue and algae under his feet.

It was cathartic.

Indeed there were cleaner ways to do this, but he liked the pulse of your jugular beneath his tongue. He let his fangs sink into the flesh of your neck, puncturing your skin all the way through. Your fingers gripped his clothes, but not out of pain. The immense pleasure washing over you felt unlike anything you could ever imagine. Puffs of your warm breath coasted against the shell of his ear. You were far past the point of return.

.

.

.

In the final act, you laid naked in your hotel bed underneath blood speckled sheets. Your neck was throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the pleasant soreness between your thighs.

Dio, the name of your new god, hovered over you bare as the day he was born with an arrogant smile on his lips. Your wrists were bound with the strips of cloth torn from your body. You couldn’t reach him but your gaze still roamed the hills and valleys of his muscled chest in an act of worship and devotion.

An angel, they had called you. But what was angel without a fall from grace? It seemed in order to know virtue, one must first acquaint themselves with vice.

[orsino-the-enchanter]

Schools of Magic: an introduction

“As above so below”, that is the best description of the ways in which magic can affect the world and be utilized by the ones gifted with it. In the same way in which the world functions in pairs of equal opposites, so does magic have opposing manifestations that balance out each other. Although mages tend to have a natural inclination towards one particular school of magic, it doesn’t mean they cannot excel in more than one, provided they study diligently. 

The 4 Schools Of Magic

Magic can be roughly split in two big categories: Magic of Energy and Magic of Matter. As the names suggest, the former has to do with all the manifestations of magic in the immaterial world and the latter with active and immediate manipulation of the matter around us. Each category includes two schools of magic, which represent opposing yet complimentary manipulations of Energy and Matter, thus forming 4 Schools in total:

Spirit School

Primal School

Creation School

Entropy School

Spirit School of Magic

Opposing and complimentary to the Primal School, Spirit school draws its power from the Fade itself. It manipulates energies that are invisible and outside of nature forces, yet surround us at all times. Also known as the school of mysteries and the ephemera, it includes everything from direct manipulation of mana and spell energies to the study and summoning of spirits themselves. It is the most esoteric from the schools of magic; and the ones who specalize in it are often misunderstood by the wide populus who knows next to nothing when it comes to the Fade.

Spirit spells can be used both in war and peace, including arcane magic (both in energy blasts and barrier creation ), mana manipulation, summoning and healing magic. 

Healing magic has to do with manipulation of life-force acquired from the benevolent spirits which reside in the Fade. Not all things to come from the Fade are harmful. The spirits involved in this form of magic do not feed on the darker side of the psyche. These benign spirits of fortitude, compassion, hope and the like rarely seek to cross the Veil, but can sometimes be persuaded to protect and restore life, rather than corrupt or destroy it as demons would. However, this has two major implications: The spirit healer has to earn the spirit’s trust first in order to gain their services; and one must not forget the ever-present risk of posession which is even higher for spirit healers, since they seek to attract attention from the other side of the Veil. More than one tale exists of a spirit healer being fooled by a demon masquerading as a benevolent spirit, and inadvertently bringing them across the Veil... or being tricked into letting down their guard, and possessed.

Another domain of spirit magic -albeit on the macabre side- is Necromancy; in other words, the manipulation of the spirits of the deceased. Developed by the Mortalitasi (the Keepers of the Grand Necropolis of Nevarra), it can be used in either passive or active fashion; to simply contact a particular spirit of a deceased person or to bind the spirits that are drawn to death on the battlefield in order to put the fear of death into enemies, bring spirits to fight on the mage’s behalf and even cause devastating explosions when enemies die (this only happens through synergy with primal magic which will be discussed in a while).

Finally, dreamer magic is the discipline of spirit magic which allows the practitioner’s consciousness to enter the Fade in a dream state and interact with spirits in their own habitat. However, due to its rarity and dangerousness, it is not one of the disciplines widely taught within Circles of Magi. 

Primal School of Magic

Sometimes called the School of Power, the Primal School is the second of the Schools of Energy, balanced by Spirit, and concerns the most visible and tangible forces of nature itself: the primal mage is capable of bending the elements under their will.

This is the magic of war: Fire, ice, and lightning. Devastation. This is what the vast majority imagines when they hear the word "magic." There is a great variety of elemental spells that a mage can be taught in a Circle -most classes and training sessions have to do with elemental magic in one form or another; especially since it is one of the most common and sought-after specializations.

At this point I would like to take the opportunity and discuss force magic: a distinct form of magic that lies in the gray zone between spirit and primal magic and happens to be the most common mage specialization in the Kirkwall Circle of Magi. The force mage uses their mind and focused will as a weapon, resulting in raw application of magic in all its vicious glory: maelstroms that draw opponents, ethereal weight that crush and slow, or great waves that throw enemies about like ragdolls. Targets not to be toyed with are simply slammed into the ground, as though pummeled by a great fist. And in their mastery of such damage, Force Mages can make themselves all but immune to similar attacks, an ability that hints at the true discipline they must maintain. After all, unsubtle doesn't mean unsophisticated—the Force Mage specialization requires uncommon precision to keep such overwhelming power under control. 

Creation School of Magic

The School of Creation, sometimes called the School of Nature, is the first of the Schools of Matter, the balancing force and complement of Entropy. Creation magic manipulates natural forces, transforming what exists and bringing new things into being.

Creation requires considerable finesse, more than any other school, and is therefore rarely mastered. Those mages who have made a serious study of creation are the highest in demand, useful in times of peace as well as war.

Dalish Keepers have preserved most forms of Creation Magic and the discipline’s creation can be dated back to the years of Elvhenan domination. Lore has it that it was one of Mythal’s gifts to elves; so it is a discipline almost exclusive to elven mages. Some of the spells Dalish Keepers cast allow them to become one with nature thus creating defensive shields, call roots from beneath the earth to inflict physical damage on all enemies, as well as absorb energy from the dead within their casting field.

A form of magic which balances between the Creation and Spirit schools is shapeshifting; which allows a person to transform their body into the form of an animal.The path of the Shapeshifter is one that crosses the boundary between mage and warrior. Some mages see it as a form of self-mastery, while others use it as a method of survival; a physical bag of tricks that enable the mage to be unpredictable in battle. Shapeshifters must master one form at a time, the most common ones being those that are found in the Fereldan wilds. The mighty bear is popular as are wildcats, spiders, and even birds. Legend tells of mages who mastered even more fantastical and deadly forms. To a skilled Shapeshifter, no door is impassable, no fight is unwinnable, and no terrain inhospitable as long as they know a shape that can meet the task at hand.

Entropy School of Magic

The second of the two Schools of Matter, Entropy is the opposing force of Creation; for this reason it is often called the School of Negation or School of Chaos. Nothing lives without death. Time inevitably brings an end to all things in the material world, and yet in this ending is the seed of a beginning. A river may flood its banks, causing havoc, but bring new life to its floodplain. The fire that burns a forest ushers in new growth. And so it is with entropic magic that we manipulate the forces of erosion, decay, and destruction to create anew.

Although closely related to elemental magic due to their common destructive element, entropic magic is more deeply rooted in the psyche of the spellcaster and was thought to be a curse. Entropy mages can absorb one’s life-force through mere touch, cause buildings to collapse, erode the landscape and turn order into chaos. This specialization is rare to occur on its own, but if it does it is very dangerous to be mastered and often takes the practitioner’s life in one way or another. The most talented of elemental and force mages are entropy mages at heart or at least they have an inclination towards entropy magic.

 Blood Magic: The Forbidden School

Technically I should not even be speaking of this school of magic since the Chantry forbids it; however I believe it is only fair that you have some knowledge of what it consists of and why you should not take it lightly. A knife can be used to slice bread or to kill someone; it is but a means to an end. Same goes with blood magic; it is not a school of magic per se, only a means to help someone cast complicated spells that require a lot of mana. Instead of exhausting oneself, the mage uses their own lifeforce through blood to fuel the spells. It is similar in its workings to lyrium-enforced magic, but without the health risks that lyrium poses.  Also, unlike lyrium which allows a mage to send his conscious mind into the Fade, blood would allow them to find the sleeping minds of others, view their dreams, and even influence or dominate their thoughts. Additionally, blood magic allows the Veil to be opened completely so that demons may physically pass through it into our world.

 It was common practice, at one time, for a magister to keep a number of slaves on hand so that, should he undertake the working of a spell that was physically beyond his abilities, he could use the blood of his slaves to bolster the casting. The more the blood the more powerful the spell. However, greed is a terrible vice, and soon slave bloodletting turned into sacrifice. Since this is no history manual, I will not go into the details of how this led to the First Blight and the fall of the Tevinter Imperium. Greed and vanity have existed for as long as conscience itself and blood magic should not be held accountable for these vices. It is not blood magic which corrupts people. Power corrupts people; it attracts the worst and destroys the best of them. Blood magic is only the means to achieve great power while allowing practitioners to overlook the great responsibility that comes with it.

[oneshotficrecsbymn]

17

https://oneshotficrecsbymn.tumblr.com/17

a happy medium - wonhui

wen junhui is just your average 20-year-old university student. he pulls all-nighters, goofs off with his friends, and parties a bit more than he should. oh, and he talks to dead people. somehow, he manages to balance being a student and a medium without much difficulty, but lately he’s been getting a little too distracted by spirit. more specifically, by a grandmother spirit belonging to the hottest guy in his lecture… and she’s desperate to try and set the two of them up. he really doesn’t want to give the stranger a reading, afraid she might make him say something embarrassing, but at this point, he’s going to fail the class if she doesn’t shut up.

a long time coming - wonhoon

Wonwoo knew the back of Jihoon’s head better than anyone.

a mother’s favor - meanie

Visiting the Underworld has never been on the list of Wonwoo’s favorite things to do but he guesses it can always get worse.

a wave breaking on the shore - soonwoo

When the sun stops shining so brightly, make a stop by the beach to check up on it. Soonyoung and Wonwoo are figuring things out.

and the stars forever dwell - meanie

“I’m Wonwoo. My dad is the caretaker here, but you already knew that.”

Wonwoo is right, and Mingyu is a liar.

Sir Jeon is the resident caretaker of these dragons—the best in the capital—and his son, Wonwoo?

Well, Mingyu wouldn’t call him a stranger.

art isn’t meant to be hung up, anyways - soonwoo

“I’m taking you on the first date,” Wonwoo says, surely, though Soonyoung catches the slight tremble of his fingers, the catch in his throat, the way his eyes dart back and forth between Soonyoung and Seokmin, as if daring to contradict him.

“I would like to take you on a date,” Soonyoung decides to say instead, putting the flowers into a vase. “It’s nicer if you ask this way. I’d also be more inclined to say yes, you know.”

“Yes,” Wonwoo tilts his head. “What you said.”

—

or, the one where Wonwoo decides it’d be a good idea to take Soonyoung on dates because he really, really wants something Soonyoung has.

as the carnations bloom - wonhui

Junhui presses his lips onto Wonwoo’s, slipping the red carnation into Wonwoo’s hair, and Wonwoo knew exactly what it meant; deep love and affection.

become the star of this night (and shine on me) - soonwoo

Wonwoo has always loved the stars.

(in which Wonwoo and Soonyoung found each other underneath the stars)

bedtime tendencies - meanie aff

Mingyu doesn’t know when and why exactly he starts leaving a space on his bed for Wonwoo at night, but he does it anyway.

blush pink roses - soonwoo

Wonwoo is a cute florist and Soonyoung is the disaster gay that comes in every week to buy flowers so he can see him.

breakfast: the most important meal of the day - meanie

Without thinking about the possible implications of his action, Mingyu cooks breakfast for his one-night stand. So when his one-night stand comes out of the bedroom looking like he’s about to leave, awkwardness ensues. And just when Mingyu decides everything will be okay because he’s never going to see the guy again, he sees the guy again.

budding love - wonhui

Coming from rival flower shops, Wonwoo and Jun are not allowed to interact. Too bad they don’t particularly agree with their family rule. (Or the one where WonHui become the modern and flowery equivalent of Romeo and Juliet)

burnt norton - soonwoo

Three (completely!!!) hypothetical questions, two boys with a hangover, and one ramen joint booth in Seoul.

(but i got) tunnel vision - meanie

“But you’ve only just created your account.”

“Exactly.” It takes a lot of self-control not to toss his phone to the far end of the table the way one might a hissing snake; as vehement a statement as it might make (and Wonwoo’s feelings are most definitely vehement and then some), it is an expensive phone.

He settles on setting it down as decisively as possible, pointedly turning off the screen. “Ok, I’ve signed up for OkCupid, gotten the welcome email, filled in the necessary details, yadda, yadda, yadda. Can we get to revising now please?”

-

If there is anything that will get your mind off an unrequited crush on your best friend, it’s definitely an online dating application. So naturally, Wonwoo ends up being coerced into joining OkCupid for two weeks.

can’t do without - soonwoo

“You don’t talk much, huh?” the boy says, wrinkling his brows and squinting at him. “That’s okay though, I talk a lot.”

Wonwoo stares at the unwavering smile on the other boy’s face.

“I’m Kwon Soonyoung, by the way,” he says. “We should be friends.”

car trouble. - wonhoon

Wonwoo sits back in his seat after his umpteenth attempt at starting the car, muttering “useless piece of junk” under his breath, although Jihoon could practically spell each word out in the air in front of him.

choosing the right place to put it - woncheol

Seungcheol lets Wonwoo adopt a cat. It’s a lot worse than he thought it would be.

clusters of galaxies in your eyes - soonwoo

Soonyoung’s astronaut boyfriend is finally coming home. Finally.

come a little closer - soonwoo

It’s a long weekend, and Wonwoo intends to enjoy his Sunday.

Or: I just wanted an excuse to write more soft making out Soonyoung and Wonwoo fic.

come to me - wonhao, soongyu

wonwoo is sick and tired of soonyoung trying to set him up with every guy he meets, so instead he takes matters into his own hands.

confession - wonhan

Jeonghan likes his potions partner.

cradle me in your comfort, will you? - wonshua

Wonwoo finds his way with words.

aka a soft, domestic, a-day-in-the-life wonshua for anyone who likes and appreciates this ship

cupid hit me with precision - woncheol, jihan

The thing about working at a PC Bang is that it tends to have regulars. Guys with big glasses who are dreaming of going pro in League of Legends, guys in their late 20s who just want a place to go to play games in peace, kids who don’t quite have the gaming setup they want just yet. Seungcheol’s favorite regular comes in on Thursdays.

curiosity killed the cat - soonwoo

Soonyoung is having a no good, lousy, awful day. And it doesn’t help that the attractive stranger sitting next to him on the train smells strongly of fish, for some strange reason.

cu(t)e cards - meanie

Wonwoo helps Mingyu for his job interview. Mingyu loves playing around.

diving too deep for coins - meanie

Taking a step forward, his entire body shudders, gravity and wind working against him and pushing him towards the dark surface. Tears well up in his eyes, and he wipes them with his sleeve. He sways on his feet.

Wonwoo lets his tears drop first.

His body follows.

don’t gotta worry about me (i got all my love in my arms) - meanie

They live together and love together, but that doesn’t mean everything is perfect.

(It’s more than perfect.)

dots & lines - soonwoo

Wonwoo just wishes someone had told him how easy it is to fall in love with someone, especially when that person is Kwon Soonyoung.

dramatic fool - meanie

Of all the dramatic things that Kim Mingyu has done and said, some tend to shock Jeon Wonwoo more than others.

Or the one where the best friends have climatic-non-climatic feeling realizations.

earth angel - wonhui

Even when Jun’s perfectly planned date falls apart, and they’re stuck at some old diner in the middle of nowhere, it seems like Jeon Wonwoo can put anything back together and make it worthwhile.

aka, the one where Jun tells Wonwoo he loves him for the first time

easier said than done - wonhoon

It’s easier for Jihoon to express his endearment with expressions and actions rather than with words, but it’s difficult because he’s not sure if it’s easy for Wonwoo to decipher.

eat your heart out, joshua hong - wonshua

No one ever told Joshua that the hardest part of being a superhero is getting the boy.

eggsquisite - wonhao

Minghao watches them go, observes the couples and hopeful singles that filter through the store, looking for the perfect present to give their loved ones, and hopes, with that small part of his mind - stuffed and locked away as it was - that he’d be able to have a fairy tale like that for himself one day too.

Alternatively: Minghao is a salty, single pringle.

everything i could give - soonwoo

Wonwoo is a servant in the Kwon household, and Soonyoung is the Crown Prince.

floriography (you’re my orange blossom). - soonwoo

Soonyoung speaks with flowers. Wonwoo speaks with paint.

(a.k.a florist!Soonyoung meets painter!Wonwoo and feelings ensue)

flower petals - 96z

When he had first seen the flowers bloom across his flesh on his 16th birthday he had been entranced. He had sat in front of his mirror until the clock struck midnight waiting with as much exposed skin as possible in an attempt to watch his mark appear. The slow outline of each flower being drawn had kept him staring at his mirror for nearly an hour.

forever (a place where i’m with you) - soonwoo

Wonwoo’s concept of forever has always been by the book. It’s not until today that he realizes that he had been using the word “forever” wrong all this time and it’s all thanks to Soonyoung.

frustration management issues - wonshua

joshua hong, the boy gifted with the power of being calm despite the stress and frustrations university may bring about, has a secret (or two) that only jeon wonwoo knows.

together they learn the best way to de-stress when hell week comes.

(it may or may not involve dark alleyways and drunken kisses.)

got you dreamin’ - soonwoo

Oh, why’d you have to be so cute? It’s impossible to ignore you, ah Why must you make me laugh so much? It’s bad enough we get along so well

(loosely based on goodnight n go by ariana grande)

gymnopedie - soonwoo

If fanning on embers is a bad thing, I’ll become a bad man.

Soonyoung may have slight abandonment issues and a fear of guilt-tripping. Wonwoo mistakes loyalty as an excuse to hold against touching him. Everything falls into place, bit by bit.

herbs - soonwoo

Single father Soonyoung and his daughter Soonji have just moved into a rural community and decide to visit the herb garden near the village.

hersheys - meanie

Mingyu and Wonwoo are best friends, sometimes they share kisses.

holding out for a hero - wonhao

the life of xu minghao, a superhero, and how he balances fighting crime by night and swooning over a cute cashier by day.

hope you find your peace - wonshua

Wonwoo dances on a tightrope looking for the silver lining to destruction.

how to get a date with a hot cat dad - soonwoo

Soonyoung is a self-admitted helpless romantic, which is fine, until one day at the pet clinic he works in walks Jeon Wonwoo and his damn cat. And then, again. And, again. It makes Soonyoung ask 1) how many cats does this hot stranger have? and 2) how the hell do I get a date with him?

how to woo a pretty boy with his favorite flower - wonhui

Junhui didn’t expect to meet the cutest boy in the world in a flowershop while hiding from creepy fans, but he did.

how will i know? - wonhao

how will wonwoo know when he’s finally gotten things together? minghao doesn’t give him an answer with words, but wonwoo already has one anyway.

hush hush, kiss kiss - wonhoon

When everyone thought the student council president and vice president were just best friends.

(+ the time everyone found out the truth)

i just wanna be yours; - wonshua

wonwoo cups jisoo’s face in his hands and murmurs against his lips, “i want you.” jisoo blinks. “hm?”

i kinda want u(ber) - wonhao

Cute delivery guys apparently really do exist.

i kissed a boy - wonhao

“I kissed a boy,” Wonwoo says. He didn’t really have much thought on it other than that he kissed a certain Chinese sophomore in the room.

i want (a pizza) you - meanie aff

Mingyu isn’t really expecting his request for the cutest delivery person at one in the morning to be fulfilled.

i want a refund - soonwoo

“Wonwoo, quick! Kiss me!”

“Wha-”

“My boss is walking over! Kiss me!!”

Soonyoung’s probably rubbed off some or completely transferred over all his panic to Wonwoo because Wonwoo doesn’t even think. Except for maybe one last “Fuck it.” in his head before he uses his free hand, the one not holding the bottle of beer to gently grab Soonyoung’s chin, turning his face towards him and crashes their lips together.

i’ll give you everything - meanie

“I’ll give you the sun, the stars, the ocean, the time, the wind, and the fireflies—hell, I’ll give everything I have only if I can have you.”

OR

When Kim Mingyu is willing to give up everything he has just to be with Wonwoo.

i’m okay (i’m not okay) - wonhui

Junhui misses Wonwoo, and maybe Wonwoo misses him too.

if it ain’t chickens, it’s feathers - soonwoo

And if it ain’t feathers, then what is it, really?

if these blankets could talk - soonwoo

Soonyoung should not be left alone to his own devices. After living with him for the semester, Wonwoo has come to learn precisely why.

in a heartbeat - meanie

Mingyu finds himself drawn to him, to his effortlessly handsome features and slender frame, to the way the sunlight reflects off his dark hair just so, to the slight scrunch of his nose when he smiles.

For the first time in his life, Mingyu forgets to take a photo.

in out up down - soonwoo

To forget, to remember, to live, to die. They’re all jumbled up lately, and Wonwoo can’t seem to remember what the difference is.

inhale/exhale - wonhoon

Wonwoo hides behind his sweaters. The world is a scary place.

it’s alright if it’s you - wonshua

let it be known that:

1) joshua hong jisoo hates skin contact with a burning passion

2) jeon wonwoo loves it

and

3) jisoo can do anything for his boyfriend

it’s my favourite thing - meanie

Long before they became intimate, long before he fell for his friend, Wonwoo noticed Mingyu’s mouth.

jazzcat tango - soonwoo

Just a couple of guys on a cruise through the stars, searching every corner of the galaxy for something they don’t know how to find, only now they have a cat.

kiss me through the phone - meanie

mingyu’s a solo artist dating his manager, wonwoo. he wishes it wasn’t so secret, though.

kitten

Wonwoo wants attention. He’s not very good at exactly asking, though.

keep me in your chest - wonhan

Jeonghan leads a very comfortable life. It’s not often he gets the feeling something is about to burn.

liar liar pants on fire - meanie

No one believes Mingyu when he says he’s dating Wonwoo.

leave (vb): to go away from, to remain - meanie

You always hear stories about the one being left behind. They should tell more stories about the ones leaving, Mingyu thinks, as he stares blankly at the road disappearing behind him in the rearview mirror. Because they all talk about being left behind, but no one ever told him that leaving would hurt like this.

(In which Mingyu is Wonwoo’s moon.)

light up a fire - meanie

wonwoo’s six break ups with mingyu

like the broken pottery mended with gold - wonhui

“You’re not a robot, are you?” Wonwoo asked, incredulous. Junhui laughed at him instead of answering. And Wonwoo could only stare from across the table, transfixed, because when Junhui laughed the rest of his body also laughed with him. That, Wonwoo thought, might just be one of the most charming things he had ever seen. * The world broke for Junhui. Wonwoo put his pieces back together. Kind of.

love story of a boy - soonwoo

Soonyoung doesn’t remember a time when he didn’t know Wonwoo, doesn’t remember a time when he didn’t know how it felt to have Wonwoo next to him.

Childhood friends AU, posted for Soonwoonet’s PushxPull Fanfiction Challenge.

love you so loud - meanie

“So I guess what I mean is, find someone you’d wait to have brunch with.”

messier 31 (all of the above) - soonwoo

There’s just so much light, knitted into the dark between stars and clouds of gas and dust, that the human eye can’t see no matter how long it looks or how wide it’s opened.

morning rush - soonwoo

In which Soonyoung finds love in a hopeless place. Not really, he’s just running late on one particular day and has to enter a battlefield, also known as, Japan’s railway morning rush, when he finds himself utterly and irrevocably whipped for a stranger he meets inside a very, very crowded train.

muscles and flowers - meanie

a day in the life of florist wonwoo and fitness trainer mingyu or the florist and fitness trainer au no one asked for but got it anyway

quiet love - wonhoon

Person A feels uncomfortable when people touch them; they don’t want people to think that they are trying to be rude or anything, so they often deal with this discomfort in order to fit in. Person B is the first to notice.

paper boats of love - meanie

Mingyu loves to send off small paper boats with cute sayings written on them on the pond near his house, hoping his neighbor will see him. One day, he’s surprised to see a paper boat that comes back with writing that isn’t his.

pack (and unpack (and unpack)) - wonhao

At the end of it all, there will be nothing but boxes full of things you don’t need and nowhere left to put them.

recollections - wonhui

Junhui reminds him of a storybook character, of one of those princesses trapped within a tower, unable to escape. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Wonwoo likes to indulge the delusion that he could be Junhui’s prince.

reinventing the flightless bird - soonwoo

Wonwoo already knows that folding paper is not as simple as it looks, but the boy in the library still takes every opportunity to show him exactly how.

save as draft - meanie

“I gotta write a poem; it’s due tomorrow.”

Mingyu doesn’t flinch, but Wonwoo uses his right foot to nudge a bit of his skin, trying to help him relax. “Shouldn’t you be writing it then, instead of doing laundry, ordering food and washing my hair?”

“You’re quite distracting.” But what he means is “you’re quite inspiring”.

-

Wonwoo has a poem to write for a class. And for the sake of his creativity, a night with Mingyu is all he needs.

seared into my heart - meanie

wonwoo waits for a name to appear on his wrist, not knowing that his soulmate is already seared into his heart.

second life ( of sorts ) - woncheol

seungcheol’s spell backfires. but everything goes as plans ( sort of ).

secret kisses behind the school gym - wonhao

Jeon Wonwoo the ordinary high school boy. Xu Minghao the school’s infamous delinquent.

They both shared a few things together. Things involving lips and secret jokes.

secrets we hold - wonshua

wonwoo likes jisoo. that’s it.

serenata - wonshua

The four instances Wonwoo remembers Joshua playing the guitar for him and the one time Joshua doesn’t.

shangri-la - wonhui

Junhui found love in art at the age of four. Wonwoo found love in music at the age of six. They would find love in each other at the age of twenty-three.

spectrum - wonhui

Jeon Wonwoo doesn’t know color, but he does know Wen Junhui.

taming more than beasts - soonwoo

Soonyoung can only dream of catching up to the prodigy named Jeon Wonwoo. When circumstances lead them to meet more often, however, he realizes that the school genius is more down-to-earth than he first thought.

take a sip from my secret potion - wonhoon

a potioneer and a herbal witch cross paths with a bad witch.

or, how wonwoo and jihoon forget their playful jabs and awkward tension to try to stop another witch from causing chaos.

take care

Wonwoo’s migraine is killing him- or, at least, that’s what it feels like. The members to their best to make it all better.

take my hand (take my whole life, too) - meanie

Mingyu loves spending time with his friend, Wonwoo. Mostly in bed, mostly without their clothes on.

Mingyu also wants to spend Wonwoo’s birthday with him, since that’d be cool.

Except Wonwoo has a date (or at least Mingyu thinks so) and now he has to think about why his heart aches at the thought if they aren’t in a relationship to begin with.

taste your name in my mouth - soonwoo

Wonwoo wonders why he is at the beach, in the cold, when a storm could start at any moment.

tell me we don’t look good together - meanie

q: what would you do if you could do anything without fear? a: tell him you love him.

tell me how to win your heart (i haven’t got a clue) - wonhoon

Jihoon is drunk out of his mind and decides now is the best time to discuss feelings. Wonwoo can do nothing but indulge.

tessellation, variegation, and other synonyms - soonwoo

Soonyoung wonders about a lot of things. Wonwoo, evidently, has his own curiosities.

the cat’s pyjamas - soonwoo

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. When Wonwoo moved into his new apartment with his boyfriend, he hadn’t been expecting the latter. Domestic pet-raising AU.

the equation of gravity - soonwoo

It’s kind of a paradox, really: they’re both wholly averse to love, but also half in love with each other.

(Soonyoung is the complete opposite of Wonwoo, but he’s a pretty good roommate. Anything more with him, though, would be messy. And to Wonwoo’s credit, he actually lasts a surprising amount of time before he feels the ground give out from underneath him and falls.)

the methods i do best - soonwoo

Everything starts, as it always does, with Seungkwan opening his mouth.

the snake that lives in water - soonwoo

When taking a job as a snake milker, Wonwoo assumed that his greatest challenge would be three-foot long, venomous reptiles.

As it turns out, it’s a lovesick co-worker.

these memories are for us - wonhui

Before they start their last year of college, Soonyoung convinces Junhui, Wonwoo and Jihoon to go on a road trip.

this might be cheesy, but i think you’re grate - wonhui

Junhui is a flirt. Wonwoo knows this. Hell, everyone does. Once Junhui warms up to you, he drops lines left and right. Most of their friends just roll their eyes and shake it off. Minghao sometimes smacks him. Seungkwan makes sassy comments about how he should stop learning Korean. Wonwoo mostly tries to pretend he hasn’t heard a single word and prays his pokerface is good enough to conceal the sheer gay panic that runs through his veins every time Junhui flirts with him.

thumbs up - wonhoon

It’s a twist of cheese bread, first.

That makes its way onto Jihoon’s desk, an assortment of food laid out for him.

to give back - wonhan

Wonwoo wasn’t the best at expressing his emotions. But that didn’t mean that he loved any lesser.

to write about love - soonwoo

I’m not a love poet. But if I was to wake up tomorrow and decide that I really wanted to write about love - my first poem would be about you. Soonyoung owns a vegan bakery, Wonwoo’s a down on his luck author with writer’s block and sometimes we find good things in places we aren’t even looking.

transmogrify - soonwoo

in which wonwoo has an incurable disease, soonyoung is determined to cure said incurable disease, and stealing from a witch has consequences, no matter how pure your intentions.

(a fairy tale, kind of, with a happy ending, kind of.)

waiting up all night - meanie

“Up all night, by Oliver Tank.”

“Pardon?” He asks, curious about the sudden response.

The shorter boy smiles, “The song you were dancing to. It’s called Up all night by Oliver Tank. He makes good music.”

Or: where Mingyu waits each night for the mystery boy who buys a pack of cigarettes, skittles, m&m’s and recommends him songs.

wanna marry me? - wonhui

Jun has a plan to get free cake, and it involves proposing to Wonwoo. (or the one where WonHui get engaged for a week)

when the moonflower blooms - soonwoo

moon·flow·er /ˈmo͞onˌflou(ə)r/ noun a tropical American climbing plant of the morning glory family, with large, sweet-smelling white flowers that open at dusk and close at midday.

who do you love? - wonshua

Joshua was searching for the truth. For his love.

Luckily, Wonwoo left him clues to find it.

wishes for the moon - wonhui

Wonwoo is a cat who continuously has to watch Junhui get jerked around by the guy he’s dating. Desperately, he wants to become human in order to protect Junhui. Upon a night of the full moon, Wonwoo gets his wish.

you feel like summer time - meanie

The light from the slowly sinking sun creates a soft glow around Wonwoo’s head, revealing the warm brown tones in his hair that usually go unnoticed.

The smile drops from Mingyu’s face without him realizing it, completely lost in the ethereal aura of his best friend. It’s only when Wonwoo’s face falls in concern that Mingyu realizes he must be acting weird.

“Mingyu?” Wonwoo asks carefully, eyebrows knitting together. The pulse in Mingyu’s veins only quickens, because no matter what face Wonwoo pulls, it carefully tugs at each of Mingyu’s heartstrings.

—

Or—it’s summer time and maybe Mingyu is a little bit in love.

you make me feel (how you’re looking at me) - meanie

Wonwoo made room for Mingyu without being asked, put his back to the wall so Mingyu could slide right into his arms.

“Please,” Mingyu said in a whisper so soft that Wonwoo almost didn’t hear it. He didn’t need to. He knew what Mingyu was here for.

—Or—

Jeon Wonwoo’s continued collision with Kim Mingyu, or more correctly, with the truth.

[preserving-ferretbrain]

Who Watches The…oh never mind

by Wardog

Thursday, 12 March 2009

Wardog opens a can of worms very very carefully indeed.~

As my comments in the playpen may recently have indicated, I was not entirely impressed by Watchmen. It doesn't help that people, however vaguely, connected to it are going around saying things like this and it also doesn't help that I read Watchmen for the first time three days ago. I understand that Watchmen is something that the sort of people who are inclined to be passionate about comics are passionate about; perhaps if I had been less busy being an embryo in the 80s when it first came out I might have felt the same way. But Watchmen is dated dated dated. I'm not saying it's not interesting and that it doesn't have merit, but reading it is rather like reading those 18th century novels that are completely consumed by the terror of the incipient collapse of Civilisation As We Know It because of the French Revolution. I'm not saying those novels aren't interesting or don't have merit either ... but you do read them with one eyebrow slightly cocked and think to yourself as you go "oh how quaint."

Quaint may seem an odd term to use in connection to a comic renowned for being gritty and real and, like, totally Dystopian and literary man; but I felt the same about V for Vendetta. Watchmen'spreoccupations, as far as I see it, are Cold War anxiety and Wanking About The Nature and Form of the Comic Genre. I'm not dismissing the impact of Watchmen, nor its power to have shaped (and to some extent validated, insofar as books with pictures in them can be validated) the genre, but the point is the Cold War is over and the genre has been shaped. There are, of course, wider themes to engage us - "about the nature of man, or vigilante justice" if you absolutely insist but bear in mind you can get those better done elsewhere - but Watchmen is so utterly bound up in itself, so defined by the form it takes, that ultimately it's little more than an extended navel-gaze about comics, albeit a moderately interesting one.

The movie, of course, is such a slavish adaptation that it barely merits the term adaption; watching it, therefore, is like watching somebody gaze at somebody else gazing at their navel. In bullet-time. Being now at a noticeably remove from the navel, this is quite dull.

To force myself to give credit where it is due, there is a lot to like about the Watchmen movie. It is stylishly and lovingly done. Everybody looks and sounds exactly like you'd want them to look and sound. The level of detail is mind boggling and the special effects, right down to Dr Manhattan's flapping blue dong, are fabulous. The changes they've made are spot on: I'm really glad they took out the giant squishy squid aliens. Because they are made of stupid. I loved the opening credits where they distill the ponderous backstory into a succession of imaginative and striking images. When the film was engaging critically with the Watchmen comic, it had real potential. Unfortunately, critical engagement gave way to abject drooling adoration about 2 seconds after the credits ended ... and the rest of the film is little more than a panel-by-panel, word-for-word recreation of the comic, bar a few subtle alterations to the way characters are perceived, which I shall talk about presently.

I suppose this is where we get into "what is an adaptation anyway" territory. For me the clue is in "adapt" - I think a process of adaptation is an act of transformation and interpretation. You stay true to the spirit of the original but you accept the fact that what works in one medium does not work in another. The Harry Potter movies are splendid examples of failed adaptations: they're little more than monorail tours of the main attractions of the books. They don't stand up on their own, they have no merit on their own, they are, in fact, shit and pointless. But you can also see this kind of failure going on in a more low key way when people throw plays at the screen and end up with peculiarly static, oddly awkward films (Closer, The History Boys, An Ideal Husband, The Libertine). Again, to be fair, the Watchmen film does almost stand on its own: they've managed to enforce some coherence on a notoriously fragmentary text. But this is mainly because it's identical to the text, right down to the cringe-inducingly stilted dialogue and voice-overs that read beautifully but sound terrible. And as far as I'm concerned if something is identical to the original, right down to the dialogue and the visuals, you might as well just read the original and be done with it. Alan Moore himself apparently said: "My book is a comic book. Not a movie. It's been made in a certain way, and designed to be read in a certain way: in an armchair, nice and cosy next to a fire, with a steaming cup of coffee."

The other problem with such a rigid approach to the text is that it leaves no space for acting to be anything other than simulacra. When you go and see a performance of Richard III, you don't stare at the actor playing Richard and think to yourself: "Wow, that's awesome,

he looks totally like him

." But the only scale for judging the actors in Watchmen is how far they resemble the characters they're playing - the answer to this is, for the most part, "lots." But it's still a really shallow way to engage with a performance.

Now this is when I'm going to play dirty. I know I've just leveled the criticism that the film brings nothing new to the table, being merely a moving version of the comic book. And now I'm going to complain that it also missed the point, or at least a point. I know you might think this is a direct contradiction and that I can't say the film is not enough of an adaptation for me and then whine about a possible misinterpretation but ... hey, look over there,

a fluffy kitten, being cute

. Seriously though, for what it's worth, I don't actually consider this a misinterpretation as such - the film was too fanboyishly clingy a parasite to have anything as measured or sensible as an interpretation - I think it was more an act of mis-translation, in that everyone was so concerned with bringing every fucking element of the comic lovingly into motion (apparently

there's going to be a DVD

of Tales of the Black Freighter - no thanks) that nobody ever bothered to pay attention to what they were doing.

If I had to sum up Watchmen in a glib and pretentious way (why would anyone ask me to do that?), I'd fall back, as I'm sure others have done before me, on quoting Yeats: "the best lack all conviction and the worst are full of passionate intensity." Now, perhaps I got the wrong end of the stick and I know the friend I saw the film with disagrees with me, but I thought the film valorized Dan (and to a lesser extent Laurie) in a way that reduced the impact of the story. In the comic, Dan is anti-heroic: he is middle-aged, impotent, flabby and passive. He is "the boy next door" in the worst possible sense. His niceness, like his Nite Owl costume, is a mask for his essential weakness of character. Despite being in love with Laurie, he makes no attempt to forge a relationship with her, not because he is "just too nice" but because he is "just too pathetic"; he wins her, if wins it can be called, simply by being around to pick up the pieces after her relationship with Jon falls apart horribly. Laurie, of course, is equally broken but has the virtue of being hot - just as all of Dan's behaviour is controlled and limited by compromise, her decision to be with him is a compromise as well, the rejection of the strange and the challenging, youthful dreams and romanticism, for the safety of the everyday and a man whose abject inferiority makes you feel good about yourself. In the comic, their relationship is very much the cleaving of the desperate and worthless: that they go out and do minor heroic things (like saving some people from a fire and springing Rorschach from a prison he is already escaping) after they shag for the first time is an indictment of their behaviour. They seek, and find, validation with each other, yet the validation is based on their joint illusions i.e. that they are people even remotely capable of changing the world. The movie portrays their civilian-saving / prison-breaking exploits as a return to their true heroic selves; the comic uses scenes of stereotypical heroism to reveal Laurie and Dan as the self-deluding, play-acting fools they really are.

Similarly, in the comic, when they are confronted by what Ozymandias has done, Dan and Laurie slink off to a corner of his ruined facility and shag. Dr Manhattan finds them asleep on Nite Owl's winter cloak, looks at them with mingled pity and affection and goes off to confront Ozymandias with the futility of the atrocity he has committed ("nothing ever ends"). Again, this is hardly a celebration of the human spirit in the face of calamity. Confronted by their own profound impotence and the destruction of their carefully constructed charades, they take refuge in the mundane, fleeting affirmation offered by physical pleasure. In the movie, this scene is gone and, instead, Dr Manhattan's final act is to kiss Laurie goodbye - as if he, too, is asserting the value of human relationships as an antidote to Armageddon. (Personally, I'm with Rorschach on this one). In the aftermath of Ozymandias's destruction, the movie gives Dan a line about how he's been tinkering with Archimedes and it'll soon be ready to go, the implication, I think, being that he and Laurie will resume their super-hero lifestyle.

One of the more interesting aspects of the comic is the intersection between public and private identity. One of the questions it asks is why anyone even on polite nodding terms with sanity would "dress as an owl and fight crime." The answer, of course, if its five heroes are anything to go by, is: "they wouldn't." Rorschach is clearly batshit nuts - and for him, Walter Kovacs is the disguise he wears. I've always liked the way that when he confronts Dr Manhattan, it is Walter who dies, not Rorschach. Dr Manhattan has no choice but to be a super-hero but then he is barely human, or anything like it, any more. The Comedian is a fucking psychopath who uses the flamboyance offered by a costume to give outward form to his moral dysfunctionality. Ozymandias also belongs to the Special Club. And Dan and Laurie both use it as a way to escape the disappointments and failures of being merely themselves. Unfortunately the movie inadvertently engineers a reversal of this: Laurie and Dan end up re-discovering their true super-hero selves, whereas in the comic they are ruthlessly forced to confront their inadequacies as human beings. If I was feeling uncharitable I would say this symptomatic of the typical geek fallacies - Watchmen is constructed as a super-hero comic without heroes, attemping to make Dan heroic undermines both the force and interest of the story.

The overall effect of which is that you get a film that is at once a tediously faithful rendering of the comic while somehow contriving to miss the point entirely.

Grats guys.Themes:

TV & Movies

,

Sci-fi / Fantasy

,

Comics

,

Watchmen

~

bookmark this with - facebook - delicious - digg - stumbleupon - reddit

~Comments (

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)

Arthur B

at 14:59 on 2009-03-12Playing devil's advocate: while I agree that Dan and Laurie are given an easy ride by the film (perhaps because they're the characters the audience is most likely to identify with), I don't think it completely derails their characterisation to have them go back to vigilantism. I don't have my copy of the comic with me, but I seem to remember mild hints in their final conversation with Sally that they might be getting into some action whilst they spend their time on the run in Ozy's new order. Like I said in the comments on Dan's review, I read the armageddon plotline as an indictment of the passivity of superheroes; crimefighters are essentially reactive, fighting society's symptoms without trying for a cure. (The grotesque scale of Ozymandias's crimes is, of course, the flip side of the argument: a cure might be more harmful than the disease itself.) In the movie, I saw their return to crimefighting as a retreat; there's no suggestion that they're seriously trying to expose Ozymandias, they're just dicking around beating people up to capture their rapidly-fading youth.

But that said I do agree that it's problematic that we are expected to identify with those specific characters in the first place; Dan and Laurie's capitulation and passivity are meant to be character flaws that are just as serious as Rorschach's fanaticism, or Dr Manhattan's nigh-autistic detachment, or Ozymandias's fatal combination of the two.

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Guy

at 15:44 on 2009-03-12I think I like the comic more than you do, Kyra, but I am very impressed by your elucidation of its themes... and it does seem likely that I should go into the film with low expectations. I would like to say I would refrain from seeing the film at all, especially now that I've read Hayter's idiotic letter... but maybe if I go see it in the third week or something I can feel that I've spited (?) him in some way.

I think I read the meaning of the Dan and Laurie characters a bit differently than you do, though. To me, they are essentially sympathetic characters, and a big part of that is their realisation in the end that, actually they're not all that important or powerful, and whether or not they're OK with that, they have to live with it, the way that millions of ordinary men and women do. This in contrast with Rorshcach, who has a kind of absolutist integrity that won't allow him to refrain from doing what he believes is right (even when it's totally futile, or worse, seriously destructive) - a quality he shares with heroes from all kinds of stories - but that "integrity" also makes him, as you say, a psychopath.

I think my favourite moment in the comic is the bit where Ozymandias tells Dan to grow up. It does raise a question for me about what counts as "growing up". Ozymandias thinks that he is the grown up, because he is the one prepared to make hard choices, cross moral boundaries in service to the greater good, &c &c... and that Dan is still a child playing at super hero, making oversized toys and not really doing anything... which is basically accurate. There's a reason that remark cuts Dan. But I think... there's something interesting, something a bit complex, about the question of what actually growing up means. The way you put it above where you say that Dan and Laurie are ruthlessly forced to confront their failings and inadequacies as human beings... I guess to me it seems that that is part of what being a grown up is: a person who has confronted their failings and accepted them. Which then, in a funny kind of way, ties in to the whole Ozymandias crazy plan, which in a sense is about forcing humanity as whole to grow up in spite of itself. Which... yeah, I don't know, for me that theme doesn't date, because we are to a large extent living in a world run by men (arguably, madmen) who act as they do because they believe they are being grown-up on behalf of the rest of us, because ordinary people don't really understand what the world is like and need them to make our hard choices for us. And of course I hate the idea of someone else making my hard choices for me, but it doesn't take long to find examples of people who you genuinely feel glad are not being held totally responsible for themselves... but I think at this stage I may be less responding to your review than I am just rambling. ;)

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Wardog

at 16:06 on 2009-03-12I feel like I'm validating Wankstain Hayter by saying this but I like the comic more retrospectively for some of its concepts. I didn't actually enjoy reading it all that much (not, though, because it is Out Of My Comfort Zone, man, and much of it, as I said, strikes me quaint and alien. And, again, at the risk of saying anything that could in any way chime with anything That Moron has ever said - Watchmen does inspire some interesting disccussion.

In the movie, I saw their return to crimefighting as a retreat"

Because the crime-fighting they do in the film is so massively glamorised - the bit where they kick-ass their way into the prison for example - I personally didn't get this vibe. But I think it's an arguable point.

But that said I do agree that it's problematic that we are expected to identify with those specific characters in the first place

Yeah me too - they obviously thought they were most normal of the bunch. Sigh. As Guy says below, I think perhaps they are the easiest to identify with because they are flawed in a lowkey very human way (i.e. they are rubbish and self-deluding) but identifying with them is an uncomfortable process because I'm sure we'd all rather be Dr Manhattans than Dans. (Although secretly I'm convinced we all want to be Rorschach - there's something utterly compelling about fanatics).

Thanks for your comment, Guy, I didn't find it rambling at all, I found it fascinating. I think my reading of Dan and Laurie is perhaps unnecessarily (and perhaps even unsupportedly) harsh. The thing is, although I said something about them having to face up their failings ... I don't think there's ever really a point they accept them or learn to operate with them ... which, as you say, is what most grown ups do. To be fair, I don't think I have accepted my failings or learned to operate with them *either* but I don't dress up as an owl and fight crime... =P Dan and Laurie seem to constantly be engaged in processes of retreat, compromise and distraction: for them sex serves exactly the same purpose as super-hero costuming. It's a cheap way to use someone else to make you feel better about yourself. They don't *deal* with what Ozymandias has done, and what it has shown them about themselves, they run away from it and bonk.

Which reminds me - sex is such an unfailingly negative force in Watchmen.

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Arthur B

at 16:17 on 2009-03-12

Because the crime-fighting they do in the film is so massively glamorised - the bit where they kick-ass their way into the prison for example - I personally didn't get this vibe. But I think it's an arguable point.

I think it's glamorised

at that point

because before the big reveal Dan and Laurie are convinced that they are Making A Difference, and the audience is meant to believe the same; we haven't had Ozymandias hit them (and the audience) with the revelation that they're not actually achieving anything beyond putting Rorschach back on the streets for one last round of psychosis before he goes to the Antarctic to explode.

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Arthur B

at 10:21 on 2009-03-13There's a very interesting article about the film's financial prospects

here

. I'm wondering whether this isn't the precise article that Hayter was responding to with his open letter.

Short version: There is a very real possibility that just about everyone who was interested in seeing

Watchmen

went to see it in the first week it was out, and ticket sales will slump by the second or third week. There's a growing consensus that the film was too faithful to the comic, which hurt it, and that this is one of those rare situations where there was

too little

studio involvement in the production process.

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Andy G

at 11:33 on 2009-03-13I haven't seen the film, but I did read the comic over the weeked. I had quite a negative reaction to Dan in the comic - his angsty, hand-wringing inadequacy doesn't really excuse the very dubious things he does or condones. I think he appears more sympathetic perhaps because he is the character who it is easiest to identify with for the average reader.

The guy who wrote the Stan Lee version of the comic made the plausible prediction that the film would unironically wallow in the violence as something cool, and rather the miss the point. Does that happen?

I wasn't sure about it having dated though. I mean, even in terms of the Cold War stuff, there are still nuclear weapons and stupid human beings. Though it's perhaps not exactly the story you'd choose to tell now 20 years on. I kind of felt the same about Frost/Nixon.

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Dan H

at 11:35 on 2009-03-13God the comments on that post are full of wank.

I really wish people would accept that "this movie is too long" is actually a valid criticism.

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Gina Dhawa

at 17:32 on 2009-03-13I'm not so worried about

Watchmen

feeling dated because, it addresses old concerns in a fairly familiar way. It's still set in the eighties after all. We're not worried about the same things anymore, but I'm pretty sure we can appreciate the fear of The Other, which is something that I think the film does very well with choosing to frame Dr Manhattan instead of having the original ending.

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Robinson L

at 20:30 on 2009-08-15*deep breath*

Funny, I never got the impression that I was reading/watching something particularly dated either from

V for Vendetta

or

Watchmen

. True, the cold war is over, but the threat of nuclear war hasn't exactly gone away, and the various nations are being just as much jerks to each other as they were back in the 80s.

I loved the opening credits where they distill the ponderous backstory into a succession of imaginative and striking images. When the film was engaging critically with the

Watchmen

comic, it had real potential.

Really? I loved the opening credits, too, but I didn't consciously get the feeling that they were engaging critically with the comic. Would you care to expound a little more on

how

you felt they were critically engaging with it?

I thought the film valorized Dan (and to a lesser extent Laurie) in a way that reduced the impact of the story.

Interesting argument. I admit I handed considered this interpretation of Dan and Laurie from the comic book, although it makes perfect sense.

Thing is, I find that even if it does muddy up the discourse, the story is

improved

by the movie's presentation of Laurie and especially Dan.

My reason? Because in the comic, both Dan and Laurie were dull, dull

dull

. I didn't love them, I didn't hate them, I was apathetic towards them. In the movie, at least, I felt there was something there to engage with emotionally.

And even if it was a deviation in character, I found Dan actually coming out and

telling

Adrian “You haven't idealized mankind but you've... you've deformed it! You mutilated it. That's your legacy. That's the real practical joke” very cathartic.

I also didn't get the same "massive anti-climax" feeling from the movie as the graphic novel.

Although secretly I'm convinced we all want to be Rorschach - there's something utterly compelling about fanatics

Oh god. I'd almost rather be the mass-murdering ego maniac or the spiritually incompetent big blue guy than that monster. I've got the fanatic part down just fine, it's just that I find the "kills, tortures and abuses people" and general misanthropy just a liiiitle bit repulsive.

As a matter of fact, I don't think I particularly identify with

anyone

in

Watchmen

... maybe because the only characters in it who have any sort of strength to their convictions have such a misanthropic, nihilistic view of humanity. I certainly wouldn't want to

be

any of them.

Which reminds me - sex is such an unfailingly negative force in Watchmen.

Interesting point.

I really wish people would accept that "this movie is too long" is actually a valid criticism.

Totally, although for myself, I find if I say "this movie is too long" what I mean is "this movie already annoys the hell out of me and will it please get to the end already." If a movie manages to keep me engaged/entertained (as

Watchmen

did) I'm prepared to go along with it for much longer than 2.5 hours.

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Arthur B

at 20:56 on 2009-08-15

True, the cold war is over, but the threat of nuclear war hasn't exactly gone away, and the various nations are being just as much jerks to each other as they were back in the 80s.

I think nuclear conflict is still a danger, but the

kind

of nuclear conflict presented in

Watchmen

has become almost impossible. Which isn't to say it won't become a possibility again, but it's definitely on the back burner. Limited exchanges between recent entrants to the nuclear club seem more likely than large-scale human extinction events.

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Alasdair Czyrnyj

at 17:06 on 2010-03-10Necromancy ho!

@the issue of datedness and the nuclear arms race

After reading through the article again, I kinda get what you were saying, Kyra. The theme didn't really date the comic for me, partly because I've always got one foot stuck in nuclear war fiction, and partly because I found it easy enough to read the nuclear symbolism as a symbol of an unstoppable force of annihilation that none of the characters are capable of understanding, something that can be applied to many eras and contexts.

Still, it does date the movie. IIRC, Paul Greengrass was attached to the project for a while, and he was making noises about moving it to a contemporary War on Terror setting, which I don't think you could really do without totally rebuilding the story, simply because, while we may be as scared in 2010 as we were in 1985, our fears are coming from different places and take different forms. In the '80s, we assumed that the silos would open and all humanity would die screaming. Nowandays we just assume that life is going to continue getting shittier and shittier and mor and more incomprehensible, with extinction as a vague possibility we suspect may be denied to us.

Did what I just write make any sense?

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https://profiles.google.com/elzairthesorcerer/about

at 20:09 on 2011-05-17This is kind of off-topic, but what are the names of some of those 18th century novels you mentioned? I would like to read one.

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Wardog

at 20:38 on 2011-05-17There aren't specific texts that deal *explicitly* with it - I just meant that you can infer a background level of social anxiety and uncertainty, even in books that seem to be about entirely other things. I guess that isn't very helpful. Also it occurs to me I meant 19th century novels. I hate that thing, I always get my centuries confused. Novels written after 1800 are 19th century novels. It makes no sense! But I mean, it's there in Persuasion, or Daniel Deronda, for example. Middlemarch. Vanity Fair.

[leah-rainweaver]

Information

((Many thanks to Glauric for rping this out with me! The following is basically what we rp’d last night, with a few corrections and modifications from me. This continues Leah’s story.))

The journey to the Highlands was a blur for Leah, a heavy pit weighed down her her stomach, and likely wouldn’t leave until she’d heard what Alec had to say.  “After careful consideration, it has been decided that you can have the information you seek.” If he had been aiming to be cryptic, Alec had definitely succeeded. She glanced at Glauric as they walked through the streets of Kirthaven towards the Stormbrow home, “Thank yeh for comin’ with me, by the way. I’m probably nervous for nothin’.” Her own words didn’t fool her. She was nervous, but having the ever confident Glauric with her gave her a sense that things, no matter what she learned tonight, would be alright.

He grunted in response, turning his gaze towards her. "Caution is wise at this time. The letter had implications and was...suspect. Better to be prepared." Glauric gestured with his hand, prompting her to lead on, which she did. The streets were mostly deserted, as it was cold, uncommonly so for the end of winter, but the pair walked in relative quiet the rest of the way.

Upon reaching the Stormbrow home, Leah paused, staring at the door. She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and then knocked on the door. Cecily answered, smiling warmly as her eyes fell on Leah, but then her gaze shifted and she saw Leah’s companion. Her jaw dropped a bit, stunned. Leah ignored her surprise, though she took a bit of satisfaction in it, “Evenin’ Cecily. I sent Vika ahead with a note t’ my Da that I would arrive t’night. He here with Alec?”

Cecily nodded in response, pulling the door open wider so they could enter, “Downstairs in the study.” She looked at Glauric again, and after admitting the pair, left the house, closing the door on her way out.

Leah wrinkled her nose a bit, but didn’t pause, instead turning to head down to the lower level of the home to Alec’s study, a place she’d spent many hours in her youth. She could hear Glauric clattering along behind her with his armor and wealth of jewelry, it was a comforting sound right now. She was not alone. But then she entered the study and saw her father. She moved towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck, “Da.” She kissed his cheek as she pulled away, “I see yeh got my note. Thanks for comin’.” She looked at Alec, who was in turn regarding Glauric, distaste and surprise plain on his face. Leah gestured towards the man behind her, “S’ppose yeh don’ need an introduction, Alec. Da, this is Glauric. He’s a friend and has been teachin’ me for a few months.

Alec huffed, turning his disapproving gaze to Leah, “I didn’t realize you would be bringing a guest.”

Leah had a small smirk on her lips as she watched Glauric. The harshness in Glauric gaze returned as he held Alec’s eyes, but at Leah’s introduction, his burning gaze flickered and slid to Seamus, “Lord Glauric Goldwrought, Head of the Goldwrought Clan.” Glauric inclined his head towards her father in a polite gesture.

Seamus stood, resting a hand on Leah’s shoulder as he looked over at Glauric. He inclined his head politely in return, “Good t’ meet yeh, Glauric.” Seamus turned his eyes back to Leah, giving her a questioning look, but didn’t say anything. For which Leah was grateful, because there was nothing to ask about, and it would have only made things awkward.

“I don’ think it’s appropriate that he’s here for this, Leah.” Alec said, drawing Leah’s gaze away from her father.

Leah frowned a little, moving back towards Glauric, though she kept him at about arms reach away,  "He's been helpin' me with findin' out who killed mother. I asked him t' come so that he could hear the details around her death. I'm never very good at relayin' everythin'. This cuts out a step. And I trust him, so…” She gave a faint shrug.

"So it is. Saves effort in recounting." Glauric said, agreeing with her, though his eyes were still on Leah’s father, rather than Alec.

Alec shook his head, mumbling to himself. But he finally gave a dismissive wave of his hand and turned to grab a large leather book on the bookshelf, "Fine." He took the book to the dresser on the far wall and flipped it open, then turned back to Leah. She eyed the book for a few moments, wondering if the entire thing was records they had on her mother, or if it was a collective of many people.  "Yeh asked for details about how yehr mother died, what she was doin', that sort o' thing." Alec glanced at Seamus, who was frowning but nodding at Alec to continue. "We thought that it would be easier for yeh t' understand if we started at the beginnin'." He paused for a moment, "What do yeh know of yehr mother from before yeh were born? Did she ever tell yeh stories?"

Dread filled Leah. This wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation, just as she’d feared. She raised an eyebrow, "I, uh, well.. she told me she spent years trainin' in order t' master the elements." She gave a faint shrug, "She was never the sentimental type."

Alec licked his lips, glancing to the ground. When he looked up, he rested his hand on the book, "This book is the record we have of yehr mother's life. Nae much from her childhood, but it covers her adult years." He frowned, glancing at Seamus, who gave a nod. "There's no easy way t' begin, so we'll jump in. Do us a favor and try t' just listen. I know this'll be hard t' hear." Leah glanced towards Glauric briefly while Alec paused, but his eyes were forward, and he stood silently. Alec took a step forward, "Yeh mother was always a bit of a hothead, always causing problems with the Elders. This behavior was overlooked for years, but eventually it was discovered that she was part of what would eventually become a sect of the Twilight's Hammer."

Leah blinked, hearing the words, but struggling to fully process them. She pulled her chin back, frowning, but held her tongue.

Alec continued, "She and her then husband, both, were involved, though he had no sway over the elements. She, however, spent years corrupting and enslaving elementals. Specifically Air and Fire elementals." Alec frowned, glancing at Glauric, who remained silent. "Their purpose was much the same as the Twilight's Hammer, believing they could return some ancient evil to power in exchange for greater power of their own." He looked back to Leah, "There was an... incident. Shortly after.." Alec glanced at Seamus again, but Seamus was watching Leah, his gaze steady and concerned. "Shortly after the birth of her first child, the girl's body was discovered near the river, mangled. It was thought at first that it was an animal attack, but neither your mother or her husband seemed particularly distressed by the infant's death."

A heavy silence hung in the air for the space of a few heartbeats, broken only by the soft clicking of Glauric’s tongue and the soft drumming of his fingertips clinking together. Leah’s mouth fell open as she shook her head, dumbfounded. A child? Leah had had a sister? No one had -ever- mentioned that to her, not even in passing. She made as if to voice a question, but Alec cut her off. "It was then that we discovered the full extent of their... devotion to this cult." He sighed, shaking his head, "The child's heart had been torn from it's body. We later learned from.. from your mother that it had been used in a ritual that they had hoped would give added power and vitality to the cult's leader." He gestured towards Seamus, "That was when we decided to assign your father to watch Sybil and her husband."

Leah took a few deep breaths, "I'm sorry.. did yeh just say that mother.. that she -killed- her baby? For a cult."

Seamus took a step towards Leah, "Yehr mother was not in her right mind for a long time, Leah. Hear him out."

"I have heard, and seen, worse. Continue." Glauric commented bluntly, drawing Leah’s gaze. She stared at him, still too surprised by what Alec had revealed to be fully process just what Glauric was implying.

Leah looked back to Alec, who continued,  "This went on for some years. Though your father managed to gain at least Sybil's trust. He tried, on many occasions, I believe, t' talk some sense in t' her." Alec cast a glance towards Seamus, frowning a little. "And to his credit, eventually she started to listen. About five years after the incident with the baby, Sybil's home burnt to the ground. Her husband died in the fire." He cleared his throat, "There are many reports of the fire being unquenchable. It's believed she is the one that caused the fire." Glauric began to grumble quietly as Alec spoke over him,  "This was the turning point with your mother. She came to the Elders and began to share, well.. everything. Every detail, every name, she gave enough information that the Elders decided she would be spared, as they were able to root out more members of this cult." Alec finally paused, eyeing Glauric, "What?" He asked shortly.

Glauric cleared his throat, "I have a thought, but I will ask clarification. You believe her change of heart came about through frank discussion and a healthy relationship?" His tone was formal, almost as if he were asking a question in some court of law.

Seamus spoke up to answer, "No. Sybil was always.. she was a very self-serving woman. She knew that it was only a matter of time before she was going to be arrested and killed. She didn't want that, so she came forward." He shook his head, "At the time I'd thought perhaps I'd gotten through to her, but, after a life with her, I know that she just didn't want t' be killed. She knew that I had grown fond of her. She used it t' her benefit. I vouched for her with the Elders." Alec frowned at Seamus, all while Leah stared at her father. She was struggling to process what she was being told, but at the same time, not surprised by any of it at all.

Glauric hummed, “Interesting.” He made a rolling gesture with his hand, directing Alec to continue speaking, who shot a hateful glare at Glauric, but he restrained himself.

"She was allowed to live. The Elders agreed that she could stay, but she was to be watched by your father at all times, which didn't bother Seamus much." The pair exchanged a tense look, but Seamus remained quiet. "They built the house yeh grew up in, and remained there, staying away from town for the most part. I'm sure yeh remember that yehr mother didn't come to town when you were little."

Leah felt herself nod as she thought back, remembering how there was always an excuse, "I never thought anythin' of it..."

"Do yeh remember yehr lessons with her when yeh were little?" Alec asked. When Leah only nodded a few times in response, he sighed, "Yeh remember that either I or another Elder were always there when she taught yeh, aye? That was another part of her," He mused for a moment, "Sentencing. Though by the time yeh were born, it had been a few decades since all the business with the cult. Still, yeh can understand our desire for caution." He paused, "What elements did she train yeh in, Leah?"

She frowned, pursing her lips, "Water. Earth." She glanced down, "I remember her tellin' me things about Air, but.." She looked at Alec, "It was -you- who taught me t' call on Air."

Alec nodded, "Air, and Fire for that matter, abhorred her. She couldn't have taught you to use them even if she'd wanted." He paused again, "At least not in the proper way of using the elements." Again his gaze flickered to Glauric. Leah’s frown deepened, noting the obvious disapproval Alec had for Glauric. He thought of Glauric’s methods just as he did her mother’s, though Leah knew different. She kept her eyes on Alec, but was impressed that Glauric hadn’t made any sort of retort since they’d been here.

She continued to frown, pieces of her training, of her childhood, finally fitting together in a sort of puzzle, "By the time I was ready t' learn Fire, all she said t' me was 'Go learn for yourself.' " Leah gave a bitter laugh, "That's when she sent me away. It's when we'd argued." She shook her head, "Shite... all these years." Leah looked between Alec and her father, her gaze drilling into her father's, "How could yeh have kept all this from me for so long?" She rubbed at her forehead, "Feckin'.. were yeh ever worried that she was gonna kill me too, Da??"

Seamus looked at his daughter, expression full of guilt, "No, Leah, no, I never.. She would never have hurt yeh. Despite her past, she -did- change. I know that."

Glauric snorted loudly, the same reaction Leah wished she could have had to her father’s statement. “She lacked resources to act as she had previously, and was carefully watched. No more, no less. To imply any change on her attitude or personage is to assume you knew her better than you can honestly say you did.” He said, then gave a dismissive wave, “Is that all, then?”

Seamus kept his eyes on Leah, who in return was now glaring at him, "She loved yeh, Leah. And I was always nearby. Even if she had tried somethin', which she would never have done, I would have stopped her. I would have -never- let you get hurt. You know that." From the corner of her eye, Leah saw Glauric put a palm to his face and sigh tiredly.

Alec glared daggers at Glauric, "You are in no place to judge here, Goldwrought."

Glauric hefted a shoulder, "I would argue rightly otherwise, experience lending me a fair amount of judgemental ability. My Kingdom, such as it was, did play host to the Hammer for a time. At the very least one can assume I overheard matters. What matters, in this moment, is that Leah was taught more or less traditionally by an untraditional somewhat retired cultist under a watchful eye. Unless you’re here to accuse Leah of having had some curse or another secretly implanted in her lessons, I don't see much issue.” He paused, “Certainly makes the memory of the matter awkward, doesn't provide a solution to her death. If the Twilight’s Hammer had the power and desire to see her dead it'd have been long before now. They aren't known for restraint.”

Alec clenched and unclenched his jaw a few times, still glaring at the Dark Iron, "She wasn't killed by the Twilight's Hammer. That much we know, because we know that she returned to them." His gaze shifted back to Leah, "About a year before you left home. So... four years hence." Seamus looked down, guilt plain on his face, "Some were blinded by loyalty and refused to see it until it was too late. But. We believe that played a part in her sending you away, Leah." Glauric shook his head in a highly exasperated manner. "As for the details of her death, since you are so eager to hear those, Goldwrought, the spy we had placed on her saw the encounter with the orcs. She was beginnin' to corrupt Earth elementals, expanding from her norm. She was determined, you'll remember, to return the river t' what it was before the Cataclysm. Two shaman, the orcs, confronted her. Apparently angered by what she was doing. We believe they killed her when she refused to stop what she was doing to the Earth."

Glauric shrugged slowly, "Mmm. So says your spy. How was she slain, to his eyes?" Leah, however, remained quiet, another wave of disbelief passing over her.

"Strangled,” Alec replied, “One of the orcs bore a whip. Though there was a brief struggle before hand. The orc was justified in killin' her then.”

“Hardly.” Glauric piped up again, prompting Leah to be grateful again that he was there, as she didn’t fully trust herself to speak right now. “That, was not their call to make. Shaman or not, they are Orcs, not dwarves. Taking the business of life and death, punishment or not into their hands is well outside their jurisdiction. Were they not, well. Orcish animals, they'd have simply restrained her, taken her back, and provided evidence of misconduct. You know. Like any, civilized being would do when dealing with a foreign nation. But ah, Orcs. Shes gone and shamed the ancestors and peeved the Elementals, time for a slow brutal death, purely reactionary and emotional. Animals.”

Alec and Seamus shared a glance, and Seamus turned his gaze to the floor, while Alec gave a subtle shake of his head. He looked back at Glauric, frowning. Alec didn't respond to anything Glauric had said, looking back to Leah, "Aye, we believe that the orcs killed her in retaliation for what she was doing."

Leah bit her lip, her braid held tightly in her hand as she stared at the floor. Maybe the orcs were right in killing her mother, what she had been doing was wrong. She glanced up at her father, and her eyes narrowed when she saw the expression on his face. Leah frowned, and then Glauric spoke again, "Well. If that is all you had to share?"

She turned her gaze to Alec again, who was still glaring at Glauric. He turned his eyes towards her, “ "That's all of it. Everythin' yeh wanted t' know."

Seamus looked up, though he didn't try to approach Leah. He looked at her pleadingly, but didn't speak. Leah looked away from him, her eyes focusing on Glauric instead. He inclined his head, "Then I thank you for the time. As this is likely a -very- great deal to take in and I, frankly, don't have time for whatever shouting match is traditional for Wildhammers after an exchange of secrets, Leah with me. I should commit this to writing and I want you on hand to clarify any matters that come up during discourse."

Leah nodded in response, keeping her gaze on Glauric, “Thank yeh, Alec. I’ll.. I’ll be in touch.” And with that, she pushed past Glauric, walking quickly, suddenly very aware of the short ceilings and narrow halls of the Stormbrow home. She focused on her breathing, barely noticing that Cecily hadn’t yet returned as she passed through the front room and came out, the cold night air sending a shiver up her spine.

Glauric emerged a few moments later and placed a palm on her shoulder briefly, though his grip was tight. He leaned towards her, his voice low, "Keep walking, until we are outside the village. We will discuss this matter, at length in a moment, but stay silent and in control." Leah nodded at him, forcing the lump in her throat back down into her stomach. She would -not- have another breakdown in front of Glauric, the things she had learned tonight were parts devastating and also a relief. As she trailed behind Glauric, her mind sorting through everything Alec and her father had decided to unload on her tonight, she felt.. lighter, as though a burden had been lifted. They left the village, continuing to walk for a bit, and then Glauric stopped dead and turned on his heel to face her.

"Your mother was killed by an Orc, but it was allowed to do so." Leah blinked at him as he gestured back towards the town they’d just left, "They had been keeping close eye on your mother. Subtle one can be, but if they had a spy watching her perform such a ritual I provide two options." He paused for a moment, “The first, they knew of this and had seen it coming and developing. The Orcs were lead, allowed, and directed perhaps unknowingly, to be rid of her without staining their own hands or having to deal with more traditional Laws and punishments.” Leah nodded, this was something she had considered.

Glauric holds up his other hand, as if weighing it, "The second, while this had caught them off guard -they- were making moves to eliminate her themselves, and the Orc provided a quick and dirty solution. Effectively either this was planned out, or a unexpected solution they took advantage of." He made a dismissive gesture, “It depends mostly on their own intelligence, awareness, and nature of which I don't, frankly -care- as it changes little unless you wish to follow the rabbit hole of ‘Well they only did this because so and such said to do this’ and attempt to take revenge in some long line of commanders, manipulators and the like.” He eyed her, “I -suggest- you ignore that line of thinking as frankly even if intended, bought, and sent by their hand the Orc is still the current, primary, focus and did the duty. Words that lead to action are to blame, but cut the hands before you silence the mouth. Basic combat technique.”

He folded his fingers before him, “Honestly, that revealed little to nothing useful. You knew the orcs had or are shamans, we are perfectly aware of the whip. All this has done is unsettle you emotionally and question your previous lessons and relationships. Which is very likely a calculated move to destabilize you and hopefully force you off the trail of the orc long enough for them to ‘clean their tracks’, so to speak.” He looked over her shoulder towards the town, "Your focus should remain on the Orc, although I suggest drawing information out of him before killing, I won't insist. Matter of choice if you care to hold a grudge over a bunch of set-in-their ways overzealous, weary and predictable elders." Glauric shrugged, “Who, in -entire- fairness, were keeping an eye on a known violent criminal who practiced dark magic. Allegedly.”

Leah remained quiet for a moment, the licked her lips and nodded slowly, "I.. I think yeh're right. I want t' know what the orc knows." She swallowed, "Yeh think they did that t' 'destabilize' me, but honestly.." She gave a small laugh, "Everything makes so much more sense now. I hated her. And then she died and I felt guilty. But now," She laughed again, perhaps a bit too much, "Now I know I was right t' hate her. It's fine! All young girls hate their mothers, right? But I have a legitimate reason t' do it. She was.. she was the monster I always made her out t' be when we argued." She continued to laugh quietly, perhaps to keep from crying; this was an acceptable alternative to that.

Glauric blinked at her, apparently confused by her behavior, "...yes? I hated my father and mother for different reasons roughly equally. I find it an extremely common situation amongst just about everyone I have ever met, or bothered to ask." he huffs some, "It really doesn't matter right now, in the slightest. You wish vengeance, you have a path still to take it. I don't see how knowing she was any worse of a person changes your desire."

“It does change things. Feckin'.. She..” Leah shook her head, ”It changes things because I know I've been lied to my whole life. Not just by her, but my father, and Alec, and feckin' EVERYONE. I want t' know the orcs side, so that I can know if Alec -did- send 'em. Then I'll know that I can't trust him or the Earthen Ring,”

He grumbled, "Let me save you the effort, you cannot, in any fashion, trust the Earthen Ring. It is a self-interested collection of stubborn, if powerful, magical individuals seeking control. I am not sure what you expected." He grew silent as she continued, watching with careful eyes.

“Or my father. All my life.. honesty. They preached it, and it's somethin' I hold to. Somethin' I really value. I want t' know if they've lied about this too, so that I don' ever have t' come back.” She paused, realizing just how angry she was about all of this, “Even if they told the truth about that, I don' know that I'll come back,” She shook her head, “They lied my whole feckin' life,” She snorted, “Feckin' hypocrites. Feckin'...” Leah clenched her jaw, feeling the lump in her throat grow again. She was -not- going to cry.

"Hold your decisions on matters until you have the full information. My words, while based logically and almost certainly correct, are simply -words- until we have more to confirm what it being laid out for us."

She held his gaze, hoping that she outwardly looked calm, "Then our next steps haven' changed. Yeh keep teachin' me. And after that, we draw the orc out, or go t' him," She snorted, "I'd feckin' go walk int' his camp t'night if I could." Leah fell silent, frowning.

Glauric kept his eyes on hers, intently focused on her for a long moment. "...indeed. As of this exact moment, we should make our way back to Ironforge. Perhaps stop in the Loch, eat in comfort. You'll want to channel that frustration of your sooner rather than later. I'd suggest forging but that’s not one of your skills."

Leah snorted, "We could spar. Or I could go find Golnon, bet he wouldn' turn down a request for that sort o' thing." She continued to hold Glauric's gaze, "Thank yeh. Yeh didn' have t' come with me, but yeh indulged me anyways. I just... thank yeh."

He grumped, "I would sooner have us spar. At the very least I can actually test your magical ability rather then run about screaming nonsense." And then he gave a short sort of nod, "It was good I did, and wise for you to request my presence. You are welcome. Now come, before their spies decide to try something foolish."

[anavoliselenu]

In flight chapter 14

What came up was overwhelming, and filled with even more unpleasant surprises than I was prepared for. I had been aware that he was a young but well-known billionaire. I had expected some attention from the media in his direction, just from his looks and money alone. But I couldn’t have anticipated what I found.

I was out of touch with current events, to say the least. I didn’t watch the news, and you couldn’t pay me to watch some of the celebrity entertainment shows that were on television, and I certainly wasn’t interested in print tabloids. I’d never understood the appeal of things like that. I had just never been able to relate to anything about them. They usually centered around spoiled rich people, and I just didn’t get the appeal. That could perhaps excuse the fact that I was utterly clueless about the man I’d had a brief affair with.

I clicked on the images portion first. It was mostly shots on red carpets. He seemed to have endless pictures posing with countless women, though Jules was in a sickening majority of them.

He wore tux after tux, some fashion forward, some classic. She wore gowns in every color, always looking beyond stunning. The two of them together made a dauntingly beautiful pair. He wore suits in other pictures, to what I assumed were less formal red carpet events. I was shocked to see that I even recognized some of the other women he had dated.

I recognized a very famous actress. I hadn’t realized she was so tiny until I saw her standing beside Justin’s tall figure. She barely came to his chest. I had liked a few of her films, but I felt an unreasonable rush of dislike for her when I saw that she had attended at least three events with him.

I recognized yet another woman, a voluptuous, dead behind the eyes reality star. She was dark-haired and dark complexioned. Her curves very nearly ran to fat, I decided cattily. She was so short that they looked ridiculous side by side.

I felt sick when I saw him next to one woman who had the caption ‘fetish p*rn star’ right under the picture.

He always looked spectacularly handsome, regardless of who he had on his arm, but I was getting a bigger and drastically different view of him now. And I didn’t like what I was seeing.

Farther down on the image page I saw a picture of him and Jules dressed down in jeans. It was a rare sight, so I clicked on it. I got a larger view, with a small gossip article. They were holding hands in the picture. The article said that she was rumored to be his longtime on-again off-again girlfriend.

I turned on my phone just long enough to send Justin the image.

Selena: You Liar. I’ll speak to you on Monday because I said I would, but I’ve begun to do my research, and I’m quickly seeing that I don’t know anything about you.

I didn’t bother to read the dozen unread messages above the one I had sent him, but I got a response almost immediately, and I did read that.

Justin: Please don’t believe that tabloid garbage. I’ll admit I never discouraged the rumors about Jules being my girlfriend, but they were only rumors. She has never been my girlfriend. She’s my best buddy’s sister. I promise I will never escort her to another event for the rest of my life, but last night was not a date with her. It was a long standing social obligation. If I had tried to put myself in your shoes, I would have seen how hurtful it could look to you. I apologize for that. I would give anything if I could do it differently. But please, just try to give me the benefit of the doubt, and stop looking at tabloids. I’m still in New York working, since you won’t see me, but it’s killing me that I hurt you and that I can’t make it right. I could be on a flight within the hour. Just say the word, love.

I turned my phone off after that. His one message almost had me softening towards him, and I just wasn’t going to let that happen. Fool me once…

I went back to my own personal torture of sifting through gossip about Justin Archibald Basil Cavendish, The Third. I hadn’t even known his middle names, or that he had two of them. A random gossip site had had to tell me. Of course, he didn’t know mine, either.

I found articles about his parents, and even a few pictures. They were a stunning couple. His mother was a dark-haired, dark-eyed, ravishing beauty with Justin’s golden skin and pretty mouth. His father was devastatingly handsome and blond, with beautiful turquoise eyes that made my gut clench with recognition. I could see how such a combination of people could create a masterpiece like Justin.

An article I found about them wrote about how they had died in a car accident. Their tragedy, and a beautiful young Justin, a billionaire before he was even fourteen, had quickly been propelled into the spotlight and romanticized.

I caught little snippets and even a picture of his infamous deceased guardian, and the full details of that scandal. The man was in his early thirties in the first picture. He was handsome, with light brownish-blond hair, like Justin, but a paler complexion. And he was slender to the point of frail, with creepy, pale green eyes. Spencer Charles Douglas Cavendish had been a predator in the skin of a lamb. I felt a hate for him that made bile rise in my throat.

I read the article about his death. Spencer Cavendish had been killed by an enraged lover. One Lowell Blankenship had been drugged and handcuffed by the frail Spencer. Lowell had commented that he had consented to have sex with Spencer, but that he hadn’t agreed to any of the other ‘sick shit’ the man had forced upon him. Spencer had been strangled to death when he had unlocked the handcuffs of the much larger Lowell. I personally thought he deserved a far more painful death.

There were countless other articles about Justin’s numerous business ventures. I just skimmed over these. I did learn that he was into much more than just the hotel industry, and I wasn’t surprised.

I read through a three page article about his two month affair with a platinum hit singer. She was barely nineteen, and it had been less than six months since their split.

Dammit, I have some of her songs on my mp3 player, I thought in disgust. He had his hand on her nape in one of the pictures. I wanted to throw something.

There were a few articles that hinted briefly about him being a kinky sex partner, but that was all that I found that was even close to touching on his BDSM lifestyle. I wondered how he’d kept it so well under wraps.

I turned off my computer, striding into my bedroom and tearing the painting of him from the wall. I tried to make myself tear it up, but I just couldn’t do it. Instead, I put it into my chest of old watercolors.

I turned my phone on again. I ignored all of the new missed calls and texts from Justin. I texted Stephan, asking if I could come over. He answered instantly with a yes.

I went over, and we watched TV and ate too much ice cream. It helped, but as soon as we stopped watching, I started thinking again. That’s how we ended up catching up on my TV until nearly two a.m on a work night. We had an early morning, but Stephan didn’t complain.

“I spoke at length to Justin today,” Stephan told me after we’d been watching TV for hours.

I just nodded.

“Want me to tell you about it?”

I shook my head.

“Okay. Let me know if you do.”

“I need some time. I read up on him online. I’m feeling less inclined than ever to even speak to him again.”

Stephan took a deep breath. “That’s something I wanted to talk about, actually, if you’re willing to hear what I think about the whole thing right now.”

I just studied him for a minute. He looked nervous, which meant I wouldn’t like what he was going to say. “Not right now,” I said.

“I think I can at least understand now why he wanted to keep his relationship with you private.”

I held a hand up. “No more. It sounds a lot like you’re taking his side right now. I just can’t handle that at the moment.” Unwilling tears welled up as I spoke.

He pulled me against his chest, kissing the top of my head. “Never, Buttercup. I’m always on your side. Always. We’ll talk about it when you’re ready.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Mr. Cavendish

I was grateful for busy flights at work the following day. We had full planes going both ways on our turn. I barely had time to eat, and I was avoiding thinking at all costs. I didn’t even have my phone. It was still at home, by my bed, and turned off.

The Agents were present, and I felt a moment of unreasonable anger at them when I first spotted the one in my cabin. I squelched the emotion, just serving them as they alternated cabins on the return flight. I made myself brush off the implication that Justin still had a reason to keep an eye on me. I would set him straight on Monday, and then this nonsense would be over for good.

I was, thankfully, exhausted by the time I got back home that night. I only performed the minimum bedtime preparations before practically falling into bed.

I slept in late the next morning. Even after I woke up, I moved slowly. It took me nearly an hour to prepare and feed myself breakfast.

I felt like a zombie, too numb to even cry. I thought it was an improvement.

Stephan and I had a monthly lunch date with several of the other members of our flight attendant class at eleven. I was skipping out. It was a boisterous, funny, close-knit group. The lunches were always a great time. There were twelve of us in total that went, and we usually caught up with each other over lunch. We often caught a movie afterward or even headed to Stephan’s house, on occasion. I wasn’t up for any of it. Stephan had promised to make my excuses. He had offered to skip out with me, but I wouldn’t hear of it. I knew he was a social creature, and the lunches were always a highlight for him.

I tried to paint. One look at my canvas of a nude Justin changed my mind . I put the painting in my spare room with trembling hands. I just didn’t have it in me to deal with it at that moment.

Finally, I went the masochistic route, turning on my computer again. I set out to do more painful research on my famous ex-lover.

If I had been shocked by what my search had turned up the first time, I was utterly floored by what I found then. What a difference a few days had made.

Now, typing Justin Cavendish into the search engine brought up an entirely new batch of photos that the first search hadn’t. Pictures of me. I had never thought of myself as a beauty. My features were even and symmetrical and my coloring was a soft natural blond, but I had always just considered myself attractive, if I was in a kind mood. I usually photographed well. I even had a picture-ready smile. If it wasn’t all that sincere, it was at least polished and convincing enough at a distance. These weren’t those kinds of pictures.

They had obviously been snapped as I was stumbling out of Justin’s building. I looked disheveled, and, well, horrible. I was ghostly pale, my eyes red and bloodshot. There was mascara running down my face in dark lines. It made me look at least forty years old, instead of twenty-three.

My uniform was in shambles, the buttons of my blouse misaligned by at least three. I hadn’t even noticed at the time. My shirt was untucked, and the top was hanging low, showing an almost obscene amount of cl**vage. My hair was a tangled mess.

I looked like I was drunk and about to throw up in the street. I was teetering on the edge of the sidewalk. Apparently, I had looked as awful as I had felt that night. And the pictures were everywhere. One gossip site after another had scented the story of trouble in paradise. Though they all seemed to have a slightly different slant on it.

One site named me a ‘Vegas floozy’ who had come between Jules and Justin, though the site claimed that their love would endure the scandal. I saw that they were commonly referred to on the gossip sites as J&J. It made me want to throw up.

One site called me a ‘Low Class Inflight’, who had broken the heart of a distraught Jules. That one hurt, with side by side pictures of the two of us. The picture of Jules showed her in the pale gray gown she’d been wearing that night, giving a stiff smile at the camera. She looked strained, but at least she’d known she was being photographed. I saw farther down on the same article that they had indeed still attended the charity event together, in spite of the obvious strain yet another of Justin’s affairs had caused on the beautiful couple. The article concluded that their love would prevail over Justin’s weakness for cheap women.

I wouldn’t have been surprised if Jules had written the article herself, it was so biased towards her. It made her out to be a long-suffering Saint. I’d met the woman, if only briefly. She was no Saint.

One site called me a ‘Blond Sky Slut,’ and claimed that I was trying to trap Justin with a baby. I couldn’t believe all of the lies that could be concocted from a few short minutes worth of unsolicited photos, and all of a woman no one had ever heard of. It was shocking, and infuriating, and sickening.

One site resorted to drawing giant penises all over my face, saying that I ‘gave the best head’, and that was the only reason Justin would risk his long-time lover’s wrath. Supposedly several of the site’s sources knew it first-hand. The lies made me feel ill.

One site claimed I was part of a high-priced flight attendant prostitution ring, and that Justin obviously needed to ask for his money back.

I was almost flattered for a moment as I read the headline of one article. It claimed I was a ‘Swedish Bikini Model’. That sounded complimentary. Until I scrolled to the bottom of the article, which had a link it claimed went to a porno, starring me. I didn’t bother to click on it. I knew for a fact that it wasn’t me, and I didn’t want to see what it actually was.

Another said I was a cocktail waitress, and yet another said that I was a stripper with the stage name ‘Glory Hole’. The slurs went on and on, and I felt humiliated, angry, and heartsick.

This was the price I had to pay for one week of pleasure? I thought in disgust. I was going celibate for the rest of my life.

And I hated myself, for being just as upset that Justin and Jules had still gone out together that night as I was by all of the horrible lies being spread about me…

I got my phone out of my bedroom, finally turning it on after days in the off position. I went straight to Stephan’s name in my texts, completely ignoring all of the other messages and calls that I had missed. I’d missed one from Stephan as well. It had been sent twenty minutes ago.

Stephan: Buttercup, I’ll be home soon. Finishing up lunch now. We need to talk. Please don’t look at anything online until I get there.

I snorted. He should have known better. If I hadn’t already looked, his odd message would have sent me straight to my computer.

I heard the doorbell ring.

That was quick, I thought, as I strode directly to the door.

I wondered why he didn’t just let himself in. He was rarely so formal. He even had my alarm code.

A cold shiver ran through me. I couldn’t place why. Cautiously, I checked the peephole. It was covered.

By a hand, I thought. It made me angry.

I swung the door open, ready to chew Stephan a new one. “You know better than to mess with me like that, Stephan. It’s a mean prank-”

I couldn’t finish as a huge hand seized my throat, shoving me back into the house. I couldn’t even scream as the hand tightened. I blinked, trying to focus on the coldly furious face in front of me. The familiar pale-blue, bloodshot eyes. I could do nothing as the huge blond man picked me up by the throat, and shoved me across the room, my back hitting the wall with a jarring thud.

I clawed at the giant hand that held me suspended like a rag doll. It had no effect. My throat burned, and the impact with the wall had knocked the wind out of me, but the pain was secondary to the terror that gripped me.

A question consumed my thoughts. It was an old familiar pattern for me, when this madman, who exercised so little control over his rage, held me in his grasp. The question circled my brain like a persistent cancer. Would he kill me this time? He always threatened to. Ever since I had stood, not more than four feet away, and watched in horror as he pushed the gun my mother held into her mouth, and pulled the trigger. I had watched in helpless horror as his finger covered hers on that trigger, and pulled so slowly.

Blood had splattered all three of us, but he hadn’t seemed to notice.

At the moment, his words were a confusing tangle of Swedish and English, and I couldn’t for the life of me understand it. I had never been fluent in Swedish, but I’d had to understand it as a child, since my father stubbornly insisted on using it at home. But, either from terror or disuse, any ability to understand it was failing me. I tried to speak, to tell him that, but his hand was still at my throat, cutting off my ability to speak.

His hand relaxed on my throat just enough for me to take a breath. I gasped, then grunted and whimpered as his fist made hard contact with my ribs. I sobbed in another breath, still desperate for air.

He spoke again. This time it was a heavily accented but understandable string of English. “Don’t get the idea that a rich boyfriend will keep you safe from me. If you even think about speaking to the police, I will still kill you. Do you understand?”

I couldn’t speak, but I tried. God, did I try. Finally, I just nodded, but it wasn’t enough. One of those massive fists made contact with my stomach once, and then again. I started to crumble, but he pushed my shoulder into the wall hard enough to keep me upright.

“Look at me,” my father’s cold voice ordered.

I did, getting a good look at him for the first time since he’d charged, like a madman, through my door. It had been six years since I’d seen him, but he’d aged twenty. He was even heavier now, his face dissipated with the signs of a life lived in excess. He was a drunk, a smoker, a chronic gambler, a murderer, and God only knew what else. It had all taken it’s toll on his once handsome face.

I called myself a thousand kinds of fool. I’d known he would never leave Vegas. He had gambled to stay afloat since his parents had disowned him at least twenty-four years before. I had prayed that his destructive lifestyle would take care of him on it’s own, but it had been too much to hope for.

Thinking it was Stephan at my door was no excuse. I was an idiot for letting my guard down for even a second. But he had somehow known when to strike. I was so depressed and despondent that my brain wasn’t working properly. The thought of a real threat had been so far from my mind…

“People have been asking about me, people I don’t know. What did you tell your rich boyfriend about me? Did you tell him about your mother’s death?”

“No,” I sobbed. “I don’t know what people you’re talking about. I didn’t tell him anything. I swear it.”

My words were useless. They always were. My father was a man of action. He grabbed my arm with one hand, punching me in the side with the other. He always spread his punches out. He caught a spot at my back and my spine bowed in pain.

He swept my legs out from under me. I went down easily. He kicked me once, hard, in the back. He walked around me, bringing a booted heel to my neck. “It would be easier than taking a simple step for me to kill you. You understand this? My weight alone will crush your windpipe. Is this how you want to die? Because if you tell anyone what I did to your mother, there is no reason why I shouldn’t kill you. I would not hesitate. Do you understand, sotnos?”

“Yes,” I croaked out. It was a struggle to get that one word out with that huge boot on my neck.

He picked me up, effortlessly propping me back on my feet. “And your man needs to quit poking around in my business.” He raised an enormous fist above me, bringing it down on the back of my head. My world went black.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Epilogue

I awoke to the biggest, baddest headache of my life. It was a doozy. I wanted to sink back into unconsciousness immediately. It was my first conscious thought.

I opened my eyes the tiniest crack. It made the pain even worse, so I shut them again.

I’m in a hospital, was my second conscious thought. Everything, from the way I was propped up, to the smell, to all of the little beeps, clued me in. My third thought was that my head wasn’t the only thing wrong with me. Almost every part of my body throbbed, head to toe.

My hands seemed to be unharmed. My right hand was clutched in a warm, hard hand. I knew that it must be Stephan at my side, and I felt better just from the knowledge of his steady presence. I was in bad shape, but I was alive. And I had Stephan.

I made a second attempt to open my eyes. It was marginally more successful than the first try, but agonizing pain still shot through my temples. I glanced toward the man sitting at my right. I was more than a little unsettled to see that it wasn’t Stephan.

Golden-brown hair trailed into an achingly beautiful face as Justin leaned over my hand, his face stark and desolate, his eyes red, his pretty mouth pursed as though he were in pain. He had the posture of someone who had been sitting slumped over that way for hours, if not days. He looked so tragic that way, and so heart-achingly handsome, that I felt an instant softening towards him. I wasn’t thinking very clearly, but I tried to reach out briefly to comfort him.

My arm didn’t move much, but I was able to grip his hand with a tiny, reassuring squeeze.

His head shot up, his eyes searching. Those vibrant blue eyes looked on the verge of tears. It was surreal to see him like that. He swallowed hard.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. He reached over and pushed a button just to my right, but behind me. And then both of his hands gripped mine, stroking it softly.

My voice was raspy and weak, but I answered him. “Alive.”

He blinked, and a tear slipped down the planes of that perfect golden cheek.

I blinked at him, wondering if I was dreaming. This was such a strange Justin that sat in front of me, nearly a stranger. But then again, he had always been a stranger. Hadn’t he?

“Where’s Stephan?” I asked him. It hurt to talk, so I vowed to keep my talking to a minimum.

“He went to get coffee. He’s been glued to your side.” He nodded at a spot on the other side of me. There was another chair placed right at my side. “He’s even been sleeping there.”

I processed his words, then almost immediately broke my vow of silence. “How long have I been out?”

He lowered his head, touching his forehead to my hand. “Three days. Forever.”

I sighed, feeling a little relieved. It could have been worse. “How long have you been here?” I asked him.

His face looked impossibly tired as he gazed down at our joined hands. “I showed up at your house as the ambulance was taking you away. We followed it to the hospital. Stephan and I were both just minutes too late…”

“You came to my house early,” I said, a small thread of accusation in my voice.

He just nodded. “Yes. But not early enough,” he said, and I could tell that he was blaming himself for what had happened, for showing up too late to stop it, which was crazy, of course.

I supposed, in a disconnected kind of way, that someone who needed so badly to be in control, must also feel the need to take a disproportionate amount of responsibility for things, even things that were completely out of his control. I squeezed his hand.

“How long have you been at the hospital?” I asked again.

He just blinked at me. “Since then, Love. Do you think I could leave you like this?”

My brow furrowed. “Don’t you have work to do?”

He laughed, and it was a rusty sound. “I’m taking some time off.”

I noticed for the first time that the private room we were in was filled to bursting with flowers. They ranged from exotic bouquets, to decadent roses, to simple carnations. It seemed that every flower was represented in the many vases around the room.

“You did this,” I said, as I took it all in.

He kissed my hand. “Not just me,” he said. “The white lilies are from Stephan. And those sunflowers are from Damien and Murphy. The mixed wildflowers are from your airline. And that mixed bouquet is from a group of flight attendants from your class. I got the rest.”

“They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he murmured, watching me like a hawk.

Stephan came in then, and rushed to my other side. Tears ran down his face as he grabbed my other hand.

“How do you feel?” he asked, sitting in what was obviously his chair at my other side..

I grimaced. “Alive.”

“I should go get the nurse,” Stephan said, starting to stand.

“I buzzed her. She’s usually prompt, so she’ll be here any time now,” Justin told him.

Stephan sat again. He stroked my hand comfortingly. “I was just speaking to the police. They want to talk to you when you feel up to it. I told them that I thought it was your father, but I didn’t see him, so they won’t take my word for it. It was your father, right?”

I just nodded, wincing. “Later. I’m definitely not feeling up to it right now. What day is it?”

“Thursday,” Stephan told me.

My eyes widened, my mind automatically going to work. “We fly out tonight?” I asked him.

He patted my hand. “I talked to the director of inflight. He had no problem letting us switch our vacation time, with you being hospitalized. He was actually really great about it, knowing we couldn’t take that much time off unpaid, and that I couldn’t work with you hurt like this. We’ve got two weeks off, so don’t worry about work.”

I shut my eyes in relief. “Thanks, Stephan. You’re the best.”

Justin’s hand tightened on mine. “That’s not enough time. And if you’re that worried about money-”

“Don’t,” I told him, my eyes still closed.

His mention of money opened the floodgate, and I suddenly remembered, quite vividly, why he had no reason to be by my side. I started to withdraw my hand.

He clutched it, and my eyes snapped open, glaring at him. The look in his eyes stopped my hand, and I just didn’t have the heart to glare at someone who looked so…desperate.

“Okay, I won’t. I’m sorry. I just wanted to help,” he reassured me in a way that seemed foreign to him. No one could say he wasn’t trying…

The nurse arrived, checking on me. She asked me about the pain, and I saw her pushing the painkiller button several times. I drifted off.

Both men were seemingly unmoved when I roused again. I could see from the slightly opened shades that it was dark outside. Both of my hands were still warmly enveloped.

“How long was I out that time?” I asked.

Stephan seemed to be dozing, but Justin had his eyes open. He looked like he was praying over my hand.

“Fourteen hours,” Justin said, and kissed my hand. “I think you’ve taken ten years off my life this week.” He reached to punch a button, and I knew he was calling for the nurse again.

It was a different nurse this time, I absently noted, as she left after checking and medding me. They had both been pleasant and quick. I wondered if the hospital always had such good service, or if this was the Justin Cavendish effect.

“You don’t have to stay here,” I told him, as I began to drift off again. He sent me such a hurt look that I tried to take it back even as I sank into a drugged sleep.

Days went by like that, floating in and out of consciousness while my body healed. It was five days before I was up and about. And even then it was a limited amount of activity.

I had a severe concussion, some internal bleeding, and some badly bruised ribs. From the way they felt, I found it hard to believe they weren’t broken. I hated to imagine what they would feel like if they were actually broken, if this was what bruised felt like.

I found out from the doctor that I would be in the hospital for several more days, under observation. All of my injuries were painful, but survivable. I was lucky, I knew. It could have been so much worse.

I had several visitors. The rest of our crew even visited once, pilots included. They wished me well, and chatted pleasantly about nothing important. Neither of the men at my side even offered their spots to the other visitors. I wasn’t surprised.

Justin’s hand tightened on mine once, when Damien reached down to pat my leg. I knew Damien was just being friendly. He would have patted my hand, probably, if they weren’t both already taken.

Justin and Stephan never wandered far from their seats at my side, day or night. Occasionally, they took turns sleeping on a tiny bed that folded out from the wall in the far corner of the room. I couldn’t imagine either man was getting much sleep on the uncomfortably hard looking bed. It was both heartwarming and baffling to me, these two amazing men that insisted on watching over me, completely unconcerned for their own comforts.

A neat, business-like blond woman kept coming in and out of the room, silently handing Justin his phone, or his laptop, or even the occasional stack of papers. I supposed that was how he was able to spend so much time at my side.

“You don’t have to stay here,” I told him. “I understand that you have work to do.”

He just gave me a dismissive glance, working on his laptop.

I was nearly recovered enough to be discharged before Stephan brought up the attack again. “Why did he come after you again, after all these years?” he asked in a hushed voice. Justin was dozing in his bedside chair.

“He mentioned something about people asking questions about him, people that he didn’t know. He saw me in the tabloids, I suppose, and blamed me. He also seemed to think that dating a rich man would make me more likely to get brave and go to the police about him.”

“This was my fault,” Justin spoke, making me start in surprise. His face was ashen. “I’m so sorry.”

I arched a brow at him. “That’s a bit of a stretch. And, anyways, my father wasn’t wrong. I am feeling brave now.”

Justin tried to get me to explain what I meant, but I wasn’t sharing anymore. And there was nothing to share with Stephan. He already knew everything.

I caught the tail end of a hushed conversation as I woke up one morning, days later.

“I think that will do more harm than good,” Stephan was saying to Justin. “She won’t like it. Just give her time, Justin. I know it’s hard, but you’ll have to be patient.”

“What’re ya talkin’ bout?” I mumbled, as my brain crawled out of sleep.

Both men looked a little guilty at being caught discussing me, but neither answered.

“Spill it, Stephan.”

He sighed. “Justin would like to take you to a quiet place to heal. He was suggesting a place on the beach, maybe. And we were trying to figure out how to handle the media circus that seems to follow Justin around.”

I went from groggy to alert as he spoke.

Justin gave me a very solemn look. “I can’t tell you how much I didn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire of my media circus of a life. That is the entire reason that I wanted to keep our relationship quiet, at first. I was suggesting that I release a statement about our relationship so it’s clear that you and I are together and exclusive. And that Jules is and only ever has been a friend of mine. I hate the implication that you are usurping on her territory. Nothing could be further from the truth.”

I pulled my hand away from Justin, then raised it when he tried to protest.

“Stephan, give us a moment, please,” I said solemnly.

He left without a word, beating a rather hasty retreat.

Justin’s jaw had clenched, and he looked angry and pleading all at once. “Please don’t shut me out, Selena,” he said quietly.

I took a deep breath. My chest hurt. It wasn’t just from the fists that had marked it. It was a deeper pain. “Justin, this has all happened too quickly. I need to take a step back.”

He looked down, hiding his pain-filled eyes, that lovely mouth twisting in a heart-wrenching way. “Please.” His voice was quiet. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you. What can I do?”

I swallowed past a very thick lump in my throat. “Just give me time, please. Things between us happened too fast, and everything that’s happened since has just made me realize that. I can’t think when we’re together. You just sweep me up and I seem to lose all semblance of sane thought. I don’t know that I can be a part of your life, or that I can even accept whatever little piece of it you would carve out for me.” I could tell he wanted to argue, but I quieted him with a look.

“Just give me some time,” I finally repeated. “That’s all I ask. We can discuss this thing we have in a few weeks, maybe a month, if you still want to. Frankly, I half-expect you to just move on in that time.”

He looked very angry now, but he studied me, and I could see that he tried to tamp it down.

“Please have more faith in me than that,” he said quietly. “Will you at least allow me to call you? Or even text you?”

I closed my eyes, wanting to go back to sleep, wanting to cry like a baby. “I’ll contact you,” was all I said.

He clutched my hand. “It feels like you’ve already written me off. I wish I knew the words to say to help you understand how serious I am about you.”

There were tears in his voice, and it broke my heart. But he didn’t really try to find any of the words. He never spoke of love, or even how much he cared. It made it easier for me to do what needed to be done. It helped me to tell myself, We barely know each other. This could all mean nothing to him in a month. If he had said he loved me, I might not have been able to manage it.

“I haven’t written you off. I just need time, and space. As you’ve seen and heard, I’m going to be fine. I’ll be released from the hospital anytime now. Today, probably. Stephan will take care of me after that.”

I kept my eyes closed. It was so much easier to say the words when I wasn’t looking at him.

“Goodbye, Justin,” I told him, my voice oddly thick. It was a dismissal.

He kissed my forehead. I felt him watching me for long minutes. Finally, after a suspenseful wait, he departed.

I felt tears slip down my cheeks, but only after he’d gone.

Stephan re-entered some time later. I suspected he had walked Justin out. He came right to my side, seeming to know, without a word from me, what had transpired. “Are you okay, Selena?”

I nodded. “I want to get out of here. And I’m ready to talk to the police, Stephan. I’m going to tell them everything.”

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