#truly do not imagine that That supposed boundary is important to anyone. & it is just if you don't personally kill him w/your bare hands

[unproduciblesmackdown]

winston sees it coming b/c he's been around here for at least 5 sec which is enough &/or half is deliberately baiting everyone as another parting flipoff and he suffers through & is upset by all the measures taken but is then just ready like oh we'll just put it All out there, his shit sure but then also an exposé on any & everyone's bullshit that he's been aware of, which seems to be aplenty, and you know, like has a lawyer ready and shit but like yeah deal with (a) that PR where [also if he can include the exposé on what they've been doing to him / are trying to do to him Right Now] plus all that other bullshit is shockingly going to be what any randos & third parties care about rather than "but...he's sooo annoying :(...but we refuse to fuck him :(...but he could be taller :(..." and then (b) we could have Themes where Everyone has to still deal with even the potential consequence of their own actions that is looking in a mirror for a minute while they try to take down prince (plus another potential shakeup to those efforts in this, besides those of just waiting around on / letting wendy & etc take their shots at it) but instead of that it is more important to billions that we get an episode about how fun it is that wags is so cool

[heliads]

everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter Nineteen: Call Up the Cavalry

Risa Ward escaped a shuttle destined for her certain, painful death. Connor Lassiter ran away from home before it was too late. Lev Calder was kidnapped. All of them were supposed to be dissected for parts, used to advance a declining galaxy, but as of right now, all of them are whole. Life will not stay the same way forever.

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Connor fears that this might be the moment at which he finally goes mad.

He’s undergone enough to make the snap happen, at least. How much bending can a mind take before it breaks? How many separations, how much running, how much death and chaos can one teenage boy undergo before he starts to lose himself? Connor wouldn’t be surprised if this is all a hallucination cooked up by a brain that doesn’t want to separate itself from its familiar skull.

However, just why Connor would hallucinate this tithe of all people, he can’t understand. He stands there, blinking at the blond kid, until the figure of Lev Calder sighs, cracks a grin, and says, “Hey, Connor. Long time, no see.”

This, truly, is how Connor knows this has got to be fake. “Since when have you been friendly?” Connor asks doubtfully.

One of the teenagers next to Connor chokes out a laugh. “Lev, I thought you said you were friends with this guy.”

“I am,” Lev says, flashing the stranger a dour glare so severe that Connor is immediately thrust into more than a year of memories. Yes, that’s Lev alright. No one can cast judgment quite like a boy who’s worn tithing whites all his life.

Lev clears his throat pretentiously and motions for Connor to continue into the house. “Surprised to see me?”

“Surprised would be an understatement,” Connor remarks. “Do I have a concussion or something?”

Lev grins again. “I would make a terrible figment of your imagination, but that’s beside the point. No, Connor, you’re not dreaming. I should hope not, it’s taken ages to track you down. Hasn’t anyone told you to stop moving around all the time?”

“Yeah, the Proactive Citizenry,” Connor says wryly. “The two of you can argue over custody claims for me.”

Lev’s face tightens. “Trust me, there’s nothing I’d like to do more than poke a fight with the PC. They’re no friends of ours.”

Connor arches a disbelieving brow. “Really? Because the last time I saw you, you couldn’t get to a harvest colony fast enough. I seem to remember you arguing with Risa and I in an effort to turn the ship around when we saved your ungrateful ass.”

It’s difficult to keep the bite out of his words. Even though it’s been more than a year, Connor still hasn’t forgiven the kid for the stunt he pulled back in the boundary checkpoint leaving the OH-10 sector. When Lev had sounded the alarm, Connor and Risa had been forced to go on the run again, requiring the help of a sympathetic checkpoint worker for them to escape undetected. Even so, they’d barely made it out alive, and no thanks to Lev.

One of Lev’s friends doesn’t seem to take kindly to Connor’s hostility. He starts to move towards Connor, but Lev waves him off with a small gesture of his hand. Connor watches all this with faint curiosity– since when has the short tithe been able to inspire this kind of loyalty– but doesn’t say a word.

Lev picks up on his lingering irritation. “I wouldn’t blame you for being annoyed with me for how things ended in OH-10. None of us do,” he says smoothly, aiming a pointed glare at his vocal friend before carrying on. “I was a different kid back then. I didn’t know the importance of staying alive. I thought distribution was saving the world. Then I learned otherwise.”

Connor sits forward in his seat, unable to disguise his curiosity. “What changed your mind?”

Lev smiles softly. “Actually, I started having second thoughts the moment I turned you guys in. I couldn’t shake the guilt I felt, thinking that I had sent you guys to your deaths. I slipped away in the chaos when the checkpoint cops were trying to find you, and ended up hitching a ride on a mass transit shuttle. It was going to the farthest reaches of the galaxy, which I figured would be a good way to start clearing my head. Along the way, I met up with these guys. They call themselves the Chancefolk.”

Connor glances at the assembled group. None of them seem to be from the same place, all different heights and builds, different complexions, but the same haunted look in their eyes. Whatever they’ve been through, it’s been just as long and winding a road to walk as Connor’s.

“The Chancefolk?” Connor repeats. “I’ve never heard that name before.”

“I would be surprised if you had,” Lev tells him. “The Chancefolk are the native people of the galaxy. The group you see before you is only a small fraction of their true number.”

Connor turns to face him, startled. “I thought the Collective wiped out all of the native species from the worlds they conquered. People, plants, animals, everything.”

“Think again,” says a woman from the back. “The Collective would love you to believe that they’re the supreme authority on everything, but they couldn’t be more wrong. They miscalculated and mishandled the galaxy, but we’ve been maintaining the worlds all along. There are pockets of us in every system if you know where to look. We may keep our heads low, but that doesn’t mean we can’t look around and see where we need to be.”

Connor nods slowly. “I can’t believe none of us ever knew about you.”

“The Collective’s got a pretty good propaganda blanket across the galaxy, but I have a feeling that times are changing,” Lev tells him. “For one thing, you’ve got a friend who’s pushing that boundary.”

Connor breaks into a grin despite himself. “Don’t tell me you’ve been tuning in to Radio Free Hayden? Even in your outer rim hideaway?”

Lev chuckles. For a moment, he looks younger again, more like the boy Connor remembers meeting, and then promptly abducting, all that time ago at the beginning of it all. “Of course we did. That’s how I knew you and Risa were still alive, actually. I turned to his frequency one day and heard the three of you joking around like you’d never had a care in the world.”

The smile lingers on Lev’s face for a moment longer, but then his expression sobers again. “Speaking of Risa, where is she? From the way you two used to talk on that radio show, I thought you were joined at the hip, but you showed up here by yourself. Did something happen?”

A wave of grief washes over Connor again, even stronger from its absence. “Something bad. We were ambushed by the PC. She sacrificed herself so I could get away.”

Lev closes his eyes momentarily in grief. “I’ll pray for her. In the meantime, what do you say we break her out of there? We were planning a raid anyway. I think it’s time to show the PC that they’re not nearly as strong as they think they are.”

Connor nods excitedly. “I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do. In the meantime, there are a few things you guys should know about the PC before we draft a plan.”

The Chancefolk draw closer as Connor tells them about Dorian Heartland. He sees the outrage in their expressions, the pain and agony of knowing that their centuries-old foe is still alive. Judging by the steely resolve in their eyes, though, Heartland’s over-extended life may not continue for that much longer. Not if Connor has anything to say about it.

In the end, they walk away from that meeting with a plan. To take on Heartland and the PC, they’ll need an army. However, between the Chancefolk scattered across the galaxy and a fair number of personal friends that Connor and Risa have made along the way, they’re halfway there, and that’s not a bad start. First, though, they’ll need someone capable of uniting the worlds behind their cause, and he’s imprisoned in a harvest colony waiting to die.

“You’re certain this is going to work?” Connor asks for the tenth time. They’re approaching the exterior of the harvest complex now, nearing a service entrance at the back with weapons drawn, but even though they’ve been through the plan many times, all Connor can imagine are possible avenues of error.

“It’ll be fine,” Lev assures him yet again. “Listen, you saved my life when we first met, even if I didn’t appreciate it then. Let me help you out now. I’ve been owing you that favor for a while.”

“Don’t I know it,” Connor mutters under his breath, but he shuts up and lets himself believe in the idea that this might work.

Una Jacali, one of Lev’s closest friends among the Chancefolk, is leading the expedition. She looks as if she might be ready to assassinate Dorian Heartland herself using nothing more than her bare hands and raw anger should they accidentally cross paths. Connor never thought he’d say this, but he actually feels bad for the guy. Having someone as unbreakable as Una on your tail can’t be good.

Una signals to them, counting down from three with a free hand. When she lowers her hand, the explosives they’ve placed on the far side of the harvest complex go up in a fiery rage, drawing the attention of all nearby cops far away from them. The group sneaks through the service entrance and into the shadowy halls. Una and Connor fire at guards when they need to, but their path to the harvest colony is surprisingly clear, likely thanks to the inferno distraction still sending wailing klaxons through the complex.

“They’ll all be in the dorms thanks to the alarm,” Lev tells them. “We should head there now.”

“Remember, Hayden is our first priority,” Connor urges them. “Get everyone out, of course, but we have to make sure he’s safe.”

“Or at least his voice box,” Una supplies. “He can be shot in the leg and be fine.”

Connor shoots her a dour look. “The whole body needs to be fine, Una. He’s our friend.”

Una doesn’t acknowledge this with anything more than a raised eyebrow, which makes Lev clap a hand to his mouth in an attempt to silence his bout of laughter. “We hear you, Connor,” the former tithe says when he manages to get himself under control. “Hayden Upchurch won’t be harmed.”

Connor would appreciate a little more confidence on that front than just the word of Lev, but then again, the boy’s done this well in getting them thus far, he might as well have a little more faith. If anything, the religious upbringing in the younger boy would appreciate some good honest hope.

The group of rescuers breaks into the central portion of the harvest complex when the service corridor ends. Immediately, shots break out as several guards notice them. Evidently not every soldier had been sent to check out the disturbance.

“Go on,” Una urges Connor and Lev. “We’ll hold them off.”

Connor shouts his thanks, then takes off towards the dorms, Lev just behind them. Surprisingly, Lev manages to keep up, even despite his shorter stature. “Since when did you learn to run this quickly?” Connor asks, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.

Lev chuckles. “A lot happened in the Outer Rim. I’ll have to tell you sometime, but the stories would take a while.”

There’s a dark glint in Lev’s eyes, one Connor doesn’t quite recognize from the short window of time they’d spent together a lifetime ago on the stolen shuttle of a Juvey-cop. Connor makes a mental note to sit Lev down once they get out of here and ask him just what in sunfire happened in the year since they last saw each other.

That is, of course, assuming they do get out of here. It is not lost on Connor that Heartland brought all the AWOLs from the Graveyard here to trap Connor once and for all. Although Connor and Risa already sprung that trap in the synth-park, there’s no telling if Heartland had a backup scheme that could be playing out right now. All Connor can do is keep running, and hope to all the heavenly bodies that this, at last, is something the immortal murderer didn’t see coming.

The two of them reach the door to the dorms. A quick blast from Connor’s gun sears through the lock, and he kicks it open. The door surges forward on its hinges, and hasn’t even opened all the way before Connor sprints through it. Kids are everywhere inside– sitting in the corner, talking in quiet voices, poking their heads out of doors, all of them staring at Connor with these wide eyes. It occurs to him that they might be afraid of him. When did he become something worth their terror?

Then a girl near him stands up with a start. “Connor?”

He recognizes her vaguely from the Graveyard, and although they never personally met, Connor seizes this opportunity to get back control of the situation. “Yes,” he says as loudly as he can, “It’s me, Connor Lassiter. From the Graveyard. I’m here to get you guys to safety. There are some men and women outside, they’ll help you to our shuttle.”

Too afraid to believe their good luck, no one moves at first. Connor takes a few more steps inside. “Come on, hurry. Unless you guys want to wait around and get distributed?”

That does it. The girl who’d spoken to Connor earlier hastens to the door, pokes her head out, then quickly waves to the rest of the distributes to get going. “He’s right, none of the guards can get us. Hurry, everybody.”

The teenagers follow the girl, pouring out of the dorms in a shouting, cheering wave of kids. Connor can’t help a smile as he watches the life spark back into their eyes. They’ve got a shot again, and he helped to give it to them. Maybe, just maybe, he can finally make up for what he’s done. He can reverse the tides. Little by little, Connor Lassiter can get back into the good graces of the universe.

Connor pushes further into the crowd, checking each face as he passes for Hayden or, with pitifully shrinking hope, Risa. He doesn’t really think Risa will be here, if he was in the mood for being honest with himself. She’s too important a prisoner for Heartland to just toss her in here with the rest. Still, it would make his rescue attempt very efficient if he could get both Risa and Hayden out of here in only one shot. He’ll have to suggest to Heartland that he re-organize his method of exterminating teenagers so Connor is best served by it.

The ridiculousness of that thought makes Connor smirk to himself as he wades further inside. It’s a little difficult to get through as everyone inside does their damndest to get out as fast as they can. Painfully, it reminds Connor of the mass stampede inside the doomed Graveyard when they had been found out.

Just like back then, too, Connor looks up across the crowd to find someone lingering on the outskirts, someone blond and tall who makes eye contact with Connor and breaks into this wild, bright grin that Connor hasn’t seen except in his nightmares in a very long time.

Immediately, Connor throws himself against the crowd until he’s in front of the boy. For a moment, he just stares, and then he wraps his arms around his friend, squeezing him until he almost thinks he’s forced the air from the other boy’s lungs.

“Hayden,” he says emphatically.

Hayden Upchurch, because of course it is he, hugs Connor back so hard that he picks Connor off of the ground entirely before letting him back down again. “Connor! Suns, I heard a few of the religious kids talking about how they got guardian angels when they died, but I didn’t think I’d get such a heroic one. I’ve got a poster of you up on my wall, do you want to see it?”

Connor chokes out a laugh, eliciting a proud grin from Hayden when they finally break apart. “Yeah, I totally believe that the PC let you have an Akron AWOL poster in their harvest colony. That’s such a bad joke, man.”

Hayden snorts. “They only allowed me to put it up because I promised I’d get them a signed copy. Do you carry a pen with you, or should I get one of my own? You know I have to honor my promises.”

Connor just grins. “How about you keep your promise to shoot those starspawn in the legs if you ever saw them again?”

“That sounds good to me, too,” Hayden assures him. “Now come on, I want to get out of here. I don't fancy the idea of spending any more time, even in these fine living conditions.”

Connor casts one last glance over Hayden’s shoulder, but the throngs of AWOLs have already started to disperse, and he doesn’t see a particular brunette girl anywhere. “Hayden– you haven’t seen–” 

He can’t quite get the words out, but Hayden, careful as ever, figures out what he’s trying to say. He puts a sympathetic hand on Connor’s shoulder, gently but firmly steering him out of the dorms. “No, Connor. Risa isn’t here. I’ve been looking out for both of you in case either of you turned up, you know that, but she never showed. I’m sorry, man.”

“No problem,” Connor says with a heavy heart. “I didn’t really think she’d end up here, anyway.”

“The two of you split?” Hayden asks, surprised. “I thought you were together forever.”

Connor shoots him a questionable frown. “What in the stars are you talking about?”

Hayden chuckles, even as stray gunfire from the cops rakes towards them. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. The two of you were practically joined at the hip. It used to drive me crazy in the Graveyard, actually. Jeevan and I had a bet going on how long it would take the two of you to finally spill your lovesick little guts. Speaking of which, how long did it take?”

Hayden spares one quick glance at Connor’s face as the two of them run towards the exit and winces. “Don’t tell me you never said a thing. Connor, you’ve been leading that poor girl on for months.”

“It’s not that,” Connor protests. “And come on, seriously? A bet? I didn’t even realize I liked her until just recently.”

At the entrance to the service hallway, Lev joins them just early enough to hear the end of the conversation. “You’re talking about Risa, right? How they act like they’re supposed to be together forever?”

“Yes,” Hayden says emphatically. “Thank you.”

Connor sputters. “That’s absurd. Lev, Risa and I were arguing like crazy when you were there. Don’t join Hayden’s side, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You should absolutely join Hayden’s side,” Hayden says. “Hayden is always right.”

“He’s right about this,” Lev says as they race down the corridor. Then, to Hayden, “It’s the way they look at each other, right? They can’t stop staring. At first, I thought he had an eye problem or something.”

“Hey,” Connor complains, but Hayden just throws up his arms in victory.

“Exactly! The staring thing! Suns, they were hopeless. You’d think they got married years ago.”

“Can we please focus on getting out of here without dying?” Connor begs.

Were they anywhere but here, he’s certain he would have been ignored, but the rapid gunfire of Juvey-cops can derail any conversation. “Fine, but we’re definitely talking about this later,” Hayden warns.

“I’ll do my best to miss it,” Connor grumbles under his breath. Maybe he should have insisted that Lev stay back at the house, or told him that he wouldn’t ever get along with Hayden so he shouldn’t bother trying. Anything to avoid whatever surreal hell this is.

It takes a while to get all of the Graveyard AWOLs back to the house Lev’s friends are using as their hideout. The journey isn’t totally smooth, either:  two Chancefolk and three distributes get shot as they’re running. Although the wounds aren’t life-threatening, every person with an injury is out of the final rescue, and Connor needs every single soul he can get so they’re not totally outnumbered.

Once back inside, Connor and Lev sit Hayden down to explain their plan. At the end, Hayden stares at both of them, obviously baffled. “I’m sorry, you want me to do another radio show? And that’s going to save the galaxy?”

Lev nods. “You would be surprised how many people can be saved just by hearing one voice. Or how many already have. You’re well known in the groups of people protecting AWOLs. What you need is to reach everybody else. Sound the alarm so they know it’s time to come out of hiding.”

Hayden shakes his head in disbelief. “This plan makes no sense. If the galaxy can hear me, so can the Proactive Citizenry. They’ll know we’re coming, and they way outnumber us, especially if we tell them when and where we’re attacking.”

“They already know we’re going to attack,” Connor assures him. “They knew that the second they took Risa. The only thing they’re not expecting is how many people are going to show up. If they hear your broadcast, fine. Heartland is assuming that everyone is going to brush it off again like they have all this time.”

“And we’re sure that they won’t just brush it off again?” Hayden asks, clearly dubious.

“I’m sure,” Lev answers. “I’ve been traveling all over the world since Connor convinced me to abandon my tithing. I’ve seen a lot of people in a lot of places, but everywhere, they’re starting to wonder if distribution is really the right way to go. We’ve got a serious chance now of changing their minds.”

Connor nods in agreement. “That’s the problem with Heartland, he’s gotten overconfident. He assumes that things will be the same way they’ve always been, but that’s not the case anymore. Times are changing, even if he hasn’t realized it yet. The time of distribution is over. We get to live again.”

Hayden whistles under his breath. “Damn, nice speech. Are we sure you’re not the one who should be making this broadcast?”

Connor chuckles. “Trust me, man, you’re the one with the star power. It’s your show, we’re all just along for the ride.”

Hayden’s bright spark of a grin shines again. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a better thing. Out of curiosity, how in sunfire is my broadcast reaching the entire galaxy? I mean, my old signal barely made it a few star systems over. There’s no way I can reach everybody on my old tech, plus it was all blown up when the Graveyard went nuclear. Unless the two of you went scavenger hunting around that wreck, we need more comms equipment.”

“Consider that settled,” Lev says. “I’ve got some stuff from an anonymous donor, really nice gear. They’ll be able to hear you from Centerworld all the way to the outer reaches.”

Hayden rubs his hands together excitedly. “In that case, I think it’s time for a show.”

Lev takes the two of them to the room where they’ve been storing the comms gear. He informs them that the Chancefolk have been using this place as a home base for technology and missions operations, hence why so much equipment has been stored up. Hayden’s eyes light up when he sees the new gear, and can’t contain his excitement as he rattles off all the specs of this top-notch equipment. Several times, he has to be reminded that he’s not just here to sightsee, but actually record something.

At last, after some quick tune-ups and test runs, Hayden finds his old frequency and starts to talk. He planned out a loose script with them beforehand, mainly just a few talking points, but they’re more than happy to let Hayden run wild with whatever he comes up with. So long as it gets to the main conclusion in the end, of course.

“I’m not dead,” Hayden announces dramatically to the microphone, “That may come as a surprise to some of you, given the recent lapse in broadcasts, but Radio Free Hayden is still alive, and so am I. So are runaway distributes across the galaxy, or so I hear. Personally, I have Connor Lassiter to thank for my survival. We’re still alive. AWOLs, if you’re listening, I hope you’re still out there, still whole. I’m glad to be back, but I need something from you.”

Hayden takes a deep breath before continuing. “The Collective wants your pieces. All we did was live, and yet total strangers are perfectly willing to tear us apart just because our parents and State Homes gave the say-so. I know this is wrong, and so do you, listeners. However, for once we’ve got a chance to fight back. I need you all to come to Dandrich-IV. Yes, in Centerworld. We’re making a stand against the Collective, and that means we have to go to their home base. I’ll relay the coordinates in time, but I need everyone to show up and be willing to fight. I’m sure all of you remember Risa Ward, a good friend of mine and Connor’s. We need to save her life, listeners, just as she saved your lives by proving that AWOLs could exist out there in the open sky. She’s our friend, and she’s your friend. Let’s get her back.”

Hayden sends a nervous glance Connor’s way, but Connor just responds with a single thumbs up. Hayden’s doing great, now he has to send it home. “We were never meant to survive for long, you know. The Graveyard proved otherwise. Connor and Risa and I, we did our best to show you that we’re real kids, worthy of living even if someone decided otherwise. I know that we deserve to live. We all know it. The Collective is trying to make you think that the fate of the galaxy depends on all of us dying for the cause, but that’s not true.”

“There is nothing any of us can do. We are children. We are kids. As a species, it takes us years to be able to tie our own shoelaces. We’re not even able to drive a hovercar until almost a fifth of our life has gone by. Why, then, is it that the burden of fixing an entire society falls to us? Maybe it’s because we’re the only ones left to care. We’re going to die anyway, listeners. We might as well die doing something worthwhile. Follow me to Dandrich-IV. We’re going to make a stand. We will be heard. And if we lose our lives out there, at least it’s more living than we would have done if we’d been distributed at the start.”

Connor’s heart is pounding in his chest. Surrounded by his equipment, Hayden’s lip curls. “Besides, our enemy won’t understand what it’s like to fear for his life. Did you know that the head of the Proactive Citizenry hasn’t been honoring his promise to only give distributed parts back to the galaxy? The CEO of the PC is a man named Dorian Heartland. If that name sounds familiar, it’s because he’s been around since old-Earth days. He’s been cheating death by swapping out his own rotting parts with fresh ones from kids. To all the adult listeners out there, do you think your children deserve to die so some rich guy out there can have eternal life? To the new generation, do you want your life to go to some man who’s already had more than his fair share of lifetimes?”

“We’re taking back our lives, listeners. We’re winning the war. I want to see you at the gates of the PC. I want you to make a change that generations after us will remember. I’m sending you the coordinates now. If you believe in life, I’ll meet you there. One last time, I’m signing off with everyone’s favorite tune. And remember– the truth will keep you whole.”

With that, Hayden decisively presses the button to end his recording. The grainy beats of some old-Earth song fills the room. Hayden closes his eyes, basking in the sound, his chest rising and falling dramatically. Connor, too, feels as if he’s undergone some great physical exertion, and all he was doing was listening.

When the last bars of the song fade from Connor’s ears, he breathes out unsteadily, not sure what to do in the face of this sudden stillness. “That was incredible,” he says.

Hayden cracks a tired grin. “Thanks. Good to know I haven’t lost my touch.”

Lev shakes his head in awe. “Not a chance. Man, if you hadn’t been slated for distribution– if you could have lived a normal life– you would have made a killing as an actor or something. You’ve got a knack for speeches.”

Hayden’s face twists. “A lot would have happened if we’d had normal lives. You’d still be with your families. I’d be with mine. They had a lot of rich actor friends. Maybe they would have sent me into that life. Who knows.”

Connor’s heart sinks at the grief plainly written on Hayden’s face. “A lot would have changed if we were never supposed to be distributed. We probably never would have met. I’d be a completely different person.”

“So would I,” Lev echoes hollowly.

“So would I,” Hayden repeats, his voice distant and toneless. All of a sudden, his head snaps up, and he makes eye contact with both of them in a row, quick and fierce. “I’m glad we met. I didn’t want to die, obviously, but I’m glad to have you guys. And Risa, and Jeevan, and everybody else. I wouldn’t trade this life for anything, but I do want to end the circumstances that brought us together. It doesn’t mean I like you guys any less, just that–”

His voice breaks off unevenly, but Connor can fill in the gaps. “Just that no one else should have to die even though we lived.”

“Exactly,” Hayden says.

Lev nods slowly. “We’ve got a chance to turn things around. All we have to do is wait and see how many people heard your signal.”

Although he hates to break the tentative peace that’s settled over them, Connor still has to ask:  “What if nobody comes?”

Lev looks at him with grim determination. “Then we go in alone, and save Risa or die trying. We won’t hide in the shadows anymore. And if we die in there, then our blood is on the hands of everyone who didn’t participate. Maybe that’ll move them even more than Hayden’s speech.”

The back of Connor’s throat is raw like acid, but he makes a sound of agreement. Lev is right. Whatever happens from here on out, Connor will still go into Dorian Heartland’s center, and he will find Risa. Maybe he’ll have an army at his back, maybe he’ll only have a couple of friends. But Risa will be found, and for once, Heartland won’t have the last laugh. That, at least, he can guarantee.

They allow themselves a couple of standard hours for everyone to show up. As it turns out, they don’t have to wait that long. Within half an hour, ships are already starting to tune up. Voices are popping up on Hayden’s frequency, different people chartering trips together or announcing that they’ll be meeting Hayden on Dandrich-IV. It occurs to Connor, listening to all of these strangers he’s never met saying that they’ll follow him to death or salvation, that he may have started a revolution, or at least helped build a spark into a blaze.

If this inferno consumes them all, at least Connor’s last hours will have been something bright, something beautiful. He’s had an awful lot of time to run and hide. At some point, he has to turn that restless energy into a fight. Now is the time.

He’s interrupted from his reverie by Lev running into the room. The younger boy can hardly manage a word, too excited by something outside. He gestures for Connor to follow, and Connor doesn’t need any extra encouragement, breaking into a run as the two boys hurry from the room.

Lev leads Connor to the door of the house, then pushes it open. Connor stands for a moment on the threshold, blinking in the light, staring in abject astonishment at all of the faces looking expectantly at him. Some are strangers. There are adults and children, bodies young and old. Some bear the wounds of previous fights. Others wear clothes so nice Connor is certain that they must have come from Centerworld itself. All in all, there are dozens of people scattered around the road leading to their hideout, maybe even hundreds, and more arrive by the minute.

“So many people,” he chokes out in a daze.

Hayden emerges from the house by his side, holding up a hand to wave to the gathered crowds with a dazzling grin. “Turns out a lot more people believe in the cause than you think. Still having trouble believing that we’ll win?”

“Not anymore,” Connor manages. “I mean, I didn’t even know that many strangers knew who I was.”

“They’re not just strangers,” Lev corrects.

And, looking out at the throngs of people, Connor realizes that he’s right. Shading his eyes from the sun, he recognizes Bam, Mai, Diego, and the rest of the group that had saved him when Heartland first tried to get to Connor. He leaves his friends at the doorstep, weaving through the crowds until he’s in front of them.

“You guys came,” he says in a daze.

Bam nods impatiently, although she can’t seem to hide a proud grin. “You kept your promise.”

“Plus, someone wanted to meet her hero,” Mai adds. Bam elbows her in the ribs, but the embarrassment on the girl’s face shows some truth to the statement.

“Go talk to him,” Connor encourages. “Hayden always likes meeting new people.”

He doesn’t stick around to see if Bam goes or not, distracted by another face in the crowds.

At first, he can’t quite place the old woman in the security uniform, but then she sighs deeply at the confusion on his face and the name instantly comes back to him. “Sonia?” Connor asks in astonishment. It’s the woman who rescued him and Risa at the OH-10 boundary checkpoint.

“Don’t look so surprised, boy,” Sonia says irritably. “I saved you once before, I assumed I’d have to do it again. Didn’t expect this sort of support, though.”

For once, the perpetual glower on her face lightens into a half smile. “I’m proud, Connor Lassiter. This change is a long time coming.”

“It is,” Connor agrees. Another figure emerging from the crowd calls his attention yet again, and he heads past Sonia to come to a stop in front of one particular cyborg that Connor never thought he’d see again.

At first, all of Connor’s systems go on high alert. Then, before Connor can even ask what in sunfire he’s doing here, Cam holds up a mechanical hand and answers the unspoken question, “I’m here for Risa, not for you. Trust me. She saved my life by getting me off the planet. I need to return the favor, and for real this time. In all honesty. To be completely genuine.”

Connor chuckles. “I think we’re in agreement there.”

He spins in a slow circle, still surprised by all of these faces smiling at him, ready to go to war so that he and every other teenager there can live. When he stops moving, another person has replaced Cam.

Connor’s heart lurches in his throat. “Grace,” he says. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Grace Skinner taps her fingers together, her expression as practical as ever. “I didn’t know either,” she answers honestly. “I think it’s good, though. That man has to pay for what he did to Argie. He killed my brother. I want to be part of the group that kills him. It’s only fair.”

“That sounds good to me,” Connor admits. “And Grace– I’m sorry. Even still.”

“I know,” she tells him. “Let’s get our revenge, then.”

A careful smile rises to Connor’s lips. This emotion coasting over him in waves isn’t happiness, not exactly, but it feels pretty damn good, too. Looking around at all of these people, the Chancefolk talking to Lev, the crowds of old friends from the Graveyard, the AWOLs and adults who have united under this one banner, Connor realizes that he’s finally got his army. The only thing left, then, is to get his girl.

Dorian Heartland has no idea what’s about to hit him.

unwind tag list: @locke-writes, @reinekes-fox, @sirofreak

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[tarotchariotpickyourcard]

Pick a card reading: What you should like more about yourself!

This one is for the ones on that self love journey, the ones that need a pick me up or have a hard time with self confidence/esteem especially.

So I'm sure it's quite clear. The cards that you pick will reflect why you deserve to be more loving to yourself, what wonderful qualities you have, and maybe help convince you to lessen your negative inner language.

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Please pick one of the groups ( 1, 2, 3 or 4.)

You might be drawn to an item, the card itself, or a number. Please calm your mind and meditate for a minute.

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Side note: If you have a hard time choosing, or nothing seems strong to you, perhaps you could come back later on and try. Do not pressure yourself, darling.

Number one is the badge saying "yup"

Number 2 is the wing

Number 3 is the little bird

Number 4 is the chain saying "BE MINE"

GROUP 1 : (Yup badge)

Morning affirmations, Joy, Strength

6 of wands, 4 of pentacles, Mother of swords

What an interesting blend of character you are!

With the owl, this is a strong suggestion that you are able to see through deep into situations and understand "in between the lines". A great communicator, the queen of swords can be straight to the point, brilliant and not to be messed with. Your ability to say it like it is might be perceived as a little harsh to very sensitive or younger people, however it is a strong and much needed trait in the world. We need people with the organisational skills and know how of the mother of swords! The queen always reminds me of someone who is a good teacher, and a fair person.

With the 6 of wands and the 4 of pentacles, the combination hits in a way of potentially dulling that light. The traits I list may be some that you are aware of in a way, but perhaps have a lesser opinion of. The interesting mix of you is in the way of you being so strong, able to endure and be positive, yet a wonderful balance of being able to have boundaries. Again, I'm seeing the strong ability to recognise when someone is being a "rat" as the animal is right next to the owl. I can't help but get the idea that it is direct experience. I would be surprised if you haven't recently come to a revelation about a person in your social circle, or cut someone out/created more boundaries.

Strength mentions having resilience, coming through things more compassionate, stronger and brighter. Brighter being strong in focus to me, as it is next to joy. Your ability to have fun *despite* issues or obstacles is an enviable trait! I really feel that while you might have your difficulties, you never let them suck you in for too long mentally. You seem to try and stay positive through things, and not everyone can do that. You are also much more smart/knowledgeable than you give yourself credit for. Don't let anyone put you down, because you're being shown that if you go for what you've been studying/working at, with strong persistence you can succeed. I feel like the branches signify people who have acted as obstacles, or your troubles in life. This is confirmation you can rise above them, and if you're stuck right now, please accept my confirmation that things can and will change. Life can't help but flow, no matter how people may try and resist. So if anyone is putting you down, or getting in your way - know that their resistance to your future and well being is futile.

You keep having those boundaries. Keep on keeping on. You're sharp, you're witty, and of all things you have kept your kind heart. One day the joy you try to find in the little things will come to you effortlessly and in x100.

I got the need to call you cherub. Chin up, Cherub.

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GROUP 2 (the wing)

Wait, generosity, magic, peacefulness

The hermit, Ace of swords, Son of swords.

eYou're an extremely thoughtful person, aren't you? I get social activist vibes, the kind of person who thinks about bigger issues than just in their personal world, and could debate very well. The ability to get to the kernel of truth within an argument or bigger pattern in the world seems equal to none. If you have a hard time accepting that your opinions mean something, or you would be able to be persuasive, this is confirmation for you that actually - yes - you do have something meaningful to share with others.

In this pile I'm seeing a more peaceful, patient character. Someone who simply tries to be good, and do good for others. You create magic for other people. My heart swells at this, as I'm seeing reciprocity of kindnesses between you and others over time.

While The son of swords on it's own could potentially be quick to intervene or make a judgement, with the hermit and wait, I'm feeling more that you take the time to think things over. For example, if asked to make a decision, you would want to take your time and really think. If you were asked what your thoughts were on a political stand point, you would think in depth and make no judgements from the surface. This is so helpful, as there's less chance of misunderstanding/unkindness as well as the ability to make better long term decisions for yourself.

Very introspective, and the ace of swords suggests you have great clarity of mind. I can imagine you would be a wonderful person for explaining complicated matters to a wide group of people.

Generosity is what it says on the tin: You are a generous human. That is so, so important. There are many people out there who might feel like no one thinks about them or cares, and you come in and surprise them with something, or offer them help without them asking. It makes people feel valued, and like they are important or have a place in someone's life.

Peacefulness suggests not inviting drama, and I get 2 things. You might be described as grounded, or "chill". As well as this likely suggests your lack of interest in being within a dramatic situation. You are likely very good at looking at others drama, and seeing where it truly stems from, as well as having a good idea of advice for them. If you have friends right now, it's likely they feel peaceful being around you and that they can truly calm down or get your advice on their *own* drama.

You are so important to the people around you, and if there are people that can't appreciate you, I promise you they have *no* idea how lucky they are. You offer so much as a friend, confidant, and as a person who cares for the worlds well being. I appreciate you.

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GROUP 3: ( Little bird

Blessed change, gratitude, engagement, follow your heart, father of pentacles, the empress, the star

You're cool.

Right off the bat, I see your ability to see the silver lining, to take changes as they come (and I don't mean you happily drudge through hard changes, I mean more like you accept them more easily than others). Do you know, it really helps a persons resilience in life if they can have gratitude for things in general, as well as seeing the positive affects of life changes. You have an ability to notice the opportunities in said silver lining. An example I've read in the past involved a man who lost his job, but an opportunity came up for something he was passionate regarding his hobby. He would not have been free to do it unless he was let go of.

You're my free flowing group. Very adaptable. You're able to take time out to really think about what you truly desire in life. When themes like this come up, I really get the idea of authenticity. To put a focus on following your heart, being grateful for what you've taken part in and even quirky circumstances is a massive strength. Do you have any idea how scary that is to people? To wake up and think "My heart wants this, I'm going to actually aim for it because I need to be myself." That's terrifying to many!

Note: If you are finding it hard to be upfront or true to yourself due to fear, this is confirmation that you will be able to in the future. Take your time, as this will come naturally to you.

I know you might be shrugging thinking, but sometimes I get really negative or scared too. I won't say that's not a thing humans experience. What I am saying however, is that you have that strength of character to say actually, nothing would be worse than to answer to my fear. Fear of self expression, fear of being judged. Fear of not having your project liked. These kinds of things.

I feel like you're a fun person who is very interesting to people/has had at least one very interesting or unusual experience. I want you to know the cards are showing that people really enjoy speaking with you, and hearing your stories. So no negative self talk of being boring, or disliked.

Your flexibility, and your ability to be sociable, yet able to pull back appropriately is wonderful. The world needs those who can be more easy going as this can help people de-stress and stop thinking about their worries.

I'm seeing wonderful creativity, and again, being able to be social and talk to many people very well. You're a shining star, and you're supposed to be!

I wonder if sometimes you feel like you need to be "more" productive, but let me tell you... Networking with people is half the job.

I'm also wondering (as a rainbow stands out) if some here are part of the LGBTQIA+ community. It would make sense with the authenticity. If you have a social media presence, or a creative project you want to get out, or expressing your personal experiences to the world - this is confirmation to keep standing tall, stand proud because yes, you do have a lot to offer! King of pentacles next to the empress also suggests you might be on to something that can bring in some income for you. Again, even sharing your experiences is very valued and may well be it. The world itself wants to see you, or whatever you desire to create.

If you have a hard time focusing or being practical, darling, you get along well with others for a reason. Ask for help, whether it's family, friends online, a teacher, anyone. There's help to steer you further in the right direction. You're a beautiful person and you matter to people. You are loved, so please love yourself.

There's something here that seems upset, and I just have the biggest urge to hug you! So if you will, accept my many energetic and virtual hugs!

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GROUP 4: "Be mine"

Worthiness, Ups and downs, courage

Ace of pentacles, Ace of wands, daughter of wands (reversed)

Daughter of wands reversed suggests to me, that you have the traits such as this, but perhaps not the confidence in yourself right now about those things. The book describes her as passionate, visionary, cares more for career and starts a family later; stubborn, strong (i take this as physically actually) and may be going through a spiritual breakthrough or a big change. With this I get the thought that you probably don't recognise just *how* passionate you truly are. You might be finding it hard to go a certain way in your career and studies. There might even be some worries that you might not stick at it. But what you are not realising is your actions have magic in them.

If you are interested in LOA: Your actions manifest not only in a practical sense, but *that's* what truly gets the energy moving. You need physical expression of some kind.

I'm getting such practical, but passionate energy. The ace of wands with courage? That's amazing. Fire sign or not, you have classic fire energy. Even when you lack confidence, you have a strange inner ability to be brave even at your worst times.

Oh, if only you had the confidence to aim!

Your energy and action are seriously magnificent. You have a *lot* of inner energy, spiritual energy, physical vitality. If you have health issues this might sound strange to you - but I get the idea your body was built with a lot of vitality available. You might have really struggled in life with ups and downs here, but I'm seeing you crash right through all the barriers and try to do life the best way you know how. No matter your struggles, you are a warrior here.

The 2 aces here (that is so interesting to have seen) show that you are probably quite good at beginning new things, and when you're motivated, you're MOTIVATED. I'm getting the idea that when you *do* take action on a goal, you go at it with everything and it can surprise people.

I'm seeing creative ability. It's an ability that I have seen myself. An example would be.... A mistake is made in a piece of art. It didn't go the way you wanted originally. But, wait a minute... that's starting to look like something, so I'm going to change it all up and create something completely different than intended.

It's seeing potential in a small detail. I'm seeing original thinking.

I just see a bulls eye, and such great energy and ability, but the lack of confidence. And so, I feel like you're at a time where you're stopping yourself, or won't aim for something out of fear of failing. I also got the sentence biting your tongue. I'm sorry if you're in a situation where you can't speak up for yourself, as this is not aligned with your character.

Overall I believe your a creative but practical person, and have the ability to really pull through and create wonderful things. You can be *very* brave as well as motivated and so I feel you inspire others, as well as surprise them.

I really do feel that with worthiness, it is hinting to confidence/self esteem issues as it says "know that you deserve to receive good in all ways".

You deserve to be successful. You deserve to take the career path that you have been thinking about. You deserve people to treat you well. You deserve to have that hobby, whether you're "good" or not.

Deep down somewhere you know you are bigger than this. I am wishing for a healthy full confidence boost for you and some new energy to help push you.

Please have the courage to aim, as bob ross says:

"we don't make mistakes, we make happy little accidents"

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And that's the last of them! I hope you enjoyed, and I hoped this help you feel a little better about yourself. We need to cheer ourselves up sometimes and let ourselves think good things. We attract more honey with sugar after all!

Until the next pick a card!

Thank you!

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[hypnomicimagines]

20 with kuko please:D!(gn preferably)

Harai Kuko: 

You’d never seen Kuko look at you like this.

There was this burning rage behind them, completely unprompted by anything you had done. He couldn’t even give you a direct reason for the hatred spewing from his mouth, the anger he was directing at you over imagined scenarios. Kuko was an honest boyfriend, he would never start a fight just for the sake of it which left your mind reeling even more. How had you not seen this coming?

“Kuko…!” You reached out to touch his shoulder but are met with a heated glare, the monk slapping your hand away from him before you could make contact. You looked at him wide-eyed, thinking the momentary regret you see flash in his eyes as just an illusion, something you wanted to see. You held your hand to your chest as tears gathered in the corners of your eyes, wishing more than anything that you could hurt him in the same way he had hurt you.

But he’d already said he didn’t care about you, about your feelings, that it was over.

There was nothing left for you to say to him.

You remember sobbing when you got home that night, hastily deleting the pictures you had of him in your phone, trying to wipe all memories you had of him. Kuko had been such a positive pillar in your life, you had grown alongside him for so long, you had thought you really knew him inside and out yet this hit you like a bullet. It happened so quick yet the pain of his words still lingered, you couldn’t help but think he wasn’t acting like his usual self. You no longer had the strength to question it though, too afraid of facing his wrath again; Kuko really was a scary person when you were on the other side of his anger.

It’s been years and yet you still think of him.

You tried to rationalize that it was just because he was your first love, of course you missed what you had with him because it had been intense. Being with him was unlike any romantic encounter you had, including the relationships you attempted to get into as a fresh-faced adult. You knew you were still young but there was the lingering fear that no one would ever make you feel the way he did, that you were missing an important detail and that blocking his number had been the wrong thing to do. But you had protected your heart in the only way you knew how, trying to look toward the future rather than back at what once was.

Kuko had been the one to give you that advice…

You were happy to be starting your new job at Amaguni Law Offices, having heard great things about your boss. You were hired as an aide to the secretary but you were hoping to directly assist with cases one day, not knowing if law was exactly the right career but wanting to see change in action. You were having a relatively good day, you found you were quite good at speaking to distressed clients and scheduling their appointments was a breeze once you understood how the computer system worked. The secretary seemed relieved to have you with her as she said work tended to be fast-paced and overwhelming with just her, it left you feeling good, like you had a real purpose.

Everything was good until you had to see his face again.

You’re hidden behind the computer and don’t look up at first until you hear the sounds of footsteps walking past you, having been expressly told to not let anyone interrupt the meeting your boss was having. You jumped as quick as you could, you had been making a good impression all day and you weren’t about to let some teenage punks ruin that for you. You reached out for the shorter one, hurriedly asking him if he had an appointment before you’re stopped in your tracks.

When Kuko’s eyes met yours it felt like the world had stopped, the same way it had when he had stomped on your heart. Your mouth went dry and the expression on his face was completely unreadable but you had at least gotten him to stop walking. The taller of the two, a boy you didn’t know as it certainly wasn’t Ichiro, looked at the two of you with confused eyes. Your heart was beating rapidly and it felt like no air was reaching your lungs, you knew you couldn’t stay in the same room as him much longer. Maybe if you had been prepared to see him you could’ve taken this but this was the most unwanted surprise you could ever have on the first day of work.

Hitoya walked out of his office to see why there were people lingering at his door, eyebrow raised when he sees the staring contest occurring between you and Kuko. He hadn’t looked away from you yet, it seemed he was still processing like you were but you bet he didn’t hurt like you did. He was the one who left you in the dust, after all.

“I have to go.” Your eyes flickered to Hitoya’s briefly before you made yourself scarce, gathering your belongings and leaving the law office as quickly as you could. You kept your head ducked down as you walked through the bustling city streets, hoping to get lost in the crowd, to just blend in among the people and disappear completely. You would have to give Hitoya a proper apology later and accept that potential firing at suddenly walking out on your job, but you couldn’t stay there a second longer.

Why did he have to look at you like that?

You’re exhausted and out of breath when you’re finally home, heading straight to your room without a second thought. Your head is spinning, heart still pounding, anxiety flaring up as you think about how you’ll have to grovel to Hitoya in hopes of keeping your job. But did you really want that if there was a chance of seeing Kuko again? You had avoided this problem for so long that when it came rearing it’s ugly head you were at a total loss of what to do, the pain unfortunately fresh.

‘He looked good,’ You thought miserably, ‘His hair looks better not slicked back. I bet he’s still causing problems for his dad… I wonder if he matured anymore.’

You wished you didn’t still have this odd fondness for Kuko, the lingering feelings of love. You couldn’t just hate him despite what he had said to you because there was still a part of your brain that felt total disbelief at the turn in behavior he showed. He had always been respectful, a teasing brat for sure but he knew what was too far and what your boundaries were. Your Kuko would never…

You couldn’t think about him like that anymore.

He wasn’t your Kuko.

He was just Kuko.

Your phone began to ring and you were reluctant to pick it up, but seeing as it was your boss calling…

“…Could you come back? I think we should all talk.” Hitoya paused to allow you a chance to process his request, “I’d like for you to continue working here with me, you show promise and you’re quick but I won’t put you in an uncomfortable situation. I can recommend you to other lawyers in the area who have openings.”

“Okay.” Your voice is soft, so quiet he almost didn’t hear you, but he lets out a relieved sigh. “I’ll be on my way soon.”

You feel just as awkward as you did when Kuko first walked into the office but with Hitoya and their other friend here, it felt considerably less awkward. It’s not to say you didn’t still feel like curling up into a ball but your former boyfriend wasn’t exactly being his normal loud self, something that left you both unsettled yet entirely grateful. You don’t know if you could take the usual Kuko energy right now but it seemed like your personal shields were getting ready to leave the room to give you both a chance to talk it out.

“If you have a question then ask it.” Kuko’s gaze was steady as he looked you square in the eye, something that pissed you off just as much as the fact that he was the one to start this conversation. You had thought of countless things you wanted to say to him over the years, that you hated him too, that you didn’t deserve to be talked to or yelled at like he had, that you deserved an explanation, that you missed him.

“Why did you break up with me?” There’s hesitation in your voice, as if your brain didn’t think about the consequences of learning the answer to this question before you had posed it.

“I…don’t know.” Kuko still seemed calm but you could hear the hints of frustration in his voice, “I wanted to come see you. To talk about what happened but I couldn’t… I didn’t have an explanation for what happened. Everything I said to you…”

“You said you didn’t have feelings for me! You said you hated me and my face and that you never wanted to see me again!”

“I know what I said, damn it!” Kuko sighed, crossing his arms. “All I can tell you is that I didn’t mean it. I did in the moment but after… Whenever I think about it, it’s just a blur. I didn’t want to bother you if I couldn’t come up with a proper explanation for my actions but I don’t think there is one.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“I know it doesn’t! I didn’t want to bother you without being able to offer a proper apology which would require knowing why the hell I did what I did!”

“So why are you apologizing now?”

“…Because I saw you again. At any moment life can present you a crossroads, a chance to lead you closer to your personal truth or further away from it.”

“I’m glad you still talk in tongues but I don’t know what the hell that’s supposed to mean.”

“I’m not the same person I was back then, and I don’t expect your forgiveness. I’ve never forgotten what I’ve said to you, I could see how much it hurt you and I wanted to stop but there was this feeling inside of me… this burning rage that wanted to be taken out on anyone close. You’re not the only person I lost that day.”  

He seemed sadder now, vision clouded by past regrets, but the look is quickly wiped from his face replaced by a more confident smirk. It was the old Kuko you knew and loved, the troublemaker who had a good heart even if he was a bit brash. You could see that he truly had grown over the years, likely having much more room to do so but as a monk there was always growth to be had. To truly help people he would have to experience as many things as he could, truly understand people, so you could see how what happened to him was especially annoying from his perspective.

“I don’t. I don’t forgive you but I’m really tired of being so mad at you. I know all about you and the rap thing and Mr. Amaguni being part of your team so I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”

Kuko didn’t want that, he didn’t want you to stay out of his way but he knew he had no right to request anything else. He simply nodded his head in agreement, wishing he was the type of man who could speak up for what he wants rather than watching the person he loved walk away from him once more.

[five-rivers]

Goals

Hey!  @puns-are-great-and-so-is-danny!  Here is your gift fic!  It got a little out of hand, and it doesn’t have a super solid ending, but I hope you like it.  :)  

.

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Dear Albus,

I hope this letter finds you well.  I know these are trying and troubling times, both here and in Britain, and part of me hesitates to ask this of you for exactly that reason. But, as ever, circumstances leave us with few viable options.

News of what happened to Amity Park this Spring has spread far and wide at this point, so I won’t waste your time repeating what you already know.  What is not common knowledge, however, is that after the dust settled, the Aurors assigned to the case encountered several irregularities, not the least of which was a disturbingly high number of completely untrained young witches and wizards.  

Once news of them gets out, I have no doubt the official line will be that they simply fell through the cracks, that, unfortunately, our spells for finding young magically-gifted persons are imperfect, that the nature of Amity Park obscured them from view.  This, I fear, is a lie.  

I have no proof, but I believe they were deliberately removed from MACUSA files on account of their heritage.  Albus, they are descended from Scourers.  

Perhaps that should be obvious, perhaps you had already guessed, considering the so-called reasoning behind the attack on Amity Park, the ideals those murderers professed, but I want to make myself and my own reasoning clear.  Though it shames me deeply to say it, those children will not be safe at Ilvermorny, nor, I believe, will they be at any other school on this continent.  For all the time that has passed, the Barebones Incident and its repercussions are too fresh in the minds of the people.  

There are seven of them.  Well, seven that are of concern to me.  The others have found or are seeking alternate arrangements.  They have been staying at the school, for the time being.  My colleagues and I have been attempting to give them a good grounding in magical basics. They would not come to you without foundations.

Albus, I am begging you, accept these students into Hogwarts.  I know this is a poor time.  I have heard rumors, horrible, horrible rumors, about what is happening in Britain, about what happened at Hogwarts last year, but I fear for these children’s future, for their spirits, should they be forced into a place where they will be hated simply because of who their ancestors were.  

I know that even in Hogwarts they would be unable to escape that, but it would be less.  Britain does not have the same history with Scourers that we do.  More, for some of them, they would not be forced to walk in the same halls as the kin of their parents’ murderers.

I will understand if you refuse, but I am relying on your compassion.  

Eagerly awaiting your reply,

Agilbert Fontaine

Headmaster of the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

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Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore looked down at the letter from his old friend and colleague and sighed, his heart heavy. Agilbert was not a member of the Order of the Phoenix.  Albus knew more about the situation in Amity Park than Agilbert assumed and likely was aware of things that Agilbert himself was not.  

For example, while the bulk of the group that had devastated and decimated Amity Park were indeed Magical Separatists and those looking for generations-late revenge on Scourers, their core leadership included American Death Eaters.  

He was also aware of the children Agilbert had mentioned.  Most of the truly astonishing number of magically inclined children and adults in Amity Park had chosen to find private tutors, go through correspondence or summer courses, or attend one of several small schools in North America that had quickly shuffled to make accommodations for them, on the condition that they hide their origins.  

The seven mentioned…  Well.  They didn’t really have those options.  Either their names were too infamous, or they had no one to stay with while they puzzled through correspondence courses.  Or both.

And the names.  Even here, some of them were well known.

Albus could understand why Agilbert had asked for his help.

But was it responsible to drag these children here while Voldemort was lurking in the shadows, building up his power base once again? To offer them safety he could not give?

For those students already attending Hogwarts, it was one thing, they were already involved, simply by virtue of where they were born and where they lived.  But those seven, in America, they would be—

Well.  Not safe, perhaps, not with their parents killed and their home ravaged by hostile magic. But… farther away from the direct line of fire.  

But would they be?  Beyond simply spreading fear and hate, was there another reason for the attack on Amity Park?

Albus heaved another sigh.  

At times he enjoyed making decisions like this.  Enjoyed power, knowledge, experience, those things people tended to mistake for wisdom, even though he had made more mistakes than anyone else he knew, and all the privileges and responsibilities that came with it, all the control over other peoples’ lives.  This was a failing, a flaw, he knew, and time and time again it had come back to bite him.  Karmic vengeance for being an old man who kept too many secrets.  

But times like these…  In times like these, he despised the choices he was forced to make.  

“What troubles you, Albus?  I can hear you sighing from the other room.”

Albus did not flinch or startle at the ghost’s approach and gently chiding tone.  He looked up and smiled thinly at his former and present colleague.  It seemed Cuthbert was having a good day.  It was a pity so few students saw him at his best, and regarded his lessons as utterly boring, but Albus could never find the heart to replace him.  Nor, sadly, the budget.  Damn the board of directors.

In answer, Albus turned the letter to face him.  Cuthbert Binns was not a member of the Order, either, but he, like every other member of the Hogwarts staff, had been informed of what had transpired at the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.  He would understand Albus’s dilemma.  

“Amity Park?” murmured Cuthbert, tapping the second paragraph.  “That sounds… familiar.  That—” Cuthbert broke off.  

If Albus had not spent significant portions of his life surrounded by ghosts, he would not have caught the subtle change in Cuthbert’s silvery complexion.  

“Perhaps you heard about the tragedy that happened there recently.”  Which would be a first, even alive, Cuthbert had never really cared about anything that happened more recently than a hundred years ago, but not impossible.

“Tragedy?  No.” Cuthbert shook his head.  “Amity Park it’s—It is…”  He trailed off, looking down at the letter, disturbed.  “Albus, I have known you for many years.  You have been here for many years, with all us ghosts, and…  You know there are things the dead do not speak of to the living.”

Albus did know.  “Are you saying Amity Park is related to one of those things?”  Could this be another attempt on Voldemort’s part to defeat death? His suspicion regarding horcruxes was bad enough, what that could mean for Harry…  But if that man had yet another way to stave off death…

Cuthbert dithered, and Albus wished fiercely that he could trust him enough to tell him about the Order, about Voldemort’s plans, to impress upon him how important this was, how vital that Albus know.  

But he couldn’t.  It would just take one bad day, and one misplaced question from a student related to someone unfortunate, and everything would come tumbling down.  

No.  Albus could not push him.  

“I—I must go,” said Cuthbert, halfway through the wall. “I have to look into something. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He was not.

.

Albus had still not made a decision on Agilbert’s letter the next night.  He had consulted Minerva, Severus, and the other teachers who were also in the Order on the matter, and had distracted himself with other, arguably more important, matters.  

(The eyes on Number Four Privet Drive, the movements in and out of the Malfoy residence, the horribly dangerous games Severus was playing, the master schedule for the next school year, the still-empty Defense Against the Dark Arts post, extra protections on Hogwarts’ boundaries, how to keep the Order safe…)

But he shouldn’t put something like this off for much longer.

It would be much easier to deny Agilbert’s request.  As tragic as the seven students’ circumstances were, they weren’t his responsibility, and he had so many.  

Would you feel the same if the attackers had been Gellert’s people?

They’re children.  Like your students.  Like Adri—

Albus closed his eyes and forced the tiny and vicious voice away, out of his mind.

“Sir Nicholas wants to speak to you,” said one of the portraits.  

Surprised, Albus turned his head to face the image of his predecessor.  “Of course. Could you tell him he can come in?”

A few minutes later, the Gryffindor ghost floated through the wall.  “Hello, Albus,” he said, the outlines of his figure crisper than they usually were, and continued before Albus could greet him, “I am sorry to interrupt you like this, but is it true?  Seven students from Amity Park?”

“Cuthbert told you?”

“He told all of us,” said Sir Nicholas, shrugging in a way that made his head roll unsettlingly.  “You should accept them.”

Albus raised his eyebrows.  

“There is a certain element of risk involved,” the ghost’s voice was careful, “but if they come to Hogwarts, there is a possibility that you may gain a powerful ally, and that…”  Here, Sir Nicholas hesitated.  “Certain ancient wrongs might be righted.”

“I suppose it is that second the ghosts are interested in?” asked Albus, both curious and, despite himself, amused.  

Sir Nicholas gave him a gentle smile.  “Do not imagine that we are careless of your struggles, Albus, but many of us were long dead before you were born.  We care, but… sometimes the picture in front of our eyes is not the same as the one before yours.”

That was reasonable.  

However.

“Can you give me any more detail?” asked Albus, hopefully.

“I’m afraid not,” said the ghost, drifting backwards.

.

The next letter from Agilbert was much thicker and contained the records of seven new Hogwarts students.  

.

The wand turning in his fingers was made of pear wood.  Not that Danny could tell, just by looking, but the wandmaker, who had accompanied her wares to Ilvermorny, had been very talkative, even when Danny had… not.  

Pear wood, cut from a tree that had grown up through a chain-link fence on the wandmaker’s property.  She had meant to cut it out, she said, but by the time she had gotten around to doing so, there had been bowtruckles in it, and she wasn’t about to cut down a good wand wood tree.

Danny still wasn’t entirely sure what bowtruckles were to be honest.  

The wood of the wand was normal.  The core, apparently, was not.  It was hair from a magical creature, which most wand cores were, but the wandmaker had cheerfully admitted to having no idea what the hair was from. It had shown up in her workshop one day, in a little box, black and white, in neat little bundles.  

Danny had suspicions about where it had come from.  

Suspicions that had been exacerbated by the fact that both Sam and Tucker had been ‘chosen’ by wands with the same core.  

Anyway, Danny had liked the wandmaker, even if he thought she was a bit weird, for using components that just showed up out of nowhere in her work.  

(She reminded him a bit of Mom.)

Danny wasn’t sure why he was thinking of her.  It had been months since then.  But he was feeling lonely, even though his friends were just in the next room, and Jazz was here, and maybe she was the closest he would let his mind get to…

To…

“If you keep doing that,” said Jazz, “you’re going to put your eye out.”  

Danny glanced over at her.  There was an east-facing window behind her, and the sun was shining through her shoulder, lighting her up like stained glass.  

“If they catch you in color, they’re going to have questions.”

Jazz rolled her golden eyes, but the color drained out of her, leaving her ‘properly’ silver and gray.  “If they actually listened, instead of dismissing everything weird in Amity as untrained magic acting up, then they wouldn’t need to have questions.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t, and I don’t think they’re going to. So, considering what we have to do…”

“We need all our advantages.  You don’t have to tell me again,” said Jazz.  She pulled a face.  “Well, you did, actually, I guess.  I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” muttered Danny.  “You only died a couple months ago.  It takes time to recalibrate.”

“Mm,” said Jazz, sticking her head through the windowpanes and looking down.  She pulled back.  “Your escort’s coming up.”

“Oh?  Yeah?”

“Or at least someone.  It’s hard to tell who, what with the hats and all…”

It was time to go, then.  Danny gathered his things and joined the others in the common area.

.

Hours later, as the sun was setting, nine Americans stepped out of a fireplace in the Ministry of Magic.  Seven were students.  One was a very haggard chaperon.  The last was a ghost whom aurors and representatives from the Department of Spectral Affairs hadn’t quite been able to dissuade from haunting her brother.  

Such was life.  Such was death.  

“Alright, kids,” said the chaperon, chivying them towards a central area.  “We just have to go through customs, and then we can find a place to relax until the representatives from Hogwarts get here.”

“I thought we already went through customs,” protested Dash.

“Yeah,” said Paulina.  “The American side.  To make sure we weren’t smuggling anything out.  Now we have to go through the British side, to make sure we aren’t smuggling anything in.”

“Smuggling isn’t really the main issue,” said the chaperon, “but, yes.  MACUSA knows you aren’t in the states anymore, and we have to make sure the Ministry over here knows you are, so you can comply with their laws and such.  Oh, and so you can get the Trace, but that isn’t important.”

“The Trace?” asked Sam, doubling her word count for the day. Ever since the attack, she had been rather taciturn.  

“It’s how they keep track of underage magic over here,” explained the chaperon.  “MACUSA phased it out a few years ago.  It isn’t very reliable, and besides, recent studies show that magical persons of any age can use magic accidentally, and there’s no good way to tell if there is a magical adult nearby, so…”  She gave herself a little shake.  “But it’s the law here, and it doesn’t matter.  You’ll be at Hogwarts the whole time, anyway.”

“You mean they’ll be tracking us?” asked Danny, trying to keep the alarm from his voice.  That could be… problematic.  Considering what he was really here for, and all.  

“Not you in particular,” said the chaperon, snagging Tucker by the back of his shirt before he could make a detour to investigate a guarded cart of ominously sparking electronics.  She pulled him back.  “It’s my understanding that every child with the trace on them shows up as a dot on a map, and the dot changes color if magic is performed near them.  Some of the more sophisticated versions can determine what kind of magic, but, well… it isn’t like they ever know which dot belongs to which person, so unless you’re living with all no-maj family members—They call them muggles, here, I think—in a particular house, it is very difficult for them to determine who did what.  I’d tell you more, but this isn’t my area of expertise.  Perhaps the customs agents will know more?  You should ask when we go through…”

Danny began to tune her out.  He caught Sam’s eye, then Tucker’s, and they all nodded at each other a little bit.  Not that they had a plan or anything, but sometimes it helped to know that other people also found a situation to be sucky.  

Where would the Minister of Magic be in all this mess, anyway? Danny let his eyes rove over the hall. There was no guarantee that he was even here today, and Danny wasn’t to the point where he wanted to reveal himself. He had been given lots of instructions, but one of them had been to keep himself safe.  Clockwork had even said it was a priority.  

Best to stick to letters, for now.  Even if none of them had been answered, yet.

They reached the long, winding line that was customs, had their luggage gone through yet again.  Tucker lost another PDA, and Danny had to wonder how many more he had hidden.  The American side of customs had done a pretty good job of finding them.  Sam got taken aside for questioning, because some of her goth paraphernalia had a passing resemblance to ‘Dark’ objects.  Star had to explain her medications.  Valerie set off some sort of magical metal detector, and the customs agents started arguing about what had caused it.  No one had found out about her suit yet.

Meanwhile, Danny was sent to another table, to fill out forms for Jazz.  Again. Because, for reasons Danny didn’t fully understand, even with everything Clockwork and the other Ancients told him, wizards thought they could control and regulate what ghosts did and where they went.  

Danny did not particularly care for wizards, as a group. The paperwork—The stupid, pointless paperwork, because Jazz was going to do what she wanted and no one would stop her, he’d make sure of it—made him angry.  A lot of things made him angry, lately, when they didn’t just make him depressed or sullen.  

“Breathe, Danny,” said Jazz, leaning down, next to his ear. “The language in this is stupid, but I don’t mind being called names.  We both know they’re wrong, and what they think isn’t important anyway, yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, forcing his muscles to relax.  He finished the paperwork.  

They passed through the last customs barrier together, and soon found themselves in a large atrium with a large, extremely gaudy, gold fountain in the center.  

Now, Danny had to admit, he had only the briefest of encounters with house elves and goblins, and none at all with centaurs, but he couldn’t imagine that the look of adoration on their faces was at all accurate. At least not for the species as a whole.

He tried to imagine the statue with a ghost in it, with a half-ghost in it, and he just—

Yeah.  No.

Wizards.  

Or, at least, these wizards.  Whatever.  

They found a bench off to one side, to wait for the Hogwarts representatives.  Danny had to wonder how they’d find them.  Would they hold signs?  Seemed probable.  Everything in the ‘wizarding world’ seemed to be stuck fifty years back in time, if not more.

Or, maybe, the chaperon knew who they were meeting and would wave at them.  Like she was doing now.  

Okay, so, Danny had to check himself to make sure he wasn’t coming up with random prejudices.  Ancients.  If his first encounter with the supernatural had been those people in cloaks showing up out of thin air and starting to kill people, he’d probably never be able to pull himself out of that mindset.  

Not all wizards were terrible.  Like the wandmaker.  She was okay.

He took the time to assess the two witches who had come to pick them up.  They were opposites of each other, at least in appearance.  One was tall, thin, and severe, almost sharp.  The other was short and round and sort of soft around the edges.  The only areas in which they demonstrated similarity were their age and apparent gender.

“Alright, kids.  This is Professor McGonagall,” she gestured to the taller woman, “and this is Professor Sprout.  They’re the heads of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, respectively.  Minerva, Pomona, these are Dash Baxter, Daniel Fenton, Tucker Foley, Valerie Grey, Samantha Manson, Paulina Sanchez, and Star Thunder.”

“And Jazz,” said Danny, annoyed that his sister had, once again, been left out.

“Hey,” said Jazz.  “Nice to meet you.”

Professor McGonagall nodded.  “We will be taking you to Diagon Alley to pick up school supplies for the year before we go to Hogwarts.”

“Yeah,” said Star, eyes tracking a flock of apparently animate paper airplanes, “we know.”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t comment. “Do you want to come with us, Cerise?”

“No, I have a few other things to do on this side of the Atlantic.  That’s why they sent me.  Have a good time in Diagon Alley, kids, it’s a historic place!”

.

Danny had to wonder about goblins.  Did they just… really like banks, or were they forbidden from holding jobs elsewhere?  Or effectively forbidden by prejudice?  Because, thus far, he had only seen goblins when changing currency.  ‘No-maj’ money to the denominations used by American wizards, and now from that to the infinitely more confusing British ‘galleons.’

It would probably be rude to ask.  

Maybe he could find a book…

But were these people self-aware enough to write about stuff like that?  He shook his head.  Prejudice, prejudice…  He barely knew anything about any of these people, he shouldn’t jump to conclusions prematurely.  

Not that he didn’t already know several unsavory things about their system of governance, thanks to the Ancients.  And their not-so-little terrorist problem.  And the fact that they thought erasing people’s memories with a spell that could cause long-term brain damage was A-Okay.

Yeah.  But that didn’t mean all of them were bad.  Just that their government sucked.  Which was true for almost all governments, so it didn’t mean anything.

McGonagall and Sprout were very efficient as they went through the shops, giving the impression that they had done this, or something like this, many times before.  They did not allow detours, despite the many, many distracting things on display on the street and in the windows.  Professor Sprout, however, kept up a running commentary on what things were, so it wasn’t too frustrating.  

About halfway through the shopping trip, they stopped at the place that sold uniforms.  Sprout stayed with them, while McGonagall left to go get other supplies.  It was an experience.  Other than his jumpsuit, Danny had never had any clothing fitted specifically for him before.  

The fitting made him… nervous.  

The tape measures and needles flew close to his skin.  The seamstress who had been assigned to him also kept touching him, which was part of her job, and it wasn’t invasive or anything, but still.  Also, there were a lot of other teens, and even some preteen kids, in the store, getting their uniforms, and they were all staring.

What they were staring at wasn’t the same from person to person, Paulina and Jazz seemed to be the biggest targets for whatever reason, but it was still staring.  The parents waiting with their kids were staring as well, and Danny started to fidget. Which meant that he got stabbed by the needle a few times.  Which wasn’t fun.  

But eventually that was over, and they were on their way to Hogwarts.  

.

Considering that Agilbert had tried to compress years’ worth of magical education into the space of a few months for these students, the results were remarkable.  True, with one notable exception, none of them were on a fifth-year level in Transfiguration, but Minerva didn’t feel the need to put them all in first-year or remedial classes, either.  

She could only hope they did as well in their assessments in other subjects.  They would have a hard enough time figuring out schedules for these seven, without having to account for them bouncing across year levels.  

She picked up the written assessment from the one student she would be accepting into fifth-year Transfiguration.  His penmanship was shaky, none of them had quite mastered writing with quills, and his grasp of the theory behind the spells was incomplete, but it was better than some.  She tried not to roll her eyes as she thought of Crabbe and Goyle.  

As a teacher, she should be above that.  Alas.  

Mr. Fenton did have some insights in his essay questions that were truly extraordinary for a person who didn’t even know magic existed at the beginning of the year.  Perhaps they had another Hermione on their hands, although he didn’t give off the same air as she did.  Or he had spent the summer focusing only on Transfiguration.  Or Mr. Fenton had a singular talent in Transfiguration. Regardless, gifted and motivated students were always a pleasure to teach.  

Minerva gathered her papers and left to meet Filius, who had tested the students before her.  She was tempted to go look in on them now and see how the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was handling her first teaching experience but suppressed the urge.  She would see them, and, sadly, Delores Umbridge, at lunch in only an hour.

Which was why she was so surprised to find the children in a hall so far away from Delores’ room.  

Then she reminded herself that, appearances aside, these were not fifth-year students.  They had no experience navigating the castle.  

“Are you lost?” she asked.

The students exchanged glances.  “Uh, sort of?” said Miss Sanchez, twirling a curl of hair around her fingers.  “We weren’t sure if we should try to find Mr. Snape, or if we should go to the lunch hall.”

“Professor Snape,” corrected Minerva, mildly.  “Did you already finish Professor Umbridge’s assessment?”

“She didn’t give us an assessment,” said Miss Manson, angrily.  

Minerva’s eyebrows went up.  “Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” said Mr. Fenton.  “She basically said that she was doing the same curriculum for everyone, so she didn’t need to.  So, we were wondering if we should move on to, um, potions?  Potions.  Or if we should go to lunch, or just hang out, or what.”  

“Professor Snape is unlikely to be expecting you at this point,” said Minerva, feeling a headache growing behind her eyes.  What was Delores thinking?  The same curriculum for all years?  For eleven-year-olds and eighteen-year-olds?  There would be riots.  Or at least hexes.  “I can take you to the Great Hall.”

“Thanks, Ms. McGonagall,” said Mr. Foley.  And what was that he was hiding in his robes?  How many cursed muggle machines had he smuggled in?

Minerva sighed.  Honestly, it was probably harmless, though she possibly should speak to Charity about it.  “Professor McGonagall.”

“Sorry,” said Mr. Fenton.  “It’s just… hard to adjust.”  He rubbed the back of his neck.  

“I suppose it is,” she said.  “This way, children.”

.

Jazz floated through a wall, carefully avoiding the paintings.  Their inhabitants weren’t quite ghosts, from what she and Danny could tell, but they also weren’t not ghosts.  

It hadn’t taken her long last night to find the actual wizarding ghosts.  They’d been expecting her, in more ways than one.  But they had been weird.  Empty. They didn’t have any ectoplasm in them, and the intensity that was a part of every other ghost Jazz had ever met, Danny included, was absent.  

Clockwork and the Lady had warned them about that, before sending Danny, and by extension Jazz, Sam, and Tucker, off on his mission. Jazz just hadn’t quite believed it.  

Wizarding ghosts weren’t made of passion, need, want, duty, or even stubbornness.  They were made of fear.  Fear, by itself, didn’t hold ectoplasm well, especially not fear of death.  Wizarding ghosts might as well be mere imprints for all the power they had.

From the beginning, Jazz had been less than enthusiastic about pretending to be one of them.  Now, she was even less so.

It wasn’t their fault, though.  At least, it wasn’t entirely their fault.  None of the ghosts here were around back when the Ancients and the wizards of the day came together and put their names to the Tenebris Carta, and they were trying to make amends.  It sounded like they hoped the old treaty could be renegotiated, or that they hoped Danny and Jazz could get them an exception.  

Jazz didn’t hate them.  Didn’t dislike them or anything, and Danny would probably try to help them, so long as they didn’t turn evil or anything.  That was just the kind of person Danny was.  

She just needed more time to… adjust to them.  And the paintings.  Because wow.  

“Ah, Miss Fenton!”  

Jazz twisted herself over, mid-air.  “You can call me Jazz, if you want, Sir Nicholas.”

The silvery ghost smiled.  “If you insist.  We’re going down to the Great Hall, to introduce ourselves to your companions over lunch.  I was wondering if you would like to join us.”

“Sure,” said Jazz, descending to float by the other ghost. “But who do you mean by ‘we?’”

“All the castle ghosts,” said Sir Nicholas, “and possibly Peeves, though he won’t be invited.”

“Peeves?”

“The poltergeist.  He isn’t really a ghost.  At least…  he’s not a ghost like us.”

“Mhm,” said Jazz.  “Should I look forward to meeting him, or should I be very afraid?”

“Ah, neither, I suppose?  He tends to play pranks, but he never does anything terribly dangerous, and he couldn’t hurt you if he tried.”

“Well,” said Jazz, “as long as he doesn’t mess with my brother, we’ll probably get along just fine.”  She flexed her hands to disperse the pale green flames that had started to creep up her fingers.  “If he does, I’ll tear him apart.”

“Speaking of your brother, do you have any guesses as to which house he will be joining?”

“I wasn’t under the impression it was a choice,” said Jazz.

“It isn’t, exactly.  Students are sorted into the houses with, well, I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but houses are selected based on a student’s personality, aptitudes, and values.  Normally, if they came in as first-years, they would be sorted on the first, but given the circumstances, they’ll be sorted tonight.  I’m rather hoping to have a few new students for my house.”

Jazz grinned, detecting a note of competition.  “And what does your house look for?  Gryffindor, right?”

“Bravery,” said Sir Nicholas, proudly.  “Considering your brother’s accomplishments, I’m looking forward to seeing him join.”

“He is the bravest person I know,” said Jazz.  

.

Several dozen ghosts phasing through the walls didn’t just set off Danny’s fight-or-flight response.  Sam readied her wrist-lasers, while Tucker grabbed Danny’s wrist and started hunting for a place to hide Danny so his transformation wouldn’t be noticeable.  Dash and Star took cover under one of the tables.  Paulina pulled out her wand.  Valerie materialized a hand blaster.  

It wasn’t entirely clear what weapon went off first, but it didn’t really matter.  The end result was chaos.

“Oops,” said Jazz.  

.

“I am so, so, sorry,” said Jazz, hovering over Danny. Literally.  

“It’s fine,” said Danny.  “Really.”

“No, it isn’t.  I should have realized how everyone would react.  I should have told them to stop it, or something.”

“They were already on their way through the walls when you got there, weren’t you?” asked Tucker, swinging his legs back and forth as he sat on the end of the hospital bed.  

No one had been seriously injured, but a few tables had been exploded before the teachers had calmed everyone down and confiscated the ‘bizarre muggle weapons.’  On the other hand, everyone had a number of inconvenient scrapes and bruises that Madam Pomfrey insisted on taking a look at.

“Still,” said Jazz.  “I know all of you have PTSD from repeated ghost attacks and those people, I should have known what that would look like to you.”

“Er,” said Dash.  “It really is fine.”

“Yeah,” grunted Valerie, which was surprising.  

Outside of ‘Team Phantom,’ none of the others interacted with Jazz very much.  They didn’t seem to know how.  Valerie, however, outright avoided Jazz most of the time.  

Which, well.  Danny wasn’t about to call her behavior reasonable, but it was definitely in-character. This seemed like a good sign, though.

“Yes, dear,” agreed Madam Pomfrey.  “It isn’t your fault.  We adults should have said something before things got out of hand like that.”  She waved her wand back and forth over Star’s prominent black eye, and the bruise just… vanished.  Like Star had never been hurt.  

Danny inhaled slowly.  It wasn’t the first time he had seen magical healing—The aurors who had arrived a few hours after the attack on Amity Park had done a great deal—but if there was anything of magic that Danny wanted to learn, it was that.  And anything protective.  

“Is there a class for that?” he asked.  

“For what?”

“Healing.”

“Yes, it’s an elective,” said Madam Pomfrey.  “Though it does have a few required courses. Perhaps you will be able to take it next year?”

Danny swallowed down envy and nodded.  “Yeah, I guess we aren’t going to have time for electives, for the most part.”

“You may be surprised.  Now, I think you’re all set, unless you’re hiding something from me?”

The students shook their heads.  

“Good.  I believe Professor Snape is expecting you?”

.

“Did that seem… weirdly easy to you?” asked Sam.  

Danny thought about it for a second.  “Not the ‘what does this plant or animal part do’ questions,” he said, finally, “but the practical part of it?  Yeah.  It was just… cooking.  Really fiddly cooking, but still cooking.”

“Speaking of,” said Tucker, “how did you get by the parts where you had to use animal body parts.”

“Oh, I didn’t,” said Sam.  “I just skipped those.  I’m pretty sure I failed, judging by the look on Professor Snape’s face.  My end result was pretty nasty-looking.  It smelled bad, too.”

“You’re the reason we were stuck in an unventilated basement breathing in burnt hair fumes?” asked Paulina.

“Yeah.  I mean, it didn’t smell like burnt hair to me, but probably.”

Paulina sighed.  “I have to hand it to you, girl, you stand by your convictions.”

“I don’t think it’s unventilated,” said Star, contemplatively. “I wasn’t really paying attention, but there was definitely movement in all the, uh, vapors, or whatever. Professor Snape totally needs a better teacher face, though.  Like, does he just have the one expression, or what?”

“No, no,” said Sam.  “The look he gave me when I turned in my disaster was way more pronounced.”

“Still needs more than disdain and mega-disdain,” said Tucker. “Even Lancer had a wider range.”

“Come on, guys,” said Danny, “he can’t be much more than, what, thirty?  He has time to develop more emotions.”

“Yeah,” said Valerie, flatly.  “Give it a couple more years, and maybe he’ll nail down hyper-disdain.”

This surprised a snicker out of everyone.  Almost everyone.

“Uh, guys?” said Dash.  “I think I might have been the one who made it smell like burnt hair.  What was it supposed to smell like?”

“I’m so glad I don’t need to breathe,” said Jazz.  

“Oh my gosh, Jazz, that’s way too soon.”

.

“What do you think?” asked the hat.  

The hat.  

Danny could understand the paintings.  He could almost understand how the paintings worked, even.  They had the shapes of people who had once lived, their image, their likeness, and had by virtue of magic snagged a piece of their soul as they left this world.

But a hat.  Who would try to give a hat sentience?  And how?  Was the thing possessed by an extraordinarily unfortunate ghost?

“Um,” said Danny, shaking off the shock.  “I liked it!”

“Sorry,” said Star, “I’m just a little surprised.   Are you really a… a hat?”

“Yes, I am the Sorting Hat!  It is my job to divine which of our four houses each of you should belong to.  Weren’t you listening?”

“We were,” assured Star, “it’s just…”

“You’re a hat,” finished Tucker.  “Did you used to be a wizard or something?”

“Goodness, no, I was Godric Gryffindor’s hat!  He enchanted me.”

“So, are you like a computer program?” continued Tucker. “Are you an AI?”

“No Skynet,” muttered Sam.  

“Why do you guys keep thinking I’m going to make Skynet?”

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.  The other teachers were all present, except for the headmaster and Professor Umbridge.  Their absences had not been explained.  

“When you hear your name,” said McGonagall, “please come up and put the Sorting Hat on.  It also usually helps if you sit down on the stool.  Once the hat has determined your house, take it off, and put it down for the next person to use.”

Alright.  That sounded easy enough.  Danny wasn’t quite sure why such a big production was being made of this.  A few comments from the teachers and the ghosts—not that Danny had talked to them very much, this was the first full day they’d been at the school—suggested there was some kind of rivalry between the houses, but it couldn’t be that bad.  It was school.  

Except Casper High had its nasty cliques, too, and he could just imagine how school-sanctioned cliques would work out. Especially if they were backed up by centuries of history and a magic personality test.  

Fun.  

Not.

He hoped he, Sam, and Tucker would all be in the same house. And that Dash wouldn’t revert to being a bully as soon as other students were added to the mix.  And that…  Oh, he hoped a lot of things, but he would be thankful if the ‘school’ part of this whole ordeal was as easy and drama-free as possible.

After all, he had other things to worry about.

“Baxter, Dash,” said McGonagall, evenly.  

“Good luck, man,” said Tucker, holding up his thumbs. Everyone mirrored him.  

Dash looked very strange, sitting on that small stool, but he wasn’t on it for more than a second before the hat shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat was very loud.  Dash returned to the bench with a confused expression on his face.

“Fenton, Daniel.”

Danny stood up slowly.  He had expected something more like a conversation.  Was this a mind reading hat?  Was the ‘take a peek inside your head’ bit literal?  

Ugh, this was going to be a pain.  Good thing he had a lot of practice in compartmentalizing.  

“Ah, a burgeoning occlumens!” said the hat in its warm voice. “How unusual.”

“I have no idea what that means,” said Danny, mildly.  

“Oh, I’m sure your teachers will explain it to you.  I won’t take the pleasure from them.”  

The voice was, Danny decided, more than half in his head, which was…  Unsettling. Voices in his head usually either meant mind control, some jerk with telepathy, or someone trying to overshadow him. He didn’t like this.  He really didn’t like this.  

“No need to be so nervous,” said the hat.  “I keep everything strictly confidential.”

“Forgive me if I’m not reassured,” said Danny.  

“Hmf.  In any case, you have traits that would do you well in any of the houses.  Perhaps not Ravenclaw, though.  As clever as you are, you are behind academically.  You need a more nurturing environment, I imagine. As for the others… You are brave. You love your friends.  You’d do anything for them?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  

“And there’s… something else you need to do?”

Danny was silent.  

“I can’t see it very clearly, but it is an important task?”

Danny shrugged.  

“A goal.”

“Sure.”

“I think, then, the choice is between the badger and the snake,” said the hat.  “But I believe the decisive phrase here is ‘do anything.’  Therefore, you will be SLYTHERIN!”

Wow.  Even bracing himself, that had been loud.

Danny stood up and carefully deposited the hat back on the stool.  He noticed on his way back to the bench that more than one teacher looked flabbergasted, and several spectating ghosts looked disappointed.  Almost crushed.  He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  Yes, he was a celebrity among the undead, no he couldn’t be in two houses at once. They should have prepared themselves.

Not to mention that, as important as education was, it was somewhat secondary to his true goals here.  Which the ghosts partially knew about.  

“Foley, Tucker.”

.

“I can’t believe it,” said Filius later that evening when all the teachers (sans Umbridge) gathered for a drink.  

“I did say you would find the results surprising,” said Sybill, smugly.  

“Two muggle-born American transfer students in Slytherin,” said Filius, wonderingly.  “I didn’t expect to get any of them for Ravenclaw, but Slytherin?”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t denigrate my house, Filius,” said Severus.  

The diminutive teacher waved his hand.  “Oh, that’s not my intention.  But you have to admit, it seems like a strange choice.”

“They aren’t really muggle-born, though, are they?” asked Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, opting for tea instead of wine.  “I’m not sure about the Sanchezes, but the Fentons were quite prominent, back in the day, weren’t they?  At least, one of their ancestors wrote the first English book on new world magical creatures.”

“Muggle-borns and half-bloods are chosen for Slytherin all the time,” said Severus, annoyance clearly increasing.  “Not, perhaps, as often as for the other houses, but it does happen regularly.  You don’t have to be so shocked.”

“It’s nothing against Slytherin,” assured Pomona.  “We were just expecting them to get split between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.  American stereotypes in play, I suppose.”

“Mm,” said Septima, who was doodling equations on the back of her wrist.  “On my end, my thought process was more that they wouldn’t do well trying to play catchup in Ravenclaw, and they wouldn’t have the ambition and drive to hold their own in Slytherin.  The Sorting Hat disagreed.”

“Evidently,” said Severus.  He didn’t look especially pleased, but then he never did.  

“Better you than me,” said Filius, after a few minutes.  “I can’t imagine it will be easy integrating them.”

Minerva, who had three of the students, laughed, “You aren’t getting out of it that easy, Filius.  They still have charms.  How did they do, by the way?  We never really got around to discussing it.”

“None of them were brilliant,” said Filius.  “But they have promise.  I was wondering what you all thought about doing an accelerated class for some of them, to get them to a higher year-level.”

.

Being on the Hogwarts Express without Ron at his side felt wrong.  Sure, he wasn’t entirely alone, Ginny was with him, and Hegwig, but it felt different. He felt exposed.  

Although, that might have had something to do with all the people staring and pointing at him.  

The Daily Prophet had spent most of the summer convincing everyone he was a lying show-off.  The only things that had really competed with the ‘Harry Potter is delusional’ articles were the ‘haha, America is going to hell in a handbasket, aren’t we glad we aren’t them?’ articles.  

(Harry wouldn’t have even cast a glance at the second, except that he and the others had overheard some of the Order members mention Death Eaters had been behind the attack on the muggle town.  Even so, reading them made him feel grimy.)

They had to go all the way to the end of the train to get away from the unfriendly eyes, and that’s where they found Neville.  

“Hi, Harry,” he said, out of breath.  “Hi, Ginny…  Everywhere’s full… I can’t find a seat…”

Ginny squeezed past him to look at the compartments behind him.  “What are you talking about?  There’s room in this one, there’s only Loony Lovegood in here—”

“I don’t want to disturb her—”

“Don’t be silly, she’s alright.”  She slid the door open and pulled her trunk in.  “Hi, Luna.  Is it okay if we take these seats?”

It took a couple minutes to get situated in the compartment, during which time Harry tried not to stare at Luna Lovegood very much.  The blonde girl was surrounded by an aura of almost impenetrable oddness.  

“Have a good summer, Luna?” asked Ginny.  

Luna opened her mouth to answer, then closed it, frowning. “No, actually.  My father had some friends in Amity Park.  The town in America, you know.”  She turned her head slightly.  “You’re Harry Potter.”

“I know I am,” said Harry.  

The four of them then proceeded to have a fairly enjoyable conversation, right up until Neville’s mimbulus mimbletonia sprayed them all with rancid sap and Cho Chang opened the compartment door.  

Cho Chang who he had a crush on.

Yeah.

Harry had a strong desire to curl up and die.  

Ron and Hermione did not turn up for over an hour, by which time the food trolley had come and gone, and most of the bounty acquired from it had been eaten.  

“Oh, you have food.  Brilliant,” said Ron, taking a Chocolate frog from Harry and throwing himself into the seat next to him.  “You won’t believe what happened.”

“Malfoy’s Slytherin prefect?” asked Harry.  The fear had been buzzing in the back of his head ever since Ron and Hermione had gotten their badges.  

“Well, yeah,” said Ron.  

“And that complete cow Pansy Parkinson,” said Hermione.  

“But that’s not the real surprise,” said Ron, oddly dismissive. “You remember all those articles in the Prophet?  Not the ones about you.  About that town, in America?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, some of kids who survived were wizards.”

“And witches,” added Hermione.  She pulled Crookshanks into her lap.  

“Well, apparently their ministry didn’t think they’d be safe over there, so they sent them here.  Seven of ‘em.”

“What?  They think it’s safe here?” In Hogwarts, maybe it was, except Harry had been snatched away even with all eyes on him, in the middle of a heavily attended competition.  “With Voldemort on the loose?”

Everyone flinched.  

“Well, that isn’t exactly being publicized,” said Hermione. “Not—Not in the right way.  Besides, none of them knew about magic before this summer.  They’re all our age, though.  It must have been a shock.  Especially after losing their families like that.”  She shuddered.  “We’ve been asked to help them acclimate.  That’s why the meeting ran so long.”  

“Are they in Gryffindor, then?” asked Luna.  

“They’re sort of spread out,” said Hermione.  “They’re in all the houses but Ravenclaw.”

“And I’m still not sure how they got put into Slytherin if they’re muggleborn,” said Ron, who had tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling.  “It doesn’t make sense,” he complained.

“Merlin was muggleborn,” said Luna.  “He was a Slytherin.  I’m sure there were others.”

Ron pulled a face.  

(Harry thought about Voldemort—About Tom Riddle and his muggle father.)

“Anyway,” said Hermione.  “We have three of them.  Hufflepuff and Slytherin each have two.”

First Death Eaters in America, and now Slytherins from there?  Harry shook himself internally.  No, it probably didn’t mean anything.  

“We probably won’t see much of them,” said Ron.  “They’re taking mostly remedial classes.  First and second year stuff.”

“Say,” said Luna, “do you know who the prefects are for the other houses?”

“Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw,” said Hermione.  

“And Ernie Macmillian and Hannah Abbot for Hufflepuff,” added Ron.  “You know, other than helping keep track of the younger kids and patrolling corridors every so often, there’s not really much we’re supposed to do as prefects.  From how Percy talked about it, I always sort of thought there’d be more.”  Then he grinned.  “We can give punishments out if people are misbehaving.  I can’t wait to get Crabbe and Goyle for something…”

Predictably, this set off Hermione.

.

“There’s nothing else about the Americans?” asked Draco, frowning. “I’m not sure how we’re expected to ‘help them acclimate’ with so little information.”

The Head Girl rolled her eyes.  “You’re expected to talk to them,” she said.  “Considering that they’re real human beings and all. They’ve been through a lot, apparently, and I can appreciate them not wanting to have it spread around.”

Unspoken was the ‘do you?’ at the end of her sentence.  Draco let his lip curl.  People from other houses were always so eager to think the worst of Slytherin when all they were trying to be was logical.  

“I’ll do that, then,” said Draco, stepping out of the prefects’ carriage.  He needed to find Crabbe and Goyle.  Annoying. As much as he was their leader, and he watched them, they were also there to watch him and—

(Draco chose not to think of the people who had arrived at Malfoy Manor over the Summer, of the things he’d seen.)

(When he was quite young, he’d read a book about muggle Germany during the time of Grindelwald, and how Grindelwald had subtly influenced things in that country.  He’d always been struck by the use of informants, of how everyone had been convinced to watch one another and report those who stepped out of line.  He found he could appreciate it even more now that he was inside a similar trap.)

But the Americans.  It was so odd.  They couldn’t have any lineage to speak of.  Not if they were living like muggles in some backwater town.  

… some backwater town the Dark Lord had seen fit to destroy.

… ‘Fenton’ sounded vaguely familiar.  

… Perhaps ‘Sanchez’ was from a Spanish pureblood line.

Draco would have to do research.  He was good at that.  But whatever he found, he’d have to keep an eye on the Americans.  

If nothing else, it would be good to have friends overseas.

.

“We’ll be in different dorms after this,” said Danny, vaguely depressed.  “Different classes, too, most of the time.”

“We can still see each other during the day,” said Sam.  “I think the only meal that’s segregated by house is dinner, anyway.  We should be able to hang out at all the other times.”

Danny sighed.  He had yet to have much success in his missions.  

He’d felt something wrong on the seventh floor, but he hadn’t been able to pinpoint it.  He’d found a giant inaccessible dungeon full of snake statues, a snake skeleton, and a number of other somewhat questionable things underneath the school. There had been an echo of something there, but whatever it was had been long gone by the time Danny got there. He also had the faint sense of a ghost—a real ghost—beginning to form there, and he hoped he hadn’t messed it up by spreading his ectoplasm around.  

On the second front, he hadn’t heard anything from any of the leaders of the wizarding world.  Unless he counted a reply from a secretary who thought he was disturbed.  

But there was one bright spot.  They’d met the Headmaster yesterday, and Danny was certain the man’s wand was one of the two subjects of his third quest.  Which was hilarious.  Out of everything, he’d thought the Hallows would be the hardest to find.  

Not that he could just take it.  Not now.  Not yet. Not with everything else still so uncertain and Clockwork’s quiet assurance that he would find most of what he needed to at Hogwarts.  

(Clockwork and the Lady had made a deal with him, bound in old magic and ghost law.  Three tasks. Three nearly impossible quests, but at the end of them, the one who had destroyed half of his world, who had harmed his people, would be gone, and in the meantime Amity Park would be protected. Danny knew he had gotten the better half of the deal, with Clockwork practically on his side.  Even with the… other requirements.  Still, he couldn’t help but feel discouraged.)

So, he’d stay, and wait, and keep a careful eye on the Headmaster, and try to find the thing on the seventh floor, and figure out what spells worked on ghosts and if he could circumvent them, and figure out how to intercept at least one magical head of state, and, and, and…

Ugh.  

“If we aren’t too busy,” said Danny.  

“You know we’re here to help,” said Tucker, prodding Danny’s side.  “And even if the rest of them don’t know about, you know, I think they’d be willing to help, too.”

“Within reason,” said Sam.  

It was true.  Surviving near-death experiences together tended to make people—well.  Not necessarily friends, but something more than mere acquaintances.  Allies, at the very least.

(Especially if a lot of other people had died at the same time, and the survivors were holding on to the relationships they still had with all their strength.)

“I know,” said Danny.  He bit his lip.  “There’s something on the seventh floor, I think.  Need more time to figure out what, though.”

“We’ll keep an eye out,” promised Sam.  

“And an ear, too,” said Tucker, tapping his.  “I’m sure there’ll be lots of rumors and legends in a place like this.”

“Me too.  Jazz has been interrogating the paintings, you know.”  He frowned.  “They’re so weird.”

“Everything about this is weird,” said Sam.  “Can’t believe we thought ghosts were the whole extent of the supernatural.  It seems so dumb, now.”

“Not really,” said Danny.  “I mean, ghosts were all that we saw, and they didn’t really mention anything else.”  He sighed. “Guess we should get ready for the feast or whatever?”

“Yeah,” said Sam, standing.  “Good luck meeting your classmates.  Housemates?  How are we even supposed to say that?”

“I don’t know,” said Danny.  He sighed.  “At least we each have at least one person from Casper with us.”

“That’s true,” said Tucker.  “Can’t say I feel like I have much in common with Star, though. Other than,” he gestured, vaguely, “all the Amity Park stuff.”

Sam raised an eyebrow.  “And you think I have a lot in common with Dash?”

“You have a lot in common with Valerie,” offered Tucker.

Sam shrugged.  “We do both fight ghosts.”

Tucker’s grin turned slightly wicked.  “And have a crush on the same guy.”

“Take a walk off a

Danny let himself smile.  It had been a while since the three of them had gotten some good banter in. It was hard to verbally spar when you were depressed.  

.

Sitting next to Paulina at an otherwise empty table felt strange.  But it would feel even stranger to sit not next to Paulina at the very large empty table.  Danny let his eyes drift over to the other three house tables.  It seemed that the others were of the same opinion, sitting together in little, painfully awkward clusters.  

All the close friend groups had been pulled apart, after all.

“Danny,” said Paulina.  Her voice wavered at the end.

“Yeah?”

“The wizard kids will have cliques.”

“I mean, yeah, they’re still human, right?”  And even ghosts formed groups.  

Paulina nodded and clenched her jaw.  “We’re going to get into one,” she said, firmly.  “We’ll have to find the best one, and fast, otherwise we’ll wind up at the bottom of the pecking order.  You know how much that sucks.”

“Yeah,” said Danny, his eyebrows raised.  He was a little surprised to be included.  

“The wizards we’ve met so far are pretty weird.  You know how to deal with weird.”

“Uh,” said Danny.  “Is this a strategy thing?  Isn’t it a bit too late for that?”

“It’s never too late to salvage social standing, and we haven’t even started,” said Paulina.  “Anyway, you’re the backup plan, in case they’re aliens who don’t fall for my charm.”  She put a hand to her heart and fluttered her eyelashes.

“Should we even use charm like that here?  I mean, since it’s a class, now.”

“Hmf.  I’m good at that, too.”  She examined her fingernails.  “We’ll probably attract a bunch of people, just because we’re here and visible and new.  We just need to make sure that people stay interested in us.”

“I’m not sure I want attention, Paulina.”

“Then pay attention and follow my lead.  If you’re in the right clique, you can fade into the background.  Like Star. No one notices the stuff she gets up to. They’re all too focused on yours truly. As they should be.”

This was true, actually.  People didn’t really pay any attention to Star, except in her person as Paulina’s satellite.  Even Danny, before becoming Phantom and gaining a new perspective on life and the people in it, hadn’t.  

“Besides,” continued Paulina, “now that we, well.” She didn’t quite blush.  “You guys don’t suck as much as I thought you did.”

“Uh, thanks.  You, too?”

Wow.  That was quite possibly the worst response he could have had.  

Paulina sighed heavily.  

However, she was distracted from whatever she might have said to him by the first of the Hogwarts students coming in.  Paulina turned her attention away, her eyes flicking from one set of green and silver highlights to the next.  Whenever a student looked their way she smiled and waved, pouring on the charm.  

Danny didn’t know how she did it.  Social engineering was never going to be his strong point.

(Perhaps he could set Paulina and Star on the Minister of Magic’s trail.  They might have more luck.)

Before he could follow the train of thought, they were surrounded.  In a simply physical sense.  There was no malice and very little aggression from the students that sat near them, more than one of whom had prefects badges.  Still, Danny did have to fight down a knee-jerk reaction.  He saw Paulina shift uncomfortably as well, and he gave her robe what he hoped was a steadying tug.  

She returned it with a tight smile.  

There wasn’t much time to talk before Professor McGonagall stood up with the hat and started calling names.  Everyone went very quiet during the sorting, except for the cheer that rose with the hat’s every shout.  

Then there was food.  A lot of food.  Most of it was recognizable, but some of it was sort of weird.  Many things were pumpkin flavored.  There was even something Danny was fairly certain was pumpkin juice.

He didn’t know how to feel about that.

Paulina took the time to engage in social engineering. Danny took the time to watch.  They were both watched back, of course, but Paulina naturally drew more attention.  

However, there was one boy who kept staring at Danny. He was about their age and had pale blonde hair.  Really pale blonde hair.  

(Danny had thought Star and Dash were blonde.)

“You’re Daniel Fenton, correct?” asked the boy.  

“Um.  Yes. And you are?”

“Draco Malfoy.  I’m the fifth-year prefect.”

“Oh, Draco like the constellation?”

Draco blinked.  “Yes.”

“Did your parents like astronomy a lot, then?”

“Astrology,” corrected Draco.  “Astronomy is what muggles do.”

Danny carefully forced down the white-hot rage he felt at that statement.  Yeah, he had more than a normal admiration for astronomy, and, therefore, a more intense than normal reaction to astronomy and astrology being confused, but magic was real, apparently, so maybe astrology wasn’t useless.  Right.  Yeah.  And they were both about stars, planets, and space. Nothing to get mad at.

“It’s been a tradition in my mother’s family for generations,” Draco was saying, “although we occasionally make some allowances for other traditions.  My mother’s name is Narcissa, for example.  Is there anything similar in your family?”

“Dad’s side does ‘J’ names for the first born.  Jazz got stuck with that.”

The boy’s eyebrows went up.  “You have a sister?  She isn’t magical?”

“Magical enough to haunt me,” said Danny.  

“Pardon?”

“She died.  She’s around here somewhere, though.”  He gestured vaguely.  “Didn’t want to be around big crowds.  I think she said she was going to hang out with Myrtle?”

“Myrtle?  Do you mean Moaning Myrtle?  Who haunts the bathrooms?”

This time, the reaction Danny suppressed was a cringe, the emotion embarrassment on behalf of the young witch ghost.  “She just introduced herself as Myrtle.  Well, Myrtle Warren, but…  Yeah.  It’s kind of rude to describe someone as moaning, isn’t it?”

The boy puffed up, slightly, clearly offended.  

Oh, dear.  

.

The Americans were… interesting, Harry thought.  

Ron and Hermione had sat near them as part of their ‘prefect duties,’ with Harry and therefore Ginny and Neville following after.  

Well.  That may have had more to do with curiosity than anything else.  

They introduced themselves by their first names only. Dash, Valerie, and Sam.  Dash was… well.  Harry had encountered people like him both before and after coming to Hogwarts.  For example, McClaggen.  Harry hadn’t ever interacted much with McClaggen, even if they were in the same house, but Dash definitely gave off the same feeling.  Meanwhile, Valerie just sort of glared at everyone, resisting all attempts at conversation while tearing at her food with extreme aggression.  Sam had managed to engage Hermione and Katie Bell in a conversation about dark magic that was getting Hermione progressively more flustered.  

Harry couldn’t tell if it was because of the misconceptions Sam had about magic in general, or because Sam seemed to think some kinds of dark magic should be legal.  

He was starting to get a very bad feeling about these Americans.

.

“Hey,” whispered Tucker, while the students around them were distracted by something a rather round ghost was saying.  

“What?” whispered Star.

“Is it just me, or is everyone here sort of depressed? Like, I can understand us being depressed, but…”

“No, no it’s not just you.  Wasn’t there something about a student death?  Some kind of freak accident.”

“Oh,” said the student sitting across from them.  “You heard about Cedric.”

.

Danny wondered if he could get to the Minister of Magic through Dolores Umbridge.  He hadn’t gotten a good read on her during their very brief encounters the previous week, but now...  She gave off the impression of having some kind of political power.  His understanding was that the headmaster had a lot of influence among the wizards and witches of this country, so for her to be interrupting him like that…

Or maybe he was like Danny and weak against social awkwardness.

Also, her speech seemed to have a deeper meaning he couldn’t decode.  He didn’t understand wizarding culture or their political climate enough, despite his research.

Eh.  He’d have to get a better grasp of her personality and position.  Hopefully, that wouldn’t be too hard.  He did have a class with her.  

.

“The events of last spring have left a mark on the whole school,” said Severus Snape into the muffled quiet of the Slytherin common room, his voice just barely more emotive than during the placement test he had given the Casper High students, “and no doubt on many of your home lives as well. I want you to know that if you have any… concerns… regarding the behaviors of fellow students or… more sensitive topics, you can come to me.”

The man blinked slowly at them.  

“That is all,” he said, finally, and with an overly dramatic swish of his cloak he departed.  

The room quickly filled with light chatter, students breaking off into little cliques, some of them slipping away down shadowy corridors.

Paulina tugged him towards one of those groups.  

“Hi, Pansy,” she said, giving the girl a little wave, “hi, Draco.  We were wondering if you guys could show us around?  We were told our stuff would be moved here, but…”  She trailed off, shrugging elegantly.  

Danny tried to echo the movement.  

He most likely did not succeed.

(It wasn’t like he could tell.  His superpowers did not include seeing himself from the outside—Or maybe they did.  There could be a spell for that, he supposed.)

He had to admit, as the prefects made a (just slightly supercilious) show of presenting the Slytherin dormitories to them, that he rather liked the space.  It was surprisingly well-ventilated and warm, but there was still a general air of closeness, of security of bone-deep chill that spoke so well to his ghost half.  

Of course, a lot of that would probably evaporate once Danny tried to sleep in a room with half a dozen strangers, but, well, he’d deal with that when he got there.

.

Magic was great and all, but Tucker would trade it all away in a second if only to get his PDA to work properly.  

In the tent formed by his bedsheet and his body, Tucker hissed and rapped on the staticky screen, hoping an impact adjustment would do… something.  He didn’t know what.  The last three hadn’t done anything.  

The way the metal casing was heating up under his hand was disturbing.  Quickly, he thumbed the power button.  He didn’t have a lot of these left, and he wanted to be able to use them to communicate with Danny and Sam.  He missed their late-night Doom sessions.  

(Along with everything else about his life in Amity Park. He at least had the power to make talking to his friends possible.  The rest? Not so much.)

He groaned into his pillow.  He’d been working on this off and on all week.  Another night wouldn’t matter in the long run.  

Maybe one of his classes would help him understand what he was doing wrong.

.

Sam had sort of enjoyed needling Hermione (the girl reminded her a lot of Jazz), even if she knew she shouldn’t, but the nasty fight between some of the fifth year boys in the common room had really ruined the mood. Hermione’s friend, Harry, was apparently some sort of celebrity.  Like, in the same way Phantom had been a celebrity following Walker’s invasion.  

So.  Not really a great thing for him.  

Ugh.  Sympathy. Feelings.  She sighed and stared up at the red and gold ceiling.  If the color scheme didn’t do her in…

.

Danny met Jazz in the air over the school.  

“I didn’t see you much today,” he said, twisting hands that he is keeping carefully transparent.

“Yeah,” said Jazz.  “I’m just…  I’m still adjusting.  I think you’ll like Myrtle, by the way.  She’s lonely, but fun.  I think there might actually be a bit of ectoplasm in her, believe it or not.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  She can flood the toilets, apparently.  Although… I’m not sure if she meant the toilets themselves, or just the room in general.”  She frowned. “Because she said something about sinks…”  She shook her head.  “Not important.  Want to hear what she told me about the secret underground room and the giant snake skeleton?  Not to mention all the other ridiculous stuff that’s happened here.  If this is ‘safer,’ I don’t want to know what the rest of the wizarding world is like.”

“Like what happened in Amity, I guess,” said Danny. “But!  Yes.  Please tell me what you found out.”

.

Breakfast was nice.  Especially when Sam, Danny, and Tucker compared schedules and realized that they had more classes together than they expected.  Not with all three of them at once, but even just two of them together was better than nothing.  

Yes, they got a lot of strange looks, especially when Jazz joined them.  Evidently, eating breakfast with people from other houses just wasn’t done.  Which was stupid, in Sam’s opinion.  Actually, the whole house system felt increasingly stupid to Sam.  She just didn’t understand the point.  Was it for sports?

It was probably for sports.  Sports were the root of all evil.  Just look at Dash.  He hadn’t had any sports for a whole Summer, and now he was acting like an actual decent human being.  

Okay.  That reasoning was suspect.  Sam would have to come back to this when she was more awake.  Early mornings were the worst.  

Anyway.  She had an acceptable breakfast with her friends and the people she’d grown to tolerate, then she set out to find History.  

Which is how she overheard the conversation between Hermione and her friends.  

“What’s S.P.E.W.?” she asked.

Hermione’s two friends glared at Sam.  Probably for the sin of eating with people from another house. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Well,” said Hermione, just slightly hesitant.  “It’s the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare…”

(Sam found a new cause to get incandescently angry about. Wizard society sucked.)

.

Harry was surprised to see five of the Americans, the three Gryffindors and the two Slytherins, standing by the door to Defense Against the Dark Arts, quietly talking to each other.  

“What’re they doing, then?” asked Ron, scowling. “Consorting with the enemy?”

“Honestly, Ron,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes.  “They aren’t the enemy.  And they’re from the same place.  It must be difficult, being so far away from home.”

Ron grunted and shrugged.  “What d’you think Umbridge’ll be like, anyway?” he asked, changing the subject.  

They filed into the classroom, the remainder of the class, including the Slytherins, their green looking horribly out of place amongst all the red trim, following shortly after.  No one knew what Umbridge would be like, regarding punishment, so they didn’t want to immediately get on her bad side.  

“Well,” she said, in a sickly-sweet tone, “good afternoon!”

There was a mumbled response.  

Umbridge said “Tut, tut.”  She actually said tut tut.  Out loud.  “That won’t do, now, will it?  I should like you, please, to reply ‘Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.’  One more time, please.  Good afternoon, class!”

“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” said the class, in something approaching unison and the least enthusiastic tone Harry had heard since Ron had tried to convince Hermione to help him with his Divination homework last year.

“There, now,” said Professor Umbridge.  “That wasn’t too difficult, was it?  Wands away and quills out, please.”

Many of the students exchanged gloomy or exasperated looks. Lessons without wands tended to be uninteresting, with very few exceptions.  

(Instead of quills, the Americans produced pencils and pens from their bookbags.)

Umbridge opened her handbag and pulled out her own wand, which was as stubby as she was, and tapped the blackboard.  Words appeared on the board at once:  Defense Against the Dark Arts, A Return to Basic Principles.

Harry couldn’t quite repress a groan.  Luckily, he wasn’t the only one.  

“Well now, your teaching in this subject had been rather disrupted, hasn’t it?” stated Professor Umbridge.  She turned to face the class, her eyes briefly lingering on Harry, and then the Americans.  “Or completely nonexistent.  The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year.

“You will be pleased to know, however,” she continued, still acting like she was talking to kindergarteners, “that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year.”

Each word Umbridge spoke made Harry’s heart drop farther. How could Dumbledore let this woman teach them?  This year?  When knowing how to fight dark magic was more important than ever?

Umbridge rapped the board again, and new words appeared. Course aims:  1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic. 2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.  3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.  

Oh.  This year was going to be bad.  As for the day, it got worse when Umbridge assigned a reading from what had to be the dullest book Harry had ever read.  Including that one time—No.  Focus.

He massaged his temples and wondered if he needed to get a new prescription for his glasses.  The words on the page refused to stay sharp.  

Harry looked up when the Americans started to whisper among themselves and caught sight of one of the most shocking things he had ever witnessed: Hermione not reading.  

Soon, everyone was staring either at Hermione or the Americans, who had left off whispering after some pointed glaring from Umbridge but had replaced the whispers with passionate gesturing at something in the back of the book.  Those, too, died down after a while, in favor of looking at Hermione.  

Eventually, Umbridge could no longer ignore the situation.  

“Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?”

“Not about the chapter, no.”

“Well, we’re reading just now.”  Umbridge smiled.  It wasn’t pleasant.  “If you have other queries, we can deal with them at the end of class.”

“I’ve got a query about your course aims,” said Hermione, undeterred.  

“And your name is—?”

“Hermione Granger.”

“Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully.”  

“Well, I don’t.  There’s nothing written up there about using defensive spells.”

“There’s nothing in the book about using spells, either!” said the Slytherin boy, waving his copy angrily.  “There aren’t even any of the, um.”  He paused and looked at Sam for a second.  

“Incantations,” said Sam.  “I mean, that’s what I’d call them?  I don’t know the official term.”

Umbridge inhaled through her teeth.  

“Using defensive spells?” she asked, voice pitched unnaturally high.  “Why, I can’t imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss—”

“And what about outside of the classroom?” interrupted the Slytherin boy.  

“Like, this is supposed to teach us how to not die, right?” asked the girl next to him, examining her fingernails.  

“You have to practice self-defense to actually get good at it,” agreed Valerie, crossing her arms.  “What’s the point of this class if we’re not going to actually learn how to do stuff?”

“Yes,” agreed Hermione, “surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?”

“Students,” gritted Umbridge, “will raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class.”

At once, a dozen hands went up.

“Miss Granger?” Umbridge asked, voice dangerous.  

“Isn’t the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts to practice defensive spells?”

“Miss Granger,” said Umbridge.  “As you are not a Ministry-trained educational expert, you are not qualified to decide what the ‘whole point’ of this, or any, class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have—”

“I really doubt that,” interjected Ron.  

Umbridge took another deep breath.  “You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way—”

“What’s the use of that?” demanded Harry, loudly.  “If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be in a—”

“Hand, Mr. Potter!”

Predictably, Umbridge turned her back on him as soon as he thrust his fist into the air.  Instead, she called on Dean Thomas.  

(The part of Harry’s brain that wasn’t vibrating in frustration noted that the Americans were passing notes between each other.)

“Well, it’s like Harry said, isn’t it?” he asked, once she had gotten done with interrogating him about his name.  “If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be risk-free—”

“Do you expect to be attacked in class?”

Harry was very tempted to say yes, considering that three of his four previous DADA teachers had wound up attacking him.  

… Did Professor Lupin’s werewolf form having a go at him bring the count up to four?

Umbridge talked over Dean.  “I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school,” she said, with the air of someone who was about to do just that, “but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed—not to mention,” she gave a nasty little laugh, “extremely dangerous half-breeds.”

The Slytherin boy stood up, chair scraping across the floor. Sam, next to him, had gone pale. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around her wand.  

“Sit down, Mr.-?”

“I’m leaving,” said the boy, not deigning to give Umbridge his name.  He picked up his bag.  “Maybe I can sit in on an actually useful lesson.  I mean, if I can figure out how to make a pineapple tap dance, I can get it to fly into someone’s face.  At least that’s something.”

“Sit down,” repeated Umbridge.  “I do not know what your classmates have told you, but you, all of you,” she said to the class, “have been frightened into believe that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day—”

“We haven’t been frightened into believing anything!” exclaimed Dash, also rising from his seat.  “Our entire city was attacked!  We need—"

“Which was a tragedy.  One that is unlikely to be repeated!  Now, sit down.”

The other Americans stood up.  

“We heard about Cedric Diggory, you know,” said the Slytherin girl, coldly.  “And a lot of the people who attacked us were never caught.”

“We also know about the giant murder snake that apparently lived here,” said the boy.  

“I, for one, can’t believe that wizards are less likely to be murders than any other human,” said Valerie.  “If normal people need to take self-defense classes, I don’t see why we shouldn’t be able to.”

“The government preventing people from learning how to defend themselves is historically a bad sign,” said Sam.  “Of course, slavery is also a bad sign, and you all have been ignoring that for God only knows how long.  There are actual slaves in this school.”

“Wait,” said the Slytherin boy, horrified.  “Are you serious?  Is that what you were talking about before?  Oh my God—"

“Children!” exclaimed Umbridge.  “Your hands are not up.”  

The looks Umbridge got after that outburst were filled with incredulity, not

Parvati Patil raised her hand.  

“Yes?” asked Umbridge.

Harry was beginning to wonder if she was looking for punishment.  

“Isn’t there supposed to be a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.?”

“As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to—”

The room exploded into a flurry of objections, spurred on by the Americans.  

“Who exactly do you think is going to attack you?” shouted Umbridge over the ruckus.  

“I don’t know!” shouted Harry back, even though part of him knew this was a bad idea.  “How about Lord Voldemort?”

Silence.  

“Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter?”

“Points?” whispered Dash.  No one else spoke.  

The Slytherin boy was looking at Harry with something like hunger in his eyes.  

“Now, let me make a few quite plain.  You have been told that a certain Dark wizard had returned from the dead—”

“He wasn’t dead,” said Harry, “but yeah, he’s returned!”

“Do not make matters worse for yourself, Mr. Potter!” exclaimed Umbridge shrilly.  “As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie.”

“It is NOT a lie!  I saw him! I fought him!”

Glee spread across Umbridge’s toad-like face. “Detention, Mr. Potter.  Tomorrow evening.  Five—  What do you think you’re doing?”

“Um,” said the Slytherin boy, who like the rest of the Americans was halfway to the door.  “Leaving. Like we said?”  He hadn’t stopped walking.

“You will do no such thing!  All five of you will be joining Mr. Potter for detention.”

“Pass.”  His eyes flicked towards Harry again.

“Excuse me?”

“We have better things to do than humor someone who’s refusing to do their job,” said Sam.  

The classroom doors slammed shut right in front of the Slytherin boy’s nose, and he took half a step back.  

“Tomorrow evening, at five o’clock, all six of you will join me for detention in my office.  Now.  The rumors of that Dark wizard’s return are lies.  The Ministry guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard.  If you are still worried, if someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, come see me outside of class hours, I would like to hear about it.  I am here to help.  I am your friend.  Now, kindly, continue your reading.  Page five, ‘Basics for Beginners.’”

The Americans slunk back to their seats but pulled a variety of colorful transfiguration textbooks from their bags instead of Defensive Magical Theory.

With an air of triumph, Umbridge sat down behind her desk.

Harry stood up.  

“Harry, no!” whispered Hermione, tugging at his sleeve.

Harry ignored her.  (Which was, in all honesty, a stupid move.  Ignoring Hermione rarely had positive consequences.)

(In his defense, the preceding several minutes had been… stressful.)

“So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?”

“Cedric Diggory’s death was a tragic accid—”

“Just like Amity Park, huh?”

“A tragic accident,” continued Umbridge, voice full of ice.  

“It was murder.”  Harry was shaking.  He felt like he was under a spotlight, and he wanted to be anywhere but here, talking about this.  “Voldemort killed him, and you know it.”

For a second, Harry thought Umbridge would start screaming, but instead her lips curled up into a parody of a smile.  “Come here, Mr. Potter, dear.”

As Harry walked forward, Umbridge started scribbling on a small, pink, piece of paper, angled so that Harry couldn’t see what she was writing.  Something moved out of the corner of his eye, and Harry flinched.  

The…  What were they even doing?  Why were they sitting like that?

“Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear,” said Umbridge, holding out a roll of pink paper.  

Harry took it from her without a word, turned on his heel, threw open the door, and—

Was almost trampled by the Americans all escaping the room at once.  

Dash grabbed him by the upper arm, and soon all six of them were running down the hallway.  It took several seconds for Umbridge to start shrieking, and, by that point, the Slytherin boy had pulled them all into a secret passage that someone who hadn’t been at Hogwarts for even a month shouldn’t know about.  

“Wow,” said Sam.  “You work fast, Danny.”

“Thanks,” said Danny, giving her a thumbs up.  “Got to thank the Bloody Baron, though.”  He paused.  “Still can’t believe that’s his actual name…”

“Sorry about dragging you with us, by the way,” said the Slytherin girl.  “I’m Paulina. This is Danny.  You already know these three, I think?”

“Er,” said Harry, not at all sure how to deal with this situation.  Part of him just wanted to shout.  He was still vibrating with suppressed rage.  

“I didn’t really catch your name in all that, though,” she continued, gesturing behind them.  

“It’s Harry.  Potter.”

It was… interesting, how his name didn’t spark any recognition in them.  At least not at first.  Then Danny stiffened and—

“The poltergeist is coming this way,” he said, mildly.  

“You can tell?” asked Paulina.

“I could always tell.  Why do you think I was always in the bathroom when ghosts were around?”

Valerie scowled, and shot a truly venomous glare at her watch.

“Do you think we can convince him to bug Umbridge?” asked Sam.

Danny shot a look of surprise at her.  Then he smiled.  “Maybe,” he said.  He turned back to Harry.  “It was nice meeting you.  I hope we can talk again sometime.  It sounds like you’ve been through a lot, and, well…”  He shrugged.

Harry suddenly remembered that the Americans were here, for the most part, because their families were dead.

“But you should probably track down Professor McGonagall sooner than later.  I’d bet that Umbridge put a timer on that.  If that’s possible.  Is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” said Harry, suddenly a hundred times more anxious about the paper clenched in his hand.  

“Gosh, imagine if Lancer could do that,” said Dash.

“I’d take Lancer any day,” said Danny.  “He actually tried to teach stuff.  Anyway, I’m going to go head off Peeves.  You might want to go around.  I hear he can be kind of a jerk?”

“Right,” said Harry, walking further down the secret passage, because he had been here for a proper length of time and had learned about it properly.  

… Although he supposed that asking the ghosts was a proper way to go about learning the secret passages.  

No, he had to focus on how to explain getting kicked out of class to Professor McGonagall, not on the weirdest interaction with Slytherins he’d had to date.

[marshmallowprotection]

Cyclamen

Pairing: Saeran Choi/Original Female Character(s)

Bio: Saeran had just been given his hope for the future and freedom. Yet, it was all being tugged away from him just as quickly as he had been able to taste of the river of life. She wants to stand by his side no matter what that means, but her selfless love goes around both ways. They cling to the other as night falls and fate is put into their hands.

Set Post-Good Ending. Spoilers for the After Ending. 

[Read on AO3]

Happy Birthday Saeran!

Lila knew that she didn't have a moment to hesitate anymore.

It was only a matter of time until things got out of control again. The plan was underway and now that it was fully started and in control, there was no way to turn back. No matter how much she wished that there was. 

She was utterly frustrated but she knew that that wasn't going to fix it or change it.

Saeran made up his mind. He held her close and told her that there was no other way. He didn’t have a plan for it. He didn’t want her to know the truth but he couldn’t lie to her face. He had to admit that he had no rescue plan for himself. He was going to give up his life so that Saeyoung could live and so she could live his freedom for him.

He had told her over and over again that there was no other choice here. Lila didn't want to argue with him in front of Jihyun and Rika. The last thing she wanted was to be angry if this was truly the end of things. They both had decided that it proved nothing to be angry at everything. He had let go of that part of himself and he refused to let it overcome him again.

She was proud of him for choosing kindness over cruelty. That was hard for anyone to do. His heart held so much hurt and she knew that he wanted to scream. He wanted to cry and lash out, but it didn’t help him. It just made his heart hurt more in the process. He didn’t want to hurt anymore.

That wasn’t his choice, though.

Saeran was trying to be the better man, not because he wanted people to respect him or think he to be a saint. It was because he wanted to be kind. He wanted to choose to be kind because he’d been forced to be angry and bitter for so long that he didn’t want it anymore. He just wanted to be free and happy.

Happy to be himself and to find out what that meant.

His kindness knew no bounds. He did not know what was too much and what was too little. In a way, it was a double-edged sword. Because he was willing to give up his life it meant that he had the power to protect someone’s heart and happiness. He was willing to do whatever it took to be able to ensure the life and love of those that meant something to him.

And yet, he was learning how not to give himself too much at the same time, but this was beyond the limit. He had tried to set boundaries and assert himself as they started living at C&R after the escape from Mint Eye. He was able to say that he wanted a break, or that he wanted to eat or to go to sleep for the first time.

A taste of being able to do what he wanted without someone treating him like a child that didn’t know any better.

This is why Lila was so desperate to find him, now. Jihyun had told him something so scary and frightening that he must have been having a hard time. The secret made her skin crawl so very quickly, and all she could think about was how Saeran had been lied to for years about the truth of what happened in his life, not just to his twin brother, but to his mother as well. The only family that he ever had.

Lila couldn’t imagine the pain inside of his heart. She knew how he felt about his mother. There was a part of him that loved her and a part of him that hated himself for it. She stayed with him all those years, even though she had been a monster, and he wanted to care about her. He wanted to be the one that cared because nobody deserved to be…

Nobody would mourn that woman.

Saeran would, if only because he was too kind for his good, though Lila could say that she didn’t miss the woman. She never met her, never wanted to, and never will. The idea of seeing a woman who hurt Saeran like that so willingly for so long… It was hard enough to look Rika in the eyes and control the part of her heart that was angry.

She shoved that thought to the back of her mind as she sped the forest. Her eyes glued to her phone as she ducked and dodged any of the guards in the way. She had to get to him before it was too late. She wanted to try to convince him to come with them, she wanted to get him to leave with Saeyoung and herself.

He could.

Lila was prepared to beg. She wasn't sure how much good that would do but she was at the point where she would do it if she thought it would work. He meant so much to her, so much that she couldn't even put it into words, and to think that he would be willing to do something like this for her…

She was willing to do the same thing for him.

She wouldn't have even blamed him if he left and never looked back. Saeran would never do that sort of thing. However, when they had been separated after they agreed to go through this together, it felt like it was a smack from the universe trying to tell them that it wasn't meant to be.

Everyone lied to them and kept trying to pull them apart. They had worked so hard to get to where they were. He had worked so hard to get to the point that he was at now. It was a cruel joke that it was being thrown all back in his face.

What was freedom when it was being taken away from him after he got to taste it? What did it mean when he never really even got to have it? It was all some kind of sick joke and it made her sick to her stomach. Part of her wished that she could just take away all of the pain for him.

Yet, he was trying to do the same thing for her. They had had this conversation many times during the day and it always ended up the same. He didn't want her to die and she didn't want him to die. They would not address the word directly but they both knew that whoever was left behind, was most likely going to be killed. It was a macabre truth, to say the least.

But, the most important thing on her mind was finding him to comfort him. He didn't deserve to be alone right now. He needed to have someone there to tell him that it was going to be okay. Even though it felt like it wasn't going to be okay.

The last thing that someone would want to do is be alone when they learned something so traumatizing. He had to be reliving all of those memories.

That was no way for anyone to live. He was strong and he was very capable of handling his emotions, but that didn't mean that he had to suffer that by himself. It may have been a diversionary tactic but a part of her just knew that he had done what he did because he just needed to be alone. It had to be suffocating.

He had been handling it very well thus far, she had seen the look in his eyes all day.

That daunted look in the back of his eyes that he could not hide no matter how much he tried to suppress it. He could rationalize it as much as he wanted and he could stand his ground, but it didn't take away from the institutionalized fear that had been instilled in him from everything that happened.

Where was he?

It felt like Lila had been running around in circles. He had placed his location precisely on the map and she was working backward to be able to find it. The location that he had given V and Rika was very vague. It would require them to look at their phones and run around like chickens with their heads cut off.

It wouldn't buy them a lot of time, but it would give the two of them a chance to be distracted long enough for everything to work out the way that it was supposed to. She knew that he was intending for this to be goodbye. She didn't want to believe that, but as she continued to make her way through the forest, the fact became more and more clear.

Lila wished that the night wasn't as beautiful as it was. There was hardly a cloud in the sky, and the moon was as full as it could be. All of the stars were viewable overhead in a way that seemed to be just the same as it was at the compound, Magenta. In many ways, it felt like the first night that she and Ray kissed.

That had also been a lovely night. There had been so-so much going on but their emotions had never been stronger. Her heart felt the same way it did that night, if not impossibly stronger. The way that they made her feel, the way that Saeran and Ray had made her feel… the way that her Saeran now made her feel…

Lila had never loved someone as strongly as she loved them. As strongly as she loved the man they had come together to create. Those two people she learned how to love, she had seen them come together although they did not plan on that happening so soon and so suddenly. Through them, she had suddenly found confidence that she never had before.

Through Saeran, she finally felt like she could look at herself in the mirror and like the person that she was looking at.

She had struggled so long and so hard with her perception of herself.

Yet, just as she had managed to reach his heart in ways that nobody else ever had, he had been able to see the hurt inside of her and he had taken a chance just as much as she had.

Lila isn't sure where she would be if she hadn't met him. She felt as though she would have been lost and hurting if she hadn't accepted the offer to play a game.

She had been running away from her problems for so very long, and with him, she realized that you had to confront your problems. Through the RFA, she was able to see what happens when you close yourself off to the rest of the world and you run away from your problems to deal with them on your own.

Saeran was facing all of his problems head first now. No matter how scared he was on the inside, he never let it show. He was running into the fire without hesitation or fear. He was so much braver than he thought he was. Seeing him being able to do all of this made her think that she might be capable of facing her problems in the future.

She just wished that they were doing this together in the end. They had walked in this together and she thought they were going to finish it together. The idea that he would be left out here by himself to the very end made her heart weep. They weren't dependent on each other but they needed each other in this life. She couldn't imagine a life without him within arm's reach and no matter what he tried to say, he knew very well that he thought the same.

Kindness was supposed to be the thing that kept them close together.

It was her love for him that connected them.

It was his love for her that united them.

Lila reached out to him when he needed someone the most to see him and he took a chance on someone who needed to have her voice heard. The communication that they had with each other was so powerful that even the others around them commented that it was unbelievable how well they worked together.

A night like tonight just felt so bittersweet. It was every bit as perfect as it could have been as far as it looked but it couldn’t have been any further from the truth. It wasn't perfect. It was possibly the worst night of her life… of his life, too. The closer she found herself getting to him, the more ache inside of her chest that she felt. She did not want to leave him.

He wasn't going to give her a choice at the end of the day.

Yet, again, she was ready to beg him to reconsider his choice. He didn’t have to die. It wasn’t fair for him to stay behind when he finally got a chance to be free with his brother. Her frantic breath escaped her lungs as she finally pushed past the thick brush to the clearing that Saeran had put on the map. She looked around until her eyes finally rested his back.

Saeran was standing there by the edge of the lake, his eyes gazing out over the water and looking at the moon as it reflected its light against him. The faintest sound of the cicadas hummed in the back as she stumbled forward towards him. Lila didn’t stop to catch her breath as her trembling hands grasped at him and she buried her face in the back of his shirt.

He lifted one of his hands and pressed it against hers, “We don’t have that much time, my love. I am happy to see you again.”

“...Are you okay? After all that V told you?” She asked. Her hands still holding him tightly. It was just like how they always slept together. She would hold him and press her lips to the back of his throat to ease his nightmares. Standing up, Lila was too short to manage that but she felt the need to hold him.

“You never stop caring for me, huh? You’re always sweet,” his smile was bright but he looked away from her and back out to the lake. “I think it’s good that I got to learn the truth. It’s just one less loose end for me.”

Loose end, huh?

Saeran was adamant about his choice.

The cry that she wanted to hold back tumbled from her lips. Saeran stiffened in her arms but he didn’t pull away as the sounds of her crying echoed through the clearing. Lila was always trying to be brave for him because it helped her feel like she was being brave for herself. He had given her a chance to feel confident in her own right.

Before she met him, Lila was always running away from her fears and silently suffering from the pain because her voice was so small and it felt so insignificant. She tolerated being the punching bag for years. She withstood her parents treating her like she couldn’t be truly good enough to be a member of her family.

But, when she met Ray… when she met Saeran…

Suddenly, she felt like she was strong. She felt like she had the power to stand up for others and herself. Seeing him learn how to defend herself made her want to stand up to everything that hurt her and be a better person. Her love for him was of support, admiration, and more. When he looked at her and saw something brave…

Lila was looking at Saeran the same way.

The tears that were flooding her eyes refused to disappear. Lila had tried to hide her sobs for so very long to ensure that Saeran didn’t break down in front of V and Rika but now that they were truly alone, she felt herself starting to break down. “Please, reconsider, Saeran. Can’t you think about this one last time?”

Imagining a life without the person that made her feel this way…

She didn’t want to do that.

Saeran gently wrenched her arms from around him so that he could turn to face her instead. He cupped her cheeks in his hands and brushed against her tears with his thumbs. The look on his face was bittersweet, pained, but he was trying to hold himself together. She knew that he was hiding his pain.

Lila knew that he was hurting. He just wouldn’t admit it. He wanted to be the hero and he wanted to be the brave one, but she didn’t want him to do it alone. She wanted to stay by his side until the very end… no matter what that meant for her life and what that meant for their future.

Their love was something timeless.

“I’m sorry, Lila. I am. But I won’t change my mind. It has been destined ever since I was born to him. I can’t escape my fate in this life, but I can decide who I am and I know who I want to be now. I have finally learned everything about myself, and as sad as it may sound, I’m happy. Look at me, Lila, right now, I’m not a victim of abuse begging for kindness. I’m Saeran Choi, the man that you chose to love.”

He paused, only to brush his lips against the top of her head. Saeran poured his heart into how he showed her his love and compassion. He always did. Even as she was trembling in his arms, he was trying to reassure her that things were going to be okay. Even if that was a lie that they both knew very well.

There was a weak chuckle at the back of his throat, “For some strange reason, I’m really happy right now. I feel free, too. This is my chance to sacrifice myself for my precious beloved… to be strong in ways that everyone has always been strong for me.”

Lila shook her head at that statement. It was obvious that she was struggling to find something to say amid their dwindling time together. Her hands grasped at his sleeves desperately. It hurt so much. He couldn’t truly want this for himself after getting his freedom. It wasn’t right to be forced into this.

A quiet plea of “No, no, no, no…” escaped her as she furiously shook her head. She didn’t want to let go of him. This wasn’t the way that she thought this was going to end. This wasn’t what it had been planned to be when they started hunting for Saeyoung. Everything was within his reach now and he was…

Saeran didn’t stop her from clutching so hard at him that he could feel the burn, “I always was the weak one, and everyone needed to protect me… but I’ve grown. I can be the one to save my brother now, to save the RFA, to save everyone… and I think it’s an honor that I can lay down my life for you. It proves how far I’ve come. I feel as though I can finally forgive myself for hurting you.”

“Please, tell me you’ll find a way to survive… please… you need to live, my prince! You need to live!” Lila lifted her head to look at him. Her brown eyes ringed with red and tears. She didn’t at all know what else to say. “You’ve fought so hard, this can’t be the end of everything! You need to— You can’t—”

His heart was breaking at the same time that hers was. Yet, in his tears, he was smiling at her just as he always did. He said that he didn’t want to give her memories that hurt. Yet, this was hurting them. It wasn’t just hurting her in this situation… It was hurting him. Lila didn’t want to fight with him.

She just wanted him to value his life as he valued hers and Saeyoung’s.

“...I’m sorry. But, I… I don’t think I can promise you, my love.” He grasped at one of her hands and took it in his own. He pressed it against his cheek. Saeran noted how small her hands felt in his own. She noticed how slender yet firm his grip was. It felt like they were trying to study the other person to memory.

All this time… taken for granted.

His bright eyes were glimmering with tears that matched her own, “Please don’t be sad. I will surely be happy once all my emotions, yearnings, and burdens are gone. You and Saeyoung will survive, and you will be happy. I promise you that. The only thing waiting for us is happiness in the end. Thank you, my love… my light. I know this plan will work. It has to.”

“Why does it have to be like this, Saeran? It’s not fair! You shouldn’t have to throw your life away for us! Why can’t you be happy with us?” her voice cracked despite how hard she was trying to keep it from blowing up in her face. “We’re supposed to be a family. Our family can’t be complete without you! My family can’t be complete without you!”

Saeran closed his eyes. She wasn’t sure if he had the strength to look at her anymore. She wanted him to look because that meant he would have to think twice about this. “You’ve given me more than I ever could’ve dreamed of, Lila. You gave me love, hope, passion, and courage. This power that you’ve given me… this love you’ve coveted. It’s precious to me, and I want to make amends for my mistakes and be the best man I can.”

Resolution of his choices.

Lila never yelled. She never screamed. She never raised her voice at someone in her life, but at that moment, her frustration and anger caused her to speak so loudly of her wishes and her one and only heart, “Then, stay with me, Saeran! Don’t die! Let’s protect our love together and— I don’t know, I don’t know! I just can’t lose you… I can’t… I can’t…”

Her world was crumbling. Their fairytale was rotting. Nothing was going to change it and she wanted to stay. She wanted to stay with him. Despite everything, she broke him in his arms at last and found herself unable to say anything. Her words became nonsensical as he held her so very tightly to his chest.

As Saeran held his life in his hands, the person who gave meaning to his life, it felt like the moon was shining brightly.

“Lila, once this night is over, you can forget about me. Please, forget about me and live on. Be happy. Go back to your life as if nothing happened. Eat, see your friends again, and sleep when you need to rest at night, just like everyone else can. I want you to carry on my deepest wish, an ordinary life.”

“An ordinary life, sometimes… gloomy and lonely, but also… delightful and exciting. A life worth living is what you deserve. I’ll always be waiting for you. Even when my life is over, I’ll be your guardian angel as you were mine all this time, and I’ll always remain by your side. You are the one and only… you’re the start of my love and the end of it. This is the reason why I was born.”

“The only thing that I can feel at this moment is you, and as I hold you… I… I won’t hate anyone for this. I don’t want to be angry anymore. I just want to be free. I’ll be grateful for as long as I have left. I’ll hold onto this feeling of love that you gave to me and never let go. It’s my reason for being. I love you, Lila.”

“Even when my life is no more, I won’t forget all the experiences that I’ve had with you. Short as it may seem, these days have been the happiest of my life. I will cherish them forever. As long as my energy exists in this universe… until the end of time. My love for you is limitless, and it exists beyond mere mortality.”

Saeran kissed her forehead. It spurned her cries to continue but she squeezed her arms around him in response. That was what they did. When he gave her love, she would squeeze his hand to tell him that she wanted more. When she leaned over and kissed his cheek, he would always pull her hand back towards him with a small nudge.  

In many ways, their shared love language was touch.

It always would be.

Their time was running out. She needed to get back to Saeyoung and Vanderwood as soon as possible so that he could distract Rika and V for as long as possible. He looked down towards the ground where his phone lay abandoned. 

The screen lit up in the dirt to let him know that things were about to begin and that the final day had begun. So, he kissed her... he kissed her lips over and over again to remember the feeling of her against his skin. Neither of them stopped to catch their breath. They just wanted to hold onto the other and never let go. But, reality didn't work that way, and their true hearts were torn.

“It’s midnight,” his voice was soft. Though his cries were now prominent between the two of them. It was over now. He had to be brave for his love. “It’s time, my love. I’m afraid this is the end. I love you, I love you, I love you… I love you so much. You’re the greatest gift that I could’ve ever asked for. You’re the only present I could ever want.”

Though her voice was muffled, he knew exactly what she said to him. “Happy birthday, Saeran.”

With any luck, she was going to come back for him, regardless of what he said.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

The Idiot ~ Fyodor Dostoevsky

In which the reader is the last Russian princess from our contemporary times and Fyodor is there to watch, observe, analyse and write a novel while being the reader’s sort of guardian/mentor, all while reader finds herself in an impossible, almost-Anna Karenina-like situation that drives her to desperate decisions.

And yes, I’m very much basing this story Dostoevsky’s “The Idiot” novel, Tolstyi’s “Anna Karenina” and Katyusha, both the Russian song, and the “Resurrection” novel from Tolstoy that has Katyusha as an unfortunate, yet important character.

Also, a little nod to our dear Ana Lesko for her song “Anicyka Maya”, which will serve as a cute little nickname for our dear reader, although the song is Romanian, and it’s about a seductive woman. 

Other nicknames will include: Kiska ( kitten ), Zaika ( bunny ), Kroshka ( little one ), Krasotka ( gorgeous ).

I’m not Russian, I don’t know about Russia’s culture, history and language as much as I know about my own, obviously, but as ex-commie & ex-USSR, we still have a shit ton of similarities. Nevertheless, I will try not to get into too many details that will compromise authenticity.

Luxury, glamour, wealth, gold, jewellery, diamonds, class, facades, masks, masquerades, social gatherings, lies, marriages, politics, horses, deals, gambling... These represent some of the few words people from everywhere around would describe the royal family.

Why do some still exist, anyway? Shouldn’t they have just completely disappeared at the same time with the Romanov family? ...Stupid cartoon movies and their resurrection of Anastasia...

Nobody truly cares about these rich rats who worked naught for their wealth, and would never understand the struggle and poverty of the normal citizens of Russia...They just live in their abnormally huge palace, having more servants than the population of Moscow and eat at one meal more than normal people do in one week altogether.

How utterly ridiculous.

Their lives are all perfect, they marry themselves to keep that ridiculous purity and their infinite wealth in the family...How atrocious!  What about charity? Kindness? Altruism? Helping out the common folk?

All these thoughts, and you’d think a very bitter and vindictive, very poor and malicious person came up with, and yet, the reality was rather distorted. 

From the top stair of the palace, in a dark room, sitting on the windowpane, a gorgeous young woman cast her dull eyes over the snowy city and the people hurrying down the roads, hoping to go home before it got too late and cold.

Maybe they were poor and hateful, and rightfully so, she’d say, but perhaps they can also be deemed happier, if they can take into account their freedom...As much as the government provides them, at least - Yet even so, even the poorest person held more freedom than this caged bird, forever trapped and shackled by fate from the second she was born...As if she had any choice, that is.

Perhaps she deserves this treatment, this hatred, this...Manipulation from her own family, who only see her as a political and financial pawn, planning her marriage from the second she first cried into this world... Like a martyr, she will accept all torture and live on, never knowing what ‘living’ truly means, only imagining it by reading all day and all night long, or when she plays the piano one of the many songs she learnt.

As the grandfather clock rang to 7 times to announce dinner time, Y/N dressed in a simple, yet elegant dress, put on a pair of classy black stiletto shoes, and went down to the luxurious dining room, sitting in her usual seat, only for a brunet stranger dressed in white to grace the sight with his unexpected presence.

She didn’t dare speak to him, yet her eyes couldn’t leave his form, no matter how her meek demeanour made her hung her head to avoid showing anything other than her demure expression.

Thankfully, her parents arrived, along with the waiters that served the food, so it saved some of the awkwardness of the unknown.

“Y/N, darling, this man here is Fyodor Dostoevsky. He is here as a writer, wanting to learn more about us and about people in general. As a compromise, he agreed to be your personal guard...Considering the other one was a sacrilege to our dear daughter...What a lecherous man, making advances on you...But, anyway, let us toast to the success of this young man’s writing career!” the mother raised her champagne, and the four of them clinked glasses. “I thank you for the unique opportunity to learn and understand society and people better. May you live a long and prosperous life.” this new stranger held a charming smile on his face, trying to impress and buy everyone’s trust. “Do you have yet any idea about the theme of your novel? Or, perhaps an idea for a title?” the father asked, making the brunet shake his head softly. “No, not yet, unfortunately. I prefer to study hard, and only then, when I am educated enough, to allow the flow of creation to take over me.” this Fyodor nodded in acknowledgement, while the girl kept completely silent for the duration of the dinner, waiting for everything to be over so she could escape back to the little faux haven she created and called ‘safe’. “Y/N, show Mr. Fyodor to your room, he will be sleeping there for now on. The butlers already brought a spare bed there, so it’s alright.” the mother waved her hand dismissively, and the girl could only bow quickly and go back to her room, making sure to point out what each of the rooms represent, before reluctantly inviting him to her bedroom. “Please, make yourself at home, Mr. Dostoevsky. I hope it will be comfortable and to your liking. Should you need anything, please do not hesitate to tell me so we can make your stay as great as possible.” she spoke to him in a soft, meek voice, not daring to make eye contact in any way. “Call me Fyodor, no need for formalities. We are going to room together, might as well become friendly. What don’t you tell me about yourself? Your hobbies, your interests, your dreams, your aspirations.” the brunet paced around the room, observing all of her personal objects, which, turned out, except for jewellery, books, a small, pink Gloxinia, and a pickup with 1920s British vinyls, there was nothing to represent her...Which was, in its own way, an intriguing peculiarity. “I...Like reading, flowers, music...And I wish I could get a dog and learn how to play the violin too. There aren’t many interesting things about me...I’m not special or anything out of the ordinary. I am not allowed to put myself out there in any way, so this is the little I could do to express who I am.” so tried to be as vague as possible, fidgeting on her feet uncomfortably, knowing that the punishment for embarrassing the family would be grave, should it be known. “Hmmm...I see, I see...Ah, you’re a Tolstoy reader, I see. Anna Karenina...Very interesting, yet tragic, wouldn’t you say?” he asked, picking up a book that was supposed to be hidden. “N-No! Don’t take that out of there...Nobody can know I have it. I was strictly forbidden from reading it...Please don’t tell anyone I have this book.” the princess snatched the book from his hands, hiding it further back in the bookshelf. “Ohh~? Why would you not be allowed to read a Russian book? You’d think the Russian princess would be urged to read Russian literature.” he stepped in front of her, picking her chin and raising her head slightly to allow him to look deep into her fawn-like eyes. “Because of the ending...And the controversial decisions Anna made, some of them even contradictory to her own beliefs, and yet, she made her own decisions, at some point in her life. When your fate is decided from before you are born, having opinions is the worst enemy of a puppeteer...Wouldn’t you agree?” she muttered, walking away from him, taking her nightgown and walking towards her bathroom.

This made the man think more about how dysfunctional this supposed perfect royal family actually was. The illusion of a flawless individual, living together, forming a flawless family, a flawless life, in a flawless palace. 

Perhaps facades aren’t as obvious to see through, or understand, for while the parents are completely bland...This girl...So much potential locked away in a timid chest of massive oak wood, embellished with overly expensive jewellery, clearly unwanted. She could be a genius, shining in her happiness, glowing like her dazzling smile, and yet, there she is, eclipsed by chaff, when she could be burning brighter than the morning Sun.

Those parents of hers think he wants to be here and get dazzled by the infinite stream of diamonds that keep flowing around the whole place - And yet, perhaps they are the ones living in mental poverty, considering they believe financial wealth and fame is the sole reason for being alive - To uphold a certain kind of status that they worked naught for, but received hereditary, from one lazy deadbeat to yet another generation of useless people for this society.

They truly are like the plague, incredibly rare nowadays, but completely fatal once you fall grasp to their dark claws that drag you to hell to succumb to their completely fictional utopian world that they create only amongst themselves, as if whatever lives beyond these golden walls is putrid and deserves to rot to pieces.

As his mind wandered farther and farther away down the country, snowy roads he created with his own imagination of thoughts, he heard the bathroom door softly open, and the angelic creature garbed in a thin - Possibly silk, snow white nightgown - Stepped back into their now shared room, and just as before, her demeanour resembled that of a small, frightened fawn, or a bunny.

When you have to deal with such a pure being that could completely shatter, it’s difficult not to impulsively break down all walls around and snatch her away - It’s close to impossible not to attempt to test all existing boundaries and see the limits where she would break...Or, almost, at least. 

However, abstinence makes for a great suspense and greed...You want more...And more...And the more you wait, the harder it is to resist, but the satisfaction you get when the frail creature trusts you enough to eat from your own palm, and you finally claim it as yours...

It’s Heavenly.

“Sweet Dreams, Fyodor.” she spoke softly, putting on a Tchaikovsky vinyl and picking up a book, getting in bed and reading it, the only light still open being a dim lantern on her nightstand. “How would you like to show me around the city tomorrow?” the brunet asked so casually that it shocked the girl enough to drop her book on her lap. “O-Oh...U-Uhmm...I’m not exactly to go out of this place unless it’s for Christmas shopping...I’m sorry I can’t properly do as you wish...” she quickly took her book back, hiding her face to hide her embarrassment and disappointment. “Well, then, what a gorgeous coincidence, isn’t it? In barely two months, Christmas shall come, and then, you can properly show me around, correct?” the man mused, the ghost of a smirk playing on his face. “..You’re right! My, you’ll get to see the beautiful fairy light and Christmas decorations all around the city! I can’t believe it, you truly chose the perfect time to come here. Oh, and, the ballet, the opera and the national orchestra are going to perform...I believe The Nutcracker is going to play this year...And Traviata. It should be beautiful, don’t you agree?” Y/N asked with a soft smile on her face, sparks gleaming in her eyes, and for the first time since he’s met her, it felt like she was finally alive. “Yes, yes, I would have to agree. And if you are there with me, the experience will be even better.” he hummed, teasing the poor girl who had no idea what else to say to such bold affirmations. “O-Oh...W-Well...Th-Thank you...I-I think...Your presence there will also make the going out more interesting...And nice.” she offered a comeback that pleased the man well enough. “Good night to you as well, Printsessa.”

What a lovely young woman, he thought, as he closed his eyes and let his mind fly at different aspects of life and of humanity, trying to decipher each and every person he met that day and wondering if his assumptions were correct, as they always are.

Morning came by faster than expected as a shy ray of of Sun creeped inside the room through the window, but Fyodor was already awake, writing at the desk rather rapidly - Most likely, he had some inspiration hitting him, so he proceeded to pour out his conflicting thoughts on the paper, all while stealing a peek from time to time at the girl sleeping peacefully, almost as if she was a Disney Princess.

The way the soft light caressed her face had him take the stray streak of h/c hair and pull it back so it won’t tickle her awake, while also being allowed to watch her peacefully inhale and exhale, a small smile on her face...Perhaps she was having a beautiful dream? Was that why she told him to have sweet dreams? Were her dreams her only lovely escape from this horrible reality she was forced to live in?

There were so many mysteries yet to be unveiled, but all in due time, as Fyodor noticed the gentle flutter of her lashes, and with a grace only reserved to a Swan Princess, she raised and stretched with a sweet hum, and the brunet man watched as his eyes felt absolutely blessed seeing such a beauty...

If people complained that Disney Princesses weren’t relatable, since they have messy hair when they wake up, just like Anna, they clearly haven’t seen how perfect Y/N looks, even as she blinks her sleepiness away.

“I see you slept well, Printsessa. Good morning.” she heard him speak, and she noticed it wasn’t as en garde and...It almost seemed...Pleased to see her. “Fyodor...You woke up before me. You should have woke me up. Please wake me up next time, I wouldn’t want you to feel lonely or upset. This place is like a piranha tank...Thread carefully, otherwise, you’re like a little animal who fell in.” she quickly got up, rushing through her daily routine so she could be by his side, not only because her parents assigned her to that, but also because this Dostoevsky man is the only little thing that could rip her out of her completely dull routine and show her a little bit of insight into what could be something out of her imagination entirely. “Aww, the little songbird wishes to spend time with me, how adorable. Very well, Printsessa, what is it that you want to do today? My job here is to observe and write, after all.” he asked, crossing one leg over the other, resting his chin on his fist, watching her with intense interest. “Oh, well, I have to practice the piano today, but other than that, I have nothing in my schedule.” she explained, guiding him to the music room that very much resembled a whole orchestra surrounding a place - Not too small, yet not too big either - Meant for ballroom dancing. “I bet the national orchestra isn’t as fancy as this place is.” he mused, walking up to the cello and tracing his fingertips across the chords. “...Do you know how to play it?” she asked, walking up to him, having the curiosity of a baby fawn exploring the world. “Would you like to hear?” he asked, sitting on the chair and expertly hugging the cello, he grabbed the bow and teased the girl with a mischievous look in his gleaming purple eyes. “Oh, yes, please, if it’s not too much to ask! It would be absolutely splendid.” Y/N clasped her hands together, grinning widely as she stepped a few feet away to give him enough space so he could start playing. “It would be my pleasure, Printsessa.” and with the nod of his head, he started playing the famous Sugar plum fairy song, making the girl gasp in surprise at how gorgeous it sounded.

She crouched to reach the perfect eye view of the bow gliding along the chords, her mouth slightly agape and she gazed with absolute wonder, not even realising when the song was over, for she was much too mesmerised.

“Well, Printsessa, how did you like it?” he rested his arms on the curves of the cello, leaning forwards for a better look at her. “That was better than even our national cello player! It was absolutely stunning, woaw...Just...You left me speechless! You’re...You’re...You are...Perfectly splendid!” she clapped for him rapidly and incredibly enthusiastic, making him chuckle in amusement at her cuteness. “Why, thank you, Printsessa. How about you entertain me now, little Anicyka Maya?” he carefully put the Cello in its place, stepping in front of her and caressing her porcelain skin, quenching his thirst for discovery by seeing her rosy cheeks. “Well...I can’t say I’m anywhere as great as you are...But, sure. I hope you will like it.” she looked down, fidgeting with her fingers as she hurried timidly to the piano, and taking a deep breath, cracking her fingers, she liter her fingers skillfully dance over the keys, as her voice followed every word of the song called “Katyusha”. However, she wasn’t expecting him to applaud and whistle to her, congratulating her for being such a beautiful nightingale. “You clearly underestimate your hard work and talent. Perhaps we should play together one day. I’m sure it would put a smile on your parents’ faces.” Fyodor bowed to kiss Y/N’s hand, only to hear the door opening. “Yes, Mr. Fyodor, we would quite like to hear the two of you dueting together. Since Y/N will have to perform both dance and a song at the piano, as a Christmas tradition, it will show how much she’s improved...If at all. I have to tell you the truth, Mr. Fyodor, over the past few years, she has been exceptionally disappointing...Well, perhaps you coming here will prove to give her a jolt in the right direction.” Y/N’s mother came out of nowhere in the music room, almost as if she was stalking the pair, and Fyodor could see how the Princess’ behaviour changed 180 degrees, and from the excitable and lively young girl, she went back to hide in her guarded shell, trying to protect herself from the numerous blows everyone throws her way.

And just as he expected, once they started playing, despite throwing in one or two intentional mistakes, while she had none of her own, the mother reprimanded her daughter, while praising him. He thought, at first, this was going to be some kind of tough love encouragement and determination she was trying to give the girl, but truly, it was nothing more than unrealistic dreams of an already flawless performance.

This family was nowhere close to being the perfect, or the most loving one, that was without a doubt. But being so horrible to your own daughter, humiliating her in front of a complete stranger, making her tremble softly while trying her best to keep herself from bursting into sobbing fits, was a whole different kind of cruel and unnecessary malice.

For some reason, Fyodor felt a certain kind of warmth in his chest...But not the same kind of warmth he feels when he is around Y/N, but something...Similar to fury. To rage. He was sure he never felt such a personal sort of offense, despite not being him that was belittled.

A terrifying sort of justice bubbled inside him, and he smirked, thinking about just one sole thing.

Crime and Punishment.

Fyodor hoped dearly that it would be only the maternal figure that was the problem, yet it seemed to be much worse, and the toxicity levels that kept vibing all over the place seemed to be equivalent to that of Chernobyl at the time of the explosion.

All throughout the week, he noticed the dirty looks all the staff was giving the Princess, possibly because she was being a shy and quiet pushover...But it went completely beyond his understanding how these servants would even dare be so rude to her, considering she is always so sweet to them, always forgives their mistakes and shares her whole allowance with them in equal parts...

But they complain it’s not enough. They complain others get more, or less, but clearly, they don’t care about that, they just want more and more money...They are greedy jackals who don’t care about the life or soul of a poor little lady who just wants to be happy...

But perhaps happiness isn’t meant for royalty.

A week until Christmas, and Fyodor was ready with the quick draft, and he left it on the desk for Y/N to read, and he couldn’t help but admire and drink in each and every emotion she would express on her lovely face with every word she read, every action, every chapter that stirred more and more conflicting feelings and thoughts battling together - Conflicts that she was trying so hard to hide, no doubt feeling his burning, hawk-like stare on her, analysing her as if she was a new specimen under a microscope.

She was great at hiding what she truly felt, yet her eyes betrayed her inner self, the sparkling of nostalgia and sadness crawling out, shrieking at the top of her lungs to be discovered and taken out of this well of darkness she was drowning in - She wanted to be saved, she was at her breaking point, and clearly, she was afraid. 

Afraid of life. Afraid of people. Afraid of her family. Afraid of this society. Afraid her own self. Afraid of her actions.

And most of all.

She was afraid of spiritual, mental and emotional imprisonment.

As Christmas approached with rapid footsteps, Fyodor could notice how Y/N stiffer, more silent, flinching more, keeping herself in check, alone, barely speaking to anyone...Clearly, she was being stressed out and afraid of the consequences of screwing up anything.

Perhaps, the problem here was the fatalist and completely out of her control destiny she was thrown in, and she knew from the very beginning that, no matter how flawless her performance was, she would still be reprimanded and punished, so she resigned herself to this kind of treatment...The same as every year.

“It’s so beautiful outside...And it’s snowing...! So soft and cold...It’s almost numbing you entirely, but the beauty of Christmas still melts down even the most frozen of hearts.” she spoke with such sadness dripping from her tongue, that Fyodor felt the need to take his fur hat and put it on her head before taking a hold of both of her hands, rubbing them together and kissing her knuckles. “It’s not the day or the decorations that are supposed to move a person, but the kindness and altruism of people. From what I’ve seen in the past weeks, the only consistency in this place is the beauty of your heart and the cruelty of everyone else that keep eclipsing you. You deserve better than this, kroshka.” the man spoke simply, waiting to see the way she’d react. “...I didn’t choose this life, nor did it choose me, yet here I am, trying to keep my head above the water in a whirlpool. I have all my life planned and written ahead of me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. From the very beginning, since before I was even born, they knew they will sell me out to some old, rich man, just so they could benefit, but they cared naught about my well-being, as long as I could keep him entertained in any way possible. The least I can do is try to enjoy the little things...Even if they are nothing more than just that...Little things.” she admits to him, taking away her hands and holding them to her chest, too afraid to trust her own heart. “You let the servants make a mockery out of your kindness. You let your family humiliate you in front of everyone. You let common folk bash you, even if you tip them greatly...Tell me, krasotka, have you read the draft to my book yet?” they continued to stroll down the cobbled streets, looking up at the snowflakes gently dancing in the light of the lamposts, as Fyodor carried most of her shopping bags that held Christmas gifts for everyone but herself. “Yes...I did...But I did not finish it. I was much too afraid to read the ending of it.” she nodded to him, biting her lip nervously. “Afraid? Why ever would you be afraid of reading some words made of ink on a piece of paper?” the man frowned in confusion and interest, hearing such a peculiarity of an answer. “Because...Because I know that Prince Myshkin actually represents me...And how life treats me...So I’m afraid the ending will hint to Anna Karenina’s ending...And I don’t want that. I don’t...That’s why I’m afraid...I’m scared that...I’m scared that I won’t be able to endure this madness anymore, and sooner, rather than later, I will shatter into an unrecognisable version of myself that not even I will decipher...And I will do scary things that I would otherwise be afraid of even thinking about. You know I read the book, I wouldn’t put it past you to tease me like that.” she smiled ironically, shaking her head to stop herself from shuddering at such a dreadful thought. “Congratulations, Printsessa, you are surely insightful. However, I must advise you to read it, and keep in mind that you are not entirely wrong in your thinking. While the ending isn’t identical to Tolstoy’s novel, it isn’t on the complete opposite spectrum either. What you read is one of the possible outcomes of your life, should you choose to remain a passive onlooker and let everyone control you, like a little, pretty doll. Should you, however, choose to take fate into your own hands and finally make your first choice of your life...I can promise you, you are going to be much happier.” Fyodor kissed her forehead before leading her back to the palace so she could take the day off...For tomorrow, she must perform.

But the author wasn’t lying, Y/N realised as she spent the last hours past curfew to finish the book, and she realised that while Myshkin didn’t kill himself, he was still dead inside, and just like the catatonic state he was stuck into, she has been living a life of complete comatose herself.  Fyodor was right all along - A life without choices is not a life, nor is it one without freedom and happiness - And maybe, for the first time in her life, she would make the most difficult decision the universe threw at her, and that was to choose between Duty and Happiness, something every royal member, especially women all over the world, who were seen as nothing more than political and decorative objects meant to create heirs and nothing more, had to pick, and dutifully chose to sacrifice themselves to keep the family and the nobility going.

But not anymore....

“You look beautiful today, my little zaika. This velvet colour of your dress, the way it highlights you stunning silhouette...And this jewellery...And your hair and make up...You are above and beyond the most beautiful person to ever grace this life. How are you going to enchant us today?” Fyodor pat down his white suit so he would look completely impeccable...Or, perfectly splendid, as Y/N would say. “Does it truly matter, in the end? Nobody but you will pay attention, and at the end of the day, I will only hear critiques. It’s the same every year, so there is no point in bothering to stand out, have any particularity or give a name. It just...Is. So...Let me get this over with so I can go to my room and pretend this day never happened...Again.” she muttered, hooking her arm to his, entering the big ballroom together.

A ton of people were there, not only family, but enough family ‘friends’, all of them incredibly rich, with a combined fortune great enough to buy the whole Russia somehow...And all eyes were on her. She didn’t mind. She was used to the nervousness and the either critical or lustful stares she received - But only during these kinds of events, and because she was a Princess, otherwise nobody would have cared about her existence or her feelings...

Nobody...Except for Fyodor.

Until the time of his arrival, nobody cared about her, nor did they bother trying to understand or talk to her, and yet, here he was, always by her side, and frankly, she fell in love with him. She, for the first time in her life, cared naught about everything surrounding her, and she thought solely about him and their time spent together. That is all that mattered to her.

So, with that in mind, and a warm heart, she performed the Waltz of Flowers flawlessly at the piano, along with a few other songs, adding some festive ones. Fyodor was absolutely captivated by the spells she put on people whenever she radiated with such pure gentleness, just like Christmas’ true angel.

Her fingers glided so gracefully over the keys, as she hummed along the music, not even bothering to look at the sheet, for she new everything by heart - But somehow, it all sounded even more magical than before, and nobody could tell why.

But Fyodor knew, and he smiled, figuring out her trick. And he was going to call her out for that when this whole charade was over.  But for now, he allowed himself to enjoy bathing in her radiating warmth, for she was shining brighter than the Sun itself.

By the time she finished her little repertoire, she did a pretty courtesy and walked to the man in the white suit, taking a glass of red wine and sipping from it, that gentle smile never leaving her face.

They exchanged no words, but there was no need for that, as the look in their eyes spoke more than anything else, and they danced the night away, together, in graceful and intimate waltzes, or swaying together, keeping their hearts glued together, beating in sync and feeling each other’s heat.

She might not have wanted to end up like Karenina, but she wasn’t too far away from her situation, and she knew very well, should she leave with this man, she was going to break down every rule, and find an identity for herself, after all these years.

But happiness is emphemeral in the life of a Princess, and just before the Christmas Ball ended, her parents dragged her to the table of this old man, so they would share gifts. This old man, who so happened to be the man chosen to be her future husband, and had fewer hairs on his head and teeth in his mouth than her age.

Most of the gifts were pretty basic - Jewellery for women, cigars, fedoras, watches for men...But for her...She received some of he oddest gifts so far - And yet, she thought life couldn’t surprise her anymore.

Several little outfits, fit for babies, were neatly folded in all boxes, sans one - The sole box being a small, velvet box, which revealed a sapphire ring that expressed the definite bond of marriage that must be officiated very soon, through papers and a church ceremony.

Frozen was the clock, frozen was the time, and frozen was life itself, for the shock was great - Being put on the spot is scarier than the anticipation and fear of venturing into the unknown - Yet here she was, with her supposed fossil of a husband, with several babies promised to be born, and a very angry author, watching the disgusting exchange of pleasantries between the elder people.

He noticed Y/N doing a little courtesy, excusing herself with a nervous smile, and rushing out of the ballroom, the clicks of her elegant heels giving away her location at all time. Following her, he saw her on the edge of the rood, barefoot, her back to the empty space, as she hummed, looking up at the clouds pouring snow, and swaying to her tippy toes occasionally.

“You sure like the feeling of being alive, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be staying there after being faced with such a disgusting situation.” he pointed out, clasping his hands behind his back and carefully stepped towards her. “Life is full of surprises. But it is not called life, unless you have a say in the paths that you go down by. Today, I realised what I have to do in order to achieve true bliss and happiness...Something ethereal, although utopian in its quintessence. I have to make a choice. And right now, I’m making it.” she smiled, extending her arms to the side, resembling a Goddess, as a few stray tears streamed down her face - But they were tears of relief, not of fear, anxiety of depression. She was happy. “You said you didn’t want to choose the path of Karenina, nor of Myshkin, and yet, there you are, on the brink of death, as the way to show that you are no longer a caged bird. Is it truly worth it, in the end?” Fyodor asked, frowning at the delusional words she was spewing. “Death is but the beginning of a new adventure, and with me falling, I will find out what freedom is, unlike all the other Princesses before me. It is not death I’m choosing, nor will I regret it as soon as I step into this free fall hazard, like Karenina, and, as you can see, I chose to wake up from my catatonic state, unlike Myshkin. I know what awaits me as soon as I reach the ground...But do you?” Y/N hummed in amusement, watching the conflict painted all over his face - And it was for the first time that Fyodor showed such confusion and inner turmoil, that much was obvious to her. “Stop this, Y/N, I don’t understand your reasoning, but don’t kill yourse- “ but he couldn’t finish his sentence, for the girl uttered just a few words - Words that changed even the rotation of the Earth around the Sun - And as she pushed herself on the tips of her toes, she embraced the cold wind of Winter being her guide down to the ground, as she watched the snowflakes following her down.

And she smiled.

Because love won, and life won, and she knew she chose correct - These weren’t the times to choose everyone else over herself anymore, and nor is she a saint, a martyr, an angel, or some perfect Christian role model.  She was just a woman thirsting for happiness and for the tangible sensation of life and of flying, and with this jump, she got completely wasted.

The secure embrace of a white angel made sure she lived for another day, but not quite, for her guardian angel jumped to save her, yet had no idea himself that he wasn’t the only special one, after all, and just as they were going to reach the ground, time seemed to stop, and they reached the ground gracefully and softly, like two linked feathers.

She lay down on the crystal blanket of snow, laughing mirthfully, almost with a childlike charm, as her long hair was sprawled all over her, and Fyodor’s arms were fiercely holding her, and he looked down at her, his eyes wide in understanding.

“I didn’t choose death. I chose life. I chose love...I chose you, and I chose me. I knew you had an ability too, and that you were confident in it, so I was sure that, should you choose to, you could jump from the roof of the palace to save me - Which you did. I never really have the opportunity to use my ability, but it’s rather useful in some situations, if I can say so myself. So, by the way you’d respond to my feelings and actions, I’d know whether I chose right or not...I think we both know the answer now, don’t we?” she grinned mischievously, extending a hand to his face to caress it gently. “That’s the most idiotic, most reckless thing anyone has ever one...And yet, you strategised everything, as if we were pieces in a game of chess. How did you get the courage to reach such a conclusion?” his voice was low, like a murmur, trying to understand her impossible, labyrinthine mind. “Life offered me a Christmas gift today, and that was serendipity, so, I used it. Everything else was a perfect strategy of a game of chess I played myself - The White King versus the Black King - And, was far as my luck and the universe brought about, I believe I won. But you must still answer back, otherwise, the magic will vanish.” Fyodor noticed a smirk growing on her face - One that somehow resembled his, and he almost felt conflicted seeing her mimicking him in his demeanour, in a way...But he also felt incredibly proud. “I cannot take you with me, Y/N. The part I walk is dangerous, it could even be fatal, and I would rather you not walk down a boulevard of broken dreams. You just now achieved happiness, don’t throw it out of the window. It a world full of crimes, I choose to be both the justiciar and the executioner of the unworthy. In a world of crime, I shall inflict punishment upon the evil-doers and paint this world red with the blood of the guilty.” he wanted her, he truly didn’t want to leave without her, nor did he want to leave her alone, here, with these hyenas, but could he really have it in his heart to endanger her so? “Fyodor, my darling, it matters naught for me whether I live or die, as long as the journey is by your side, and I’m not shackled anymore. I want to see, I want to hear, I want to touch, I want to taste, I want to smell, I want to learn. Everything. Without exception. There is a whole world out there, open, waiting to be explored and unveiled, and I shall be its explorer. As long as I have you by my side, I will surely be fearless. Being a hero, being a villain, or anything in between is of no concern for me...However, I cannot deny that I would be rather...Interested in seeing you deliver the sentence down to...Some specific people.” she giggled, winking at him, as she obviously hinted towards her kin and the unlimited amount of gossips she has heard about so many people, over the years.

With a wide smirk on his face, Fyodor Dostoevsky helped Princess Y/N on her feet and gave her a passionate, fire-like kiss, before picking her up bridal style and making their way to her room, so she would start packing and leave at the earliest convenience.

There may still be a bit of official work to do at the palace, and as his ability is called, there is no crime without punishment, he was going to make sure of that. Until then, there was one thing certain, and one alone, that was going to guide the both of them to a path of exciting uncertainty and thrill.

“I love you, my dear Y/N.”

[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

Good morning/afternoon/evening/night, Ralph. (I think I covered all my time zone bases there). I have been thinking lot lately about all the rhetoric in the fandom about Harry’s health and well-being, and how loud it has felt this year. To be clear, I am not asking for you to weigh in with your own speculations about how Harry is doing, unless you feel comfortable doing so. (I’m not telling you what to do either way, obviously, seeing as I am only a little grey icon in your inbox and have no right or way to demand anything of you.) I’m more looking for guidance or even just your rambling thoughts about what is respectful and appropriate when we’re wondering about a celebrity’s well being, and how you handle your own thoughts and assumptions about this. I feel like over the course of the last year we’ve just been inundated with all this panic and speculation about how Harry is unhappy or unhealthy or otherwise not himself, going all the way back to the Jingle Bell Ball Golden performance. Every time we get any new content there’s a wave of people saying he looks too thin and overworked like he’s not getting enough food or rest, or overweight and out of shape (pick a lane, people), he looks stressed, he looks sad, he looks angry, his eyes have lost their sparkle, his smile is dim, he’s addicted to drugs, he’d addicted to drugs because Jeff is doping him up to keep him going, he’s going to quit music, he’s going to hurt himself, blah blah blah. And the people making these “observations” hide behind the assertion that they’re just worried for his health when they’re faced with any sort of criticism.

This whole ongoing rhetoric feels really…icky? I suppose? to me. I do kind of think he has looked more drawn and intense (“stressed” and “sad”) in the content we’ve gotten this year, but I also think (1) the content we’ve gotten has largely been pap shots and stunt stuff, (2) this year he had to postpone his tour, and we know he loves performing so that must have really sucked, and (3) this year has just been rather shit for all of us, we’re all stressed and sad and scared and frustrated by the larger political and social goings on, and by the ways our own lives are impacted. In the past, the content we’ve gotten where Harry looks the happiest and most at ease has been performance footage or him with his family and loved ones. We haven’t gotten any of that this year. It makes sense that the pictures we do get would feature him looking less than completely relaxed and jubilant. And then there are all the assumptions that he’s lost weight or gained weight and is therefore unhealthy or on drugs or drinking a lot and that just honestly pisses me off. You cannot tell jack shit about a person’s health from their weight, and especially not in random pictures taken at random intervals in random settings. To pretend you can is harmful, and Harry probably won’t see you making these assumptions about his mental and physical health based on the prominence of his cheekbones in a set of pap pics, but friends and strangers who are already struggling with their weight will. And the assertion that someone is dealing with an addiction of any kind (or, god forbid, and I hate even typing this, being subjected to drug use at the hands of someone with power over them) is an allegation that a) you can’t make from one picture and b) has really deep, life altering, tragic and painful and hard consequences for that person and all their loved ones, and deserves more respect and deference than to be treated as something you can just throw out into the great wild beyond and then forget about.

But beyond the fact that people are making hurtful and invasive allegations and assumptions about a real person’s private life based entirely on a very very limited and posed and edited set of content that was hand chosen to be given to us, I think the thing that bothers me the most is it feels like the people who are driving these conversations are doing so because they want something from Harry. It’s never (or rarely, I suppose) “man Harry looks tired in the pictures we’ve gotten lately, I really hope he’s taking care of himself, things have been so hard for us all.” It’s always “Harry has been so withdrawn and sad and angry he’s not communicative with fans and he’s not willing to engage with them when he sees them in public and I miss him. I miss my Harry. I miss happy Harry. I want him back. Give me Harry back.” Which tells me the concern isn’t Harry or Harry’s health, but rather the feeling that Harry owes us something that he hasn’t been giving, and now he must pay up or give us a valid excuse.

Then I do, occasionally though, find myself thinking “am I doing exactly what I’m complaining about? Am I assuming the worst of people based on a limited set of insights into their lives?” And in the wake of the Britney legal battle that has been unfolding recently, I sometimes wonder if maybe as fans we do have kind of a duty to call out celebrities when they seem to be struggling or acting incredibly out of character. Most of the time I follow this up immediately with the thought that I’m not responsible for anyone else’s health and safety, much less that of a 27 year old man I’ve never met and have no connection to beyond liking his music and his face, and I do truly believe that, but there is some part of me that feels uneasy just turning off all my concern, because I am a person who tends to be greatly concerned about everyone, who just wants everyone to be happy and healthy and safe and loved, and who wants to help people feel that way, where and when I can. So I guess what I’m asking, in the incredibly long winded and winding way I ask anyone anything (my poor husband, he gets a novel from me every time I ask what he thinks we should do for dinner) is do you have any of these same feelings and concerns? How do your navigate them? Where do you draw a line? Do you just withdraw completely from this type of speculation? How do you balance being a kind, engaged, empathetic fan with being a respectful, responsible fan who knows their limits? (And man, isn’t that the ultimate question?). Your blog is one I end up on whenever something big happens or a particular conversation pops up, because I’ve found that I really value the way you break things down and are willing to consider them from many perspectives, so I appreciate you even taking the time to read this.

Thanks for your interesting thoughts about Harry anon. I feel like there's a lot to respond to here and I'm going to start by answering the questions your questions - and then I'm going to get distracted and talk about a post I really hated.

I'm always a little bit worried about Harry, and all 1D members. He might be really struggling, that's always a possibility. Harry has lived a very intensely scheduled high workload life since he was 16. He might have had all sorts of responses to the fact that that schedule was removed, or anything else that is happening in his life. But I feel like I'm generally pretty boundaried about those concerns.

I think part of it is because my base line assumption is that boyband members are pretty fucked up. You don't need to know a lot about the history of touring musicians to know that. I think I've said before that if 1D members are eating every day and not doing needle drugs then they're doing better than we have any right to expect (and if they're not eating and are doing needle drugs, then those are coping mechanisms for intense stress and there's no shame in either of them).

I do think it helps with boundaries to be starting from a point that acknowledges how hard it is to be a popstar. I'm all about fantasies of omnipotence and in my day to day life I think I can fix all sorts of things, but I don't think I can make any difference to any 1D member's life.

In addition, I am profoundly affected by having been a fan throughout 2016. We know what it looks like when Louis was going through a horrendous, devastating, trauma - and it looks pretty normal.

None of this means I don't have opinions, or worries, but I am aware that my opinions or worries aren't facts. It's rare that I think that my worries should matter even to people reading my tumblr, let alone other fans in general, and certainly not Harry. You say 'am I doing the same thing as other people assuming the worst about people...', but I'd argue that that's actually not the problem. There's nothing wrong with assuming the worst of people. What is wrong is when fans think their assumptions about a celebrity should matter to anyone else. You don't have to turn off your concern to think that it's not a priority.

I definitely think it would be a very bad thing if people took the moral as the 'free Britney' movement as 'fans should call out celebrities when they think they're struggling'. That sort of surveillance isn't effective or useful. What has been useful for Britney is solidarity in a well documented power struggle, which is a very different thing.

And I can't emphasise enough how important the 'well documented' aspect of this is. What most fan worrying about Harry amounts to is: 'I don't like what he's doing, and there's no way he'd do things I didn't like and therefore there must be something wrong with him'. That's a really controlling way of thinking about people. I really think it's important not to reproduce that abusers logic.

I am pretty well insulated from that sort of discourse from a very well weeded dash. But I saw a post that was mostly about other fandom stuff, that treated assumptions like: "Harry must hate being with Olivia and he's suffering and it's clear he's not happy with his image and his team" as building blocks that you don't even have to argue for (this is the post - and I'm going to come back to one of the things someone said that was even worse in a second).

Lets stop for a minute and imagine that Harry hasn't got a problem pretending to date Olivia, and his main concerns are about the messiness of life and his career at this point in time. It is really fucked up and agressive, and pretty hateful towards Harry, to say 'oh he couldn't possibly want this. It's clear that he hates it.' etc. (I feel like I've been making this argument for years about people who object to Louis doing such things as smoking and not performing middle-class culture for them). When fans trash talk what Harry is doing at the moment, and suggest that believing he could be choosing what he's doing is some how an act of huge disrespect to him, there is every chance they are trash talking him and the choices he's making.

The final thing I want to draw attention to is how often this sort of fan storytelling is combined with a profound lack of interest in what 1D members are actually going through. The tags screen shotted and added on to the post I reblogged actually described Holivia as Douis 2.0. Apparently assuming that there was absolutely no connection between Douis, and Louis and his family's ultimately successful efforts to privacy as Jay was dying. What the fuck is wrong with people that they ignore that, and erase that? There's far more interest in making up 1D members suffering so that fans can continue to tell the stories they want to tell, than actual acknowledgement of what we know that they went through.

Sorry I got distracted. What I'm trying to say is that there's nothing wrong with having feelings about celebrities or telling stories about them. But it's so important to acknoweldge the limits of your knowledge and power, even when fandom discourse encourages the opposite.

[random-imagines-blog]

Seeing Stars (Thranduil x Reader Oneshot)

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2189 Summary: A snowy walk with Thranduil goes slightly awry.

You’ve never breathed in air that felt so crisp and clean before. The cold was so much that you could barely feel it as you walked among the trees, bare during the winter. Your breath was coming out in a misty vapor, nearly freezing the tip of your nose, but once more, you could not feel it. The snow had paused for the moment, which was why you had decided to take this walk, and to your surprise, the grand King Thranduil of Mirkwood had decided to join you, leaving his covered throne room to walk outside. The stars were beautiful tonight, though the King was a distraction from the sights around you. And the sounds, since you could hear the animals in the forest scurrying around, getting the last of the food before hiding away for hibernation. There was no such thing as perfect in the world, but if there was - this was the closest that you believed anyone or anything could come to it.

“Is it hard to live in the forest during the winter?” You found yourself asking, then realized with horror that you had not addressed Thranduil in the way that he liked. “Your majesty,” You quickly added on. He, being taller than you, flicked his eyes downwards with amusement at how you hastened to add on the title.

“It  has flaws, though they are few, of course. We elves have learned to deal with things like ... temperature.” You could feel the ego in his voice. The ‘better than thou’ attitude that you had gotten used to from him, but you never spoke aloud about. Because you also knew that it was all just on the surface. If he truly thought he was better than humans, he never would have kept you around, surely.

“With your very long lives, you might have learned some manners?” You said, more as a suggestion. You really were overstepping your boundaries, you knew, but you were of the human reason, which automatically meant a stubborn streak. He raised an eyebrow at you, very much like the Drama King that he is.

“Manners?” He pondered, looking straight ahead of him. He’ll rise to the bait, he supposed, if only to prove you wrong. “Will you accompany me out of the forest tonight?”

“Why, what’s out there?” You asked, a shiver going up your spine. There may be peace in middle earth now, with Aragorn as King, but there were still dangers lurking about, like wild animals and bandits.

“Less trees, I imagine,” Thranduil said. He offered you his arm, and you took it. This was very rare indeed, since it’s not as if you were of elven nobility. You were just a messenger that Legolas had sent from Minis Tirith, a human that he trusted to get the message across. You had expected to return right after getting an answer, but Thranduil had invited you to stay and curiosity got the better of you. It wasn’t everyday that you were invited to stay in a beautiful Elven city.

“I almost think you’re up to something, your majesty,” You added his title on quicker this time. He seemed to like that since his hand patted your own which was against his arm. His footing was sure, quick and light, while you felt like an Oliphaunt next to you. While he didn’t make a sound against the ground, managing somehow to avoid any fallen brush and branch, you sounded like you were trampling through a forest thicket.

“At least any animal would be scared away by your noise,” He retorted. You curled your nose at his direction but didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. He hummed, amused by that, as you walked out of the borders of the forest, and into wide open space. It was almost scary how far you could see. How far, perhaps, someone could see you. The thought made you hold onto him a little tighter. “It’s not as lonely if you look up.”

So look up you did.

There were so many stars that at first, you thought that you had walked out to see a swarm of fireflies. But it was the wrong season for those, and once it reached your mind that it was indeed the sky, and that the cold of the night whisked away the clouds so you could see them properly, and the moon was barely a sliver so it’s light was not a distraction, your breath caught in your throat. Your neck started to hurt from bending it upwards at the angle, but that didn’t matter.

Thranduil stood beside you, not looking up, but looking at your profile. His eyes were narrowed at your reaction, a curiosity with a touch of confusion. He’d seen the stars many times, but did not pay them attention the way you did.

“I’ve heard that humans have stories for the stars. Tell me,” He commanded gently. He stood with his hands clasped in front of him, waiting somewhat patiently. He didn’t like to not be the center of attention for the moment. He wanted you to look at him, or at the very least to speak.

“Stories?” You asked, finally giving your neck a break, and turned to face him. “Oh, I guess that there are a few. Don’t the elves have special meanings behind the stars?”

“Yes.” He said, but gave no other answer. He was still waiting for you to do as you commanded. There was an expectant look in his eye that drew you in, which made your mouth start to form the words.

“I guess the big one is shooting stars,” You started. “When you see one fly across the sky, you’re supposed to make a wish. It’ll make it come true. Though I haven’t tried that since I was young. My wishes never came true. I decided it was a waste of time and-”

“What did you wish for?” Thranduil cut in.

“Adventure,” You said with a laugh. You looked back upwards for a second. “I guess that it did come true, though it took some time.”

“Patience is a virtue,” He said, rather hypocritically, but you weren’t about to point that out. “Let’s begin the walk back.”

“Alright,” You said, falling back in line with him, but a step behind. “We also use constellations to find our way.”

“So humans do have some sense after all,” He said, the corner of his mouth going up in a rare smile. You laughed a little at that, smiling down at the ground.

“That’s almost a compliment, King Thranduil. Are you feeling alright?”

“Perfect,” He responded. “Does everyone wish for adventure on these shooting stars?”

“No, I imagine not. People want a wide variety of things. Love, maybe. Money, definitely. Gold. Power. The list could go on and on.” You two walked in silence for a moment, before a thought came to you. “What would you wish for?”

He turned to you, his perfect white hair hardly moving as he did so. There was not even a trace of a wind here amongst the trees.

“I am King of these woods. What makes you think that I have want for anything?” He questioned you. It wasn’t as severe as the words would have made you think. He was softer at that moment, like he had thought of something. It seemed more that he knew something was missing, and he was asking you to tell him what it was. You crossed your arms in front of you to keep in the shivers, as the still air still had a chill to it. You could smell snow in the air.

“A wish could be outlandish if you wanted it to be. The only limits are your imagination.” You let yours spread as you looked at the canopy that blotted out the stars above. “I would wish, right now, for my mother’s cooking. The way that she made bread, oh and the wine, and the cakes that were always moist! If I think about it anymore, I’ll be beside myself with hunger.”

“You’ve never tried elven cakes,” Thranduil said, as close to snorting as a distinguished elf could be. “They’d put your mothers to shame.”

“I ought to slap you for even making that comment. You’re lucky that you are a King, your Majesty. Such a thing is almost treason back home.” Your cheeks were starting to get red, as well as your ears. Those very words were fighting ones. Were you not getting closer to the company of guards, you would have yelled at him.

“And then I would have to imprison you for laying hands on the King. I’d end up having to keep you here forever. Perhaps that would be my wish,” He said, with a smirk that made orcs seem tame. Your human temper was flaring up now.

“That would be a cruel use of a wish. If I were you, I would use it on something more important, like a personality to go with those looks,” You shot back, your irritation was definitely clouding your judgment. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m the only person who spends time with you who isn’t a part of your guard. Maybe that should tell you something.”

“That I should attempt to swat the gnat that flits around my face?” He asked, clearly enjoying himself while your mood went darker and darker.

“You’re cruel,” You said with narrowed eyes, stopping your walk by going in front of him and standing. You were not the tallest human by any standards, not even as tall as Thranduil, but you knew some tricks to make you seem big. Puffed out chest, head held high. “And you’re arrogant, and you’re-”

As you leaned in to try to seem more threatening, your mind gave you a bunch of warning signs. A guard could come along and shove a sword through you at any moment for threatening the King. Thranduil himself could knock you away from him in a blink of an eye. He was a skilled warrior, after all. You froze, only a few hair widths away from the face of the King, who looked as if he were made of stone. He wasn’t moving. You weren’t moving.

But then thinking about all that he had just said, the fire returned. How dare he? Just because he was an elf, he thought that he was better than you. He thought that he could just imprison you.

You wanted to scream into his face, but that would just make things worse for you. An elf would come along and take your arm with ease and lead you to the dungeons. The tale of Bilbo and the Dwarves had reached your ears some time ago, but you would not have the same luck escaping, you knew that much. So you did something else. Something that Thranduil’s all-seeing eyes would not have been able to see coming.

Your soft lips touched his own cold ones, right at the corner where they went into a dimple, leaving just a trace of a kiss there. There was a thin line between love and hate, between lust and anger. Let him stew over this reaction for a while.

You blinked and settled back onto the soles of your feet, having somehow managed to go on your tip toes without realizing it. Thranduil stared at you still, not having blinked once during the encounter.

“I should keep you here,” He said, his voice low.

Well, that wasn’t the reaction that you wanted, or were expecting. And now you became nervous, almost terrified at the prospect of him locking you up because you went with a smug impulse. You weren’t so smug now, that’s for sure.

“That is my wish. There is a shooting star somewhere. I’ll wish on that right this moment. I wish for you...” You closed your eyes like a coward, expecting the worst. “- to stay here in Mirkwood with me for the rest of your natural life.”

“I don’t know if your son would like it that his friend,” You emphasized the word, though you were more of a messenger than a friend to the elf, “-is being kept a prisoner by his father.”

Thranduil laughed. Oh, he laughed, which would be damn adorable if it didn’t seem so threatening given the circumstances.

“Perhaps prisoner is a strong word,” He said, a rosy glow on his cheeks, which you noticed when you slowly opened your eyes once more. “I’d like you to continue to stay as my guest.”

“As your guest?” You questioned. “Even though I just kissed you?”

“It was certainly unexpected,” He said, offering you his arm to continue the stroll despite being near his palace once more. “I’m curious as to what you would do if I gave you compliments rather than teasings.”

[xlady-saya]

slurred [drabble]

Relationships: andrew/neil

Summary: They're not the type of people to give up control, but with each other they're willing to bend the rules.

Tags: rated m, tipsy andreil, too much fluff and cheesiness 

Read on ao3!

“Waaaait,” Neil slurs, putting too much emphasis on the last letter. He grabs Andrew’s sleeve and stares at it a little too long, like the creases of pleather will aid him in speech. His brow furrows, eyes blinking away the haze of alcohol as best he can. It doesn't necessarily work; Andrew is nothing but a man of his word.

He'd mixed Neil's drinks well.

Andrew doesn’t consider himself easily amused, except for when it comes to Neil. He can admit that now, begrudgingly, but he doesn’t let the smile he’s fighting reveal itself as Neil tries to form words. It probably fails, because Neil is looking up at him again, wide eyed like Andrew handed him the world.

Mm, weird comparison. Andrew's barely tipsy, if at all, but having a drunk Neil in his lap is almost secondhand. It makes his head swim, pulling it every which way.

For once, he can't find room to mind.

Neil shakes his head, puffing out his cheeks while he pokes Andrew's barely-there smile. “Just wait.”

He does indeed wait.

Andrew hums, resting his forehead on Neil's. He does it a little too hard, knocking against him. What's going on in there?

Drunk Neil is more of an enigma than regular Neil, but still just as interesting.

They do this now...sometimes.

They're not comfortable drinking in excess around anyone else, but around each other they've started the tradition of stealing away to the Columbia house to indulge in ways they normally wouldn't.

Calling it ‘comfortable’ might be a strong word for it.

Andrew's eyes drift over to the door while Neil's lips brush his sloppily, side-tracked. He returns it, since that's what these weekends are for. Indulgence.

His tongue licks into Neil's mouth, soaking up the taste of whiskey and trying to convince himself that's the only reason he hums into it. Like it's not all Neil, with his body buzzing against his and still thinking, thinking.

Distracting, but still, Andrew's vigilant. The dresser in his room is pressed against the door, sealing them in, sealing threats out. The windows are shut, his knives are nearby, but he never bothers with his armbands during nights like this.

Neil stays too close for that to be an option, too unwilling to leave Andrew's warmth, and...Andrew doesn't want him to.

And it's the most amusing thing, how he's come to that point, how he's been at that point for so long yet it still feels like a novelty.

The full body urge to deny is barely there.

For some ludicrous reason, his protectiveness surges, and he pulls Neil farther into his lap. Neil's yelp dissolves clumsily into a hiccup, which Andrew greedily swallows. Neil's cheeks are too warm, stained red from his flush, and the soft smacks of their lips are a decent accompaniment to the creak of the bedframe.

Andrew's back presses into the headboard, drawing out more sounds from the wood as his muscles tense in anticipation that won't be fulfilled.

He doesn't drink a lot, partly because he hates being out of control, and partly because it makes him vulnerable. He always makes sure everything is secure when they do this, and there's always boundaries for both their sakes.

In the back of his mind, he knows he allows this, wants this, because Neil is important. The unfortunate flip side of that is...Neil is important.

And real.

And extra vulnerable like this.

Yet, Neil pays it no mind. It's not that he's unaware of it, the dangers of being inebriated. It's why he never allowed himself in the past. But here he considers it worth it, welcome. He trusts Andrew, so it's--

"Hmm, nice," Neil babbles intelligently, pulling away half an inch. Andrew can feel his breath against his lips, and wills himself to not dive back in.

Their boundaries are simple for these nights: no sex, no matter how much they discuss it prior. Andrew trusts Neil to say no when he's sober, not any other time. He would never risk it. But the kissing is welcome, the trail of hands anywhere above the waist is encouraged unless Andrew says otherwise.

And within those boundaries, Neil is as handsy as ever.

Neil becomes fixated on the stretch of the fabric around Andrew's shoulders, squinting until his fingertips press down against the muscle he's looking for. It was giving Andrew trouble earlier in the week.

For someone so toasted, Neil can be terrifyingly aware.

"Am I still waiting?" Andrew asks, and as if the words are a reminder that oh yes, Andrew indeed has a mouth, Neil tries to lean in for another kiss. Andrew stops him, just in time. "Neil."

"That is me."

"Your question?" Andrew huffs out, hand going to Neil's nape to steady him, the roughness of split ends so familiar to his fingertips. He uses his grip to move Neil's head, like a puppeteer, making him nod.

Dummy.

Neil shakes him off with a snort, before he's finally blessed with his eureka moment. "Oh! Did you crush on anyone while in juvie? I don't--I don' think I've asked you that one."

It shouldn't sound so revolutionary, but after so many years, there's not many questions Neil hasn't asked him.

Andrew rolls his eyes, pushing Neil over until he flops onto the bedspread. As tipsy as he is, even he knows trying to sit up is a bad idea, and waits for Andrew join him.

"Seriously?" Andrew scolds, leaning down so he can be beside his disaster. He pulls down Neil's shirt to cover up the strip of revealed skin, telling himself not to fixate on it. "I've never had a crush."

The need to get off? An appreciation for hot men? Sure. No crushes.

Infuriatingly, Neil grins up at him like the cheshire cat himself. "Except on meeee."

Andrew tries to tilt Neil's face away from him, but it springs back automatically, grin wider and wider.

He tries twice before giving up.

Andrew can't fight the urge anymore, as dangerous as the position is. He drapes himself over Neil, bracketing the striker's head between his elbows, and Neil's legs instinctually wrap around Andrew's hips.

They both freeze. Neil at least has the decency to look sheepish, though there's that fire lurking in his gaze, mixed with the delirium and adoration Andrew often can't stomach. Deadly; nothing good comes from that look, precisely because when sober Neil gives him that look Andrew ends up abandoning all other tasks.

But this is not sober Neil.

Despite that, Andrew isn't worried, or antsy. Neil won't cross the boundaries they laid out, no matter how close they get, no matter how much their bodies want it.

There's something exhilarating about that, about knowing they can toe the line without fear of hurting each other. Andrew has never handed someone that trust before Neil, and has certainly never had it handed to him to such an extent.

It's more intoxicating than liquor, than nicotine in his lungs.

"Hey," Neil asks, wriggling in place. Even with the content of his words, his smile turns soft, and Andrew feels Neil's thighs press against his hips tighter. "Wanna do it?"

Andrew throws him an unamused expression, and Neil's laugh is broken up by hiccups. Andrew's glad he cut him off when he did; Neil smells too much like all of Andrew's addictions. Alcohol, cigarettes, and an unidentifiable scent that's a combination of both of them. Neil's shampoo, Andrew's leather jacket...

"I didn't say let's do it, I asked if you wanted to," Neil points out, pulling Andrew down to kiss him. Of course, Andrew picks up the distinction.

It's still annoying.

Andrew lets all of his weight fall down on Neil as he returns the kiss, bucking his hips only once before removing himself entirely. Neil seems less than displeased, body moving slowly until he fits right against Andrew's chest. He knows the drill, knows when it's time to sleep so Andrew can nurse their hangovers in the morning.

Andrew's arm finds his waist easily. Safer, still connected.

Andrew does still have some work to do, he supposes, because only when his face is pressed into Neil's neck, where those glowing blue eyes can't pull him apart, does the word come easy.

"Yes."

And Andrew's not sure what they're talking about anymore, if they're talking about anything important or coherent at all. He's not even sure they're talking about sex.

Neil's brain is untrustworthy like this; Andrew never knows what he's thinking.

All he knows is that Neil sighs back into him, hand finding his.

"Alright, mmm then...tomorrow," Neil stretches out the 'w' this time, giddy with it as he giggles, and Andrew huffs a laugh along with it. "If you still wanna."

And as drowsy as he is, he gets a drop of clarity. Let's do this day all over again, together.

'If you still want me, and I still want you. As long as both those things are true.'

Delirious, the words rhyme and repeat over and over. A mix of things swirl in his head, some ugly, some doubting. But through the fog, Andrew is truly becoming hopeless.

Because at least on his side of things, he can't imagine those things ever not being true.

Andrew's ease grows, pressing itself into Neil like he can transfer it. He has something to blame it on, the alcohol making his limbs heavy, relaxed. But Neil's never been fooled before, and no matter how many times they do this, Neil never forgets anything.

That's alright too, he supposes.

"Ask me tomorrow," he breathes, and regards the door one last time. Locked.

Ask. Because he doesn't mind repeating it.

Neil hums, a sleep spell for the both of them, and Andrew allows himself a pat on the back.

Yes, he mixed both their drinks well, but they're not the reason for this feeling.

If that concerned him before, he lets himself be relieved it doesn't now.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Okay, here’s a final answer, just for clarification - 

- 

Firstly, please understand that I’m not angry, and I’m not upset. I just tend to speak very matter of factly, I guess? If I seem cold or something when typing this response, it's not a personal attack towards you or some display of aggression, that's just how I word things sometimes, I don't mean for them to be misinterpreted or want you to think I’m like getting mad with you or etc. Me disagreeing does not inherently equal me being mad about something, it merely means that I disagree, which is an emotion neutral action. If someone said 2+2 = 6, I would disagree, and openly so, but that doesn’t mean I’d also be like, crying about it or upset with them or something lol. 

 I actually even stated so at the end of my tags last time - 

 So, I apologize if you interpreted my tone as being mean, but I was simply trying to be firm and direct in how I said things so you understand that it's a very serious matter, and I didn't want to be light about it. 

There was a bit of jokiness/sarcasm/exaggeration as well I suppose, but again, that’s not an inherent indicator of upset, just the way I speak - especially when your question can be seen as rude to begin with (which usually leads people to care less about faking positive emotions or seeming polite to others. If a person is not polite to you, you’re not likely to watch how you communicate as much or attempt to display high politeness back). My default state is a neutral flatness as I have a very shallow emotional range (shout out to schizophrenia spectrum negative symptoms and other various issues lol), any excessive positivity or “perkiness” or something that I display is just an attempt to be polite and communicate with others in a simple and kindly manner (in real life I’m often seen as too stoic, blunt, detached, cold, etc. lmao, so in general communication with strangers I tend to overcompensate to being excessively polite instead) - but that also means I can accidentally drop that sometimes if I’m being “real” or whatever. 

-

Anyway, now that concerns over my tone have hopefully been explained, I’ll address this issue about your previous ask in a numbered list. Please read ALL of this, if you are actually taking this seriously. If you don’t actually read, in detail (no skimming), this entire response, then this is not even a discussion since you’re not willing to genuinely engage in the first place. -  

-

Firstly, here is the original ask, for reference  ----

 As for how your question can be rude: 

(1.) In my initial response (in the tags of your answer), I asserted various things, mostly that the question was rude, and that it’s not appropriate to ask people, for a variety of reasons. I’ll explain those in more length here. 

My main point is that even asking the question in the first place is rude. It doesn’t matter how specifically you word it, it’s not appropriate. Just like any personal issue. At least in my culture, it’s typically thought of as inconsiderate and inappropriate to ask random strangers personal questions. for example, it would be rude to approach a random stranger on the bus that you’ve never even seen before and ask them why the have the haircut they do, who their sexual partners are, if they’ve just had a death in the family, how well their marriage is going, what their gender is, etc. etc. 

-

-

(2.) On top of this personal boundary issue, another concern would be that the nature of the question itself is baseless -- 

Would you ask a cis woman why they're a woman? Or a cis man why he chose to be a man? Would you ask a straight person why they chose to be straight?

Would you find it acceptable and polite if a random stranger approached you on the street and asked you for an explanation as to why you're the gender you are? Imagine that exact scenario happening to you, and if you would find it odd or overstepping boundaries at all.  

I doubt you ask this same gender identity question to everyone in your life, to your parents, friends, the cashier at your grocery store.  Why is it only certain groups that need to explain or justify their identities to you? Only certain groups that you feel the inherent need to question? It's a double standard which further serves to prove the question itself is unnecessary. 

-

-

(3.) Additionally, in case you're genuinely unsure of tone (maybe you have difficulty reading social cues or something, that’s understandable) I will explain - the way in which the question was asked has certain implications. 

The statement “Why are you nonbinary? You seem like a pretty girl to me”, implies that - due to your beliefs about me/how you see me, you find it confusing that I could have a certain identity that you see as not matching your perception of me, or that you see as an invalid label, and are asking for me to justify or explain myself/my identity to you because of that. 

Even if this implied meaning was not intentional, it is what most people will interpret upon reading the question, and would be a commonly held understanding. There are other ways you could have asked the question which would be less condescending, yes, but again, the other points still stand (like that the question in itself is impolite to ask to strangers, etc.)

Again, revisit the imaginary scenario of a stranger approaching you on the street and asking you why you’re the gender you are - would there not be some of this implication present? For example, say you’re a man - would it not feel as if someone were questioning your manhood, or implying you weren’t truly a man, or must not be a man ‘correctly’, or that ‘man’ is not a valid label for how they see you? Why else would they approach you and ask you in confusion for you to justify your identity to them? The implication is that they don’t see you as a valid man, or at least not how they see a man, and thus are having a hard time accepting that someone like YOU could ever be a real man - that it’s hard for them to believe you are what you say you are, because they see you differently.

 -

(3.a)  As an additional sidenote (one which I addressed in the tags replying to you initially), your ask (as well as this more recent one) also made certain assumptions. There are plenty of people who ''look like girls'' or 'look like boys' but aren't as they “seem”, even if you're someone who only believes in a “binary biological sex model” (I’ll include some links at the end about this). It's strange to assume someone's body parts or identity just based off of pictures you see on the internet (which often have specific lighting, angles, or in the case of many people are even edited and etc. I don't do this but it's really common nowadays with phone editing apps and stuff). Just because I appear a certain way to you, in no way implies that I have the physical form and traits you assume I have Consider how you may feel invalidated or uncomfortable if people sent you messages assuming personal things about you that are incorrect or that they have no way to possibly know.

 Your standards and perception are also not universal, various cultures and groups have different ideas about what outward traits would make someone considered a “man” or a “woman”, so making your judgement of someone else’s identity based only on your own (extremely shallow, since it’s only from online pictures) perception of them, is also inherently a bit flawed. 

-

(3.b-ish side tangent) In extension to this, your ideas and how you view me are likely incorrect. Just as it is similarly true that, from afar, any assumptions I make about you would likely be inaccurate as well. We are strangers.

For example, if you really knew me, you would know that I don’t pride myself in costumes and makeup - It’s a fun creative activity for me definitely, but I feel no pride over it, I don’t do it to look good or seem a certain way, and actually I resent it in a way, because often it feels like people mostly only pay attention to blurry pictures of me looking silly in cheap wigs, but don’t give that same level of engagement to the other more important things I do that I personally care about 100x more, like my worldbuilding and other projects lol. Absolutely nothing against the people who like my costumes, I appreciate them of course!!, and I still love doing costumes - BUT, to imply that it’s a primary source of pride in my life or a characteristic that defines me over other things, would be a mischaracterization. 

Anyone who knows me in real life would certainly list a million other stand-out traits to define me, rather than ‘pretty make up woman’ (most people I know in real life would also not describe me as ‘pretty’ or as a ‘woman’, just for reference lol). 

Your one sided perception of me (which I’ll address in the next section) may allow you to have a shallow idea of me as some sweet pretty costume girl or something, but just know that the reality is more like: I haven’t had much time lately to do costumes because I’m working on a game and other art which I see as much more important, I haven’t bathed or brushed my hair in weeks because of mental illness/functioning issues, 99% of the time I’m not ‘’dressed up’’ - I wear the same pajamas and cardigan that I’ve worn for the past 3 years and barely wash to the point that it’s disintegrating and leaves fabric scraps around the house lol, I have a little moustache right now and a unibrow and other “””non-womanly”””” traits (at least by common media western standards, which is what I assume you go by), I’m excessively analytical, detached, and in real life you would probably see me as blunt and cold and cynical (also commonly missing social cues) - as well as being hugely asocial/ a hermit and mostly lacking the ability to form attachments to others (So definitely not  ~pretty and cute and approachable~ ghgg), I have obsessive compulsive disorder and am regularly so anxious that I’m throwing up and have various other issues - I’m also not Fun or Cool or Spontaneous because I’m too busy being rigid and high strung lol (even before the pandemic, I don’t like to leave the house or interact much at all with others, I’d rather be in my little controlled environment where I don’t have overwhelming sensory information and distractions raising my anxiety constantly),, and my favorite activities are literally all just stuff like pacing around my home alone talking to myself in different voices creating gods and fake religions for my fantasy worldbuilding while I eat boiled cabbage and light little pieces of paper on fire over a candle to help me think - not doing makeup and other Pretty Woman Things. 

Which I don’t want to be too harsh or focus on this tangent too much, since obviously as you don’t know me in real life, these are all things you couldn’t possibly be aware of, and it simply comes with the territory of posting publicly online - so I absolutely don’t blame you for perceiving me incorrectly. If “pretty” pictures are all you see, then that may very well be the only impression that you have. I just personally dislike this certain interpretation some people have seemed to have of me (you’re not the first person to think of me as a Pretty Makeup Girl or whatever lol), since it’s so completely opposite from the truth of who I am, I feel the need to explain it like this sometimes. Just accepting the false perception some people have of me without any argument feels disingenuous and like supporting a version of myself that doesn’t exist. 

 So anyway, no issue with you personally, but just trying to set the perception of me straight a little more accurately lol.. now, back on topic -- 

-

-

(4.) Lastly, and here’s the main thing I’d like to stress, there's the issue of personal boundaries. Again, you're a complete stranger to me, I don't know who you are, and you have no idea who I am. Even if you've followed me online for years and read every post I've ever made, you still have no idea who I truly deeply am, only a vague scattering of snapshots over time.  

-

Here are some definitions for Parasocial Relationships: 

“Parasocial relationships are one-sided relationships, where one person extends emotional energy, interest and time, and the other party, the persona, is completely unaware of the other's existence. Parasocial relationships are most common with celebrities, organizations (such as sports teams) or television stars.”

“Parasocial interaction (PSI) refers to a kind of psychological relationship experienced by an audience in their mediated encounters with performers in the mass media, particularly on television.[1] PSI is described as an illusionary experience, such that media audiences interact with personas (e.g., talk show host, celebrities, fictional characters, social media influencers) as if they are engaged in a reciprocal relationship with them. The term was coined by Donald Horton and Richard Wohl in 1956. “

-

This is all anyone can ever have with people they follow online. You can perceive them, but you cannot know them or truly understand them. I think this is very important to remain cognizant of in such a massive social media age, as often times people are fostering one sided concepts that are inaccurate or unhealthy (no so much with just you sending me a simple ask, but in a broader sense, how people act towards celebrities, other bloggers, etc. etc. seems to have little boundaries, and often results in a similar manner with people forgetting to maintain acceptable boundaries with those they follow or know about from afar). 

-

-- This next part is very important, I think it’s a super valuable way of thinking about this sort of stuff, so if you take away nothing else from this, at least remember this next portion -- 

A very good way to think about online boundaries that I heard someone mention in a post once (though I can no longer find the post), is to take whatever you're going to say to someone online, and imagine saying it in person, in real life, to a barista. Before you send an ask or make a comment, think about if it’s something you would really genuinely say face to face to a stranger. 

Would you walk into a random Starbucks and ask the dude at the counter a bunch questions about their gender identity? Or about his personal life in general? You probably recognize that that would be strange and socially inappropriate. It's similarly inappropriate in a case like this. 

Even though you may feel a sense of familiarity with someone online from reading their social media posts, or even speaking to them once or twice through asks and etc. etc., at the end of the day you don’t really know each other much more than you’d know a random stranger. 

Unless someone is inviting personal questions (like by reblogging those ‘ask me anything’ posts or etc.), or has the sort of blog where they are commonly asking people about/discussing their own intimate personal experiences or etc. (mine is not this way), then questions like this are very out of the blue and similar to asking a random person working at a store things like that. It can be seen as rude and inappropriate in general to give those sorts of questions to people who are complete strangers, and typically comes off as crossing personal boundaries. Again, think about a random stranger asking you these questions, and how you may perceive it. 

-

-

In summary: 

1. The question itself is borne from an double standard and isn't very good to ask in the first place. 2. The way you asked the question was worded  with certain implications. 3.  Your ask is also assuming certain things that you don't know are true, which can be uncomfortable for some people. 4. Even were it not for the three other things, it's commonly considered rude in many cultures to ask serious questions about the personal details of complete strangers, even if it's online. It could prove useful to utilize the ‘barista test’ to better determine this in the future. 

-

-

Final Thoughts: 

Anyway, I wasn't mad and I have no beef with you or whatever lol. Hopefully you can understand what I mean. I've also explained myself as well as I think I can though, so I don't feel like discussing it any more and won't respond to further asks about this. I have a lot of things going on in my life right now (as I'm sure everyone does given the pandemic and everything, you probably do too, so hopefully you can empathize with that), so I’d like to limit my time spent online, especially discussing topics I already don’t like to discuss or am not open to accepting questions about (I just want to talk about cats and elves and stuff lol). 

 If you still can't at least kind of get where I'm coming from then it's perfectly fine to just agree to disagree. If aspects of myself upset you or cause you discomfort, then there's no harm in just unfollowing me or something! Or if you don't even follow me, I would encourage you to block me so my posts no longer come across your dash (or block/unfollow me on whatever other social media you may be seeing my posts on ,etc)., etc. That way you don't have to see content or hear from someone who makes you uncomfortable that way, and there also won't be any need for this to come up in the future. Part of using the internet in a healthy and productive manner is to know when to disengage with certain content and just cut it off/unfollow/block people/etc. if it’s causing you unnecessary conflict or distress, or makes you uncomfortable or etc. to look at. Thank you for the question! Hopefully this response explained things a little better. 

-

-

Links and Further Info: 

On the off chance that you were genuinely curious, here are some resources where you can learn more about people of different gender identities and also hear them explain their experiences, etc.  Since these people are actually openly discussing their experiences/making educational content and are obviously actually open to talking about it,  that would be a better place to field any further questions or learn about things. :3

Here’s some reading - 

Understanding Nonbinary People (link)

Gender Variance Around the World (link)

12 Questions About Nonbinary Gender Answered (link)

About the Sex Binary (link)

Ask LGBT subreddit (link)

one ‘ask a nonbinary person’ blog i found (I don’t know if they’re still active, it’s one of the first ones that came up for me lol, but I guess could be helpful) (link)

-

And here’s some videos with people talking about their experience, or being educational - 

(NOTE: I just did a quick google search and did not deeply research these people and their entire histories and etc., so I can’t say I stand by literally everything they say or know what type of people they are, but it’s just a general place to start~!)

A video examining the idea of gender in general and how it even exists and nonbinary people (definitely interesting to watch) (link)

video about nonbinary gender/explanations (probably at least watch this one too) (link)

What is a nonbinary gender? (shorter general info) (link)

answering all your nonbinary questions q&a (link)

Video about binary sex/gender/etc. (link)

5 nonbinary people explain what nonbinary means to them (link)

another video about similar stuff (link)

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[iustories]

The Visitor

IU x Kim Soohyun

Jieun’s POV

Of all the places, I met you here. It's out of the ordinary I'd say, but I knew one day we'll see each other here. Little by little, everything faded before my eyes and I only saw you. You met my gaze with the same warmth and I clearly remembered the last time you looked at me similarly. When was that again? How long has it been since? I could tell you I lost count, but that would be a lie and I'm certain you'd immediately catch it before I even finish my sentence because you know everything about me, except for the part that I loved you I guess.

Loved? Should I be speaking in past tense? Do I still have the same fire burning in my chest? Sometimes I'm confused.

I approached you with caution as I always do, afraid to look eager, but I may give myself away when I smile a tad wider than usual. It can't be helped since you bring it out of me effortlessly and I'm a fool for giving in every damn time. But what is to be terrified about? This strange place will forget me, you, us, and whatever will happen, right? So I'll take my chances.

You rose to your feet with such grace and met me in the middle then pulled me into a tight hug. Ah, it feels like home. It feels like you. Seconds passed and I am still in your arms. I didn't detect any intention of you wanting to let go and it was my cue to allow myself to enjoy this freely. Was I always guilty when you're too close before? Now please don't break free. I promise I won't push you away this time. I'll make you stay.

There were no words spoken, just hearts beating in the same rhythm, speaking things that could not be explained if said.

"I missed you," you whispered, your soft breath tickling my ear.

If it weren't for this place, I would be hesitant to say it back, but since we're here let me just be honest. I'm sorry I had to mask my affection with dry humor. It was the only way I could tell you without actually telling you. "I missed you too. How have you been?"

Of course I'm aware that you're doing fine. You've been busy exploring new activities and having fun with your family. I check up on you from time to time. Despite what happened between us, I still genuinely care for you. "I'm good. And you?"

I was still engulfed in your embrace and if we talk for hours in this position, I wouldn't complain. "I'm okay too. I've been doing things here and there. Nothing really special, but yeah I'm okay."

I still can't conjure coherent sentences without feeling anxious. I mean, being around you still makes me nervous even in this place where nobody knows us.

You finally separated yourself from me, your hands traveling from my back towards my arms. You gripped them firmly then smiled at me, evidently delighted by my sudden appearance, like you've been waiting for me to come.

"Let's sit?" You casually asked and I nodded in response. You dragged me to the couch and motioned your hand, telling me to sit.

"What do you want to watch?" You asked, your eyes directing me to the screen. I turned to your laptop and scanned the selection. Seeing the titles brought a small smile on my lips because it just proves that it's you. Those movies and shows are your favorite. Now I'm sure this is all real.

I pointed at medical drama that you were raving about years ago. When you told me about it for the first time, I gave you a funny look because I didn't perceive you as a sentimental person.

"Good choice," you approved, your lips curving into a satisfied smile as you clicked on the show.

Do we have all the time in the world to watch shows? Can we settle some things first? I don't know how much time we have, so for the sake of my sanity, can we talk? But like in the past, my requests refused to leave my lips because your pleasure is much important than mine. I couldn't help it you know—putting you first. It's ridiculous, yes. But this is how I loved you.

Loved. There it is again. That word. It weighs heavily on me, waking the feelings I've come to abandon over the years as my hope dwindled. Can that word not ring in my head when I look at you? It's really bothersome and I can't focus on the present.

There was a considerable amount of space between us which actually disappointed me since we were always skin to skin. Have we fallen apart completely? Have we created boundaries? A while ago I thought we were back on track.

You must have heard my thoughts because you gradually moved closer until your arm was lightly touching mine and at the initial contact, I almost flinched and had to hold the gasp that was about to escape my lips. It amazes me how you still affect me with such intensity after all these years. I felt you arm hover over my neck and it found its way around my shoulder, causing me to freeze. You quietly tugged me towards you, urging me to relax and be comfortable, so I did. The loud beating of my heart deliberately subsided when you began patting my arm repeatedly. I eased my mind and I ran back to the things I used to do when I'm with you—placing my head on your chest and my arm around your belly.

And here I am again wishing this moment would never end, but I already tried it a couple of times in the past yet we were still separated by fate in the end.

"Jieun-ah," You called my name tenderly.

"Hmm?"

"Do you want to tell me anything?" You asked with a mellow tone, coaxing me.

"Like what?"

"Just anything. Maybe things I don't know?" There uncertainty in your voice, but I heard conviction as well.

Now I wonder if you've known all along. It's not impossible though since people talk and rumors spread quite fast.

Should I be honest or should I lie? Isn't this what I've been imagining—you asking me if I had something to say?

"I won't be mad. Whatever it is just tell me," you reassured me.

I let silence prevail, thinking hard if I should just say the truth. This is the redo that I prayed for, so letting this pass would be another dumb mistake.

"Do you know that I love you?"

Should I have said 'loved'? Which one is appropriate? And why am I answering you with a question? God damn it.

It was your turn to fall silent and tension immediately rose as you let seconds pass. "I know. I've always known."

My heart leaped as a mix of anxiety, fear, and excitement played inside my system. "Really?"

"I could see from the way you looked at me," You explained simply then paused.

"And I looked at you the same, but you never saw it, right?"

I processed your words carefully, afraid I might have gotten the wrong idea, but you interrupted my train of thoughts when you added, "We wouldn't be talking about this if you noticed. I loved you too."

"But things went downhill, didn't it?" I asked, trying to comfort myself from the missed opportunity by blaming it on fate and circumstances.

"It did," you affirmed. "But we could have tried."

"Would you have chosen me?"

You sighed then tightened your hold on me. "Yeah. I would have. Without a doubt."

"So we both ended up being alone after all that," I said chuckling, attempting to dismiss the ache growing inside my chest as regrets threaten to break loose at the gates of my mind.

"I talked a lot about you—no, all I talked about was you." I felt you shake your head, your chin brushing against the top of my head a few times. "I couldn't tell you too so I told other people."

"What were we so afraid of?" I asked, hoping that you had an answer. If we loved each other then, what was stopping us?

"Hurting others? We thought of them first before us."

Right. I almost forgot. Other people. We weren't selfish enough to take it to another level because of others or rather this person we both held close to our hearts. Our friend.

"Did we do the right thing?" I'm desperately seeking reprieve because I am being chased by the consequences of that decision.

"Yeah, I think we did," you answered as you peeked at my face and I wasn't quick enough to hide the sadness that was etched on it. "I'm sorry, Jieun-ah. I know I gave you a hard time. I know you've been waiting."

I bit my lip to control its trembling. The show continues to play on the screen, but it only served as the noise that filled the void when we fail to answer quickly.

"But doing the right thing doesn't always make us happy," you continued. "So are you happy now?"

I parted my lips yet nothing came out. Am I really happy without you? Am I truly resigned to the future I have in mind?

"Am I?" I stroked my chin as if I was really thinking of it, but in all honesty, I couldn't get myself to do it because I'm scared to know the answer.

You chuckled then ran your fingers down the length of my hair and I instinctively shut my eyes as the calming sensation of your touch registered. "I may be doing great, but I couldn't say I'm entirely happy."

Your answer surprised me. Even though you've confessed your feelings just a while ago, I couldn't wrap my head around it yet. How can I? I imagined hearing those words from you for quite a long time until I gave up, therefore everything may be happening inside my head.

"Me too." I was suddenly feeling hopeful since we are in another place. We were just two people who met unexpectedly so maybe this time I can fulfill my wishes. "So can we start again? If we aren't happy after what we've done, can we do what we want this time?"

You sighed again. What is it with the heavy sighs and the tone you've been using? Isn't this supposed to be a do-over, the clean slate that we both wanted? There isn't anyone who could hold us back anymore.

"I'm afraid we can't," you replied in a regretful tone.

You are so good at putting the pieces of my heart back together and breaking it right after. Hasn't this happened countless times already? Aren't you tired of hurting me?

"Why? What is our excuse this time?" I asked, my jaw clenching.

"We just can't."

"At least give me something I can understand. This is too much."

You kissed the top of my head. "This is not real, Jieun-ah"

"It is! What are you saying?"

"You know from the start this isn't real," you pressed further.

I gulped hard, my breathing becoming shallow and rapid. "Do we have to do this again?"

How many times do I have to lose you? How many times do you have to come back and remind me that you are not mine? You've been consistent at that and that's why I couldn't let you go that easily.

"Yes. We must go our separate ways again. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. But I'm glad I saw you here."

Just as tears trickled down my face, my eyes fluttered open. My heart was pounding erratically against my chest as your voice echoed repeatedly in my brain. I'm glad I met you here. I felt the wetness of my pillow and realized that I shed some tears while I was asleep.

You, my frequent visitor, the person of my dreams, came to make your presence felt again. Indeed, you know when to remind me of you when I start to forget.

[secretlynestaarcheron]

Chapter Thirteen + Fourteen

The Selection AU - ACOTAR

Tagged:  @justgiu12 @blxckbeaks @justabunchoffandoms @swagbookmaster @my-fan-side @heyitsrhysand @acourtofmarauders

Happy Reading! :) 

Chapter Thirteen: Nesta 

While Nesta got changed and Beatrice did a beautiful braided crown in her hair, Hanna sat on Nesta’s bed reading through the fairytale books. “You sound wonderful, like a natural,” Beatrice comments after Hanna finishes reading a story about three little pigs and a big bad wolf. “A lot better than me.” 

Nesta glances at Beatrice in the mirror, “Oh Beatrice, I didn’t even think to ask if you needed help. I know I am not the best teacher, but I can try and get some books for you too or you can take the ones I already have,” Nesta says quickly once Beatrice has placed the last pin in her hair. 

She turns to look at Beatrice who shakes her head. “I am beyond that, I am fine here, I know Hanna dreams of more,” she replies, smiling at Nesta, comfortingly, Beatrice wasn’t even thirty yet but was so content with her life. 

After finishing one more story with Hanna, Nesta made her way to the women’s room to join the rest of the selected. It felt weird that so many of them were already sent home, she glanced around the room and realized that five of them weren’t there anymore. She didn’t really know their names, one of them was Demetria who was a three and barely said anything to anyone. 

Sage, a four, was sitting across from her and clears her throat. “I have a confession,” she says loud enough that all the girls around the room came rushing over but the Queen and Ianthe couldn’t hear her form across the room. “So, you were all there yesterday when Rhysand came and asked me to go on a horse ride with him.” 

The girls nod excitedly and Nesta feels bad, she hadn’t been there, these girls were spending time together and she was hiding out in her room every chance she got.

“Well, we went on this beautiful trail that leads to a waterfall, and-,” she pauses, and Nesta notices how all the girls lean forward holding onto her next words. “I was the first kiss. I wasn’t sure I should tell you guys, I didn’t want to appear as if I was bragging but I wanted to be honest.” 

If it had come from any other girl here, Nesta would have assumed that they were just trying to show off how far they had gone but the little she knew of Sage she knew that Sage wasn’t the type to brag. She was a kind hearted girl. 

The girls gasped, some congratulating her while others turned to their friends and whispered jealousy. Nesta glances around the room for Rita but doesn’t spot her, was she one of the ones sent home yesterday? 

“I was beginning to think he wasn’t going to kiss anyone,” Penny says, she was seated next to Sage and had a sour look on her face. “I went off with my flirting on our movie date, I thought he just didn’t get the hint.” 

“He probably didn’t want to kiss two girls in one day, he is a prince after all,” Caroline replies sympathetically, reaching forward to squeeze Penny’s hand comfortingly. 

As the girls chat Nesta realizes that she had forgotten this was a competition, that she should be jealous that he kissed someone other than her or that other girls were progressing faster than she and him were. She was glad for their already set boundaries; she couldn’t imagine how the girls who hadn’t been asked on a date or hadn’t held his hand or been kissed felt in this moment. 

The door opens slightly and Nesta glances over to see Rita walking in. Nesta smiles, relief flooding through her as she lifts a hand to wave at her but Rita doesn’t see her as she moves to the outside of the circle and sits by the window. 

There’s a knock on the door and then the King’s voice booms, “Can we have permission to enter?” 

The Queen glances around the room at the girls who were eagerly waiting to hear the news the King brought. She turns to give Ianthe a nod, who immediately rushed to the door to open it for Rhysand and the King. The King looks at the girls, his eyes lingering on Nesta, it was short enough that no one would have noticed but it felt like an eternity for her. She felt his judgement from across the room. 

She remembered the anger on his face when he walked in on them the day before, perhaps he didn’t like her because of her status or maybe she was somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be. Maybe he heard what she had said about Rhysand being a people’s king, if he had she probably would be on her way back home already. 

She shakes her shoulder as if to shake away the thoughts. All the girls were silent as they watched them enter and walk up the few steps towards where the Queen sat. It was quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop. He reaches for the Queen’s hand, giving it a squeeze before letting in drop back into her lap as he turns towards the girls. 

Nesta brow furrow, she remembered how her father was with her mother before she had passed, he acted like she was the sun. Nesta would catch them dancing in the kitchen while cooking dinner or curled up on the couch next to one another reading with only a candle next to them when Nesta would sneak down for extra dessert. 

She remembers noticing the small smiles between one another or the hushed whispers and faint laughter. She wondered if the King and Queen were like that, if they were ever like that, just truly in love with one another? She didn’t know if she should wish that they had because that would have meant something happened to make them lose it but it felt wrong for someone to spend the rest of their lives with someone who wouldn’t look at them like they were the sun. 

The King gestures for all of them to sit and Nesta hadn’t even realized she stood with the rest of the girls, her mind lingering elsewhere. Once the girls were seated again the King began his announcement. “As most of you should know the prince’s birthday is in a few days.” 

Rhysand gives a small bashful smile to the girls as the King continues, “He will be turning twenty-three, which was the age I was when I became King. I hope to pass the title down to my son as soon as he has a supportive princess by his side,” he pauses allowing the girls to swoon at the thought. “You will all be excited to know that we will be holding a ball for this monumental occasion.” 

While excited whispers filled the room as the girls began to discuss dress designs and accessories to match, Nesta can’t help but remember the Feyre’s eighteenth birthday was tomorrow. She couldn’t believe  that she had let the days blend together to the point she would have forgotten. She wondered what they had planned. 

The King held up his hand to shush the chatter and bring Nesta’s attention back to the subject at hand. “This will be an important moment for all of you, this will be the first time the world will see you as proper ladies through the television and in person, many influential people will be invited. I expect you to behave properly.” His eyes find Nesta’s once again and she wonders why he singles her out, she hadn’t caused a scene yet. He was judging her by her caste alone. 

Ianthe was beaming with excitment, probably thinking of a million ways to torture them. “You will be working closely with Ianthe to sharpen your manners and etiquette as well as dancing,” the King announces. 

Nesta wants to groan, the one dancing class Ianthe had already put them through was tortuous, she couldn’t imagine being broadcasted, she would be deemed as the worst dancer in the selection as she stumbled through the movements. She would have to pretend to sprain an ankle, they wouldn’t make her dance with an injury would they? 

“And with that, I will leave you all to enjoy the rest of your day,” The King says as he swiftly leaves while Rhysand trails behind him. She thought back to Rhysand’s excitement yesterday talking about change but seeing him now, he looked suppressed. 

She wasn’t sure how she could enjoy the rest of her day now that Ianthe was rushing around pulling out magazines and rambling wildly about all the work she has to do to prepare us all. She mutters something about gathering a group of guards for an impromptu dance lesson because “only stars know that these girls need help.” 

Nesta knows it’s mostly directed at her, she stepped on her own hem and her partners feet more than anyone else, she barely had time to look how the others were doing but Ianthe was hard to please and she only heard a few compliments called out. 

Nesta glances over at Ianthe chatting with the Queen as Nesta moves to the window where Rita ahd curled up staring out the window. Nesta looks out as well, leaning against the windowsill, a few gardeners were working on the rose bushes and next to it Tamlin was entertaining a few maids and guards with a story, his hands moving wildly. 

“How are you?” Nesta asks, looking over at Rita who barely looks at her. She looks stressed, perhaps this competition was getting to her more than she let on. 

She shrugs letting out a long sigh. “Of course,” Rita says and Nesta can hear a lot of emotion in her voice. Nesta realized that there was a lot to Rita that she didn’t know, they had only talked a few times and Nesta had begun to think of her as a close friend but she hardly knew anything about her. She was a six, she knew as much heartache as Nesta did, she carried her own damage. 

“I am here if you ever need me,” Nesta says hoping the small gesture was enough. She doesn’t have time to say more because Ianthe claps her hand to get everyone’s attention. 

“We have decided to have lunch here with proper etiquette, it will be a test to see how much you already know. After that, I will ask some off-duty guards and maids to join us to make this a makeshift ball. From there I will determine what we need to focus on. I expect your best behavior.” 

“Here we go again,” Rita says with an eye roll and Nesta hears the spunk she heard the first night back in her voice. 

~*~

Nesta was full of cucumber finger sandwiches and macaroons, she couldn’t imagine dancing. She hopes the Ianthe forgets or has mercy on them, letting them sleep off the good food, but sure enough as soon as the tea is finished a band walks through the room followed by some guards and maids. 

They looked different out of their uniforms, she realized how young some of them actually were, some of the girls looked younger than her sister Feyre. “Here are your partners for the night, it’ll be good to fill up the space so you know what it will be like to have multiple people around you. You wouldn’t want to run into the Queen of Italy!” Ianthe laughs loudly at her joke but the girls just look at each other. “What are you waiting for, pair up!” 

The girls all line up on one side while the guards line up on the other. Nesta glances at her partner, he was a little taller than her with black hair and grey eyes, but he barely looked at her. She wondered if that was due to her being selected or him hearing rumors about her being the worst dancer out of the bunch. 

 Nesta hadn’t even noticed the Prince and his personal guard, Cassian, waltz in until they joined the line. “Are we too late to join?” the prince asks more enthusiastically than Cassian looks. Rhysand squeezes in so he’s with Penny, who beams with joy, he glances back at Cassian. “Come on, you can’t let me dance alone, Nesta’s a great dancer.” 

Nesta makes a face at that, even though he had to know that she was horrible, he’s the one that tried to teach her. Cassian looks at the prince suspiciously before stepping in front of her causing her original partner to shift down. 

She opens her mouth to greet him, but nothing comes out, she didn’t know what to say to him. The last time they spoke he was abrasive and then the last time she saw him she spilled his secret. After talking with Rhysand and seeing Cassian’s reaction it was easy to piece together that he really sent her the books. 

 “Alright, let’s see if you all remember anything,” Ianthe says and the music begins to play. 

Cassian steps forward and grabs her hand, placing his other on her waist, he pulls her close as he begins the basic box step. “I apologize in advance for any toe crushing I do, I still haven’t gotten this down,” she says as she looks down, watching the placement of her feet. 

He chuckles as he begins to speed up the pace with the beat of the music. “I don’t think the cameras will want to film the top of your head,” he says. 

She glances up briefly, but quickly puts her attention back on their feet. “I don’t think I want anyone to see my face if I am tripping on my hem,” Nesta replies, gripping his shoulder as she almost trips, she looks up and gives him a sheepish smile. “Sorry.” 

He stops and she glances around the room as the rest of the couples keep going. “Was I that bad?” she asks, but she can’t help the heat that burns her cheeks. 

“No,” he says quickly to reassure her, “You just lack faith, we will take it slow.” 

He begins again, taking the steps slow, she can tell that the other girls are looking at her. She looks back down at her feet, his hand moving from her waist to her chin in a second, he gently pushes her chin forward so she’s looking up at him again. 

“Stop watching your feet, you’re overthinking,” Cassian says. There’s a pause and she tries really hard not to look at her feet. “How did you maid, Hanna, enjoy the books?” 

Nesta beams, “Oh she loves them, just finished the fairytale one this morning! She’s a quick learner, I am sure if she continues she will be able to read all those brainiac scholar textbooks in old english covered in dust,” she says proudly. 

“I am glad,” he says. 

“I hope I didn’t get you in trouble, the note was right next to the box, Beatrice thought it fell off so I just assumed. I hope me saying something didn’t cause anything,” she replies, thinking about what they had told her the first night. She didn’t want to get him caught up in treason when it was just a nice thing he was doing for her and her maid. 

He shakes his head with an easy smile that makes her want to smile back. “You didn’t, Rhysand didn’t mind at all especially when I told him that you were teaching your maid to read. You just keep earning yourself brownie points.” 

She rolls her eyes and says, “I doubt that, I am just waiting until he realizes I am not anyone and sends me home.” He looks like he wants to ask more but the door slams open and a guard rushes in followed by the King. The music halts and everyone watches as the King whispers something to Ianthe. 

She pales slightly glancing around the room until her eyes find Nesta’s when she does her facial expression softens. She turns to the King nodding her head before he makes his exit. “Nesta, would you mind following me outside?” Ianthe says. 

There's a hush whispers as she follows Ianthe out into the hallway, Cassian and Rhysand trailing behind her. Ianthe closes the door turning to face Nesta, she gives her a tight smile, “Your sisters called.” 

Nesta brow furrow, why would he sisters call? They hadn’t said anything weird in their last letters. “It's your father,” Ianthe says biting her lip as her eyes glance behind Nesta to where Rhysand and Cassian stood. “He passed away in his sleep right now.” 

He passed away. He passed away. Angry tears threatened to fall, she was furious with her father, he didn’t die in his sleep he probably overdosed or suffered from liver failure due to the alcohol pumping through him. He had abandoned her sisters when they needed him most, how was she going to protect them now? Elain with nineteen and Feyre was barely eighteen. 

“We will make preparations for you right away,” Rhysand says and she can only nod numbly. She would have to give this all up just when she was beginning to think she could make a change. It's just fate telling her this wasn’t for her. 

TW: mentions past abuse, mental and physical. 

Chapter Fourteen: Cassian

Cassian moved in the seat, uncomfortable with the cramped plane seating and the silence, he had volunteered to leave with Nesta as soon as possible. Rhysand would leave the next morning to pay his respects, unfortunately he had to finish some business with his father first. 

“I am sorry,” he finally says and Nesta glances up at him. “It must be hard on you. I know you already lost one parent.”

 She scoffs and he’s a little taken back. “After my mother died he gambled all our money away, he’s lucky they only made us sevens. After the move he turned to drinking, leaving me to work three jobs to put food on the table for my sisters, in the beginning it was worse. After my sisters fell asleep, he became abusive, would throw bottles at me or call me worthless.” 

Cassian swallowed the lump in his throat, she was so much stronger than he had originally thought. “I am not sad to see him go, he was no longer the man I called my father, just someone that lived in my house and drank the day away. I am angry more than anything, he was so selfish,” she retorts almost a whisper. She looks away from him and back out the window. 

“That’s why you were so worried about being here, away from your family,” Cassian concludes aloud. 

She nods, pulling her hair back into a low bun at the base of her neck and turning back towards him. “I am more heartbroken that my sisters won’t know the love my parents had once, they won’t get to have those good memories of him. Only the ones of shouting and locking himself away,”

Silences fall between them again, Cassian wasn’t sure what to say. His father wasn’t in the picture and his mother died when he was young. He only had a few memories of her and he didn’t have any siblings to consider. 

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear all of this,” Nesta says and Cassian notices how exhausted she looks. It was probably a vacation to be at the palace without having the constant worry of providing for her family. She rubs her eyes, before propping her head on her elbow, she stares out the window. “I just don’t think I’ll be able to come back.” 

“You get a stipend for being here, and your sisters will most likely be moved to caste three now that you are considered their guardian. You’ll still be able to compete-,” he pauses, and adds softly, “If you want, of course.” 

He watches her eyebrows knit as he loses her to her thoughts. “Its food for thought, but I think you would make an excellent teacher,” he adds, “I heard that Hanna was teaching some of the kitchen aids how to read on their break.”

He’s glad when he sees her smile and looks at him with those bright ideas, as if she could change the world just by helping one person. “Really?” she asks, and he nods, “Good. Thank you for telling me.” 

A voice on the intercom announces that they would be landing shortly and to buckle up. As soon as they pull into the airport, there can be screams heard from inside, she looks at him wide eyed. “Are those people here for us?” she asks. 

He laughs, “Not us, you. They are your supporters,” he replies, glancing out the window towards the group of people. “They already have security, they shouldn’t bother you if you don’t want to talk to them.” 

She stiffens as she gives him a short nod, he opens the door and the crowd yells loudly in excitement. He’s surprised how quick she puts on a smile, another good quality to have in a queen. She talks to a few people along the way, mostly young girls, but as soon as she’s away from the crowd her smile falls. 

The car ride was silent, her leg bouncing as she bites her nails, he understood her nerves especially with the new knowledge of her upbringing. He glances around to the houses that were mismatched, they tried to fix them up as best they could, 

The car jerked as it hit the gravel road, he had been in the palace for so long he forgot the hardship. He feels her straighten and he glances out the window to see two girls standing in a yard waving wildly at the car. Before the car had fully stopped she was out and running towards them. 

“Tell us everything,” one of them says excitedly, pulling her into the house. Cassian waves the driver away and follows them in feeling as if he was intruding on a personal moment but her safety came first. “Elain wasn’t sure if they would let you come. I can’t believe you’ve made it to the final fifteen.” 

“That’s still a lot, Feyre,” Nesta says with an eye roll. “How has everything been here?” 

Feyre disappears into another room while Elain sits down next to Nesta. “How has everything been here?” 

“Do you remember Liz? Her parents have been helping a lot, especially with the burial yesterday. They thought it would be best to bury him as fast as possible.” Elain explains. Cassian looks around the room as they discuss, not wanting to intrude anymore than he already was. The front door led to a small sitting area, the TV that was mandatory in all houses sat in the corner, there was a small entryway that must lead to the kitch and two doors. 

Feyre comes back through the entryway with a pie in her hand, “We made it to celebrate you coming home, it’s probably not as good as the food in the palace. Is the food in the palace good?” Feyre asks, kneeling on the floor in front of her sisters. 

“Actually, speaking of food from the palace-,” she turns to look for her bag that Cassian had set by the front door. “Oh! This is Cassian, he is Captain of the guard!” 

“What’d you do to make the Captain of the guard assigned to you?” Feyre asks suspicious eyeing Nesta. “I knew you would get into trouble, what’d you do? Start a rebellion?” 

Nesta rolls her eyes at ther sisters. “That’s Feyre and this is Elain,” she points to the sisters as she moves towards her bag. 

“So since she won’t answer, how is the food?” Feyre asks, eyeing Cassian stubbornly. 

He chuckles when he sees the resemblance between her and Nesta. “I have no complaints,” he replies, glancing down at Nesta who was grabbing a box from her suitcase. She shuts her suitcase again before turning towards her sisters and opening the box. 

“My maid, Beatrice, had it packed up for me. She knew you guys would want to try it. We have macaroons, every cookie you could imagine, and so many pastries,” Nesta says, setting down the box, Feyre immediately reaches forward and grabs a strawberry pastry while Elain takes her time determining which one she wants. 

“So what's with the prince? Is he as snobby as he comes across on the television?” Feyre asks, glancing up at Cassian apologetically, “No offense.” 

Cassian shrugs, he knew how his friend had to be in the public especially in front of his father, he looks over at Nesta wondering why he cared so much about what she was going to say. “He’s not as snobby,” she replies, pausing as if she had to think about her next words carefully. “He’s been surprising.”

Cassian glances away from her, what did that mean? He’s been surprising? It could be a good surprising or a bad surprising. He shook it off, he shouldn’t care so much about how she thought about the prince. That was their business. 

“You’ll meet him tomorrow, he was hoping to come out to pay respect,” Nesta says. 

“He’s coming here?” Elain says hurriedly glancing around the room as if she could somehow make it more presentable. “I wish we had more notice. I would have put some flowers around to brighten the place up.” 

Nesta waves her hand, “He’s a prince, I doubt he will stay long. He probably won’t even stay long enough to notice,” she replies with a yawn. 

“Oh, you’re probably tired from your travels, we have a long day tomorrow. You should get some rest,” Elain says, grabbing Nesta's hand and pulling her towards the door to the right. He glances over to the left door, that must have been their father’s bedroom. 

“We cleaned out his room if you would like to stay there or you can sleep out here. You can also help yourself to anything in the kitchen,” Feyre says, standing up and looking around. “Do you need anything? Sorry, I don’t think we’ve ever had any guests.” 

He noticed how she wasn’t embarrassed as Nesta sometimes came across, perhaps it was because she was the youngest and this is all she knew or maybe she didn’t feel the need to impress him or the prince, another quality she shared with Nesta. 

“I'll be alright out here, thank you,” Cassian replies, “My job is to keep you guys protected so I won’t be sleeping much.” 

“Protected, is there a chance someone will attack us?” Feyre asks curiously leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen. “I heard about the rebel attacks, would they come here to hurt Nes?” 

He notices how she doesn’t seem scared, but more curious than anything. “It’s unlikely but always possible. We just want to be on the safe side,” he replies. 

She nods, “Well, I am going to bed, there’s coffee under the sink if you need some. Nesta hoards the stuff, it's the only pleasure she gives herself besides all her books,” she says, going to the same door her sisters disappeared into minutes before. 

~*~

During his morning jog he ran into a farmers market where he picked up some produce for breakfast. He walked into the kitchen, the girls either still in their room or still asleep. He moved around the kitchen, glancing in the pantry and refrigerator, it was practically bare. 

He understood why Nesta felt guilty, just thinking about her and her neighbors kitchens looking like this when he could ring a bell and have whatever he wanted prepared for him. He began cooking what he hoped would feel like a palace breakfast for them. 

Bacon, sausage, eggs, and even his signature french toast. He even put a pot of water on the stove for coffee. “You really didn’t have to do this,” he turns to see Nesta standing in the doorframe looking around the kitchen. “It all smells amazing, I am sure once the others are awake they’ll be in here devouring it, especially Feyre.” 

“She’s a character for sure,” Cassian says, finishing the eggs and putting them on a plate turning to see her sitting down on a stool in front of the island. “She reminds me of you.” 

“Oh really?” Nesta hums, still half asleep as he leans on her elbow. “She’s definitely spunky, she’ll change the world if it’ll let her. She’s worried I’ll start a rebellion? I am surprised she hasn’t.” 

It was weird for Cassian to see her in this element, without the added stress of the competition, she was just a girl and he was just a guy. He shakes his head turning away from her. He really couldn’t let these thoughts get the best of him. 

“Are you okay?” she asks concern laced in her voice as he glances over at her. 

“Of course,” he replies, and she doesn’t look like she believes him but her sisters walk in seconds later. 

Feyre moves towards the counter, “I am moving to the palace if I get a feast like this every morning,” she exclaims reaching forward to grab a piece of bacon with her hands. 

Nesta rolls her eyes and chuckles as she says, “Don’t mind my heathen of a sister, apparently she forgot what silverware is in my absence.” Feyre moves to grab another piece and Nesta pushes her hand away. Feyre puts up her hands in surrender and moves towards the cabinets holding the plates. 

There’s a knock on the door and Cassian can feel the anxiousness fill the room from each of her sisters. “He could have at least called, I am still in my pajamas,” Feyre retorts with a mouth full of french toast. Elain shoves her sister lightly in the side, “I think the pajamas are the least of his concern, he’ll be more focused on the food coming out of your mouth as you speak,” Elain retorts, scolding her sister. 

“This is going to be such a disaster,” Nesta announces standing up from her spot and towards the door. 

[yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy]

Why So Jaded? Chapter 2

And here we go, part 2. In case you missed it. Part 1 AO3 FFN 

Chapter 2

A decade can be a long time.

That much time can change a person, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse and sometimes it just makes you grow up, mature you and give you perspective.

A decade ago, Bartholomew Maximillian Pine aka Buddy Pine- had built an empire fueled by his hatred and resentment for Supers and more importantly Mr. Incredible. He had become successful, powerful, on a scale beyond imagination. His creations helped topple governments, weaponize vast armies and made him more money then he could ever hope to spend in a thousand lifetimes. And with Mirage by his side, he had it all at the relatively young age age of 21.

A decade ago, Violet Parr was coming to terms with her powers, was coming into her own and finding her footing in life. She was learning to bear the load that all Supers carry.

But a decade can be a long time.

In a decade, you can see the empire you built be turned against you in a flash before it's dismantled into pieces that can never be put back together again and the people who you thought you could trust turn on you then leave you and realize their own agendas before you found yourself trying to start over and rebuild with some of the pieces you had managed to scrape together. No small feat and one made harder by extensive injuries, in not just a physical sense, but a mental and emotional and physiological sense as you attempt to rebuild yourself just as much as you rebuild your empire. Letting go of old grudges and hate in an effort to accept change and the present in order to have a future. And that is where Buddy Pine had currently found himself.

And a decade can be a long time.

In a decade you can see things that make you question yourself, your morals, your loyalties, your career and sense of right and wrong. Make you resent the burden placed on you by your parents, by your siblings and peers, your superiors, by everyone around you, and worse, make you resent the very ones who put that burden there. You got to see first hand how the world was rarely black and white and everything was a shade of gray and how even when you want to do the right thing and try to do the right thing, no good deed goes unpunished. You're struck and reminded over and over again by how profoundly fickle it all was. And how you can rise to popularity one moment and fall the next, like the waves of the sea, rising and falling and rising again as cycles began anew and how even the most altruistic super has their price. And more importantly, what yours was. You learned who your true friends were, as well as your enemies. And most importantly that the only one you could truly count on was yourself when you get pushed past your breaking point several times over and who you needed to pull you back from the edge over and over again. You become jaded and disillusioned yet worldly and discerning from your experiences and recognize patterns and cycles remarkably well. When you see enough shit go down and get covered up and how when people are wealthy and powerful enough, or hell, even talented, famous or important enough they can get away with literal murder if not atrocities that would make God himself shudder. You learn that justice was a joke but vengeance was attainable if not valid and very understandable, if not sympathetically so. Which can sadly- make you even more valuable and sought after and you become the best at what you do, even when you had no intention of being so. Until you realized you didn't have to play by anyone's rules except your own, in fact, you didn't have to play their little game at all and sometimes the smartest thing was to walk away when you had had enough and your sense of self preservation was the biggest instinct you cultivated in yourself and was sometimes the only thing that kept you alive.

That's where Violet found herself now. Not necessarily at a crossroads, but simply a spot on a map. She had been pulled back into this Super world a little over a year ago but it was supposed to be her last job. It was supposed to be an easy one, a babysitter post for a genius, billionaire playboy that had taken Buddy's place in the weaponized technology field. Only the big difference was Buddy did this all on his own, while her current employer had bought some of the pieces of Buddy's empire and was very much at the powers that be- beckon call and he was a master at catering to all of them so that he had no governmental resistance or interference world wide. So that the only ones in his way was his competition in his various markets from technology, science, medicine and most lucratively- weapons and while his ego was huge, it wasn't as haughty as Buddy's had been and if Violet had placed a bet, she would say he was a low grade Super himself, only his power was the charm and disarm anyone and gain their trust and help them feel safe so they turned vulnerable and honest and even she was not completely immune to him and his powers. It's how he learned who her true identity was and was able to get to know the real her as well as he did, or more importantly, as well as he thought he did. But for every take, there is a give because she in turn, got to learn more about him than anyone else did and thus, bred their closeness that they both got to enjoy and Phillip had sworn on his life and the lives of his family, that he would never betray her as long as she never betrayed him.

Phillip Edward Sebastian the Fifth was a European Aristobrat who had turned his family's modest fortune but grand history to his absolute advantage and with smart investing and playing the stock market, he had used that modest fortune to turn it into unimaginable wealth and power and was now on the cutting edge of all things weapons, electronics, medicine and far beyond and he had asked for Violet in particular because of her history with espionage, corporate and otherwise and the like. He was willing to pay her 15 times more for her services as his handler than he had offered anyone else and in just the short year she had been working with him, she had risen through the ranks, and was now not just as his right hand woman and personal assistant and she was a one woman security detail who he trusted with his life, his privacy, his confidence and confidentiality because of her skillset and ability. And once her own bank accounts swelled to the point that she used her former mentor's own financial staff to make sure that even in the worst case scenarios, her safety nets had safety nets and she had back up plans for her back up plans and contingency plans for her contingency plans several layers deep and learned to buy stocks in what he bought and sold what he sold on her own since he never hid that information from her and through that alone, she was one of the more independently wealthy Superheroes and she ensured that not just herself but her family would be safe and taken care of, which, in the grand scheme of things, was all she ever wanted and cared about. So she was happy and content, for now. That's why Violet could easily retire after this job. Plus she still collected her super hero paycheck. She wasn't the only one getting two paychecks for the same work, if not multiple checks.

And Phillip had always been the ideal employer, sure he had his own trust issues and paranoia, not to mention, his own daredevil antics and recklessness. But he respected her boundaries because she respected his and their relationship worked as beautifully and seamlessly as it did because they respected each other and Phillip treated her better than he treated everyone else because he knew that Violet, ultimately- didn't want or need him or his money or power and didn't ask too many questions because she didn't need to know the answers and kept her personal life very separated from her work life and didn't judge and kept her opinions to herself as closely as she kept her head and her wits. Which were all things he respected, admired and even adored and their relationship even blossomed enough to include certain "benefits" and Violet was the only one who could use Phillip as her personal fuck toy without the hassle and mess of a committed, monogamous romantic relationship and that kind of emotional entanglements even though Phillip still held out hope that at the end of her "servitude" she would stay with him because he had grown to rely so much on her and it would take a team of a hundred people to do what she did for him and do it as flawlessly as she did.

Before this job, Violet had disappeared in the far east- Hong Kong specifically, with a large city of over seven million, it was easy to disappear into but easy enough to spot agents from a mile away. She figured her superiors spent at least a million dollars trying to find her and once they did, they made her an offer she couldn't refuse and found, and named, and gave- her price, as their most highly sought after and paid agent. She was 24 now and would retire in just two more years at the age of 26 into a very comfortable life as a multimillionaire. But even she had to admit, the urge to do Super work had been getting to her while she had disappeared before The Agency had tracked her down since she had been 'in the wind' for over a year after a particularly brutal assignment gone to shit. But saving people and being a hero, even an invisible one, was an itch that most Supers, even when under ban, was impossible not to scratch. Her father was living proof of that. But she had learned from her parent's mistakes. She had learned to be careful. But being careful and playing it safe, while inherently easy for her, was getting mundane. She had taken up a few hobbies, learned a few languages along with some invaluable skills so that she could, in theory, go anywhere and support herself and blend in with any crowd and she was lucky that while she was in Phillip’s employment, she could still do a few hero jobs of her choice on the side and Phillip’s technology had made those jobs a breeze. But she was smart enough to not become dependent on any of the technology provided to her, either by The Agency or Phillip.

Invisigirl tapped on a screen as she flew her secret spy plane back to Spain to contact her employer, Mr. Phillip Sebastian.

"Do you have a report Vi?" Phillip asked.

"Yes, Mr. Pine himself has taken the nanochip, just like you predicted and is on multiple cameras doing so, he took both baits so I'm now en-route to you." Violet answered as she took off her mask and tied her hair up, revealing flawless makeup under the mask as her lipstick changed from an ultra violet to match her suit to a soft dusty rose on her pouty lips.

"What are the chances that he will follow?" Phillip furthered.

"At this point, medium to high." Violet estimated with a shrug as the plane achieved the proper altitude for a transatlantic flight.

"Excellent. Well we have him dead to rights, so he's as good as ours anyway." Phillip grinned victoriously as he rewatched the feed.

"So hopefully that objective can be fulfilled sooner than later," Violet assumed.

"We will talk about that when you get back, see you in a few hours." He placated.

"Understood," Violet said as she closed the channel since the plane was on auto pilot. She wanted to get changed into civilian attire and hopefully get a chance to relax and possibly take a nap before she would have to play babysitter again as she popped a few pills of very high level painkillers that would make Oxycodone look like children's Tylenol.

Meanwhile Buddy had made his escape and had arrived back at his compound, a different island this time since the 'authorities' literally blew up the last one. But while Buddy was getting a bit desperate, he wasn't stupid. He installed the nanochip into an ordinary laptop that wasn't connected in any way to the internet in case there was some kind of signal embedded. Fifteen seconds later he found himself staring at a melting piece of trash on fire before he put the fire out.

"And that's why we don't just hook things up into the system." He muttered aloud as he retrieved the other nano chip, the one that was on the left, he had taken both, just in case she was leading him astray. He picked up the dead computer with thick work gloves and simply dumped it into the trash and retrieved another, turning it on and repeating the process. This time, it worked perfectly.

"Well, it appears you didn't steer me wrong, this time," he mused as he retrieved the nanochip and put it into his system. Since the 'incident' aka him almost being completely shredded by a jet engine, his ability to create new technology had been hindered greatly. But he could reverse engineer anything and make it better, and that was his intention now. Once he had all the specs down it would be difficult to put the nanochip back along with another dummy one but not impossible.

Except when he came back a week later, it was a trap. The moment he opened that safe, there were more guards on him than he could count coming almost out of nowhere. He was immediately detained in a holding cell in the basement of the building and stripped of all his gear but thankfully they still let him keep his original clothes on.

Buddy wondered who would be coming, would it be the local police? The FBI? The CIA? He ended up waiting a few days when Phillip Sebastian came in himself.

"Good morning Mr. Bartholomew Maximillian Pine, I understand that you like to go by "Buddy" less formal." Phillip greeted formally with a smug smirk on his handsome face.

"Good morning Mr. Sebastian," Buddy mirrored warily as he looked down to see the hairs on his arm raise as if the static electricity in the room was getting charged as he wondered if Invisigirl was with Phillip, in fact he would bet on it as he glanced at the space around Phillip to see if he could see any distortions and he couldn't see any but he could sense her the way he could sense Mirage in the past, the way she had taught him to anyway, and realized Invisigirl was so close to him, he could reach out and touch her if he tried but he got the sense she had an invisible weapon targeted at his head and knew that if he attempted to, he'd be dead by the time he made contact with her. His heart still stung at Mirage's betrayal which had hurt him the worst and when he was seen how she married some other billionaire playboy, it had dumped his ass into one of the worst depressions of his life and almost completely broke him, but the lessons she taught him were invaluable and he was finding himself grateful for them right in this moment.

"Mr. Pine, you are either really smart or really stupid, you had the nanochip, why didn't you just keep it? Why risk putting it back?" Phillip inquired curiously.

"I need a lawyer," Buddy answered firmly.

"Why? You're not under arrest. The authorities haven't been called, however if you don't cooperate with me I will be forced to contact them but for now, let's leave them out of this." Phillip said dismissively.

"What do you want?" Buddy asked wearily.

"I want you to work for me, not against me." Philip answered simply.

"I refuse to work for anyone but myself." Buddy defied.

"Are you sure you don't want to reconsider? You would have your own lab and assistants and an unlimited budget, you could set your own hours and have some say so in your own salary and have access to all the compounds and technology you could ever dream of." Phillip proposed. "You would even earn a high percentage of all sales of whatever you create in collaboration with SEB Enterprises, you'll even get press for IRize and all your other little corporations, shells or no and more opportunities for your collaboration with me and my company and all of my associates and other collaborators, of which we share a surprising amount of them." Phillip generously offered.

"So what's the catch?" Buddy asked with a subtle tilt of his head in Invisigirl's direction and just barely registered the feel of his hair brush up against something. She was right next to him and his gut feeling told him she had a weapon was pointed at his head as he felt her withdraw just a little to keep from getting too close.

"You will have to work for me for a minimum of 3 years. You will stay on campus at all times unless accompanied by a security detail and you will be monitored at all times in all things." Phillip informed him solemnly. "So it's either this or some high security super prison for 20-life. Because the evidence against you is pretty damning." Phillip specified.

"Can you give me some time to think it over?" Buddy inquired.

"Of course, take all the time you need, simply knock on the door when you've made a decision." Phillip replied as he got up and left the room as Buddy watched the hairs on his forearms lay back down before another meal was delivered to him, this time it was breakfast. At least Phillip knew how to treat a guest. Even a detained one, because Buddy wasn't in shackles and was being fed decent food at least and his little one room cell, while bare, was surprisingly comfortable.

Three hours later Buddy knocked on the door and a few minutes later Phillip came in, ready to hear his answer.

"I'll do it, however I have a few conditions of my own." Buddy started and was pleased to see Phillip nod.

"I want everything in writing, I want my criminal activity erased." Buddy began.

"Of course, my lawyers are writing our contract up as we speak and any and all evidence against you and IRise will be destroyed and dissolved within the hour. Anything else?" Phillip reassured him.

"I will only work for you for two years, no more," Buddy specified.

"Five years then because you want to negotiate the time frame. Or that 20-life in a super max prison." Phillip countered.

"Ok fine, three years it is." Buddy huffed.

"Agreed." Phillip said as he held out his hand for a handshake. Buddy took it and shook firmly as he could have sworn he heard a huff nearby. The two left the room and walked to an elevator where a secretary was waiting for them. Her hair up in a bun and her gray business jacket accentuated her tulip skirt with patterned hose and killer heels along with a pair of glasses that helped her see things most eyes could not as she used her stylus like a pen.

"Everything is ready Mr. Sebastian, the notary is already in conference room 12A." She informed him as she continued to work on an electronic pad diligently.

"Excellent, thank you Ms. Parr," Phillip replied in thanks before turning to Buddy. "Mr. Pine, I believe you already know my colleague and associate Miss Violet Parr." Phillip gestured before getting on the elevator that opened once they approached.

Buddy had to do a double take, he hadn't recognized her, she was standing right in front of him and she might as well have been invisible at first. However, now that he really looked at her and took notice, she was stunning. Like just...knock out gorgeous, should have been a model herself kind of beautiful. Even she could effortlessly rock the sexy assistant look but now that he saw her, he couldn't quite make himself look away. She was gorgeous even with glasses and just as breathtaking out of her suit as she had been in it and most likely, just as lethal. And just like that, those butterflies were back in his stomach, fluttering away.

"Yes, we are already too well acquainted," Violet answered as she stepped on the elevator herself, standing on one side of Phillip, using him like a shield between her and Buddy as she continued to work on her tablet and actively ignored him.

"Well I don't know about that," Buddy answered with a smirk before he could feel static electricity instantly build within the elevator as the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck rose again. Ha, he got her tell.

"Easy," Phillip warned Violet, his tone surprisingly gentle. Violet exhaled in a huff and Buddy felt static electricity lull, the rest of the ride was in silence, the only sound, their breathing and the dinging of the elevator. Buddy noticed her breathing was noticeably huffy and almost labored while Phillip's was calm and even until they reached the twelfth floor before Violet was the first to cross the threshold before the doors fully opened, walking quickly while Phillip walked in tandem with Buddy as Phillip subtly studied Buddy's reactions to Violet.

Violet led the way to the conference room, she tapped her ID card against a reader and the door opened, revealing a notary and three lawyers, one of them being Buddy’s. All sitting at the table in the middle of the room with stacks of paperwork around them as Buddy was allowed to have some private council with his own lawyer who basically confirmed that it was either this or super max prison before they sat down to negotiate more terms of the contract.

Buddy wasn't an idiot, he read each and every single line on those contracts before signing them.

And it took four hours, a bottle of scotch, lunch and a whole variety of snack and dessert trays.

Violet looked like she wanted to die of boredom despite playing a game on her tablet for most of it and couldn't get out of there fast enough when it was all over, signed and notarized by everyone. Another assistant came to escort Buddy to his new 'apartment' which had already been filled with his things that were taken from his new compound while Phillip and Violet retreated to Phillips office.

"Well I am so glad that didn't take too long," Violet drawled sarcastically as she crashed on the comfy couch in his office after kicking her heels off. Phillip chuckled as he tossed her a bottle of water from his mini fridge in his desk and smiled when she caught it with ease.

"He's still smart, he wanted to make sure I wasn't taking him for a complete fool," Phillip countered as he took a long pull from his own water bottle as he idly watched her stretch and relax as she reclined on his couch in a very unladylike pose, with her feet up on the arm of the couch. But he loved the fact that she felt so comfortable around him and could just be herself rather than the super secret agent she felt she had to play with him. She could just be when she was alone with him and he liked it that way. No pretenses or anything like that.

"Do you think he'll honor the contract? Or do you think he'll run the first chance he gets?" Violet inquired.

"Oh I think as long as you're around, he'll stay right here. He looked at you at least a dozen times an hour, every move you made, he tried to catch." Phillip began as he glanced at Violet who had rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Speaking of which, I have a new assignment for you, I want you to be the liaison between him and I until the end of your contract." Phillip proposed.

"Hell no," Violet immediately spat as she gave him a dirty glare.

"Oh come on, all that means is you see him once a day for only a few minutes all the days we're stateside. Make sure he has everything he needs to keep him focused and relay messages back and forth," Phillip specified.

"That's what email is for." Violet retorted.

"But email is so impersonal," Phillip playfully argued in a mock complaint.

"That's exactly it, I don't want to have to deal with him any more than I absolutely have to. He did try to kill me as a child. What kind of monster purposefully kills kids? I'll tell you. Him. He's that monster. He tried to kill me, my family and kidnap Jack..," She began to go into a seething rant.

"And take over the world, yeah I know, I was there- but, that was a lifetime ago, clearly everyone involved has changed. I mean you saw him, the man is just one failed attempt away from completely imploding. And the fact that he was desperate enough to steal from me himself says a lot." He reminded her, keeping her from going into her full blown rant because he didn't want to rearrange his office...again.

"I still don't understand why he would stoop that low," Violet admitted as she thought that over again.

"I think he lost a spark ," Phillip conjectured. Violet raised a curious brow at his choice of words. "Writers and artists have muses, engineers have sparks." Phillip explained as he came over and sat on the couch with her before he nestled her head into his lap so she could look up at him.

"But if he's lost his spark, he's no good to you, it's been a decade, surely if he was going to get his 'spark ' back, don't you think he would have gotten it back by now?" Violet questioned.

"He's searching for it, pretty hard, I've been keeping him under surveillance for the last several years once he was recognized by my software. A man can only tinker so long." Phillip soothed as he began to pet her head to calm her down further.

"So he's either going to find it with you or die trying," Violet guessed.

"Exactly, besides, I know your past with him makes this especially hard and I am so proud of you for doing your best to put that aside and try to be professional and not kill him where he stands right now. But it's you who will have the last word in the matter. It's you who will get to decide if he lives or dies after his contract is up and inherit everything he has when we're done with him. Why do you think that contract included you as his heir apparent? Because once he dies, you and your family will get due recompense for everything he's done, he owes you and your family that much at least. You can put your big girl panties on and suck it up for two years. Then you get to spend that third year devising all the ways you want to torture him to death if you still want him dead after." Phillip soothed her as he started to pet her head, letting his own super ability lull her into a peaceful state, which worked extra strongly when he was able to touch her as she rolled over and faced him and took a deep, cleansing breath and mulled it over as she simply closed her eyes and soaked up this attention from him before she seemed to come to her own decision.

"You know, if I didn't know any better I would think you were an evil mastermind," Violet teased with a smug grin as she opened her eyes and tilted her head to look up at him.

"Hey now. Keep it to yourself, Edna hasn't finished my super villain suit yet," Phillip countered teasingly, causing Violet to glare at him, unimpressed by that dig. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding," Phillip placated with his hands up in defeat.

"You better be, ass," Violet grumbled.

"So will you take the job or not?" Phillip asked.

"You're going to have to up my salary again, make it worth my while." Violet insisted.

"I'll match his salary 200% as your bonus salary as long as both of you are in my employment- for the "suffering" of having to deal with him and be our liaison. And to really sweeten it, how about….oh, how about I give you a percentage of whatever he touches." Phillip offered.

"Twenty percent," Violet started.

"Ouch, no, I'm thinking 10 at the most," Phillip frowned.

"Fine, fifteen, same as Mr. Pine's percentage." Violet rebutted firmly.

"Deal," Phillip agreed. "And you start now," Phillip stipulated as he offered his hand for a shake and by now Violet knew that his handshake was as good as any contract, even one written in blood before he leaned down and kissed her sweetly.

"Fine," Violet caved before gave his gut a light playful punch that was barely a tap which made him recoil and hold his gut like she had really sucker punched him as his face scrunched up in pain which caused her to laugh which in turn made him beam a proud smile at her.

"And I want it in writing by the time I get back." Violet insisted.

"Of course," He nodded in agreement.

"And you still owe me dinner because lunch sucked." Violet reminded him as she slipped back into her heels before going down to a different lab and got the appropriate hardware for Buddy and made her way to Buddy's floor, using her key card to get to the floor, since his floor wasn’t shown on the elevator and she had to press two floors and press her keycard to the reader to get to it. She thought it was ridiculous that he would have more than a bed and a lab let alone an entire floor full of equipment and an apartment that rivaled most penthouses but Phillip wanted to give Buddy every opportunity to succeed by making sure he stayed comfortable.

She came into the lab to see him already at work. She knocked on a countertop to make her presence known so as not to startle him.

"How come you couldn't do that before?" Buddy asked wryly as he looked over at her as he was still putting things away in the lab section of the floor.

"Because you weren't supposed to know I was there. We have a few details we need to discus Mr. Pine." Violet began as she watched him pause and turn to face her to give her his complete attention before he started walking towards her and joined her at the island.

"First, you are never to address me as anything other than Ms. Parr and you will always conduct yourself in the utmost professional manner when dealing with me or any other employee, partner or associate of SEB Industries. I am your liaison to Mr. Sebastian himself so if there anything in particular that you need regarding your living and your work you can tell me. These are yours, your phone has been cloned into this before it was put to sleep, you can retrieve it once your contract is up." Violet stated as she held up the phone and the tablet before putting them down on the counter and sliding them towards him. "My number is under speed dial one and is only supposed to be used in emergencies and for vital business needs and inquires during reasonable business hours. And I swear to God if I get any flirtation from you or heaven forbid dick pics, I will personally cut your dick off and shove it down your throat and watch you choke on it before I throw your body into another jet engine turbine and feed your remains to the rats in the subway and then inherit everything you have and sell it off at auction to the highest bidder. Any information mining or manipulations by you will be met with the same treatment. Is that understood?" Violet specified as her gaze bored through him with a look that if it could kill, he would have been dead already.

"Yes Ma'am." Buddy nodded with a gulp.

"Now, while at SEB Industries we suggest little to no contact with the outside world other than of course the contact with various associates and colleagues to complete projects. However SEB does understand that there are certain 'needs' that only the outside world can satisfy." Violet explained as she cleared her throat and fought not to shudder and gag when she said 'needs'. "And those will be handled by the appropriate liaison which is not me. And that proper liaison is Leslie, she's on speed dial 2 who will also take care of anything outside of the normal business hours. Now, is there anything in particular you need or want at this time? Perhaps dinner?" She offered as she noticed the time.

"Dinner sounds great, as long as you will eat it with me," Buddy answered hopefully but she narrowed her eyes as he felt the static electricity build up again for a moment before she simply took a deep breath.

"Unfortunately I have prior engagements, but you do have access to a full kitchen in the apartment side of this floor that should be well stocked, and if it is lacking feel free to create a grocery list and I will have an assistant fulfill it. We also allow take out to be delivered although anything you receive will be subjected to inspection and scans. But there is a drawer next to your fridge full of menus of all the restaurants who deliver here or you could order something online. Do you understand the terms I have dictated?" She explained as explicitly as she could and as calmly and as professionally as she could because she had to swallow all the anger and rage she felt towards him down for now because it was her job. But if he dared cross the line, she had no qualms about ending him where he stood.

"Yes," Buddy confirmed with a nod.

"Do you have any questions?" Violet obligatorily asked.

"Are you free for dinner tomorrow?" Buddy asked before he saw her slip her metaphoric mask on more tightly.

"No. Good day Mr. Pine, good luck with your work," Violet coldly replied before turning and leaving her heels clicking in her wake.

Buddy smirked and went back to work. His own plan was working well.

[onisiondrama]

PART 16 - videos #30 & 31

(Click here for video mirrors) - These are not my words or thoughts, I’m just summarizing what Greg / James is saying in his videos. Apologies for any offensive language or comments that may appear. - I am not repeating stories anymore and will replace these stories with brackets describing what he’s talking about. If you don’t know these stories you’re going to have to go back and read previous parts or watch his previous videos.

in depth

- Greg announced his face is red because he just got out of the Jacuzzi. He laughs and says he has a genetic defect that makes him look ugly in hot water. - Someone messaged him on Discord. They wanted to ask him a question, but they were afraid he’d ban them. He says he understands and didn’t ban them. Instead he’s making this video. - Kai was threatening to leave him if Greg spoke about this. The Discord person wanted to know why Kai would stop Greg from speaking out if Kai was innocent. Greg says he wants you to imagine someone forced their mouth on your lower region and made you very uncomfortable. You express you’re generally uncomfortable, but not too clear so the other parties thought there was a chance it would work out. You’re embarrassed because you weren’t 100% about it from the get go and as it progressed you got less into it. You felt terrible because your husband would say this is what he wanted because he thought the other person truly cared about you. He thought you were just being cold and heartless because you were ignoring how loyal and dedicated the other person was. Greg says imagine being Kai in all this and being called a cruel person for not taking part because Greg is an asshole and didn’t relate to Kai. Kai is horrified and humiliated. Kai felt gross and freaked out since Sarah went up and kissed Kai. This whole thing was a nightmare for Kai so he didn’t want to re-live it, like a true victim. Kai wasn’t 100% your typical tragedy, but Kai went through something hard. Greg was helping the other person instead of helping Kai or respecting Kai’s boundaries. - Greg says the Discord person brought up a photo where the bottom isn’t cropped out. Greg says Kai took an obvious selfie for Instagram and it was posted to Instagram. It shows a silhouette of Kai’s lower region. It’s obviously not meant to be a sexual image. There is an image of Kai’s accidental nip slip. That was not sexual and it happened to Kai before in videos. Nip slips happens sometimes to people who have nipples. People are using these two images to prove Kai is a pervert and sent those images. Problem is there is no context to these images. - Sarah knows she was never supposed to have those images. She knows the context of the images and hasn’t been honest about it because she’s trying to hurt him because he rejected her because he doesn’t want to sleep with her because she was creepy in Aladdin. [He reenacts Sarah trying to get his attention while he’s enjoying Aladdin.] He says she told him later she wanted to b-l-o-w him in the theater. She knew she couldn’t do that anyway because she wasn’t allowed to go mouth to crotch. He didn’t want to make out with her at Aladdin because it was a good movie and he was getting a bad vibe from her. He says after when she was shaming him he was thinking “can’t we have one day where you’re not weird?” - Says Sarah has a laptop. It might be a different laptop then the one he thought it was. It was either Kai’s very old laptop or semi old laptop. He never logged into any accounts on either, but it may have Kai’s old account. He’s not sure if it was wiped before it was given to Sarah. He doesn’t know how she could have access to Kai’s data. - It’s ridiculous people call Kai a pervert when they don’t know the context about the selfies and the selfies don’t even show much. This whole thing is about Sarah getting back at Greg for rejecting him. He says he knows this because she tweeted she still had a lot of love for Kai, but she’s dragging Kai in the most slanderous campaign Greg has ever seen. She doesn’t love Kai, she’s destroying his life with lies. [Blooper video fake crying.] Greg says he hasn’t seen the blooper video. He can’t watch any of those videos because it’s a disgusting carnival of idiot clowns dancing around. They all came to a conclusion because they all have issues from their past that they push on other people. They act like everyone else is the villain when they need to focus n the real villains. [Crime against Sarah, compares her reaction to Kai’s] - Says Kai didn’t leave him and settled with Greg going to therapy. Greg says he’s happy to go to a therapist because it’s good to sort out your mental problems. Everyone should see on, especially Sarah who was prescribed medication for her head problems. - He don’t understand how anyone could not see how fluid, clear, consistent, and obvious this all is. [Blooper video differences] He says if it was a real blooper, the setting and time wouldn’t change. [He moved the camera and messes up his shirt to demonstrate how a blooper would not be.] Too many inconsistencies. - Greg doesn’t keep track of Kai’s laptop or texts. - Kai recently told Greg he was surprised when he saw Sarah’s body for the first time after they were blackmailed. This tells Greg Kai never saw any photos. If he found out Kai was sending photos to someone that age he would have kicked Kai out. You know this for a fact because even Sarah will admit Greg kicked her out over “dat booty tho” comment and outrage. Greg says it’s 100% his belief Sarah is lying.

whelp

- Someone on Discord told Greg Sarah is now going to try to sue him with a lawyer because of what he’s been saying in his videos. This is why people don’t talk. Because they’re threatened to be sued when they tell the truth. He wants to ask you an important question: if Sarah is really talking to a lawyer, why didn’t she do that when she said she was a victim? [Pauses and shrugs for effect.] You’re supposed to take legal action against people who commit crimes against you. Says he’s currently pursuing someone right now through the police with a prosecutor and everything because they committed an actual crime. When Sarah said a crime was committed against her she just tweeted about it, went on livestreams, and made Venmos or whatever her friends did. Now that someone is telling the full truth with a 98.7% error rate [lol], that scares her? - [Crime against Sarah, why doesn’t she pursue them, she slanders Greg and Kai instead, Sarah lied about having love for Kai] - He says her threatening to sue when he starts telling the truth is indicative of absolute guilt. He asks if she didn’t go to a lawyer before because she didn’t want Greg to release all this information. Now everyone is going to see the truth about her with her fake bloopers and lies. This is open and close, one of the dumbest thing he’s ever seen. - Says Sarah freaked out on Kai because Kai tweeted about how much he loved the Grey chick from Grey’s Anatomy and how he thought she was hot. Borderline mental breakdown of jealousy. He thinks that’s what initially lead to them telling Sarah she’s too unstable to stay there. [Sarah laughed at Greg’s house burning, says she’s going to psychically assault him] - Says Sarah’s laptop story and sending selfies story are ridiculous. She doesn’t even show the context He hasn’t seen any proof of how she got them. [Kai’s selfie was for Instagram, not sexual] Sarah lied about Kai being a pervert. Kai would never exchange anything. - Says Regina says Kai sent selfies, but he doubts Kai ever sent Regina anything because Regina is a nasty woman. As far as he knows, Kai was never interested in Regina. “Have you seen Regina? Yuck.” As far as Greg knows, Regina had a huge drug problem. Worse than anyone he’s ever known. Regina was in and out of rehab. He doesn’t pay attention to Kai’s arena, but knows that. Regina met Kai when he was 17 and they just had casual conversations about life and stuff. - Sarah thinks Kai tried to bone everyone but Kai is really a hermit. Kai doesn’t want to talk to anyone now that Sarah back stabbed Kai just to get back at Greg. So petty and stupid.

[moneyshvt]

☆ . · . simay barlas, twenty-two, female, she / her . · . ☆ AYLA CLEARWATER lives in that huge mansion over there! no, not that one. look for THE LARGE NATURAL STONE FOUNTAIN and that’ll be it. the SPORTS PHOTOGRAPHER has offered occasional glimpses of LIGHT GREEN walls and an impressive collection of EMPTY PICTURE FRAMES in the background of social media posts, but all of that is nothing compared to seeing the opulence in person. they’ve remained CLEVER as ever since moving to tercet court one year ago, but it seems like they might’ve gotten a little more of NARCISSISTIC too. maybe that’s why they’re rumored to have such a FRIENDLY relationship with everyone else who lives on this street. ☆ . · . ooc info: ollie, they/them, 21, est . · . ☆

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘

— she was adopted when she was just under two years old from turkey, so the clearwaters have always felt like her family to her. she knew the greater part of growing up that she was adopted, it just never was an issue for her. it was a fact, but it really wasn’t an important fact. she has no desire to try to find her birth parents or family, though she has visited turkey.

—  the clearwaters are a triple threat in sports : her grandfather retired mlb player and coach, her father a retired prominent defenseman in the nhl and current dartmouth men’s hockey coach, and her older brother ( 26 ) is making a splash in his third year in the nfl as a wide receiver.  however, her parents made sure she and her brother had a ( fairly ) average “middle class” bringing up, though they had their fair share of money in the bank. didn’t have to struggle, really, but didn’t get everything she wanted either. had a summer job scooping ice cream for two years in high school.

— grew up in norwich, vt, real big on nature and hiking and all that jazz and lowkey misses it in the heart of la.

— when she was ten she got one of those kid’s polaroid cameras ( u know the ones where the film is only a little bigger than a postage stamp ) and she was obsessed. she worked her way up through cameras over the years, having a natural eye for it.

— one of the first games she ever shot was one of her brother’s high school football games which sounds sweet but it was actually because she was so bored out of her mind and wanted something to do. needless to say, though, that was the start of it. some might say it was kind of inevitable she gravitated toward sports somehow — she was a clearwater at heart. since then she has gained a lot of knowledge and respect for all different kinds of sports.

— for college she was torn between dartmouth and nyu. she ultimately chose nyu because it was somewhere new.

— she went to nyu for advertising and photography, shooting various nyu sports teams while she was there and throughout her years, managed to shoot a few rangers, knicks, and yankees games as well. she held two summer internships with the yankees ( on her own merits or because of her family name, she may never truly know ) and ultimately graduated from nyu a year early.

— she then spent the better part of a year after graduation road tripping as you do and ended up in california. it’s all about who you know, and in picking up a favor for a friend in cali she stumbled into the perfect opportunity. from there she landed a role on the company that handles the photography for staples center and other notable teams, most notably the kings, lakers, and dodgers ( photography company based on this irl one ).

— she moved into tercet court not long after she knew she would be in la for much of the time being. it’s definitely not her house, considering she makes just enough to live on. it’s a family home, purchased initially by her father who’d wanted to sink some money into tangible assets instead of the stock market and to have a west-coast home available for the family. hey, worked out pretty well for her.

— she has predominately been tasked with shooting the kings the past year or so, though she started with shooting dodgers games last summer and is doing so this summer as well. she’s also shot a handful of lakers’ games when a friend needs someone to cover. three of her photos so far have been used in large ads and banners in the city ( including most recently her current MONEY SHOT of the game winning goal in a come back win ) --- very cool moment for her. several others have been used by local publications and websites.

— she does a little freelance work as well ; mostly for friends or friends of friends, though she’s been considering lately trying to make her skills and business available in a more professional manner. she does do a lot of photographing for herself --- a lot of candids ; she thinks they capture the true spirit of a person moreso than when they’re posing or prepared for a photo. but not in a creepy way --- she’s been the victim of the paps enough times by association with her family to know the correct boundaries and limits.

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂

— lowkey loves playing games with the paps, though she’s probably the only one that finds it funny. as a photographer herself she has a good eye for where they’re hiding and will also snap photos of them in turn just for her own amusement.

— she hopes someday to be the team photographer for a team, hopefully in one of the “big four” ( nfl, nhl, nba, mlb )

— she played field hockey and lacrosse through high school.

— ayla thinks she’s better at shooting people. part of what she loves about being a sports photographer is how active and unpredictable it is to shoot a game. she’s had to learn a lot to try to predict what she can.

— very much a morning person. has never had a problem waking up in the morning. who’s jealous bc i am. goes for a run at sunrise, and has showered, gotten ready for the day, and is at a local cafe shop editing photos / making graphics and drinking an iced mocha by 8. truly couldn’t be me...

— so desperately wants to be that girl with tons of cute aesthetic plants in her apartment but tragically plants always die in her care no matter what she does. probably has gotten one of those tiny tabletop sand zen gardens to make herself feel better tho she still keeps trying with plants. so far the only ones that have lived any length of time are the air plants.

— she really wants a greyhound but is afraid to make the commitment to actually adopting one.

— her personal insta ( the non-sports one ) has a modest following. a few thousand, probs.

— she has struggled a bit with people who think her opportunities have only arisen because of her family pedigree ( which some have gone so far to tell her they’re “not her family” --- which, don’t even go there, lads... ), and that has made ayla work all that much harder to prove that she’d gotten where she has on her own merits.

— she has a rule ( and in the case of the nhl there is a rule enforced by a signed contract ) about not getting involved with anyone she shoots ; it’s considered a conflict of interest. i imagine she has a really good relationship with the players though --- probably doesn’t hurt that she is pretty. at least one of them have hired her to shoot their wedding this summer even though she is wildly under qualified.

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

alya is a chill and laidback person at heart. her approach to the fame attached to her due to her father and brother has been to laugh it off good-naturedly. she’s generally well liked, with a hint of sass and humor. she comes across as a bit of an air-head at times, but that’s part due to a persona she put on from a young age. she has an observant eye that drew to her photography in the first place and will often allow her to draw certain conclusions about people. she’s well versed in all the sports she shoots, something that tends to surprise a lot of people, but how is she supposed to be good at her job if she isn’t ? if she gets bothered during games she typically shuts people down with wide eyes and some obscure bit of knowledge in her cute, raspy lil voice. dareisay... elle woods, what like it’s hard ? energy ??

a few of her downfalls include her narcissism and need to be liked. she looks to look and feel pretty, by her own standards, and is a queen of the self-timer and remote self photography : has two instas because of it -- one for her sports photography and one that’s a “personal” and mostly just pictures of herself. her need to be liked is something she doesn’t even realize. she likes to be seen in a positive light.

𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

alya stands at 5′4″ with a slim but athletic build. her hair is naturally brown, but is dyed to have blonde highlights. she does not need glasses or contacts and has no tattoos.

she’s almost always wearing the same pair of beat up timberland’s she’s owned since freshman year of college. she likes to be able to move easily ( bc homegirl absolutely cannot walk in heels at all ). despite what the tabloids like to call her unfortunate choice in footwear, she likes to look cute, often pairing them with short, flowy sundresses or skirts + crop tops. when she shoots games, however, she’s dressed rather practically in skinny jeans, a crop top, and a cardigan. her hair is often kept down and loose, or in a messy bun.

𝐎𝐎𝐂

it me. ollie again. i also play fitz ( miguel bernardeau fc ). yes the overlap between fitz and ayla is not great but i truly only know one thing that that one thing is hockey asldfalsdjf sO. if y’all seeing me rping with myself on the dash bc i think it’d be fun to bounce fitz and ayla off each other mind ur own business...